#I know this room I’ve walked this floor

[vanteguccir]

── ୨୧ !　GRAMMYS 2025

chris sturniolo x reader

SUMMARY: Where Y/N, worldwide famous singer, goes to the Grammys 2025 and brings Chris as her pair for the first time.

WARNING: None.

REQUESTED?: Yes, by anon.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is MY idea and work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

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Y/N had been nominated for five Grammy Awards this year. Five. And yet, for some reason, the thought of stepping onto that carpet, under the flashing lights and watchful eyes of the entire world, made her more nervous than she’d ever been.

It wasn’t her first time - this was her fifth Grammy appearance - but the nerves never seemed to dull, no matter how many times she did this.

Her team had tried everything: chamomile tea, soothing massages, deep breathing exercises, playing her favorite calming playlist at a low volume in the background, even giving her a dozen of those custom-made chocolates with her face printed on them. But nothing helped. Not really.

Not even Chris’s kisses; though she had to admit, they were a very welcome distraction.

They were in a penthouse suite of a luxurious hotel in downtown Los Angeles, even though their house was barely a twenty-minute drive away. It was protocol, her team insisted. Every artist did it - getting ready in a hotel, away from distractions, with stylists, makeup artists, and PR people swarming around. It was meant to be a controlled environment, a perfectly curated lead-up to the biggest night in music. But it only added to the pressure.

Y/N stood in front of a massive floor-to-ceiling mirror, wrapped in a silk robe, her bare feet sinking into the plush carpet as a makeup artist blended soft eyeshadow onto her lids. Her hairstylist was behind her, curling strands of her hair into loose waves. She looked poised on the outside, but internally, her nerves were tying knots in her stomach.

Chris sat on the couch a few feet away, watching her intently. He was already dressed - black tux, crisp white shirt, and a bow tie he had spent fifteen minutes fighting with before her makeup artist took pity on him and fixed it for him.

He looked good.

Really good.

The kind of good that made her momentarily forget about the nerves. But she wasn’t the only one nervous tonight.

Chris had been jittery since this morning, though he tried not to show it. This was his first time attending something this big, this formal, and while he was used to attention, this was a whole new level. He was going to be surrounded by the most famous people in the world, and for the first time, he wasn’t just Chris Sturniolo, the YouTuber; he was Chris Sturniolo, Y/N’s date to the Grammys.

But instead of letting his own anxiety get to him, he focused on her, observing how her fingers twitched, manicured nails shining below the lights with every tremble.

"Baby." He cooed, standing and walking toward her as soon as the makeup artist stepped aside. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her exposed shoulder, his big hands finding home around her hips, squeezing the covered skin. "What are you feeling, huh? 'Can feel you stressing from across the room, doll."

Y/N sighed, her hands gripping the edges of the vanity table, being careful not to knock her knuckles against the three massive bouquets - Nick had arranged for all of them to be delivered straight to her room in that morning.

"I just... I don’t know, Chris." She murmured, voice barely above a whisper. "I know I’ve done this before, but what if I don’t win anything? What if I disappoint everyone?"

Before she could spiral any further, Chris was already moving. His hands slid from her hips to her stomach, wrapping around her in a slow embrace. He pulled her against him, his chest firm against her back, the heat of his body seeping through the thin fabric of her robe.

"Hey." He whispered, lips brushing against the shell of her ear. "Don’t do that."

His voice was gentle but firm, a quiet command that sent a shiver down her spine. She felt his breath against her neck, warm and familiar, grounding her.

"First of all." He continued, his arms tightening around her middle. "You’re the best singer out of everyone in that room tonight. You know that, right?"

Her eyes rolled.

"Baby, you can't say that when Billie Eilish, Taylor Swift-" She started, turning her head slightly, but he was already shaking his head.

"Nope." He cut in, resting his chin in the curve of her neck, his gaze locking onto hers through the mirror. "I said what I said. And for the record." He added, voice lower now, dripping with conviction. "You’re already the winner of everything in my book. Even the categories you’re not nominated in."

She sighed, heart pounding as his hands splayed across her stomach, his thumbs brushing slow, absentminded circles.

"Best Album? Yours." He murmured, letting his lips ghost over her jaw. "Best Song? Yours." His mouth traveled down to her shoulder, barely pressing against her skin, yet setting every nerve ending alight. "Best Human Being to Ever Exist?" He turned his head just enough to meet her eyes in the mirror again, his smirk soft but teasing. "You, obviously."

She let out a small, shaky laugh.

"Chris-"

"I’m serious." He interrupted, turning his head and nuzzling the soft skin of her temple, inhaling the rich scent of her Givenchy perfume. "Your fans love you. I love you. And, babe, let’s be honest, you could drop a single of you just breathing into a mic, and it would still go platinum."

That made her laugh, her eyes rolling with amusement.

"You’re gonna do your best tonight, like you always do. And no matter what happens, I’ll be right there with you."

She finally turned in his hold, her arms looping around his neck and her red tinted lips forming a small pout.

"Even if I trip on the carpet?"

"I’ll trip with you. We’ll make it a trend." Chris grinned, pressing a lingering kiss to the tip of her nose, being excessively careful not to smudge her perfect makeup. "Now, I think there's a worldwide famous singer who should be getting dressed, huh?"

Y/N's eyes stared into blue ones for a moment, smiling with the softness she found in them.

"Yeah... Yeah, you're right."

A sharp knock at the door broke their haze, followed by a loud voice.

"Y/N!"

The voice was unmistakable, high-pitched and full of dramatic flair, and before Y/N could even turn, Harry Lambert had burst into the room, arms spread wide, eyes scanning her from head to toe with theatrical disbelief.

"Oh. My. GOD." He practically floated toward her, his hands fluttering in the air like he was physically trying to grasp the vision before him. "Darling, how dare you stand there looking this stunning before even getting into your dress?"

Y/N barely had time to react before he pulled her into a tight hug, arms wrapped around her like he hadn’t seen her in years - even though they had spoken just yesterday. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, holding her there for a beat longer than necessary, his touch radiating warmth and love.

"My baby girl." He cooed, pulling back slightly to cup her face. "How are we feeling? Nervous? Excited? On the verge of a breakdown?"

"All of the above." Y/N admitted, letting out a breathy laugh as he studied her with fondness.

Harry clicked his tongue.

"Well, you shouldn’t be, because you’re about to own this night. And if anyone so much as dares to breathe in your direction the wrong way, I will be throwing hands."

Chris chuckled from behind them.

"Good to see you, Harry."

"Christopher!" Harry turned to him with a dazzling smile, patting his chest in greeting before narrowing his eyes playfully. "The suit I chose for you was a very good choice, huh? Gucci looks good on you. Now, let’s be clear, your only job tonight is to stand there, look pretty, and worship Y/N like the goddess she is. Do you understand me?"

Chris raised his hands in surrender.

"Oh, trust me, I’ve been doing that since the second I met her."

Y/N felt her cheeks warm as Harry clapped his hands together.

"That’s my boy. Now, enough chit-chat! It is officially time to get my queen into the dress."

The entire room seemed to shift as the energy buzzed with anticipation. Y/N was ushered toward the dressing area, where the Gucci gown had been carefully laid out, glowing under the soft lights. Even without being worn, it commanded attention - the gold fabric shimmering as if infused with actual stardust, the dramatic ruffles sculpted to perfection.

As they helped her into it, every detail came to life. The strapless silhouette hugged her body in all the right places, the embedded crystals catching every flicker of light. The metallic sleeves, voluminous and artful, cascaded around her arms, while the matching ruffles at the bottom framed her steps with effortless grace.

When the final adjustments were made, Harry stepped back, his hands pressed to his chest as if he might faint.

"Oh, sweet heavens above." He whispered, looking genuinely overwhelmed. "I’ve outdone myself. We’ve outdone ourselves."

Chris, who had been sitting on the bed answering his brothers texts, looked up with Harry's voice, suddenly straightening up. His hands dropped to his lap, and his mouth hung open slightly, completely speechless.

"Wow." His voice came out strangled, like he had just been personally attacked.

Y/N turned toward him fully, the movement making the crystals on her dress shimmer, the light practically bending to her will. Chris visibly short-circuited.

"Are you- what- how-" He inhaled sharply, shaking his head as if trying to reboot his brain. "Nah. Nah. This isn’t fair. This should be illegal."

Y/N bit her lip, fighting a smile, but his reaction only got worse. His fingers threaded into his hair, his eyes raking over her from head to toe with pure, unfiltered obsession.

"Jesus fuck." He breathed out, voice a little rough. "You’re gonna kill me tonight, doll."

Harry smirked, tilting his head as he admired her.

"Oh, she’s not just going to kill you, Christopher. She’s going to kill everyone at the Grammys tonight. And I, for one, cannot wait to watch it happen."

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The energy outside the venue was electric. Even from inside the tinted Range Rover, the deafening sound of flashing cameras and screaming paparazzi was unavoidable. Y/N shifted in her seat, inhaling slowly, feeling the vibration of the excitement just beyond the doors.

A hand suddenly slid over her thighs, warm and grounding, caressing the fabric of her dress.

"Ready?" Chris asked, his voice softer than the chaos outside.

Y/N turned to him, wetting her matte lipstick lips.

"Yeah." She breathed, even though her heart was hammering.

Chris smirked knowingly.

"Liar."

Before she could argue, the car door swung open, and an immediate wave of screams hit them like a storm.

Chris stepped out first, adjusting his suit as flashes exploded around him, the sound of his name already being yelled from every direction. He quickly moved around to face the inside of the car, offering his hand.

The second Y/N emerged, the chaos tripled.

"Y/N! Y/N! Over here!"

"Y/N! Christopher! Are you two official?"

"Y/N, do you think you’ll win tonight?"

Y/N barely flinched at the shouting - it was part of the job. Instead, she kept her chin high, gripping Chris’s hand as they made their way down the carpet. The venue was bathed in red and gold hues, a massive step-and-repeat wall covered in Grammy logos standing proudly ahead. The air buzzed with anticipation, celebrities lining the edges of the carpet, all waiting for their moment in front of the cameras.

A staff member approached, guiding them toward a designated spot.

"You first, Ms. Y/N." The woman instructed.

Chris gave Y/N a gentle squeeze before stepping aside, allowing her to take center stage.

And damn, did she own it.

The second she posed, the already flashing cameras seemed to explode.

The fitted, gold gown clung to her frame like liquid metal, sparkling under the lights. The voluminous, ruffled sleeves caught the air as she shifted her stance, making her look like some sort of celestial being - untouchable, ethereal. She turned her head smoothly, flashing a radiant smile as the photographers shouted for her attention.

Chris, standing just a few feet away, was not handling it well. His eyes never left her, completely entranced, like he was seeing her for the first time again, not even noticing the flashs directed to his figure.

Y/N, catching his expression, couldn’t help but smile shyly. She subtly tilted her head toward him between poses, raising a teasing brow.

Chris just shook his head, still gawking, before muttering under his breath.

"Jesus Christ."

The staff member signaled for Chris to approach Y/N for their couple photos. Y/N turned toward him, making a playful shooing motion with her hands as if to snap him out of his trance.

"Earth to Chris." She teased.

Chris didn’t respond - not verbally, at least. Instead, he stepped closer with large steps and grabbed her by the waist, carefully pulling her flush against him, careful with her heels but firm enough to steal a delighted gasp from her. The moment their bodies pressed together, the screams from the crowd outside the barricades and the clicking of cameras reached a new level of hysteria.

The cameras loved them.

Chris leaned in between shots, his lips brushing her ear.

"You think they got food inside?"

Y/N barely bit back a laugh, keeping her expression poised as she continued smiling for the cameras.

"What, you mean like caviar and tiny-ass lobster rolls?"

"I don’t care if it’s a plate of lettuce. I need to eat something before I pass out."

Y/N snorted softly with how dramatic he could be, bumping her hips against his just slightly, careful not to disrupt the pictures.

"You ate almost all of those chocolates back in the hotel. Where does it even go?"

Chris grinned, his fingers squeezing at her waist, effectively freezing her in place.

"Wouldn’t you like to know?"

She rolled her eyes, suppressing a giggle.

"Be serious, Sturniolo."

"I am serious." He looked at her then, really looked at her, and it sent something warm and electric curling down her spine. "You are so fucking beautiful, it’s actually stupid."

Y/N faltered for half a second, her breath catching, not from the flashing lights, not from the cameras, but from him.

Chris chuckled, clearly pleased her reaction.

"Want to give y'a post-celebration present so bad." His voice switched to low and airy, almost lost beneath the noise, but she heard it perfectly.

Y/N swallowed, her mind jumping to conclusions she probably shouldn’t be having on the Grammys red carpet.

"Hm, and what would that be?"

Chris smirked, his fingers flexing at her waist.

"Eat y’out."

Y/N kept her composure like a pro, smiling for the cameras with a practiced grin, but discreetly pressed her thighs together. Two could play this game.

But before she could fire back, a voice interrupted.

"Alright, guys! We need to move to the next area!"

Another event staff member gestured for them to proceed toward the interview section, their tone polite but firm. Y/N exhaled slowly, her heart thudding inside her ears.

Chris sighed dramatically, his grip on her waist tightening for just a second before he let go, traveling up to her hand.

"And here I was, thinking we could just stay here all night."

Y/N squeezed his fingers, tugging him forward.

"Come on, you menace."

As they walked toward the interview zone, the setup became clearer - a sleek, well-lit platform lined with various media outlets, each interviewer eagerly awaiting their next celebrity guest. But before Y/N could even register who was up next, a familiar voice rang out, unmistakably enthusiastic.

"Y/N, oh my God! Get over here!"

Emma Chamberlain.

Y/N's face lit up immediately, and without hesitation, she pulled Chris along, their hands still intertwined as they made a beeline toward Emma. The internet personality-turned-Grammys correspondent was practically bouncing on her heels, her eyes wide with excitement.

As soon as they reached her, Emma lifted her microphone with dramatic flair.

"Ladies and gentlemen, five-time Grammy-nominated Y/N L/N, everyone!"

Y/N laughed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"No way you just said that like an awards show host."

Emma grinned.

"I am an awards show host." Then, turning to Chris, she playfully narrowed her eyes. "And, of course, let’s not forget the man of the hour, Chris Sturniolo!"

Chris chuckled, giving a small wave, the silver ring on his index finger glinting against the camera flash.

"That’s me."

Emma wasted no time diving into questions, her energy infectious.

"Okay, first things first, how are you feeling?" She pointed the mic toward Y/N.

Y/N exhaled, a bright smile still gracing her lips.

"Honestly? I’m just... I don’t even know how to put it into words. Happy? Grateful? In shock? All of it at once?" She shook her head in disbelief. "I mean, the Grammys. It’s something you dream about as a kid, you know? And now, five nominations? I feel like I need someone to pinch me."

Chris gently squeezed her hand, leaning in slightly so his mouth was close to the mic, his cheek brushing hers in the process.

"Not gonna lie, I did pinch her earlier to check."

Y/N playfully swatted at him, making Emma laugh.

"Alright, but tell me everything. What were you doing when you found out you were nominated?"

At this, Y/N turned to Chris, already laughing.

"Oh my God, it was chaos."

Chris grinned, nodding while brushing his messy hair back.

"Totally."

Y/N faced Emma again, still giggling.

"Okay, so we were just in the living room, me, Chris, Matt, and Nick. It was so casual, literally just us eating burgers, watching the nominations roll in on TV, not thinking much of it."

Emma’s eyes widened.

"Wait, so you weren’t even refreshing Twitter like a maniac?"

"No!" Y/N shook her head. "I swear, I wasn’t even expecting anything. And then, boom. My name gets called for the first nomination, and I just screamed."

"Nick screamed, too." Chris jumped in, laughing.

Emma gasped.

"Nick would."

Y/N nodded rapidly.

"He did! So then, Chris kisses me, Matt’s literally jumping up and down, and it was just full-on mayhem. But then, like, a minute later, my name gets called again for another nomination."

Chris smirked, nodding his head.

"And again. And again."

Emma covered her mouth, delighted.

"So by the fifth time-"

"I was crying." Y/N admitted, grinning. "Like, full-on sobbing in Chris’s arms."

Emma dramatically put her free hand against her heart.

"This is what I live for." Then, turning to Chris, she grinned mischievously. "Alright, your turn, Sturniolo."

Chris blinked, looking at Y/N before going back to Emma.

"Me?"

Emma nodded, dead serious.

"Yes, you. Because I know you, you act all cool and chill, but I know you were losing your mind when she got nominated."

Chris laughed, shaking his head.

"I mean, yeah, obviously. I was going crazy. But I think it really hit me when I looked at her during the last nomination and realized, this is actually happening. Like, she’s that talented. The world is seeing what I already knew."

Y/N felt her face heat up, a mix of emotions swirling in her chest.

Emma pouted.

"Chris, that's so wholesome. You’re really that boyfriend, huh?"

Chris shrugged, squeezing Y/N’s hand.

"I mean, yeah. Have you met her?"

Y/N rolled her eyes playfully, but her smile didn’t fade.

"I know, right?" Emma nodded at Chris's direction, laughing with Y/N's reaction. "Now, tell me, which nomination are you most excited about?"

Y/N didn’t even hesitate.

"Song of the Year."

Emma’s brows lifted.

"Because...?"

Y/N took a breath, her fingers unconsciously tightening around Chris’s hand.

"Because the song nominated for that category is Lavender Haze, and that song... it just means so much to me." She glanced at Chris, her expression softer now.

Emma’s eyes darted between the two of them, her curiosity sparking instantly. She glanced at Y/N, then at Chris, before turning toward the camera with exaggerated wide eyes.

"Ohhh, I know that look." She teased, pointing between them with a knowing grin. "Okay, spill, tell me about the song."

Y/N let out a breathy laugh with how eager she sounded, meeting Emma’s gaze again.

"You'll know all about it if I win." She winked, her tone warm.

Chris was quick to approach the microphone again.

"Not if, when."

Emma tilted her head, frowning as a pout grew on her lips.

"No way you're going to leave me with this curiosity." She sighed dramatically. "I guess I'll need to watch the awards with double attention." Emma winked to the camera. "Okay, I’m obsessed with you guys. This is too cute. But I won’t keep you any longer, go enjoy your night! And, Y/N, fingers crossed for all five wins!"

Y/N beamed, giving Emma one last hug before she and Chris were guided to the next section of the event. As they walked, the lights of the Grammys venue shining ahead, Chris leaned in close, his lips brushing her ear.

"You’re killing it, doll."

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The moment Y/N and Chris stepped into the grand main salon, the shift in the atmosphere was almost physical. The flashing lights of the red carpet were behind them, replaced by the elegant glow of chandeliers and the soft hum of conversation. Celebrities, industry giants, and music legends filled the expansive room, dressed in their finest, the air buzzing with anticipation.

A staff member immediately approached them with a warm smile, gesturing toward their assigned table.

"Good evening, Ms. L/N, Mr. Sturniolo. Right this way, please."

As they walked through the lavishly decorated space, Y/N’s fingers instinctively tightened around Chris’s hand, her nerves still tingling with the knowledge that the biggest names were around her.

Halfway to their table, a familiar voice called out from the side.

"Chris! No way- dude!"

Chris turned toward the sound, a grin instantly spreading across his face when he saw Troye Sivan standing up from his table, waving him over.

Troye had met Chris and his brothers just two weeks ago at a Prada fashion show, and the energy between them had been instantly chill and friendly.

"Troye, hey, what’s up, man?" Chris greeted as he pulled him in for a quick hug.

Meanwhile, Y/N turned toward Sabrina Carpenter, who was seated beside Troye in the most ethereal baby blue dress, its delicate fabric flowing like water over her frame.

"Sabrina, hi!" Y/N greeted, her voice lighting up as she fully took in the details of her look. "Wow, you look absolutely stunning. Like, actually unreal."

Sabrina’s eyes widened for a split second, surprise flashing across her face before it melted into the sweetest, most genuine smile. Without a second thought, she pushed herself up from her seat, reaching for Y/N as if they were lifelong friends and pulling her into a warm, affectionate hug. She squeezed tightly, her energy radiating pure kindness.

"Oh my god, stop." Sabrina gushed, pulling back just enough to look at Y/N, her hands still resting gently on her arms. "That means the world coming from you. And please, look at you!" She emphasized, eyes scanning Y/N from head to toe with genuine admiration. "You look like an actual goddess."

Y/N laughed softly, shaking her head as she absentmindedly smoothed her hands over the golden fabric of her dress.

"It’s all Lambert’s magic." She admitted with a playful grin, referring to her trusted stylist. Then, with a spark of excitement, she added. "I heard you’re performing tonight, I cannot wait to see it!"

Sabrina practically bounced in place, her excitement just as contagious.

"Oh, that makes me so nervous but also so happy." She admitted with a laugh, her hands clasping together. "I just hope I don’t trip or something."

Y/N shook her head instantly.

"No way, you’re going to kill it. I already know it."

Chris and Troye exchanged a few more words, something about how amazing the Prada show had been and how they should schedule to do something together in the future, before Chris gave him a casual pat on the shoulder.

"We’ll catch up later, yeah? We gotta find our table before they go live."

Troye grinned.

"For sure. Enjoy the night, guys."

After one last big smile at Sabrina, Y/N slipped her hand back into Chris’s as they navigated through the room.

Their table was positioned with a perfect view of the stage, the paper cards on their seats spelling out their names in black ink below a selected picture of their faces.

As they sat down, Y/N exhaled, glancing up at the stage. A quick glance at the massive countdown screen told her they had ten minutes before the live broadcast began.

"Damn." She muttered, leaning toward Chris. "Didn’t even realize how much time passed outside."

Chris chuckled, his voice low.

"That’s ‘cause you were too busy looking hot and stealing everyone’s attention."

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the amused smile that tugged at her lips.

"Come'ere, babe." He asked, extending his arm in her direction, asking silently for her to move closer.

Her eyes sparkled with affection, and she shifted her chair slightly, moving closer to Chris until she was practically pressed against his side. Without hesitation, he wrapped his extended arm around her upper body, pulling her in securely. The warmth of his body mixed with the familiarity of his presence was grounding and comforting.

Chris pressed a soft kiss to her temple, his lips lingering for just a second longer than necessary.

Y/N tilted her head up to look at him, her eyes shining under the dimmed chandeliers.

"Thank you." She whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the room.

Chris furrowed his brows slightly, looking down at her, their faces so close he could feel her warm breath hitting his chin.

"For what?"

"For being here with me. For always being here for me."

His gaze softened immediately, and the way he looked at her - so full of quiet devotion - made her heart swell.

"Forever, baby." He murmured, squeezing her gently.

Before Y/N could say anything else, a new voice cut into their moment.

"Excuse me, I hope I’m not interrupting anything."

The voice was warm, familiar, and utterly unmistakable.

Both Y/N and Chris turned toward the sound, and in an instant, Y/N felt the entire world freeze. Her breath caught in her throat, her heart stuttered, and for a brief, terrifying moment, she wondered if she had actually left her body.

Because standing there, just a few feet away, in all her effortless, golden-lit, legendary glory, was Taylor Swift.

Taylor Swift.

Y/N swore she could hear the heavens parting and angels singing in the background.

Taylor was an absolute vision in a stunning, strong red mini dress, her signature red lip effortlessly bold, her blonde hair framing her face in soft waves.

And she was smiling - smiling - at her.

"Oh my god." Y/N blurted out, the words tumbling out of her mouth before she could even attempt to reel them back in.

Taylor let out a soft laugh as she shook her head lightly, eyes twinkling.

"I just wanted to say that I’m such a huge fan of your work. Lavender Haze is absolutely everything."

Y/N felt her soul leave her body.

Her brain quite literally short-circuited. Because- because what?

Taylor Swift, the Taylor Swift, her biggest inspiration, her songwriting idol, just complimented her music?

There was a very real possibility that she had just blacked out.

Chris shifted slightly beside her, maintaining his arm above the back of her chair, obviously trying so hard not to burst out laughing at how starstruck she looked.

Somehow, somehow, Y/N managed to keep her expression together, even though her heart was doing full-blown Olympic-level gymnastics in her chest.

"That means everything coming from you." She breathed, every word laced with pure, raw sincerity. "Thank you so, so much."

Taylor’s smile only widened, like she could feel how much those words meant to Y/N.

"Seriously." She said, her voice warm and genuine. "I’ve been listening to it on repeat. You’re insanely talented. The way you crafted that song... you have such a gift."

Y/N felt an actual tear prick at the corner of her eye. She wanted to scream. She wanted to hug her. She wanted to tattoo this moment onto her soul and never forget it.

And then, as if she couldn’t possibly adore her any more, Taylor turned to Chris, offering him the same bright, kind smile.

"And of course, you." She said, her tone playful but just as sincere. "I love what you and your brothers are doing on YouTube. It’s always fun seeing people bring fresh energy to the space."

Chris looked genuinely taken aback for a moment. His eyebrows lifted slightly, and for the first time, Y/N saw a flicker of oh wow, this is real life in his expression.

"That’s- wow, okay, that’s crazy." He said, running a hand through his hair with an incredulous chuckle. "Thank you, that’s- man, that’s insane coming from you."

Taylor grinned, her hand gently squeezing Y/N’s shoulder, grounding her back to reality.

"I won’t keep you guys." She said softly. "I just wanted to say that. Hope you both have the best night."

And just like that, she turned, walking back toward her table.

For a long, stunned second, Y/N just stood there, processing what had just happened. Then, with wide eyes, she turned to Chris, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Did that just happen?"

Chris, still looking way too amused, nodded, his grin stretching across his face.

"Yup." He confirmed. "And you just casually had a conversation with Taylor Swift like it was nothing."

Y/N let out a sharp exhale, pressing her hands over her face.

"I need a second."

Chris laughed, and before she could even register it, he was wrapping both arms around her, pulling her in tightly, his face pressing against her hair.

"Proud of you, popstar." He murmured, his voice laced with nothing but warmth.

Before she could respond, the lights dimmed, and the energy in the room shifted as a voice echoed through the speakers.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome your host for the 67th Annual Grammy Awards, Trevor Noah!"

A roar of cheers erupted as the towering LED screens flanking the stage flickered to life, displaying Trevor Noah’s wide, mischievous grin. He strolled onto the main floor rather than standing on the stage, seamlessly blending into the sea of round tables where the biggest names in the industry were seated.

He adjusted the microphone in his hand, letting the applause die down just enough before flashing a knowing smirk.

"Alright, ladies and gentlemen." He began, his smooth voice carrying through the arena. "This is it, the 67th Grammys! Music’s biggest night! The Super Bowl for people who cried to Folklore, danced to Beyoncé, and worked out to Travis Scott, all in the same day!"

Laughter rippled through the crowd as the camera panned to a few artists nodding dramatically in agreement.

"And listen, let’s be honest. The Grammys are basically just a really fancy dinner party where we all pretend we haven’t been stalking the winners list since yesterday." Another wave of laughter followed. "But tonight... tonight, we are celebrating the best of the best in music. The songs that made us scream in our cars, the albums that made us question our entire existence, and the artists who consistently ruin our Spotify Wrapped every year."

Trevor began walking casually between the round tables, grinning as he looked around at the audience.

"And let’s not forget the real stars of the night, the seating arrangements. Have you seen these tables? It’s like the ultimate Hunger Games. You got legends, you got rookies, and you got the poor artists who are just hoping they don’t get caught in an awkward cutaway during a joke."

The camera zoomed in on a few newer artists laughing nervously, earning a chuckle from the crowd.

Trevor continued weaving his way through the tables, his eyes scanning the sea of music’s biggest names.

"And speaking of icons." He said, stopping by a particular table. "Tonight, we have the one and only Y/N L/N with us!"

The moment her name left his lips, the entire arena erupted into cheers. The camera cut to Y/N’s table, her face instantly lighting up with a radiant smile. Chris grinned smugly as he watched her soak in the moment.

Y/N turned slightly to face the camera that was now focused on her, offering a soft wave. The massive screen above the stage displayed a live feed of her, the applause continuing as Trevor beamed.

"Now, listen, if you somehow missed it, Y/N is up for five nominations tonight!" Trevor announced, pointing at her with mock emphasis. "Five nominations, guys. For songs and the album she announced when she won last year. That’s how much of a legend she is."

Y/N let out a soft laugh, her cheeks warming as she watched herself on the big screen. The camera panned slightly to Chris, who was nodding with a smug expression, as if silently agreeing with every word Trevor was saying.

"Plus." Trevor continued, stepping closer to their table. "If Y/N wins tonight, she could be the first artist ever to win Album of the Year five times."

Gasps and cheers rippled through the audience, while Y/N’s smile grew impossibly wider.

"Which means, she would break the record of four wins set all the way back in 2024 by-" Trevor raised his free hand, making a show of pretending to check an invisible list on his palm. "Y/N L/N!"

The entire room erupted into even louder applause, whistles echoing through the space as Trevor dramatically motioned toward her again.

Y/N's eyebrows flew up, feigning surprise, trying to contain her giddiness while Chris chuckled beside her, mouthing 'that's my girl' to a camera pointing his way.

Trevor placed a hand on his hip, looking toward the camera with mock exasperation.

"So basically, Y/N is out here breaking her own records. Just casually deciding that four wins aren’t enough and going for five. That’s like running a marathon, winning, and then saying, 'You know what? Let’s do it again, backwards'."

More laughter filled the room, Y/N pressing a hand over her mouth to keep from giggling too much. Trevor grinned, looking at her one last time.

"Listen, Y/N, whatever happens tonight, you’re already a legend. But if you win that fifth Grammy, just promise me you won’t announce another album mid-acceptance speech. Give the rest of the industry a fighting chance, okay?"

Y/N laughed, shaking her head, and Chris patted her thigh under the table, looking thoroughly entertained.

Trevor winked before turning back to the audience, raising his mic once again.

"Alright, let’s get this incredible night started! We’ve got performances, surprises, and probably a few moments that’ll break the internet. Let’s do this!"

The crowd roared as the cameras pulled away, cutting to a sleek transition video, signaling the official start of the show. Y/N exhaled, stealing a glance at Chris, who simply grinned and pulled her back to his chest, pressing his lips against her cheek.

"You’re so winning tonight."

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The moment the last notes of Birds of a Feather echoed through the grand hall, Y/N felt like she was floating. Billie Eilish had just delivered one of the most breathtaking performances she had ever seen, and she could still feel the goosebumps lingering on her arms.

She turned to Chris, her eyes shining with excitement, her heart still beating to the rhythm of the song.

"Billie is unreal." She gushed, shaking her head in disbelief. "Like, every time she performs, it’s like she’s singing straight to my soul."

Chris let out a chuckle, his arm draped lazily around her shoulders, pulling her close.

"Nick would actually kill to be here right now." His lips quirked up in amusement. "I bet he’s texting us like a mad man."

Y/N laughed softly, already imagining Nick’s all-caps messages blowing up their group chat. But before she could even think of checking, the stage lights dimmed slightly, and the screens around the venue shifted. A familiar melody played in the background as a figure gracefully stepped onto the stage. The chatter in the audience softened as people turned their attention to her.

Taylor Swift.

Y/N straightened in her seat, her heart picking up speed.

Chris immediately caught the change in her posture and smirked.

"Oh shit." He teased, giving her shoulder a little squeeze. "Your idol is speaking. Do you need me to hold you so you don’t pass out?"

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t deny the excitement bubbling in her chest.

Taylor approached the microphone with that effortless charm that made the entire room fall silent. She smiled warmly, tucking a strand of golden hair behind her ear before speaking.

"Good evening, everyone." She greeted, her voice carrying easily through the venue. "Tonight has been incredible so far, and I am so honored to be here presenting this next award."

Y/N opened a genuine smile, squeezing Chris's thigh below her fingers.

"Album of the Year is such a special award because it represents not just music, but stories. It’s about the albums that stayed with us, that shaped our emotions, our memories. The ones that became the soundtrack to our lives." Taylor continued, her expression softening as she held up the envelope. "And with that being said, the Grammy goes to..."

She slid her fingers under the flap and carefully pulled out the card, unfolding it with precision.

Y/N could feel Chris’s arms tighten around her. His body heat a cocoon around her own as she clutched onto him, her pulse thundering in her temple.

A second of silence stretched. Then Taylor’s eyes scanned the paper, and the biggest, brightest smile took over her face. Her gaze lifted, seemingly searching the crowd for someone.

Y/N furrowed her brows slightly.

Taylor found her.

And then, with a warmth that sent shivers down Y/N’s spine, Taylor announced.

"Y/N L/N, Midnights."

The world tilted.

For a solid moment, Y/N didn’t move. She couldn’t move. The air in her lungs disappeared, her vision blurred instantly with unshed tears, and her mouth fell open in pure, unfiltered shock, her hands hovering near her mouth, trembling as realization crashed into her like a tidal wave.

Album of the Year.

She won.

She won.

Chris, on the other hand, reacted immediately.

"YES!" He shouted, his voice cutting through the noise as he punched the air, his excitement completely unfiltered. People turned, smiling, laughing, but Chris didn’t care. His hands were already on Y/N, his eyes scanning her face.

She wasn’t breathing.

"Babe." His voice softened instantly as he leaned in, his forehead almost touching hers. "Hey, you did it."

Y/N sucked in a sharp, shaky breath, but it wasn’t enough. Tears welled in her eyes, spilling over before she could stop them, her body shaking with the force of emotions she had no chance of containing.

A broken sob escaped her lips.

Chris pulled her in before she could crumple, wrapping her up in the kind of hug that blocked everything else out. His arms were warm, steady, his lips pressing against her forehead as he whispered, his voice firm this time.

"You did it."

Y/N let out a wet laugh against his shoulder, her fingers clutching onto him for just a second longer before she finally let go.

He gently lowered his head, making sure she looked at him.

And God, the way he was looking at her.

Like she had just built the entire universe with her bare hands.

"Go get your Grammy, winner." He murmured, the words slow and soft and filled with everything.

Y/N let out another broken breath, nodding before finally, finally turning toward the stage.

The journey to the top felt surreal, like she was floating. The cheers, the applause, the faces she recognized - people she had idolized - they all blurred together.

And then suddenly, she was there.

Standing at the top.

Face to face with Taylor Swift.

Who was smiling at her, waiting for her, Grammy in hand.

Y/N’s breath hitched all over again.

Her hands, still unsteady, reached out, fingers closing around the golden gramophone. The weight of it sent a whole new wave of emotions crashing into her.

Before she could even process what was happening, Taylor pulled her into a hug - tight, warm, real.

"Congratulations." Taylor whispered against her ear, and god, if that wasn’t the most surreal moment of Y/N’s entire life. "You deserve this so much."

A choked noise left Y/N’s lips as she nodded weakly, her throat too tight to speak.

She deserved this.

She deserved this.

Her fingers traced over the Grammy, like she needed physical proof that it was real before she finally turned to the microphone.

She inhaled deeply. Opened her mouth.

"I-I don’t even know what to say right now." She admitted, biting her bottom lip. "I’m- god, I’m just so honored."

The crowd cooed, and Y/N let out a breathless laugh of her own, shaking her head as more tears slipped down her cheeks.

"This is insane." She said, shaking her head slightly. "Being nominated in this category, alongside so many incredible artists, artists I’ve admired for years, was already more than I could’ve ever dreamed of. To even stand beside you all tonight, to celebrate music with you? That was already everything."

Her chest rose and fell as she blinked away the heat gathering behind her eyes, sweeping her gaze across the crowd.

"I have to thank my incredible producer, my team, every single person who helped bring this album to life." Her voice wavered, thick with emotion. "You guys took my wild, messy ideas and turned them into something real, something that I never could have done alone. And I will never stop being grateful."

She wet her lips, inhaling deeply before her smile stretched just a little wider.

"My fans..." Her voice caught slightly, her hand pressing over her heart. "You guys have given me everything. You’ve let me tell my stories, and you’ve listened over and over and over again. You’ve made this dream of mine possible, and I love you more than I can ever put into words."

The cheers swelled again, voices from every corner of the room shouting her name. Her grip on the Grammy tightened as she shifted her weight slightly.

"To my family, Matt and Nick, my biggest cheerleaders." She laughed softly, looking at the main camera pointing at her. "I love you guys, you already know that."

And then, as if the moment had been waiting for this, her gaze lifted to him. Her breath hitched, lips curling into a smile that was just for him.

"And lastly." She said, her voice softer now. "To my boyfriend, Chris."

A ripple of excitement spread through the audience, but Y/N didn’t hear it. Not when those impossibly blue eyes were locked onto hers, not when his expression softened with something so tender, so proud, it made her knees weak.

"Thank you for being the creative genius that you are." She said, eyes never leaving his. "For staying up with me in the studio when I couldn’t figure out the right melody, even when I was on hour ten of tweaking the same one."

Laughter rolled through the room, and Chris grinned, shaking his head.

"For never doubting me." She continued, her throat tightening. "Even when I doubted myself. For being my biggest supporter. My muse. Every song, every lyric... You are in all of them.”

Chris exhaled sharply, his jaw tensing, his hand pressing over his heart as if feeling her love for him.

"Thank you." She finished simply, her voice steady, full of everything she couldn’t quite put into words.

The applause was deafening. A roar of cheers, of love, of celebration.

But all Y/N could hear was the thundering of her own heart.

This was real.

She had just won Album of the Year for the fifth time in a row.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The massive screens on either side of the stage illuminated with Trevor Noah’s face again as he took the microphone, now standing above all of them, his signature charm radiating through the room.

"Alright, people." He started, a knowing smirk on his lips. "This is it, one of the most expected award of the night. Song of the Year."

The audience erupted into applause, a tangible wave of excitement washing over the room.

Y/N could barely hear it. Her entire body felt like it was wound up in a coil, so tight that she might snap. Her heart pounded mercilessly against her ribcage as she focused on the only thing grounding her - Chris’s hand wrapped tightly around hers.

She could feel the heat of his palm, the way his fingers curled firmly around hers, almost as if he knew she needed the anchor.

Trevor continued, his voice filling the grand space.

"Now, we all know Song of the Year isn’t just about a hit track. It’s about storytelling. It’s about lyrics that mean something that connects with people, that makes you feel something in your soul."

Y/N squeezed her eyes shut for a second. God, she felt like she was going to throw up.

Chris, meanwhile, kept his eyes locked on the stage, his jaw set, body tense. His grip on her hand tightening, his thumb brushing over the back of her hand once - just once - as if silently telling her, I’ve got you.

Trevor continued listing the nominees, their song snippets playing softly over the speakers, but Y/N’s mind was a blur. The only thing she could feel was her heartbeat hammering violently inside her chest.

She could barely hear Trevor’s next words over the rush of blood in her ears.

"And the Grammy goes to..."

A dramatic pause.

It felt endless. It felt cruel.

Y/N finally lifted her head, eyes darting to the stage.

Trevor’s gaze swept across the room before his smile widened.

"Y/N L/N, Lavender Haze!"

The room erupted. Applause, cheers bouncing off the walls, her own voice echoing from the speakers, but Y/N barely registered any of it.

Her breath hitched, her entire body jerking forward as if her heart had physically pulled her out of her seat. Her hands flew to her face, pressing against her eyes, trying to contain the overwhelming rush of emotions slamming into her all at once.

Oh, god. Oh, god.

Chris was already moving before she could even think. His chair scraped back, his arms were on her in an instant, pulling her up, grounding her before she could float away in all of this.

"Oh my god." The words tumbled out of her, barely a whisper against her palms, her chest rising and falling too quickly to keep up.

Chris didn’t hesitate. His arms wrapped around her tightly, anchoring her, holding her so close she could feel his heartbeat against hers.

"I am so fucking proud of you." His voice was right against her ear, steady, sure. "You are everything, baby."

That was it. That was what made the tears slip free.

But Chris didn’t let her hide.

With infinite tenderness, he pulled her hands away from her face, his thumbs sweeping over her damp cheeks. Then, before she could even catch her breath, he cupped her jaw and kissed her, firm, lingering, so full of love that everything else around them faded into nothing.

The crowd reacted instantly - cheers, whistles, camera flashes exploding in rapid succession - but Y/N only felt him.

When he pulled back, his hand found the small of her back, keeping her close, his face glowing with pride.

"Go get your second Grammy, superstar."

She exhaled shakily, nodding as she turned toward the stage for the second time in that night.

With each step, she forced herself to breathe.

In.

Out.

The massive gold-lettered GRAMMY AWARDS logo towered behind Trevor as he extended the award toward her, his smile warm and genuine.

"Y/N, congratulations." He said, offering a short but meaningful handshake.

Y/N took the Grammy statue with slightly trembling hands, whispering.

"Thank you so much." Before stepping toward the microphone.

As she turned, facing the sea of the world’s most influential artists, the weight of the moment finally settled on her. She was with her second award in her hands.

She barely had time to process it before her gaze instinctively found Chris.

He was standing at their table, hands tucked into his pants pockets, eyes locked onto hers. And when she hesitated, nerves bubbling up again, he gave her the smallest nod.

A simple movement.

But one that made her chest ache in the best way.

Y/N exhaled, adjusting her grip on the award.

"I- uh, I think I blacked out for a second there."

The room laughed, the tension easing instantly.

Y/N smiled, shaking her head.

"I genuinely don’t even know where to start. Again. This... this is insane."

She swallowed, her grip tightening on the Grammy as she steadied herself. The applause had started to fade, giving her space to speak, but her mind was still spinning.

"Lavender Haze is about love." She let the words settle, looking down for a brief moment before lifting her gaze straight to him. "The kind of love that blocks out the noise. The kind that just is, no matter what’s said, no matter what’s assumed. The kind that’s real."

Chris’s expression didn’t change, but she saw it, the slight shift in his jaw, the way his fingers curled against his palm, like he was physically stopping himself from reacting too much. From crumbling, maybe.

"This song wouldn’t exist without that love." Y/N wet her lips, heart hammering. "Without him."

A murmur rippled through the audience. People turned toward Chris, whose head finally dropped for half a second, his tongue running over his bottom lip before he glanced back up at her.

Y/N barely heard the movement. Barely noticed the cameras zooming in on them, barely cared about the entire world watching, because this wasn’t for them.

"This music is for you, Chris." Her voice was softer now, but no less sure. "And about you. And because of you."

Chris inhaled sharply, his chest rising with the movement. He was blinking faster now, his lips parting slightly, his entire body still, like if he moved, even a little, he’d break.

"You have been my safe place in ways I never even thought possible." Y/N continued, her voice thick with emotion. "You have shown me love in a way that makes the rest of the world fade out. And I wrote this because I needed people to hear what that feels like."

A pause.

Chris pressed his knuckles against his mouth, his gaze locked onto her like she had gravity itself wrapped around her fingers.

"So, I don’t need to thank anyone else for this." Y/N said simply, shaking her head. "This is you. This was always you."

The room was silent.

The world was silent.

Then, like a tidal wave, the applause crashed back over the moment, a roar of cheers and shouts as the weight of her words settled over the audience.

Chris didn’t move.

Didn’t clap.

Didn’t even breathe for a second.

He just looked at her with the most bright blue eyes.

She nodded, finally stepping back from the mic, Trevor clapping beside her before escorting her off stage.

And the second she made it back to her table, Chris was there.

Before she could even react, he pulled her against him, lips finding hers in a way that had the cameras flashing wildly, had people cooing, but none of it mattered.

Because for Y/N, all that existed was him.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Five nominations.

Five won awards.

She did it.

She had won five Grammys tonight.

She still couldn’t fully process it.

The air outside the main salon was crisp with the late-night chill, but Y/N barely felt it. The sheer exhaustion in her limbs, the dull ache in her feet from hours in high heels, and the weight - both literal and emotional - of the five golden Grammys in her hands left her in a haze.

Chris walked beside her, just as tired, but his expression was still warm with lingering pride. His free hand held two of her awards, his fingers occasionally brushing against hers as they made their way toward the grey wall - the makeshift backdrop set up just for the winners to take their photos.

Y/N’s sharp eyes were quick to spot something - or rather, someone - familiar.

Cole Walliser. The photographer behind every iconic Glambot moment and best photographs at major award shows.

The moment Cole noticed her, his face lit up in recognition, and he immediately called out.

"Y/N! Oh my god, look at these babies!" He gestured toward her stack of trophies, shaking his head in disbelief. "Get over here. You already know the drill!"

Y/N laughed, already making her way toward him, Chris trailing behind her with a wide smile.

"Oh, I think I remember it."

Cole smirked, playing along.

"Yeah? You sure about that? Feels like I’ve only filmed you a dozen times or so."

"Something like that." She teased before gesturing toward Chris with her head. "Brought a friend this time."

Chris scoffed, giving her the most offended look.

"Friend my ass."

Y/N burst into laughter, nudging him playfully, while Cole chuckled at their dynamic.

"Alright, what’s the game plan? We need to show these off."

Y/N barely had time to respond before Chris was already moving, helping her adjust the awards so she could hold them all without them toppling over.

"Wait, wait, here, give me that one." His voice was soft, concentrated, as he carefully restacked them, his touch both gentle and efficient. "Alright, you good? You got ‘em?"

She let out a breathy laugh, adjusting her grip.

"Yeah, I think so."

Cole grinned, stepping back to gesture toward the marked spot in front of the camera.

"Perfect, then. Right this way, Ms. Sturniolo."

Y/N choked on a laugh, and Chris practically beamed.

"Ms. Sturniolo, huh?" Chris turned to her, eyes shining with excitement, his grip on her lower back tightening slightly as he guided her onto the designated Glambot mark. "I like the sound of it."

Y/N rolled her eyes, but her laughter betrayed how much she loved seeing him so giddy.

"Don’t let it get to your head, Mr. Sturniolo."

Chris grinned.

"Oh, it’s already there."

As Cole called out instructions, Chris stepped back, giving her space, but he didn’t leave. Instead, he lingered off to the side, watching her with the biggest, most heart-wrenchingly proud smile on his face.

Y/N could feel his gaze on her as she smiled to Cole’s moving camera. She tilted her head, posing slightly, but every time she caught Chris’s eyes in the background, her lips twitched into a barely-contained grin.

She couldn’t help it.

This moment was surreal.

She was standing there, arms full of Grammys, while her person stood just a few feet away, looking at her like she had hung the damn stars in the sky.

After a few more clicks, she shifted the weight of the awards in her arms before looking toward Waliser.

"Can we do one with Chris?" She asked, glancing between the camera and Chris himself.

Cole barely hesitated, quickly nodding.

"Oh, absolutely! Christopher, hop in!"

Chris blinked.

"Oh, I mean- I wasn’t-"

"Oh, shut up and get over here." Y/N teased, a playful glint in her tired eyes.

Chris huffed a soft chuckle before stepping forward, standing beside her as she started redistributing the awards.

"Here." She murmured, placing two specific trophies into his hands.

Song of the Year and Album of the Year.

Chris furrowed his brows slightly, glancing down at the awards before looking back at her.

"Doll-"

"These two." She said softly, eyes locking onto his. "I only got because of you."

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his fingers tightening around the trophies instinctively.

"Y/N-"

"Just hold them with me." She whispered, nudging him gently.

Chris exhaled through his nose, his lips pressing into a thin line before he gave in, nodding as they both turned to face the camera.

Cole then gave play on his camera, but Y/N barely paid attention to it. She could feel Chris's eyes at her again, his expression unreadable, almost like he was too full of emotion to put it into words.

When the last one was taken, Chris nudged her shoulder lightly.

"C’mon, superstar. Let’s get out of here."

She didn’t hesitate.

After exchanging warm goodbyes with Cole, Y/N and Chris started making their way toward the private exit where their Range Rover was waiting.

Y/N’s entire body felt like it was dragging now, the adrenaline wearing off fast. She wanted nothing more than to be curled up at home, in bed, preferably with Chris’s arms around her.

But before they could reach the doors-

"Y/N!"

A reporter suddenly appeared in front of them, stepping way too close for comfort. Y/N barely had time to react before the microphone was practically in her face.

"So, are you guys heading to the after-party?" The woman asked, her tone almost demanding, her smile overly eager. "What are the plans for the rest of the night?"

Y/N blinked, momentarily stunned by how aggressive the approach was.

Chris, on the other hand... His entire expression darkened. His jaw clenched, and his brows furrowed deeply, his grip tightening around the awards as he took a subtle step closer to Y/N, his entire posture radiating protectiveness.

If looks could kill, the woman would’ve been vaporized on the spot.

But before Chris could say anything, Y/N, despite being exhausted, handled it perfectly.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t react.

Instead, she simply smiled, a polite, but pointed smile.

"I’m heading home, actually." She said smoothly, adjusting the awards in her arms. "To my family." The reporter barely had time to respond before Y/N added. "Thank you so much. Have a great night."

And just like that, she turned, walking away.

Chris blinked. Then, a slow, smug smirk crept onto his lips as he followed her.

Y/N didn’t give the woman another second of her time. She just kept walking, invisibly pulling Chris with her, her arm brushing against his with every step, greeting and thanking each staff member in the way with warm smiles.

Chris let out a low chuckle as they reached the car, expertly balancing both awards in one hand while using the other to pull open the door for her.

"Damn. That was smooth." His voice was warm, laced with amusement.

Y/N smirked at him over her shoulder, eyes twinkling despite the exhaustion sinking in.

"I’m too tired to deal with more people tonight."

Chris snorted, watching as she slid into the leather seat with a sigh of relief.

"Fair enough."

When he finally climbed into the seat beside hers, he shut the door with a groan, leaning his head back for a second before exhaling slowly.

And just like that, the moment they were sealed inside the warm car, blocking the sounds of loud voices and clicks, the exhaustion slammed into them both.

Y/N melted into the headrest, her eyes falling shut as she let out a deep, heavy breath.

"I feel like I ran a marathon."

Chris chuckled under his breath, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension.

"You did. An emotional one."

She hummed in agreement, her breathing slowing as the exhaustion took hold. Chris reached over instinctively, finding her hand in the dim light of the car, fingers slotting between hers with ease.

His thumb brushed over her knuckles, slow and deliberate, grounding her in the quiet.

"M’so proud of you, baby." His voice was soft, almost a whisper, like he didn’t want to disturb the peacefulness settling over them.

Y/N turned her head toward him, eyelids heavy, but her lips curled into the smallest, sleepiest smile.

"Love you."

Chris lifted their joined hands without hesitation, pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles, lingering there for just a second longer than necessary.

"Love you more."

She let her eyes flicker down, gaze landing on the golden awards sprawled across her lap and the seat beside her. She reached out, fingertips tracing the engravings, still not entirely believing they were hers.

She let out a thoughtful hum. Five more Grammys.

"We’re gonna have to find space for these at home." She murmured, brows knitting together as she looked over at Chris. "I have no idea where we’re putting them."

Chris chuckled, shaking his head.

"Already taken care of."

She raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

"Nick ordered a whole-ass display cabinet for that empty wall across from the kitchen." He admitted, shooting her a knowing look. "Figured we’d need it."

Y/N blinked, her lips parting slightly.

"He-"

"Yeah." Chris smirked. "So, we’ll put these there with the others from the past years..." He paused, his eyes twinkling playfully. "Until there’s no room left, popstar."

Y/N huffed a soft laugh, shaking her head before leaning over to press a quick kiss to his cheek.

"At this rate." She teased, nuzzling his soft skin. "We’ll need a whole new house."

It was no surprise when, in the next TikTok, the boys recorded in their kitchen, the cabinet full of awards served as the background.

[gatheringbones]

[“Times may change, but the mechanics of a great fisting party stay the same. There’s something about the extreme sports element of fisting, the physical technique combined with athletic spectacle, that makes it perfect for showing off.

I can remember house parties in Oakland where I would walk past a bedroom only to be beckoned in by a casual acquaintance: Hey, she’s really open, do you wanna hold hands with me inside of her? And I would, of course, wrapping my fingers around a stranger’s fingers inside another stranger on a mattress on the floor, electroclash blaring tinnily from a burned CD, churning like the splattered cream in the 1977 Robert Mapplethorpe piece appropriately titled Double Fist Fuck.

Come with me as we venture into another room at this house party. I crouch over you, on my knees, my left hand holding me up. My right hand is a queer icon, a position on a hundred screenprinted T-shirts. The pads of my fingers pressed together, my nails short and filed. My elbow is hydraulic, my wrist dexterous, my knuckles flexing. You love being just a hole. You love for me to stake my claim in you.

I’m searching for something specific, something a breath orgasm teacher of mine named Barbara Carrellas calls the “Resilient Edge of Resistance,” a term she got from her teaching partner, Chester Mainard. She defines it as the sensation of being “awake and aware, but completely peaceful and relaxed. You want it to go on forever.”

I press you, searching for the place where you press back onto me, and I tenderize you like meat as I go. You are impaled on me, and every movement I make feels a thousand times larger than reality. I twist my knuckles. I pulse. I tug. I undulate. I open my hand and press my fingers together. I play you like music. You yank on me, and I let you take me with you. Bear down on me and melt away.

I’ve been fucked in my holes ever since I started having sex with other people. And realizing my potential to fist others is the thing I now know was missing where that kind of default sex was concerned. I love to top, to be in the driver’s seat, to be the emcee of the show. I crave giving people what I love to get. You don’t have to be at a fisting party to fist, but somehow, the act feels inherently exhibitionist even at its most intimate. It’s not just about me and you, or about the people voyeuring around us. In moments like these, I feel connected to the players at the Catacombs, their party technology and what my activist friend Blunt calls the technology of community. Queer pleasure makes space for everyone to fuck underground and outside the box.”]

tina horn, from why are people into that? a cultural investigation of kink, 2024

[scarluna]

Y/N, a gifted but self-conscious graphic designer, lands a job at Jeon Enterprises, a powerhouse ruled by the sharp and controlling Jeon Jungkook, whose ruthless perfectionism hides behind an enigmatic façade. Though admired and feared, Jungkook targets Y/N’s insecurities, using them as weapons against her.

Beside him stands his best friend, Min Yoongi, a sly and unpredictable force whose hot-and-cold behavior leaves Y/N questioning his motives.

Tangled in a web of cold authority, teasing games, and unspoken desire, Y/N must navigate a dangerous love triangle where ambition and emotion collide, threatening to unravel everything.

Pairing: Jungkook x Fem!Reader x Min Yoongi

Genre/Tags: plus sized reader, enemies to lovers, ceo!jungkook, graphic designer!reader, mafia!yoongi

Link to the other chapters: ACT I / ACT II / ACT III / ACT IV / ACT V / ACT VI / ACT VII

Chapters: 8 / ?

Chapter Warnings: mature language, bullying, slow burn, enemies to lovers

A/N: I finally managed to make it through! *wipes sweat off my forehead* Whew.

ACT VIII.

I could feel my blood boiling as Jungkook’s sharp voice filled the room. Again.

“Do you even try to meet deadlines, or is this just a joke to you?” he sneered, tossing my portfolio onto his desk like it was garbage. I was working for so long with him that I had gotten used to his outbursts, but today was definitely not the day where he could talk to me like that. I was frustrated and heated enough to keep silent.

The knot of frustration in my chest tightened, and I clenched my fists, trying to hold back the sting of tears. I’d worked so hard on that design, but nothing was ever good enough for him. The perfectionist. The control freak. The world’s most insufferable boss.

“You know what, Boss?” I spat, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. “I’m done. I’ve had it with your insults, your impossible standards, and your complete lack of basic human decency.”

He raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into that infuriating smirk. He leaned back against his chair, head tilted to the side. “Is that so?”

“Yes!” I snapped, grabbing my bag off the chair. “Find yourself another designer, because I’m not putting up with this anymore.”

I stormed out of his office, my heels clicking angrily against the polished floor. My heart pounded as I pressed the elevator button, praying it would arrive quickly. I couldn’t stay in this building a second longer.

“Y/N.” His voice echoed behind me.

I refused to turn around.

The elevator doors slid open, but before I could step inside, a strong hand caught my arm, spinning me around. My breath hitched as I came face-to-face with him, his dark eyes burning with something I couldn’t quite place.

“Don’t walk away from me,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

I yanked my arm free. “What do you care? You’ve made it perfectly clear I’m useless to you.”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought he’d explode. Instead, he stepped closer, forcing me back until I felt the cold metal wall of the elevator behind me.

“You think you can just quit?” he said, his voice a low rasp. “You think I’ll fucking let you?”

My breath came in shallow gasps as the tension crackled between us. “You don’t get to control me, Jungkook. Not anymore.”

For a second, neither of us moved. Then, without warning, he closed the distance between us, his hands bracing against the wall on either side of me.

“You drive me insane,” he murmured, his voice raw, his eyes locked on mine.

Before I could process his words, his lips crashed onto mine, fierce and demanding. It was a collision of frustration and something deeper, something I didn’t dare name. My mind screamed at me to push him away, but my body betrayed me, my hands curling into the fabric of his blazer as I kissed him back. His tongue swirled in my mouth and I felt my knees go weak. I heard the faint "ping" sound of the elevator and soon the doors closed. But I was too focused on this, it was as if my body was burning. His hands grasped my hips and for a moment I felt insecure, but soon as I was pressed against him and his kiss became more heated, all insecurities were forgotten.

The kiss was overwhelming, igniting something wild and untamed between us. His touch was possessive, sending shivers down my spine. My head tilted instinctively, giving him better access as his lips moved down to my jawline, then my neck. My breath hitched at the sensation, my fingers curling into his soft hair.

The faint scent of his cologne—woodsy and sharp—mixed with the heat of the moment, intoxicating me further. I whimpered softly, and he growled in response, his lips pressing harder against my skin, marking me.

Then, the elevator dinged.

I froze, my heart leaping into my throat. Jungkook’s lips stilled against my neck as the doors slid open.

And there stood Yoongi.

My supervisor, Jungkook’s best friend, and quite possibly the last person I wanted to see right now. His dark eyes scanned the scene, eyebrows raising slightly as he took in Jungkook’s disheveled blazer, my flushed face, and the undeniable tension crackling in the air.

“Well, this is… interesting,” Yoongi said, his tone unreadable as he stepped into the elevator.

Jungkook pulled back slightly, though his body remained close to mine, as if shielding me from Yoongi’s gaze. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice low and clipped.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Yoongi replied, leaning casually against the wall, his arms crossed. “But I think the answer’s pretty obvious.” The elevator doors closed and I saw Yoongi reach over and press the red button at the top of all buttons.  It was a STOP button. 

I tried to straighten up, smoothing my blouse and attempting to catch my breath. “This isn’t—”

He held up a hand, cutting me off. “Spare me the explanations. I didn’t ask for a play-by-play.” His gaze flicked between us, his expression neutral but his eyes glinting with mischief. “Though, I have to say, this isn’t exactly HR-friendly behavior.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes, his hand still resting on my hip as if staking his claim. “Is there a point to this, or are you just here to annoy me?”

Yoongi smirked. “Both, probably.” He stepped closer, his eyes locking onto mine. “But mostly, I’m curious. How did our dear Y/N go from hating your guts to… this?”

Heat rose to my cheeks, and I opened my mouth to protest, but Jungkook beat me to it.

“She didn’t,” he said firmly, his gaze cutting to Yoongi. “This isn’t your business.”

Yoongi’s smirk widened, and he raised his hands in mock surrender. “Relax, Jungkook. I’m just here to push some buttons.” He glanced at me, his tone softening slightly. “You okay?”

I nodded quickly, not trusting myself to speak.

“Good,” Yoongi said, his playful demeanor returning. “Because I’d hate to see you caught in the crossfire of his temper.”

“Yoongi,” Jungkook warned, his tone sharp.

Yoongi’s smirk didn’t waver as he stepped closer, his dark gaze unwavering and filled with something I couldn’t quite read. The air in the elevator grew even heavier, the tension palpable. My breath quickened as I felt Jungkook’s grip on my hip tighten, his body still close to mine.

“Yoongi,” Jungkook repeated a breathless warning.

But Yoongi only chuckled softly, his voice a low hum that sent an unexpected shiver down my spine. “Relax, Jungkook. I’m not here to steal her. Just curious if our fiery little designer can handle the pressure.”

Before I could respond—or fully understand what he meant—Yoongi moved behind me. My breath hitched as his hands found my waist, his touch firm yet somehow reassuring. Now two sets of hands were all over my body, making me melt completely.

“See?” Yoongi said, his tone teasing as his lips hovered close to my ear. “I’m just helping out. Nothing personal.”

“Yoongi,” I stammered, my voice shaky as my heart raced. “What are you—”

“Shh,” he murmured, his breath warm against my skin. “Just… trust me.”

Jungkook’s eyes darkened as they met mine, his gaze flickering between my face and Yoongi’s presence behind me. There was a challenge there, unspoken but undeniable.

In an instant, Jungkook’s lips were on mine again, the kiss searing and consuming. My back pressed against Yoongi’s chest as Jungkook’s hands framed my face, his thumbs brushing my cheeks with surprising gentleness. My senses were overwhelmed, caught between the two of them, their touches both grounding and electric.

Yoongi’s lips ghosted along my neck, his touch feather-light but enough to send sparks down my spine. His fingers rested on my hips, steadying me as Jungkook deepened the kiss, his tongue teasing mine in a way that made my knees weak.

I was caught between them, my body pinned in place by their presence. The weight of it, the intensity of their focus, left me breathless. Jungkook pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against mine, his voice low and rough as he muttered, “You drive me crazy.”

Yoongi chuckled softly behind me, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear as he whispered, “You’ve got both of us wrapped around your finger, you know that?”

My heart pounded wildly as I tried to find words, to make sense of what was happening.

 The pressure was overwhelming, as though the walls of the elevator were closing in. My knees buckled, and just as Jungkook’s lips found mine again, the world shifted—distorted—and everything began to fade.

“Y/N...”

The whisper came again, softer this time. Fainter.

“Y/N!”

The voice echoed, a ripple in the growing void, pulling me out of the suffocating haze. The once overwhelming heat was replaced by a sterile coldness. My limbs felt weighted, disconnected from me, and my chest rose and fell in shallow, measured breaths.

“Y/N, please wake up!”

The urgency in the voice grew louder, breaking through the fog. My lashes fluttered open, and harsh fluorescent light greeted me. Blinking against the glare, I struggled to take in my surroundings. The steady beeping of a heart monitor filled the room, and the faint scent of antiseptic stung my nose.

Hospital?

“Y/N!” Rya’s voice came next, a panicked yet relieved sound. Her face swam into focus, her usually composed demeanor replaced by an expression of raw emotion. Tears shimmered in her eyes, and she leaned closer, gripping my hand tightly.

“Rya?” My voice was a cracked whisper, my throat dry as sandpaper. It was after I heard her voice that I started feeling my body. It was aching all over and I felt paralyzed.

“Oh, thank God,” she breathed, wiping her cheeks quickly as if embarrassed by her tears. “You scared the hell out of us. Do you have any idea—” She cut herself off, shaking her head.

A shadow moved behind her, and Hoseok stepped forward, his arms crossed but his expression soft with concern. “You had us really worried about you, Y/N.” His voice was steady, but I caught the slight quiver underneath.

“What… happened?” I managed to ask, my gaze darting between them.

“You collapsed,” Rya said, brushing a strand of hair from my forehead. “They said it was exhaustion and shock. But—” Her voice cracked. “But the accident—”

“Accident?” The fragmented memories returned in jagged flashes—headlights, screeching tires, a sharp jolt of pain before darkness swallowed me whole. “The car…”

“You were hit,” Hoseok said gently. “They brought you here immediately. You’re lucky to be alive. Doctor said you have bruises and your shoulder was dislocated when they brought you in. Thankfully, they managed to help you with it and no other physical traumas were discovered.”

I swallowed hard, trying to process his words. My hands instinctively moved toward my side, feeling for the small bag I’d had with me. My stomach twisted when I found nothing.

“The bag,” I croaked, panic rising in my chest. “Where’s my bag?”

Rya exchanged a worried look with Hoseok. “We… didn’t see one,” she admitted softly.

“No,” I whispered, the realization hitting me like a physical blow. “It was important. The journal—”

“Journal, Tina's journal?” Hoseok asked, eyebrows furrowed.

Before I could answer, the memories from the elevator came crashing back with startling clarity—Jungkook’s intensity, Yoongi’s whispered words, the heat and chaos that had consumed me just before the world went dark and I woke up here. I was confused as of to why did I have this . . . was it even a dream? Or a hallucination? I was growing delusional. 

“Y/N, you’re safe now,” Rya reassured, squeezing my hand. “Focus on getting better. We’ll figure everything else out later.”

But even as her words tried to anchor me, a chill ran down my spine. Someone wanted that journal badly enough to ensure I wouldn’t stop them. And they wouldn’t stop, not until they had it. "How long..." I whispered weakly, Rya scooted closer.  "How long what?" "How long was I. . . out?" "It has been a week, Y/N."

I blinked, trying to make sense of what Rya had just said. A week? I’d been unconscious for an entire week? The realization sent a wave of dizziness through me, and I gripped the edge of the hospital blanket tightly.

“A week,” I murmured, my voice shaky. “I’ve been out for a whole week?”

Rya nodded, her expression softening. “The doctors said it was a combination of stress, exhaustion, and the trauma from the accident. You really pushed yourself too hard, Y/N.”

“You had us worried sick,” Hoseok added, his voice firm but kind. He stepped closer, his arms crossed but his eyes betraying a deep concern. “Do you have any idea how many times Rya and I begged the doctors for updates? We practically camped out here.”

“I… I’m sorry,” I whispered, guilt threading through my voice.

“Don’t apologize,” Rya interjected quickly, shaking her head. “We’re just relieved you’re okay. But there’s something you need to know.”

Her tone shifted, and I could sense the tension in the room thickening. My heart picked up speed, the steady beep of the monitor echoing my unease.

“What happened while I was out?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Rya hesitated, glancing at Hoseok as if seeking confirmation. He nodded subtly, and she took a deep breath before continuing. “It’s about Jungkook.”

My stomach tightened. “What about him?”

“They’ve cleared him,” Hoseok said, his voice steady. “He’s no longer a suspect in the case.”

“What?” My mind reeled. “How? I thought the evidence—”

“Someone gave the police new evidence,” Rya explained. “A photograph, specifically. It proved Jungkook wasn’t the man who murdered Tina. It took them a few days to actually verify the originality and it’s real. Unfortunately, that’s all we know…"

My blood ran cold as the puzzle pieces began to fit together. It couldn’t be a coincidence. The photograph they’d mentioned… was it the same one I was about to ask Taehyung about before everything spiraled out of control? Who even took my bag in the first place? Who was the person who gave the picture to the police too? So many questions. I was awake for a few minutes already and I already had an headache.

My throat tightened, and I struggled to keep my voice calm. “Did they say what the photograph was of?”

Rya shook her head. “No, just that it was enough to clear him completely. The police didn’t share many details, but it’s all over the news now. Jungkook’s free. He went back to the office last week.”

“Of course, he’s still Jungkook,” Hoseok muttered, his tone laced with irony. “He walked back in like nothing happened.”

But I wasn’t focused on Jungkook’s return to work. My mind was spinning, replaying the moment I’d almost shown Taehyung the photograph, the way it had burned a hole in my thoughts since then.

“What about Taehyung?” I asked suddenly, my voice sharper than I intended. “Did he… did he come by?”

Rya and Hoseok exchanged another glance, their expressions softening.

“He did,” Hoseok said after a moment. “A lot, actually. He sat by your side for hours, especially in the first few days. The nurses said he barely left.”

Rya nodded. “He was here when we weren’t. Every time we came by, he was either reading something to you or just… sitting there, holding your hand.”

My chest tightened, a confusing mixture of relief and guilt washing over me. I’d left Taehyung in the middle of all this chaos without any explanation, and yet, he’d been here. He hadn’t abandoned me.

“He’s been busy the past couple of days, though,” Rya added. “Something about work. But he made us promise to call him the second you woke up.”

“I need to talk to him,” I murmured, more to myself than to anyone else.

“We’ll let him know you’re awake,” Rya said, squeezing my hand. “But for now, you need to rest. You’ve been through enough.”

Rest. It sounded impossible when my thoughts were a storm of suspicions and half-formed connections. But I forced myself to nod, closing my eyes briefly as the weight of everything began to settle.

Somehow, I knew that when I saw Taehyung again, I’d find answers. I just wasn’t sure if I was ready for them.

-

The silence between us stretched, heavy and charged. Taehyung sat by my bedside, his posture relaxed, but there was a sharpness in his gaze that made my skin prickle. It was as if he were studying me, waiting for me to say something—anything.

“I was worried about you, Y/N,” he said, breaking the silence. His voice was low and steady, soothing in a way that felt too careful, too deliberate.

I nodded weakly, trying to muster the gratitude I knew I should feel. “Thanks for being here, Tae. Rya and Hoseok told me you stayed… a lot.”

He offered a small smile. “Of course I did. You’d do the same for me.”

Would I?

The thought barely had time to take root before my eyes drifted to his hands resting on his lap. My pulse quickened, a memory flashing vividly in my mind—the scar.

The man I’d seen before the accident, the one who had loomed in the shadows and made my stomach twist with unease, had a distinct scar on his wrist. It was jagged and angry, a mark impossible to miss.

Taehyung’s wrist was bare.

I couldn’t stop myself from staring, my breath catching in my throat. His skin was smooth and unblemished, completely devoid of the scar I was so certain I’d seen.

The realization hit me like a jolt of electricity, sharp and disorienting. I’d been so sure…

“Y/N?” Taehyung’s voice pulled me back, his brows furrowing as he followed my gaze to his wrist. “What’s wrong?”

I swallowed hard, shaking my head quickly. “Nothing,” I said, my voice a little too high-pitched. “I just… zoned out for a second.”

His eyes lingered on me, sharp and calculating, before he relaxed again. “You’ve been through a lot. It’s normal to feel a little out of it.”

I forced a tight smile, my mind racing. If Taehyung wasn’t the man with the scar, then who was? And why had I been so convinced it was him?

“Did you… hear anything about the guy who hit me?” I asked cautiously, watching his reaction.

Taehyung shook his head. “No. The police didn’t tell me much, just that it seemed deliberate. They’re still looking for leads.”

Deliberate. The word sent a shiver down my spine. My gaze flickered back to his wrist again, my thoughts spiraling.

If Taehyung wasn’t the man with the scar, then I’d accused him in my mind without reason. But the questions surrounding him still lingered. Why had he been so involved? Why had he seemed so calm, even now, when everything felt like it was falling apart?

“You’re staring again,” he said, his tone lighter but edged with curiosity.

I blinked, heat rising to my cheeks. “Sorry,” I muttered. “I guess I’m still processing everything.”

“It’s okay,” he said softly. “Take your time. I’m here.” 

But his reassurance didn’t settle me. If anything, it only deepened the unease clawing at my chest. "Fuck, where is my phone, " I croaked out weakly. I tried to sit up properly and Taehyung was by my side immediately, his puppy like eyes were staring at me and I felt a deep pang of guilt in my chest. How could I suspect him at all? I've known him since childhood, he was so caring and always there for people. "If it's about your parents, I already spoke to them. I told them you broke your phone and you will be able to contact them as soon as it gets fixed." I frowned, "And they believed that?" soft snort escaped my lips. I was grateful that he lied, I didn't want to have them worry and fly here. "I mean, they trust me, they think I am a good match for you..." I glanced at him, giving him a weak smile. "Yeah...they do. They like you a lot. And thank you...for doing that, it means a lot." "Don't mention it, next time, treat me a good Subway sandwich and we clear." his comment brightened the mood and made me giggle weakly.

As the night stretched on and Taehyung stayed by my side, I couldn’t shake the thought circling in my mind: If he wasn’t the man with the scar, then who was?

The hospital room was dimly lit, save for the soft glow of the television screen. Taehyung had found the remote, flipping through channels until he stumbled upon Fast and Furious.

“Classic,” he said, a grin tugging at his lips as he settled into the chair beside my bed.

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help a small smile. “Of course, you’d pick this.”

“Hey, don’t knock it. It’s cinema gold,” he defended, tossing a piece of the wrapped candy he’d snuck in onto the tray table.

As the opening scene blazed across the screen, we both fell into an easy rhythm of watching and cracking jokes.

“Do you think anyone actually needs this much nitrous?” I asked, arching a brow as one of the cars practically launched itself down a street.

“Absolutely,” Taehyung deadpanned. “How else are they supposed to dramatically explode at the finish line?”

We burst into laughter, the sound light and freeing. It felt good to let go, even if just for a moment.

A particularly over-the-top scene of Dom driving through a collapsing building made me shake my head. “Okay, there’s no way that car is still running after that. It’s basically a glorified tin can at this point.”

“Blasphemy,” Taehyung said, feigning offense. “These cars are indestructible. Haven’t you learned anything?”

I laughed again, the tension I’d felt earlier slowly easing. Taehyung’s easy humor was infectious, and for a while, the world outside the hospital room seemed to fade away.

But then, the door creaked open.

The air shifted immediately, a charged tension filling the room as I turned to see who it was. Jungkook and Yoongi stood in the doorway, their expressions unreadable. Jungkook’s dark eyes flicked between Taehyung and me, lingering just a moment too long on the smile that hadn’t yet faded from my face.

Yoongi, as usual, looked amused, his lips curving into a faint smirk as he leaned against the doorframe. “Well, isn’t this cozy?” he drawled, his tone light but with an edge I couldn’t quite place.

Taehyung sat up straighter, his easy demeanor shifting subtly. “We were watching cinematic history.” He gestured toward the screen, where another improbable car stunt was unfolding.

Yoongi quirked a brow. “Fast and Furious? Classy.”

Jungkook, however, didn’t seem interested in the television. His gaze locked onto mine, his jaw tightening slightly. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” I replied, my voice quieter now. The warmth I’d felt earlier was quickly replaced by a nervous energy.

Taehyung leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “She’s doing fine. You didn’t have to come all this way to check up on her.”

“We wanted to see for ourselves,” Jungkook said, his tone clipped.

Yoongi stepped further into the room, his sharp eyes darting between us. “Relax, Taehyung. We’re all friends here, aren’t we?”

“Friends?” Taehyung echoed, his tone just as sharp. “I don’t recall you visiting much while she was unconscious.”

Yoongi’s smirk deepened, but there was something dangerous in it. “You wouldn’t know because you weren’t here the last few days.”

The tension in the room was palpable now, the playful atmosphere from moments ago completely gone. I shifted uncomfortably, my gaze darting between the three men.

“Guys,” I said, my voice breaking the standoff. “This isn’t a competition.”

Jungkook’s gaze softened slightly as it landed back on me. “You should be resting,” he said, ignoring Taehyung completely.

“I was resting,” I said, gesturing to the TV. “And then Taehyung decided to educate me on the importance of nitrous oxide in car stunts.”

Yoongi chuckled, the sound low and amused. “Sounds about right.”

Jungkook didn’t smile. His jaw tightened again, and he took a step closer to the bed. “If you need anything—”

“She has me,” Taehyung interrupted, his tone firm.

“Funny,” Jungkook replied, his gaze never leaving mine. “Because last I checked, she wasn’t just your concern.”

The room felt like it was on the verge of imploding, the weight of unspoken words pressing down on all of us. Even the TV, still blaring action sequences, felt muted against the charged silence.

“Maybe we should all take a breather,” I suggested weakly, my heart pounding in my chest. “This doesn’t have to turn into… whatever this is.”

Yoongi finally moved, breaking the tension as he grabbed a candy from the tray table and unwrapped it leisurely. “She’s right,” he said, popping it into his mouth. “No need to fight over her. Yet.”

The word hung in the air, laced with something unspoken.

Jungkook’s glare shifted to Yoongi, but he didn’t say anything. Taehyung, however, didn’t back down, his shoulders squaring as he leaned slightly forward.

I sank deeper into the bed, my pulse thrumming in my ears. What had started as a lighthearted evening had turned into something far more complicated—and I wasn’t sure how to untangle it.

The tension in the room was unbearable, a pressure cooker of barely restrained tempers. Jungkook’s eyes narrowed as he took another step toward the bed, his posture rigid. Yoongi, meanwhile, lounged against the wall, but his smirk betrayed an underlying sharpness that felt just as dangerous.

Taehyung, on the other hand, seemed entirely unfazed. In fact, he looked downright smug as he leaned back in his chair, one leg crossed casually over the other.

“Relax, guys,” Taehyung said, his voice dripping with cocky amusement. “Y/N and I were just having a little fun. No need to get all territorial.”

Jungkook’s jaw tightened, his dark eyes flashing. “This isn’t about territory.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Taehyung shot back, a grin tugging at his lips.

Yoongi chuckled, though the sound was anything but friendly. “You’re awfully confident for someone who’s just playing nursemaid.”

Taehyung’s grin widened, and he tilted his head, his gaze flickering toward me. “I don’t mind taking care of her. Someone has to, right?”

“Guys,” I said sharply, my patience wearing thin. “stop it.”

They all glanced at me,their expressions softening slightly, but the defiance in their eyes remained.

“I’m tired,” I said, louder this time, my voice firm as I sat up straighter in bed. “I don’t have the energy for your childish behavior. If you can’t all be civil, then I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Jungkook’s gaze snapped to mine, his expression softening. “Y/N—”

“Let her rest,” Yoongi cut in, though his tone held an uncharacteristic seriousness. He turned to me, his smirk fading slightly. “We won’t take much of your time, before we go we have to talk. Privately.”

Taehyung’s eyes narrowed, his cocky demeanor slipping. “Anything you have to say to her, you can say in front of me.”

Yoongi raised a brow, clearly unimpressed. “This isn’t up for debate, little lawyer.”

“It’s fine,” I interjected quickly, raising a hand to stop the brewing argument. “Tae, I’ll be okay. We’ll talk later.”

Taehyung hesitated, his jaw tightening as his gaze flicked between Yoongi and Jungkook. “You sure?”

I nodded, offering him a small, reassuring smile. “I’m sure. Thank you for being here, really.”

His shoulders relaxed slightly, though his expression remained tense. Standing, he shoved his hands into his pockets and took a step toward the door.

“I’ll come back tomorrow,” he said, his voice quieter now. His eyes lingered on mine for a moment, and there was something unspoken in his gaze—a mixture of worry and frustration.

“Goodnight, Tae,” I said softly.

“Goodnight.” With a final glance toward Jungkook and Yoongi he left the room as the door slammed shut. I reached to rub my forehead, clearly tired and exhausted by this entire behavior of theirs. I didn’t get neither of them, it was they were on a damn competition and it was getting on my nerves.

I let out a slow breath, turning my attention back to the two men still in the room. Jungkook stood near the bed, his posture tense, while Yoongi leaned casually against the wall, his arms crossed. Both of them wore black suits, they were probably visiting after work. If I didn’t knew them, I’d simply think how attractive they were and pass them on the street without even thinking of talking to them, or them talking to me. I was /that/ insecure in my looks. But now? I had both of these men’s attention on me. And I felt exposed and awkward as hell.

“Okay,” I said, my voice weary. “You have me alone. What’s so important that it couldn’t wait?”

Yoongi pushed off the wall, his expression serious now. “We need to talk about what’s really going on.”

Jungkook nodded, his eyes dark and unreadable. “The accident. The photograph. Everything.”

I swallowed hard, my heart racing. “What about it?”

Yoongi exchanged a glance with Jungkook before stepping closer, his voice low. “We think whoever’s behind this isn’t done. And you’re still in danger.”

My stomach dropped. “Danger? What are you talking about?”

Jungkook’s voice was firm, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “Someone wanted to hurt you, Y/N. And we’re going to figure out who. But you have to cooperate with us..”

The weight of their words settled over me like a suffocating blanket. I’d spent so much time trying to piece everything together on my own, but now, with them standing here, it was clear this wasn’t something I could face alone.

I took a shaky breath, meeting their gazes. “I will hear what you have to say first, if I think it’s worthy enough of me to cooperate, then I shall.”

Jungkook let out a quiet sigh, shaking his head as he ran fingers through his black locks of hair. “You’re so damn stubborn.”

I crossed my arms. “Flattery isn’t going to make me any more agreeable. What exactly do you want from me?”

Jungkook stepped closer, and I could feel the weight of his gaze pressing down on me. “We already moved your stuff.”

My jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

Yoongi looked entirely too pleased with himself. “To a small apartment near the company, it’s security covered so…” he added, voice calm but teasing.

I stared between the two of them, incredulous. “You—what? You can’t just—”

Jungkook shrugged. “We can. And we did.”

I clenched my fists. “That is an invasion of my privacy! What the hell makes you think you can just decide where I live?”

Yoongi sighed dramatically. “Maybe the fact that someone is trying to kill you? Call us crazy.”

I shot him a glare, but my mind was already reeling with a million other thoughts. My things—Hades. Oh god. “Where’s Hades?”

Yoongi hummed, grasping the edge of my bed and leaned closer, “Your little spawn of death and barks is also there in the apartment.”

Jungkook huffed a quiet laugh, but I was too busy staring at them, seething. “And what about Rya? You think she’s just going to be okay with this?”

Jungkook’s gaze softened slightly. “She was worried about you. After what happened, she agreed that you should be somewhere safer. For her own safety, too.”

My stomach twisted. Rya agreed? That meant she really thought it was bad. “Yoongi and I will occassionally come and check up on you, as well as you will have bodyguards escort you to work.” “You are both insane.” “I mean, we are, but you have no choice, really.” Yoongi added, wiggling his eyebrows.

I swallowed, shifting uncomfortably under their watchful eyes. The heat in the room felt suffocating, and I realized too late that we were standing far too close. The memory of my dream hit me like a truck—the way Jungkook and Yoongi had been pressed against me in that tiny elevator, their warmth surrounding me, their breaths teasing my skin—

I felt the heat rise to my face instantly.

Jungkook’s sharp gaze flickered to my expression, as if he could read my thoughts. His lips curled into the slightest smirk, and Yoongi raised an eyebrow.

“Something wrong, sweetheart?” Yoongi asked, his voice slow, knowing.

I quickly shook my head, stepping back. “Nope. Nothing. Just… furious. Absolutely livid.”

Jungkook leaned in slightly, voice dropping to something almost dangerous. “You can be as mad as you want. But you’re staying in that apartment.”

I swallowed hard, my pulse racing. Their presence was suffocating in the worst and best way, and god help me, part of me wanted to keep pushing just to see how far I could take it. Other part of me just wanted to say “Yes”, roll over and cover myself as if to hide away. -

The past week had been… eventful, to say the least. Between physical therapy, endless check-ins from Jungkook and Yoongi, and the suffocating presence of security, I hadn’t had a single moment of true solitude. But I was feeling better now—stronger. The lingering pain was manageable, and more importantly, I could walk on my own again.

Which led me here.

Two bodyguards flanked me as I stepped into the apartment Jungkook and Yoongi had forced me into, their presence a constant reminder that I wasn’t exactly free.

The moment I stepped inside, I was met with the excited barks of my little monster. “Hades!” I grinned, crouching just as my dog launched himself at me, his little tail wagging so hard I thought he might levitate. “Did you miss me, you little terror?”

Hades whined and licked my face, and I buried my hands in his fur, grateful for at least one familiar presence in all this insanity.

Only after I’d gotten my fill of Hades’ affection did I take in my surroundings. And wow.

This place was insane.

It was all sleek black and white, modern and sharp, like something out of a high-end magazine. The floors gleamed under the dim lighting, the glass windows stretched from floor to ceiling, offering a breathtaking view of the city. A massive, plush-looking black sofa sat in the center of the living space, and I already knew I’d be spending my nights there—it looked way more inviting than the small bedroom tucked into the corner. The kitchenette was minimal but polished, the kind of thing that suggested whoever owned this place either rarely cooked or had an expensive personal chef.

I frowned. This was definitely a bachelor’s pad.

Yoongi’s bachelor pad?

The thought made me pause. It had to be his, right? Jungkook had plenty of money, but this felt too… refined for him. No offense.

I looked around again, taking in the details. Close to the office. Expensive but understated. Perfectly located for convenience. It screamed Min Yoongi.

I glanced at one of the bodyguards. “Who owns this place?”

He didn’t even hesitate. “Mr. Jeon.”

I blinked. Jungkook?

My lips parted in surprise. I’d expected this to be Yoongi’s, but now that I thought about it… the place was sleek, but not entirely cold. There was warmth in the details—things I’d overlooked at first. The slight messiness near the entertainment system, the faint scent of something clean yet musky. Jungkook’s cologne.

My stomach did a weird little flip.

Jungkook owned this place.

I knew he was rich—his suits alone could probably pay my rent for months—but this apartment was stupidly luxurious. And the fact that it was just minutes from our office? That meant he stayed here often.

So why the hell was he giving it to me?

I plopped down onto the massive couch, Hades jumping up beside me. “So, this is my life now, huh?” I muttered, scratching behind his ears.

The bodyguards didn’t answer. They just stationed themselves near the door, watching me like hawks.

I sighed. “Great.”

I was safe. Comfortable. But I wasn’t free.

And something about sleeping in Jungkook’s space—surrounded by his presence, his scent—felt more dangerous than anything else.

As I sank deeper into Jungkook’s ridiculously comfortable couch, Hades curled up beside me, I let my mind wander back over the past week. So much had happened, and yet it felt like time had moved in slow motion.

Rya had visited almost every day, her face twisted with worry no matter how many times I reassured her that I was fine. She had been surprisingly okay with me moving here—though I suspected it was more out of fear for my safety than anything else. Hoseok had also stopped by whenever he could, bringing his usual warmth and easy humor, trying to keep things light even when everything around us felt unbearably heavy.

But Taehyung?

Taehyung had not been happy.

The first time he visited me after finding out I was moving into Jungkook’s apartment, he had been fuming. I could still hear his sharp words from that day.

"Are you serious? Out of all the places you could stay, you’re staying at their apartment?”

I had tried to calm him down, explaining that I didn’t really have a choice, but Taehyung was stubborn—almost as stubborn as me. He hated the idea, hated that Jungkook and Yoongi were the ones “playing hero,” as he so bitterly put it. Eventually, though, he’d had no choice but to accept it.

Even so, I knew him well enough to recognize that he was still uneasy about the whole situation.

And honestly? So was I.

Because ever since that night—the accident, the photograph—I couldn’t shake this awful feeling.

Like I was being watched.

It didn’t make sense. Jungkook and Yoongi had doubled security. I was constantly surrounded by bodyguards, and I never went anywhere alone. There was no way someone could be keeping tabs on me.

And yet, I felt it.

The sensation of eyes on me, lingering just out of sight. The subtle shift in the air that made my skin crawl. I’d glance over my shoulder, expecting to see someone, but there was never anyone there.

At first, I’d brushed it off as paranoia. After everything that had happened, it wasn’t exactly surprising that my nerves were shot. But the feeling didn’t go away. If anything, it had gotten worse.

I pulled my knees to my chest, pressing my lips together. Maybe I was losing it. Maybe I was letting fear get the best of me.

Or maybe… someone really was watching.

I exhaled slowly, forcing my thoughts away from the unsettling idea. Instead, I focused on something more manageable—like the fact that Yoongi had given me a new phone.

My old one had been destroyed beyond repair, and I hadn’t even realized how disconnected I felt without it until Jungkook placed a brand-new one in my hand, his voice nonchalant as ever.

"You need a way to contact us. Don’t lose this one.”

It had taken me a moment to adjust to the new device, but once I did, the first thing I did was call Rya. She had sounded relieved to hear from me, even if our conversations had been short.

I had also called my parents, keeping up the lie Taehyung had fed them.

"Sorry, my phone broke. I just got a new one, but everything’s fine now."

They had believed me without question, which was both a relief and a small pang of guilt. Lying to them had never been easy, but it was necessary. The last thing I needed was my parents panicking over something they couldn’t fix.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. Everything was so… unreal. My life had been turned upside down in a matter of days, and now I was here, in Jungkook’s apartment, trying to pretend like things were normal when they were anything but.

Hades nudged my hand, as if sensing my unease, and I let out a small, tired laugh.

"At least I have you," I murmured, scratching behind his ear.

But as I stared out of the massive glass windows, the city lights stretching endlessly beyond the horizon, that feeling returned.

That prickling sensation at the back of my neck.

Like someone was watching me.

-

The next morning, I was up earlier than I wanted to be. Hades had decided that I needed to be awake at the crack of dawn, his tiny paws pressing against my stomach as he barked insistently.

"Alright, alright," I groaned, rubbing my face as I sat up. "I’m up, you little gremlin."

Hades wagged his tail, completely unbothered by my suffering.

Dragging myself toward the kitchenette, I squinted at the sleek, ultra-modern touchscreen coffee machine that had been mocking me since I moved in.

"Alright," I muttered to myself. "You and me, we’re gonna get along today."

Attempt #1: Pressed the wrong button. Machine beeped angrily. No coffee.

Attempt #2: Accidentally selected espresso shot instead of a full cup.

Attempt #3: Pressed too many buttons at once. Machine froze like it needed a damn reboot.

Hades barked at me, his tiny tail flicking with judgment.

"Oh, shut up," I grumbled, resetting the machine.

Attempt #4: No water in the tank. Had to refill it.

Attempt #5: Finally got a full cup of coffee.

I let out a triumphant sigh, holding my mug like it was a trophy. "I am the master of technology."

Hades sneezed.

I took a long sip, letting the caffeine work its magic before heading to the bedroom to get ready.

By the time I arrived at the company, escorted by two bodyguards like some sort of celebrity, I was fully awake and determined to have a normal workday.

The moment I stepped inside, the whispers started. My colleagues turned to look at me, some with wide eyes, others with relief.

Then, chaos.

"Y/N! Oh my god, you’re back!"

"Are you okay? What happened?"

"We were so worried!"

"I heard you were in an accident—was it really an accident?"

I barely had time to process the flood of voices before my desk was surrounded. People bombarded me with questions, their faces filled with concern and curiosity.

I forced a smile, trying to keep up with their energy, but before I could even begin to answer, a familiar voice cut through the noise.

"Alright, that’s enough," Rya’s firm tone rang out.

Hoseok appeared beside her, his usual bright smile present, but his eyes held a warning. "Give her some space, guys. Let the woman breathe before you interrogate her."

The crowd dispersed, grumbling but ultimately listening.

I shot Rya and Hoseok a grateful look. "Thanks. I think I forgot how loud this place could be."

Rya rolled her eyes. "Please. You should’ve seen them before you even got here. They’ve been talking about you all morning."

"Do you need anything?" Hoseok asked, his voice softer now.

I shook my head, smiling. "No, I’m fine. Really."

They exchanged a look, clearly unconvinced, but didn’t push it further.

And just as I settled into my chair, ready to start the day, a familiar presence loomed nearby.

Jungkook stood near my desk, arms crossed, an unimpressed expression on his ridiculously perfect face.

I blinked up at him. "Uh… good morning?"

"You’re not supposed to be here," he said flatly.

I tilted my head. "Last time I checked, this was my job."

Jungkook exhaled sharply. "You were supposed to take two more days off."

"I’m fine," I repeated. "I’d rather be here than sitting in that apartment doing nothing."

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue further. Instead, he sighed. "Fine. Since you’re already here, come to my office."

A few of our colleagues exchanged looks.

I ignored them and followed Jungkook to his office.

Once inside, he immediately launched into the latest project details, his voice professional and controlled. But every now and then, he’d slip in something else.

"So, the marketing team needs a revised pitch deck," he said, tapping on his desk. "Also, you look great today, but that’s nothing new."

I blinked at him.

He didn’t even acknowledge what he just said, continuing on. "I need you to go over the latest client proposals—"

"Wait." I cut him off. "Did you just—"

"What?" He looked so innocent.

I narrowed my eyes. "Never mind. Continue."

"Right. As I was saying, the finance team needs our projections by Friday…”

I deadpanned. "Jungkook."

"What?"

I stared at him for a solid three seconds before laughing in his face.

I couldn’t help it.

He was flirting with me. Horribly.

Jungkook’s brows furrowed. "Why are you laughing?"

"Because you’re terrible at this," I grinned, shaking my head.

"I—" He paused, offended. "Excuse me?"

"You’re not serious," I said, still giggling. "Are you?"

Jungkook opened his mouth, then closed it.

His ears turned pink.

I smirked. "Yeah, that’s what I thought."

Before he could respond, I turned on my heel and walked out of his office, still grinning.

And as I sat back down at my desk, I swore I could feel his flustered stare from across the room.

The meeting room was filled with quiet murmurs as everyone settled into their seats. The air buzzed with anticipation as Jungkook stood at the front, his presence commanding the room effortlessly. His dark eyes swept over the team, his usual sharp focus in place as he began the presentation.

Behind him, the large screen displayed the details of their latest client—a high-profile luxury brand looking for a full-scale identity revamp. Jungkook spoke with his usual confidence, outlining their expectations, the marketing direction, and the design elements they needed to refine.

I tried to focus. Really, I did.

But across the room, I could feel Yoongi’s eyes on me.

Every time I dared to glance in his direction, his gaze was already there, heavy and unreadable. It wasn’t the first time he’d done this—watching me with that infuriatingly unreadable expression. But today, it felt more intense. Like he was waiting for something.

I straightened in my chair, pretending not to notice.

Jungkook continued, his voice smooth and authoritative. "With the expansion of our design team and the increased workload, I realized we needed an extra set of hands. So, I’ve gone ahead and hired someone new."

A few people exchanged glances, curiosity sparking around the room.

Jungkook gestured toward the door. "He should be arriving right about—"

As if on cue, the doors swung open.

A tall figure stepped inside, his presence instantly drawing attention. He moved with quiet confidence, his dark eyes scanning the room before settling—

On me.

My breath hitched. My heart stopped, then started again in an erratic rhythm.

No.

It couldn’t be.

My lips parted, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Jason."

Silence stretched across the room as the man’s lips curled into a familiar smirk.

But before I could even begin to process it—before the weight of his presence could fully sink in—Jungkook’s voice cut through the air with a shocking revelation.

"Everyone, meet our newest hire."

My brother.

[kirislovelygf]

domestic!sevika x fem!reader

contents: domestic wife sevika, dancing in the kitchen, jinx and isha are alive and are basically your kids :D

wrd count: 1.1k

.｡*ﾟ♡

sevika and i got married just a few months after the battle. it’s been bliss ever since.

we take turns cooking dinner each night, she cooks breakfast every morning, and we go to bed every night in each other's arms.

i’ve even been learning the basics of mechanics to help her tune up her arm whenever she can’t herself.

jinx helps me out but she gets too excited fixing it up on her own and forgets to show me.

since we got married, and we have our own home, jinx and isha basically live here now.

they come well before breakfast and don’t leave well past midnight.

we told her she might as well leave the hideout as it is to live here with us.

“that place isn’t safe for isha. she could trip and fall to her death.” i said as sevika and i were cooking together.

jinx was sat at the table with isha, who was building a little lego set we bought her.

jinx looked over to the little radio on the table and she adjusted the volume to lower it.

“so i’ll build railings.” jinx said, handing isha a tiny brick.

“or build nothing and live here.” i said to her.

“yeah, why waste materials when you can just be here.” sevika said as she placed a stack on plates on the table.

she muttered to isha to put her toys away and isha jumped down to put her set in the living room.

“i can’t just.. abandon it. i don’t wanna go back there and find a bunch of druggies using my space!” she whined.

i rolled my eyes at her.

“fine, what if you turn it into a studio? to work on your gadgets, that way you can keep it but you’ll live here.” i said to her.

“but as far as sleeping and showering… which you desperately need.” sevika chuckled from the kitchen.

jinx glared at her and grabbed a fork she was ready to throw at the back of sevika’s head.

i caught her wrist, though, and grabbed the fork. “hey, that’s my wife, don’t throw that please, thanks.” i said kindly.

she huffs at me, blowing her blue bang out of her face.

“anyway, just think about it. then we can set you and isha up in your rooms, alright?” i said.

she sighs and walks past us through the kitchen to find isha.

“i’ll think about it.” she muttered as she walk past.

i stared at her as she jumped down to the floor to play with isha.

“she’s needs a bed that’s not a metal floor.” i said quietly to sevika.

“i know she does. but we can’t force her to stay here.” she hummed. i look over my shoulder at her.

she was stirring the food in the pot with a calm smile.

her mechanic arm was at rest on her table in the room, so she was managing multiple pots on the stove with one arm.

“it’d be better for her and isha. i don’t want them sleeping in that.. death trap for one more day.” i said walking over to take over for her.

she tells me she’s got it but i shove her away anyway, making her laugh.

“you just have to have your way, don’t you?” she chuckled.

she brought a plate from the table over to the counter to place food on it.

“no.. but with this one thing yeah.” i said.

“look, soon jinx will realize it’s safer for isha here. and you know she’s not gonna leave her by herself.” she said to me.

“yeah.. you’re right.” i hummed.

i zoned out for a moment before i felt sevika come up behind me.

i felt butterflies swarm my stomach as her chin rested on my shoulder and she started to kiss my neck.

“what are you doing?” i smiled.

“nothin..” she hummed.

the warmth of her touch left my body as she walked over to the radio to turn up the volume.

the song went from “our love” to a song in spanish that i didn’t understand but i loved regardless.

“oh, i love that one!”

“do you even know what he’s singing about?” sevika chuckled.

“love or something.” i shrugged.

sevika gently took my hand and led me away from the stove before slowly taking me away to dance with her.

“what, you dance now?” i chuckled.

“i dance better with my other arm.” she smiled, making me laugh out.

she swayed with me around the kitchen and we had to be careful not to knock into the pots of food we made.

i sang the words without knowing what they were while sevika’s hand never left mine.

as the son kept going, she spun me around once more before she hugged me against her.

she looked so pretty and soft in our kitchen. my hand went to the side of her face, my thumb gliding over the scars on her cheek from years before.

i was about to kiss her when i heard a loud “EWW!” from jinx across the kitchen.

her and isha were watching us from behind the wall, only their heads sticking out.

they gasped and hid behind the wall again, but their mischievous giggles were heard. sevika laughs softly.

“hey!” i laughed out. “little pests..” i grumbled.

i turn to look up at sevika. “nevermind, she doesn’t have to live here.” i said.

“wow, you’re an evil woman.” sevika chuckled.

sevika sat isha down at the table and jinx joined them as i handed out plates.

the girls absolutely loved the food. i had to warn them not to eat too fast or they’d get hiccups or their stomachs would ache.

jinx didn’t listen and got hiccups and, since isha looks up to her, so did isha.

watching sevika act like a parent, scolding jinx, helping isha blow on her hot food, making corny jokes, it made me fall even more in love with her.

i almost cried when i later found her on the couch with both girls asleep by her side.

they left the tv on and i went ahead and turned it off while watching the adorable scene.

sevika noticed the lack of background noise and blinked awake.

“hi.” she hummed when she saw me.

i walked in front of her and leaned down to kiss her.

my hands went to hold her face when i pulled away. “you okay?” she asked.

“yeah. do i need a reason to kiss my wife other than i think she’s really pretty?”

“i guess not.” she smiled into another kiss and tried to lean toward a bit before jinx stirred in her sleep.

“don’t move too much, she’ll kill you if you wake her up.” i said quietly.

i went to grab a blanket and draped it over the girls.

“okay, bye, honey!” i whispered.

“wha- wait! don’t leave.” sevika muttered.

“shhh! they’re sleeping!” i hissed.

she glared at me until i disappeared down the hall and slept in our big, warm bed all by myself.

.｡*ﾟ♡

a/n: the spanish song they were dancing to is lluvia by emilio santiago. i grew up listening to this all the timeeee and i love it so much !!!

[ghostgirl-22]

Tashi and/or Art’s physiotherapist walking in (Art’s room, a locker room, gym, whatever) to find Art and Patrick in just their underwear scrambling to get dressed after having sex.

Yes I could see it anon! Post challenger.

Tashi insists Art and Patrick go out to get a drink or something and try to reconnect since they haven’t really talked to each other in over a decade. Art goes because deep down he misses Patrick but he’s still reserved thinking they’re just gonna talk for an hour.

By hour four they’re drunk and giggling like they’re in high school again. And at 1am when the place is closing they’re still reminiscing so Patrick invites Art back to his place.

Art pings his location to Tashi with a note that he’ll be home soon, but they’re still catching up. They end up hanging out on Patrick’s motel bed. Watching an old movie on cable. Splitting a beer. And before Art realizes what’s happening he’s kissing Patrick. He pulls back shyly. Saying sorry. And Patrick just smiles and climbs on top of him. Then they’re kissing more. Touching all over. Art losing all sense of self in the pursuit of pleasure. Shaky fingers covered in lube. Fucking into Patrick because he needs it. He doesn’t even know how many times they do it. Just knows he’s waking up hungover, butt naked and pleasantly sore in Patrick’s bed to the sound of knocking. He rolls over but Patrick’s not in bed.

“I’m coming,” He stumbles, sleepy to the door. Only his boxers on, scratching his head he pulls it open. “Hey,” he says.

“Is uh… is Art here?”

Shit. It’s his physiotherapist. Tashi must have sent him over when he didn’t show up to his post game session this morning. Patrick pulls open the door and his physio Steve walks in.

It’s at this moment that Art kinda wishes Patrick had a little more shame. He sits up in bed quickly, embarrassment heating his skin as he searches for his clothes which are all over the bed and floor.

“Uh sorry man… um…” Art says, quickly trying to get into his briefs. Steve’s eyes widen when he sees him. He looks for maybe a bit too long before turning to look at the wall.

“No uh… no it’s um… Tashi said you were probably here so I figured I’d bring breakfast.” He holds up one of the shakes Art usually swallows down for breakfast. It was their usual habit to hangout after his post game sessions. Art sees his college buddies four times a year at most and he hasn’t really kept in touch with anyone from high school. Sadly Steve is probably his most consistent guy friend as an adult and he happens to be on the payroll.

“That’s uh… really thoughtful man I appreciate it,” Art says, glaring at Patrick who looks quite amused by all of it. “I completely forgot about our session.”

“I uh— I see. Um…” Steve lingers, he looks at Patrick and then chances another glance in Art’s direction. He’s stepping into his jeans. Or maybe they’re Patrick’s jeans. Fuck.

Patrick rests his elbow against the doorframe, one hand on his hip.“No way you were actually going to train after yesterday?” He asks, yawning.

“No this is my good friend and physiotherapist, Steve.” Art says, sheepish. “I’ve been seeing him nearly everyday since my injury.”

“Hey man, I’ve uh— I’ve heard a lot about you,” Steve says, smiling awkwardly at Patrick, his eyes trailing swiftly up and down his body.

“I bet,” Patrick smirks.

“That’s uh—Patrick and I— we’ve never— I’ve never done anything like this before,” Art says quickly and reassuringly to Steve. In case he’s thinking of bailing now. The way Steve stretches him out so well has led him to walk away with the occasional awkward boner. He’s not into Steve. At least he doesn't think he is.

Steve would always dismiss it saying it happened all the time… and that made Art feel a little less embarrassed about it. But now seeing Art like this Steve’s probably going to rethink the cause of those boners.

“No I mean… it’s no big deal. You know I’m gay so it’s nothing I’m not used to. And since you’re bisexual I figured you had to be—“ Steve starts.

“Huh?” Art interrupts, he’s given up and just decided to wear Patrick’s jeans, he’s buttoning them but they’re still sitting loose on his waist, exposing the thick strap of his briefs.

“It’s no big deal, honest, I’m not calling HR,” Steve says, smiling.

“No the other part,” Art says. “Did you say— did you say you were— that you think I’m—“

Steve laughs. “Is this a joke?”

“Uh I don’t know. I mean… I’m not…” Art begins and then he glances at Patrick, who continues to look endlessly amused.

“We flirt all the time.” Steve says. “You get hard every time I’m stretching you out. You know I love Beyoncé as much as Tashi does. You saw grindr on my phone when I accidentally left it open…”

“Beyoncé is a talented artist.” Is all Art can manage and Patrick laughs. Art tosses a balled up sock at him. He vaguely remembers seeing naked men on Steve’s phone but he’d figured it was some kind of anatomy thing. He’s a physio after all.

“You said the boner thing happens to people all the time…” Art says.

“Yeah it does… with my clients that are into men.”

Art feels his skin heating even more. “We—we don’t flirt,” Art stammers.

Steve laughs this time. “Sure…”

Patrick settles back on the bed. “This is hilarious actually. I like you Steve. Maybe we should all go out and eat real food. And I can tell you about all the times he didn’t flirt with me.”

“I’d definitely be interested,” Steve smiles. Traitor.

And here Art was thinking he drank too much and made a mistake but the whole time Steve thought he was bisexual. God. Maybe he’s bisexual?

“I know you think it’s funny but can you please not mention this to Tashi? God forbid, she finds out from either of you before I can explain myself.”

Steve chokes out another laugh and then covers his mouth. Art frowns at him. “What?”

“I’m sorry… I thought that was another joke. You know, she’s the one who told me you were bi. She said if we hooked up she’d be good with it so I um—I think she knows.”

Art rubs his palms on his thighs refusing to take one more glance at Patrick’s ever widening shit eating grin.

“Oh.”

[servndipityz]

Namgyu but him being the normal middle schooler way hurts you? Or something like that idk you’re the only one I’ve seen write him so accurately

nam-gyu getting the silent treatment from the reader? his little brain would actually start to short circuit he’d get so grumpy lmao

a/n ── hey! i decided to mix these two anons since i thought they'd make a really good fic together, hope u don't mind :) thank you so much for your requests and your patience, ik this one took a while. i hope u both like it!

SNAP

warnings ── blood, death, general squid game themes

word count ── 2.4k

────────────────────────────────────────────

silence.

silence was all that filled the air as you descended the stairs, walking in line back to the dorm room. you were surrounded by more than a hundred players, but nobody spoke. nobody dared.

the last game had been a bloodbath, to say the least. you didn’t think you’d ever be able to forget the lifeless eyes of innocent players lying on the ground—especially knowing it could have just as easily been you.

and it had been damn close.

you turned your head slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of him a few steps behind you. nam-gyu.

you’d thought you could tolerate him. the way he talked over you, the way he always had to have the last word, the way he threw whatever was at hand just to get on your nerves. annoying as fuck, but bearable.

this time, he'd pushed too far.

from the moment mingle had begun, your heart had already been racing. hell, you could still feel it hammering in your chest at an abnormally high rate. but that wasn’t enough for him, was it? no, nam-gyu, who had taken whatever shit drug thanos had given him, had stood by your side.

that was normal, you'd come to realize. you didn't understand why, but somehow, after swearing he hated you, he'd always end up next to you.

so, while the damn carousel was spinning, he'd leaned in, voice just low enough for only you to hear. maybe he'd taken pity on you. maybe he'd seen how scared you looked. you cursed yourself for ever even thinking that.

"you sure you got this? you look kinda nervous…" he said, a small smile forming on his lips as you turned to him. "what if you freeze up? or what if nobody picks you? that��d be bad."

"shut up," you muttered, looking away, narrowing your eyes—ignoring the cold, sweaty goosebump crawling over your skin. it had sounded more like a plea than a demand.

"and what if you end up alone?" he went on, completely ignoring you, inching closer—if that was even possible. "you’d just be standing there while everyone rushes away—tick, tock, tick, tock…"

that was when the nausea hit. real nausea. he was just messing with you… like he always did. but what if?

when the first number was called and the game started, you managed to get through a couple of rounds, your eyes filling with tears from pure nerves.

then, one of the last rounds. the voice called out 3. you looked at nam-gyu and thanos in front of you, thinking—just thinking—that you were saved.

you rushed to them, just as nam-gyu took a step back.

"actually, i think i see a better option over there," he said, pointing at a random player.

your soul hit the floor. he was actually going to leave you behind. you were going to die.

panic took over, tears slipping down your face as you frantically looked around for someone, anyone, to save you.

"tick, tock, tick, tock..." nam-gyu’s voice echoed in your head.

then—someone yanked you by the arm, shoving you into the nearest room.

you gasped for breath, your chest heaving. you were alive. you hadn't died.

nam-gyu snickered in front of you. thanos, also in the room, stood by the little window, uninterested in whatever had just happened between you two.

"what—" was all you managed, quiet sobs escaping your lips as you struggled to process it. you were alive. somehow, you were alive.

"you actually thought i was gonna leave you?" nam-gyu giggled. giggled. he had his hand over his mouth like it was the funniest thing in the world. "that’s crazy."

you shook your head as a tear threatened to spill, breathing in through your nose to steady yourself. the memory of what had happened less than an hour ago burned in your mind.

ha wasn't just mean and annoying. nam-gyu was cruel. nam-gyu was evil.

you'd judged him wrong. he wasn’t just a boy hiding his fear behind teasing. he wasn’t someone you could ever grow to love under different circumstances. he wasn’t misunderstood. all those thoughts you’d had before? wrong. they had to be. he was heartless. and you hated him.

as you stepped into the main room, your heart eased—just a little—when you spotted se-mi. without thinking, you quickened your pace toward her.

she did the same, meeting you halfway and grabbing you by the arms. “thank god you’re okay,” she said, eyes scanning your disheveled state.

you inhaled sharply, nodding, even as the words caught in your throat. she tilted her head, concern deepening in her expression.

“is everything—?” she started, but before she could finish, another voice cut in.

“wassup, team?” thanos said, strolling over and throwing up gang signs he probably didn’t even know the meaning of.

but of course, he wasn’t alone.

you felt it immediately—nam-gyu’s presence behind you. close. so close that if you moved even an inch, you’d collide into him. but still, never touching.

“we almost thought we were gonna die back there, huh?” nam-gyu said, still amused, his gaze lingering on you.

you turned to him. fuming.

so many thoughts ran through your head. so many things to say. so many bones to break. you opened your mouth—

and then shut it. no. you didn’t want to see him again. didn’t want to acknowledge his existence. but since you were stuck in these fucking games together, you couldn’t exactly avoid him.

so you’d do the next best thing.

act like he didn’t exist. because to you, he didn't.

you could see it in his face, his grin starting to form, waiting for you to say something, to take the bait like you always did. but not this time. you just shot him a grimace, turning and walking awat toward the bathroom.

and so, time went on.

but not for him.

nam-gyu wasn’t used to silence. not from you. not like this.

at first, he barely noticed. he was still riding the high of his own amusement, watching you seethe in barely restrained anger. but the longer the minutes stretched, the longer you refused to bite back, the more something began to gnaw at him.

it started with the little things. the way you didn’t even look his way when he made some stupid remark at dinner, or how you barely reacted when thanos made a joke about his survival skills. before, you would’ve rolled your eyes, shot some sarcastic comment back, but now—nothing. not even a twitch of annoyance.

the way you turned your back to him, like he wasn’t even in the room, like he wasn’t even worth acknowledging—it set something off in him. something uncomfortable. something he didn’t want to name.

he tried again later, when almost a day had passed. sitting on the stairs of the beds, staring at nothing, your hands gripping your knees like if you let go, you’d shatter. he sat down beside you, close enough to invade your space, to test you.

"so, what, you mad at me or something?" he asked, voice deliberately light, teasing, waiting for you to react.

nothing.

his fingers drummed against the metal. "c’mon. you can’t seriously be mad. it was a joke. i knew someone would pick you up." he turned his head toward you, watching for a flinch, a flicker—anything. "you really think i’d let you die?"

still, nothing.

you just stood up, walking away like he hadn’t even spoken. like he was air.

his jaw clenched. fine. two could play this game.

except—you didn’t break. not that night. not the next day. not the next game. not even when he upped his antics, when he threw crumpled-up paper at the back of your head or made offhanded comments just loud enough for you to hear.

it was driving him insane.

he never realized how much he thrived off your back-and-forth until it was gone. until you treated him like a ghost.

until he realized—he didn’t like being invisible to you.

the next night, the dorm was eerily quiet, the kind of silence that only came when exhaustion weighed too heavy on everyone’s bones. nam-gyu lay on his bed, eyes open, staring at the ceiling, restless.

fuck it.

before he could second-guess himself, he was already moving, slipping off his mattress with the kind of ease that came from knowing how to sneak around. his feet barely made a sound against the cold floor as he crept across the room, stopping just short of your bed. he hesitated for a second—just a second—before sitting down at your feet.

you shot up immediately, eyes wide, breath hitching. "what the—" the words died in your throat as you jerked back against the pillow, your hands bracing against the sheets. for a split second, you were ready to shove him off, to kick him away—

but then his hand was over your mouth, and his face was inches from yours.

"shh." his eyes flickered to the other beds, scanning for movement. none. he exhaled, slow and careful, before pulling his hand back. "relax, okay? i just—"

he trailed off, unsure how to finish that sentence. he just what? wanted to bother you? wanted to win? no, that wasn’t it. the truth was a little more pathetic than that. he just missed hearing your voice, even if it was yelling at him.

he shifted, sitting cross-legged now, knee brushing against yours. you had pulled yourself up too, back pressed against the headboard, muscles tense. you were still watching him like he might pull something, but there was something else there too. wariness, sure. but curiosity too.

"you just what?" you repeated, voice still laced with annoyance, but softer now. almost… wary.

he swallowed, suddenly very aware of how close you two were, your eyes on him in a way that made his heart pound annoyingly fast. "i dunno," he muttered. "wanted to see if you were still alive."

"seriously?" you scoffed. "get out."

but you didn’t push him away. and he didn’t move.

"nam-gyu, i swear to god—"

"you really hate me that much, huh?" he interrupted, his voice quieter now. the teasing was still there, but barely. something more vulnerable lurked beneath it, something he wasn’t sure he wanted to confront. "like, actually?"

silence. you looked at him then, and for the first time in days, he saw something other than anger in your eyes. something conflicted. something dangerous.

"you tell me," you whispered, your breath fanning against his cheek. your fingers twitched, like you were resisting the urge to shove him away—or pull him closer.

his throat went dry. he wanted to say something. something cocky, something that would shift the power back into his hands. but all he could think about was how your lips were barely inches from his, how your warmth seeped into him like a slow burn, and how he wasn’t nearly as immune to you as he thought.

you were waiting for an answer, your gaze piercing into his, but he had none. not one that wouldn’t make him look stupid, anyway. he wanted to scoff, to roll his eyes and tell you to lighten up, but he couldn’t—not when his own heartbeat was betraying him.

you pulled back first, sitting up straighter, arms crossing over your chest. "forget it," you muttered, shaking your head. "i don’t even care."

hut he couldn’t be invisible to you. he wouldn’t.

because you did care. he knew you did. he could see it in the way your hands clenched, the way your knee bounced slightly, the way you were holding back from looking at him. you cared enough to be mad, enough to hate him, enough to freeze him out.

"yeah?" he said, leaning in slightly—but this time, there was no smirk, no game. "then why do you look like you’re about to cry?"

that was it. that was the final fucking straw.

something in you cracked wide open, all the frustration and hurt bubbling to the surface before you could shove it down again.

“you always do this,” you hissed, your voice low. “you push and push and push, and when i finally break, it’s just a joke. when i get mad, I’m overreacting. when i tell you to stop, you just push harder.”

his stomach twisted. you weren’t just lashing out. you were breaking apart.

“you’ve been messing with me since the second we met,” you went on, voice rising, not caring if anyone heard. “every fucking day, it’s something new. tripping me, throwing things at me, talking over me, getting in my face. it’s exhausting. and i let it go because i thought—” you cut yourself off, jaw clenching, forcing yourself to breathe. “i thought maybe you didn’t mean it.”

nam-gyu stayed quiet. just staring. no teasing grin, no cocky remark. just… watching.

“but you do mean it,” you whispered. "because you think it’s funny. because you like seeing me mad. because it doesn’t matter if i’m actually hurt, as long as you get a reaction." you shook your head, voice unsteady. "and i’m done."

nam-gyu’s chest tightened. his hands clenched in his lap. he wanted to argue. he wanted to tell you that you were wrong. but he couldn’t—not when you were looking at him like that. not when he knew, deep down, that you weren’t wrong at all.

"I’m sorry."

the words came out so quiet, so unnatural in his own voice, that for a second, he wasn’t sure he’d actually spoken them.

you froze.

his lips pressed together like he immediately regretted saying it, but there was no taking it back now. his hand twitched in his lap, like he wanted to reach for something but didn’t know what.

"you—what?"

nam-gyu exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, looking anywhere but you. "don’t make me say it again," he muttered.

a beat of silence.

then—a laugh. small, quiet, barely there. but real.

it startled both of you.

nam-gyu’s head snapped up, watching as you bit your lip, shaking your head like you couldn’t believe it. "you suck at apologizing," you said, still exhausted, tired.

his lips twitched. "yeah, well. not much practice."

"clearly."

another pause. this time, the silence was lighter. not quite peace, but not war either.

nam-gyu let out a dramatic sigh, sitting back onto the mattress. "so," he drawled, hands fidgeting with a loose strang of your bedsheet. "am i still dead to you, or…?""

you rolled your eyes, relaxing but keeping your distance. "we’ll see."

"uh-huh. that’s progress."

"shut up."

"make me."

he knew he wasn't just sorry, no, he knew it was much deeper than that. but that was all he would allow himself to say. for now.

and just like that, maybe he wasn't that evil.

────────────────────────────────────────────

© servndipityz 2025 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content without my permission.

[starogeorgina]

𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮

Pairings: Jacaerys Velaryon x reader, Criston Cole x reader

Warnings: Swearing, smut, character death, mentions of blood, incest

1.01

Soft moans fall from your mouth as you touch yourself. It was a sinful act, but you were so frustrated that you needed a healthy way of getting rid of all your pent-up anger before you exploded.

Even more sinful, you think of Jacaerys instead of your husband.

Rubbing at your clit, you think of the last time you saw him, how his cock stretched you perfectly as you rode him, and how decorations of love fell from your lips so easily.

It was never your intention to have sex; you’d only gone to his chamber to apologise for Aemond provoking him so childishly during the first meal both sides of your family had attended together since your wedding. You kissed Jacaerys's swollen knuckles tenderly, and soon you were straddling his lap and muffling his moans with your mouth. Afterwards he cleaned up the sticky mess between your legs, a mixture of his own seed and your arousal with his tongue.

Hearing a knock at the door, you jump up flustered. You fix the top of your nightdress and pray it isn’t Aemond; he would instantly know what you were doing.

The door opens, and Helaena walks inside. “Jaehaera won’t settle for the night; can the children spend the night together?”

You hated Aegon, but Helaena and her children were innocent, and it was best to keep things as normal as possible for all the children. “I’ve just put them to bed, but I’m sure they will be awake with excitement when I tell them.”

—

Your heart beats rapidly as you beg for someone to come and help. Your throat had become so raw from screaming that your voice was beginning to break. A trail of blood is left behind as your bare feet scrape against the cold stone floor; your loose nightdress was now coated in blood and clung to you like a second skin.

When you reach the bottom of the staircase, the only sound you can hear beside your own panting is the wails of your two children, their cries echoing in the deserted castle halls. Aerys was just a babe, far too young to understand what he had witnessed, but Cassana would always remember.

Turning another corner, you see a figure exiting a bedchamber. “Ser Criston, Ser Criston!”

Startled, he takes in your appearance, and for the first time the knight's eyes aren’t full of hatred when he looks at you. He may have helped usurp your mother's throne, but he was still human.

You gasp for air, your chest heaving as you try to find your voice. “My boy! My boy, they have taken my boy!”

“What is—” Alicent appears in the doorway behind the knight. She claps a hand over her mouth. “Mother, have mercy, what happened?”

You look between the two of them, and seeing how flustered she appears and how ashamed the knight looks, it immediately clicks why the knight is at the dowager queen's bedchamber during the night and not wearing his armour.

Alicent goes to stroke your youngest cheek, but you step away from them. “Don’t touch him! Venomous snakes, the lot of you! This is all your fault!”

—

Still afraid you run without stopping, hearing Criston and Alicent calling your name only makes you go faster, desperate to get away from them. Ser Criston was supposed to be protecting his king's family, but instead he chose to soil his white cloak.

And Aemond was patrolling the city on Vhagar.

When you get closer to the throne room, Aegon’s voice becomes clearer. He was spending his night making a mockery of his late father, your grandsire King Viserys, and all of House Targaryen by behaving like a drunk idiot while his own kin was being slaughtered.

“Aegon, Aegon!”

“I believe that’s my niece I can hear,” he chuckles.

His pathetic excuse of a kingsguard jested, “Perhaps she’s gotten bored of the prince’s cock and wants to know what it’s like to ride a real dragon!”

All the fools in the room laugh.

“Aegon!”

You run into the throne room and find him casually lying across the throne, completely unconcerned about the sharp spikes that could pierce his skin, surrounded by a new and pathetic excuse of a king guard.

“Aegon.”

The amusement quickly falls from his face when his eyes land on you. He stands up; his mouth twitches, but he says nothing.

“Aegon,” you sob hysterically. “I tried to stop them; I tried!”

He gets off the throne and walks towards you, “Who?”

“I don’t know. I screamed, and nobody came. They were in the twins' nursery.” Your breathing becomes ragged. “Laenor begged me to help him, but I couldn’t. I tried to swap my life for his, but they wouldn’t let me. A son for a son.”

“The twins…” His voice cracks. “What—what happened?”

“They… they took Laenor and Jaehaerys—” One of the older handmaidens tries to take your other children from your arms, but you refuse, “Stop it!”

Aegon grips your chin, forcing you to look up at him. “What did they do to Jaehaerys?”

“They took our son’s head.”

—

You cling to one of the pillars in the council chamber while the greens continue to discuss how to use your little son's death to their advantage. Aegon was against the idea, but Otto was worming his way in, taking advantage of a grieving parent.

They wanted to blame your mother.

She wouldn’t do this.

Not to you.

You wanted to be angry at Aegon for all the horrid things he had called your mother, and part of you did blame him, but after witnessing him collapse in the throne room, it was hard not to pity him. Aegon wasn’t the best father, but he also wasn’t the worst. He and Helaena were also victims in this.

“Perhaps we should hear from the princess,” Lord Larys says, steering the conversation away from how many enemies the greens have.

“I want my mother.”

You glance around the room, and everyone avoids making eye contact, aside from Grand Maester Orwyle. “You’ve already said that, princess.”

“What else am I supposed to say?” Tears sting your eyes. “I want my mother; I want Jacaerys. I just want to go home, but you people won’t let me!”

“This has been your home for many years,” Alicent’s tone is sharp.

“Even now, you offer me no sympathy or kindness,” you laugh maliciously. “I’d say you’d used up all your empathy on Helaena, but you are here forging the deaths of two innocent children into blades to strike at my mother. Those men only came tonight because of a war you started.“

The room falls silent until Otto clears his throat. “The princess is in shock—”

“Do not try to justify my words,” you snap. “I will not bow to a council that secretly conspired and undermined King Viserys wishes by usurping his chosen heir!” You let go of the pillar and place your hand over your stomach. “He wasn’t just a boy; he was my baby, my firstborn! And now he’s dead.”

Over the years you flew back and forth between the keep and Dragonstone, but since the day your mother's throne was usurped, you were forbidden from even leaving the castle.

Fingers trembling, you kneel down and reach for Aegon’s hand. “Kostilus, kostilus, ivestragī nyke return naejot Zaldrīzesdōron. Nyke don’t care qilōni sits va se dēmalion; nyke sepār jaelagon ñuha muña. Nyke don’t feel ȳgha kesīr. I’m zūgagon hen zirȳla. He’s se drīve mirre hen bisa ēza massitas, kostilus, aegon, uncle. Sepār ivestragī nyke gūrogon ñuha riñar naejot se zaldrīzes ripo.” (Please, please, let me return to Dragonstone. I don’t care who sits on the throne; I just want my mother. I don’t feel safe here. I’m scared of him. He’s the reason all of this has happened, please, Aegon, uncle. Just let me take my children to the dragon pit)

Tears roll down Aegon’s cheek, but he doesn’t say anything. His bloodshot eyes suddenly focus on something behind you, and without turning around, you know it’s Aemond; you can feel his gaze burning into the back of your head.

“You issi dāez naejot jikagon whenever jaelā, ābrazȳrys, yn se riñar kessa umbagon kesīr.” (You are free to go whenever you want, wife, but the children will remain here)

You hated him; you hated him more than Aegon and Alicent combined. He is the one who killed Luke and caused more blood to spill. The men, blood and cheese, said they were debt collectors and had come to take revenge on Prince Aemond Targaryen.

“He’s dead. They took his head, Aemond,” you storm towards him, shoving him hard in the chest, but he doesn’t flinch. “They took my son’s head when it should have been yours! Do you even care that Laenor and Jaehaerys are dead? Do you even feel anything?”

He says nothing.

You wipe at your eyes and nose. “I’m going to retire for the evening. I suggest you don’t visit the children’s nursery.”

—

“The larger one strangled my bedmaid.”Your eyes are heavy and swollen from crying so much the last few days. “They tried to make Helaena choose which child to kill. After they killed my boy, she chose Maelor. They… they taunted him, told him his mother wants him dead.”

“Yet they took little Jaehaerys’s head.”

Children’s toys scatter the floor of your bedchamber. Lip trembling, you pick up Laenor’s, a wooden seahorse that your grandsire had made for him. “I never thought anything would hurt more than losing my father, and in the space of a few weeks both Luke and my grandsire have died, my mother lost her babe, and now my sweet son has been taken from me.”

“I’m glad you’re able to find comfort in me, princess.”

Scoffing, you shake your head; you weren’t a fool. Larys Strong wasn’t to be trusted, but he could be useful. He once told you those who are never to speak must learn to observe, and that’s exactly what you’ve done the last few years. “Do you think my husband is stupid?”

“Of course not.”

“I do; he chased a boy on a dragon five times smaller than his own and had the audacity to act surprised that both Luke and Arrax are dead. Vhagar killed them because it’s what her rider wanted.”

Over the years, you’ve been careful to observe how he uses people and noticed his affection for the queen. The lord cocks his head to the side. “What is it you want?”

“They say Harrenhal is a cursed place; I suppose you must agree. The fire that killed your father and brother was the one in the damp castle since Balerion ended the line of Harren the Black.”

A wicked smirk spreads across his face. “You’ve been paying attention; I’m glad.”

“Hmm,” you look away from him to the lit fire, which was providing the majority of the light in the room. “We both know regardless of who sits on the throne, more blood will spill, and that queen and her king consort will bring fire and blood.”

“Strong words.”

The way he emphasises the word strong is supposed to get under your skin, but you let it slide. Out of the four children of Laenor Velaryon and Rhaenyra Targaryen, you were the only one who doesn’t have ‘strong’ features, which is probably the only reason Alicent wanted you to marry her son.

“I’ll speak plainly,” you turn and stare directly into his menacing eyes. “Help me, and I will have you spared when my mother reclaims her castle. I should add that I simply do not care if you tell the green council; I don’t think anyone would be surprised to know the daughter of the queen they usurped is plotting against them.”

“It could be some time before the gods decide who sits on the throne; what can you offer me in the meantime?”

“Information. Help me cause chaos within the greens council, and I’ll tell you who Alicent Hightower is fucking.”

[nottsim]

— 𝒮𝒸𝒶𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇𝑒𝒹 𝐹𝓇𝒶𝑔𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝓂𝓎 𝐻𝑜𝑔𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓉𝓈 𝒹𝓇

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

little things that reminds me of my dr, delicately woven into a pretty list..

⋆˙⟡ Old Books

The library is my sanctuary. The scent of parchment and old leather bound books wrapping around me like a familiar and peaceful embrace. I love the quiet and the soft scratching of quills, the rustling of pages, the distant whispers of students pondering over the right answer to the potions assignment. Theo doesn’t understand it but he sits with me anyway while flipping lazily through one of my books, humming an old Italian tune his mum taught him.

⋆˙⟡ Leather

The leather couches in the slytherin common room are worn and soft, often creak when sunken into. The warmth of the crackling fire mixing with the smoky air from Theo's cigarette while Mattheo sneakily shows off the joint he rolled, knowing he'd get busted if he lit it. Blaise pulls out a deck of cards, shuffling them with expert precision claiming he knows a magic trick. Mattheo, clearly not buying it, calls his bluff before placing a stupid bet alongside Theo…spoiler: I won.

⋆˙⟡ Lipstick marks

The soft imprints of my beloved chanel lipsticks lingers; on Theo’s skin after a kiss or on the corners of little notes, signing “𝒿.𝓈” prettily with my quill in fresh ink. He never lets me wipe them off. I’ve lost count of how many times he’s walked into quidditch practice with my lipstick still on his neck or cheek, ducking every time Draco insists “he’s got something there”.

⋆˙⟡ Dark wood

The dark wood of my nightstand is worn smooth and cool to the touch, mirroring the desks in class where I lose myself in knowledge. The scent of peonies sent from my dad fills the air, delicately arranged in a glass vase weighing heavy against the dark wood surface. Morning sunlight peeks through my window hitting the vase just right making the water inside shimmer, casting soft reflections on the wall beside my bed. The wood beneath my fingers feels grounding, steady, like a warming sense of permanence..unchanging and constant, as if frozen in time.

⋆˙⟡ Cameras

My digicam is always there with its weight light in my hand, a quiet presence in the chaos. The click of the shutter is like a small pause capturing the laughter and the warmth, like Theo leaning against the wall at a party. The music pulses through the room, blending with the low murmur of laughter and conversation while the air smells like smoke and perfume. I move through the crowd, my heels clicking lightly on the floor and feeling the fabric from my dress against my skin. Under my fingertips? cool metal. The shutter button just waiting to catch the perfect moment. I spot Theo, standing in the corner by the shelves, his posture relaxed as he talks to Lorenzo. I slip into his space, Theo’s hand instinctively resting lightly on my waist. Lorenzo, sensing the moment, quietly takes the camera from my hand and captures the shot. With a brief flash of light the moment was frozen in time.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

this took way too long :) so enjoy it while I drive myself insane with another draft

accio motivation, jas ୨୧

[alittlegiraffe]

Title: Unspoken Boundaries

Marshall Mathers sat in his studio, earbuds in place as he played through some beats. His mind, however, wasn’t on his music. His thoughts kept drifting to her—Y/N. His wife. The one person who had always been his anchor, the calm in the storm that was his chaotic life.

She was a model—always had been—but this time was different. For the first time, she'd agreed to be in a music video. Just not his. Another rapper had offered her the role, and after years of turning down similar offers, she'd decided it was time to take the leap.

“Marsh, I’ve got something to tell you,” she had said earlier, her eyes filled with excitement.

“What’s up, babe?” He’d asked, looking up from his work.

She had been nervous. "I’m going to be in a music video. It’s for [Rapper's Name]."

Marshall had smiled, genuinely happy for her. She’d been working hard for years, building her career, and this was a huge opportunity. “That’s amazing, baby,” he’d said, wrapping her in a tight hug. “I’m proud of you.”

She’d smiled softly, but there was a glint of hesitation in her eyes. “It’s just... it’s not like what you’re used to. You know, I’ve never done something like this before. I just wanted you to know I’m doing it for me.”

“I get it,” he’d reassured her. “You’ve got this.”

But as the day of the shoot arrived, Marshall’s mind started to race. He kept thinking about her—his wife—being on set with someone else. He tried to push the thoughts down. She wasn’t just his wife; she was a professional, and this was a career move. Still, he couldn’t shake the discomfort that built in his chest as he imagined another man—another rapper—around her.

The day passed slowly. Every time his phone buzzed with another update from the set, his stomach tightened. He tried to ignore the gnawing feeling inside, but seeing pictures of her on set, looking so confident, so beautiful, made something stir in him. Then came the shot that did it—the shot. He saw the rapper’s hand on her waist. It was casual, nothing suggestive, but the image was enough to send a surge of jealousy coursing through his veins.

When she finally came home that night, Marshall was sitting in the living room, his hands restless on his lap as he tried to stay calm. He’d been pacing for hours, but when she walked through the door, he froze.

She stepped inside, looking tired but still glowing. Her eyes met his, and she hesitated for a moment.

“Hey, baby,” she said softly, her voice a mixture of exhaustion and warmth.

He didn’t reply right away. He couldn’t. His chest felt tight, his jealousy bubbling up again, but this time, it was different. This time, it was laced with something else—worry. “How’d it go?” he asked, his voice strained despite his efforts to keep it steady.

She shrugged off her jacket, running a hand through her hair. “It was good. I mean, it was fine, but...” She hesitated, biting her lip as if weighing how much to say.

Marshall’s mind raced, the image of the rapper’s hand on her waist flashing in his mind. “But what?” he asked, his voice low, almost too calm.

She paused, her gaze shifting toward the floor. “It just felt... weird, you know? He had his hand on me during some of the scenes, and it... I didn’t like it. I didn’t like being touched like that by someone else.”

Marshall’s heart dropped at her words. The jealousy, the worry—it all suddenly made sense. It wasn’t about the job. It was about her comfort, her boundaries. She had been in an uncomfortable situation, one that had nothing to do with the work itself but everything to do with what felt right for her.

He stepped toward her, his expression softening. “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t realize—” He stopped, running a hand through his hair. “I guess I was being selfish. I just... I couldn’t stand the thought of someone else touching you.”

She smiled at him, a tired but affectionate smile. “It wasn’t that bad. It’s just... I never wanted to be in a position like that, you know? I’ve always kept my distance from that kind of thing. I didn’t expect to feel so... off about it.”

Marshall reached out and cupped her face gently, his thumb brushing over her cheek. “You don’t have to explain yourself. I get it now. I just... I hate the thought of anyone else having a piece of you, even if it’s just for a second. You’re mine. Always have been.”

Her eyes softened, and she leaned into his touch. “I know. And I’m still yours. But it was just... one of those things. I couldn’t do it, Marsh. I couldn’t let him get too close, even if it was for the job.”

Marshall’s chest swelled with relief, but a sudden thought crossed his mind—an idea he’d been too hesitant to voice before. “Then maybe... maybe it’s time for you to be in one of my videos.”

She looked at him, surprise flashing in her eyes. “What?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice firm but full of affection. “I want you in my video. You’ve been by my side through all of this, and I think it’s about time the world gets to see us together, the way it should be. I don’t want you to be in anyone else’s video unless it’s with me.”

[Y/N] smiled, the tension in her shoulders easing as she wrapped her arms around him. “You mean that?”

“Of course I do,” he said, his voice warm. “I’ve been wanting it for so long. No one else should have that privilege.”

She kissed him then, her lips soft and tender against his. “I’d love to, Marsh. Let’s make it happen.”

Marshall felt a sense of relief flood through him, a peace that only came when she was near. He knew they were both in this together, and she wasn’t just his wife—she was his partner, his equal. No matter how many other men might try to get close to her, she would always come back to him.

And now, more than ever, he was determined to share that with the world.

[navybrat817]

A Cornucopia for You!

Steve Rogers; secret dating; corporate; fluff

Your feet felt the sweet relief of solid ground as you slipped your heels off in the elevator ride up to your penthouse. The artificial light in the small box was bright, so much in comparison to the darkness outside. You swore you wouldn’t have seen the sun today if it weren’t for the floor to ceiling windows in your CEO suite.

Channing, the newest board member who had just taken over for his late father, had been relentless for the past few months. He forced you to work late hours, constantly tried to embarrass you every single chance he had, and never took your word for anything, claiming the only reason the company held onto a female CEO and put up with you was “because you’re single.”

He wasn’t quite right about that, though. Sure, you weren’t married, but for the better part of a year, you’d been dating someone so sweet, so kind, and so perfect, except for the fact that he was the CEO of a startup company. One that the board considered a rival.

So you and Steve kept a few simple rules: keep the relationship private, and do your best to keep work talk out of your homes. The second rule was a little more flexible, though. The two of you often found yourselves helping each other with problems, pulling on your collective experience, and of course Steve knew about how terrible Channing was being. Especially since he believed you to be a single workaholic that wouldn’t hop off your back.

Work had gotten you twisted so much so that you’d even forgot what today was until the elevator doors opened and you stepped out. Fluorescent light was replaced by candle and moonlight, vases of your favorite flowers lined your tabletops, and lounging in the middle of your living room sat an all too familiar large figure.

“Steve.” It came out as more of a gasp than anything as you watched him stand and gracefully walk over to you.

“Hi, Sweetheart. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

He greeted you with a hug and the sweetest kiss on the lips. You could feel yourself melting into his arms, almost all the tension releasing from your shoulders, but when you pulled away, concern furrowed your brows. Steve clocked it immediately, of course he did. His warm hands gently brushed up and down your arms.

“Hey, I know this week has been a lot, but you’re home now. You and I can just relax.”

Your eyes fluttered shut and you nodded, placing your forehead against his shoulder with a sigh.

“You’re right. I’ve got some leftovers in the fridge. I know it’s not the most romantic, but we can heat them up and eat them in the tub?”

Steve laughed, his eyes lighting up with genuine affection before he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “You heat up the bath and I’ll heat up the food?”

As the two of you sat opposite each other in the oversized tub, bubbles up to your shoulders, you were so grateful for him and the peace he provided you. The sanctuary.

Steve finished off his glass of wine and set it to the side. “I know we agreed no work talk, but I just wanna say one thing. If you think it’s a bad idea, feel free to forget it and move on, but this offer will always stand.”

You shifted, putting a leg in Steve’s lap for a foot rub and you stifled a groan as he began.

“Come work with me.”

Your eyes quickly shot open at that. “What?”

“Be my co-CEO. Heck, be the sole CEO if you want, but I really don’t wanna see you torn up by shareholders anymore. I don’t have those. You’d be your own boss. We’d be unstoppable.”

You set your wine glass aside and sat up, making your way to straddle Steve’s lap, your hands gripping his steady shoulders. You leaned in and watched as his eager eyes shifted between yours, your lips brushing his, sharing shallow breaths.

“Okay.”

Oh, Steve is so perfect! ❤️ Essie, you are amazing, and I love everything about this. I wouldn't hesitate to give Channing the finger on my last day. And the image of the flowers and Steve sitting there both sweetly and full of power. We all need someone like him in our lives. ❤️

Love and thanks! ❤️

[jinmindeulle]

vulnerable | k. mingyu, j. wonwoo (2)

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 kim mingyu x fem!reader x jeon wonwoo

𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 1.7 k

𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆 angst, fluff | friends-with-benefits!mingyu, neighbor-and-highschool-crush!wonwoo | you decided! mingyu is your choice.

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 mentions about sex i guess?

mingyu took a decision. wonwoo will be there for you.

• • ┈┈┈┈ ๑ ⋅ ⋯ ୨ ୧ ⋯ ⋅ ๑ ┈┈┈┈ • •

You loved spending time with Wonwoo. You really did.

But you couldn’t stop thinking about Mingyu and how days went by without him reaching out. He seemed a little disoriented when he left your dorm that evening, so you thought that him being all silent with you was his way of dealing with the situation.

“I can’t help but ask you, is everything alright?”

Ever since you got closer to Wonwoo, you would regularly visit each other. All it took was a minute-long walk from one corner of the first floor to the other. Now that he had a tiny and fluffy companion, you had more excuses to stop by when you got home from work.

“It’s complicated” you sighed, gently scratching the kitty’s neck.

“I like complicated” he chuckled, bringing his can of beer to his lips as he looked at you with attentive eyes.

“Well… I’ve got this friend who has been my best friend ever since college. We met when he banged on my dorm’s room at two in the morning because he was drunk and thought that was his dorm.” you giggled, reminiscing about that crazy first week as a college student. “He was everywhere I looked, and he seemed to like talking to me. We became close and he has been my rock for more than eight years. But last year, things changed a bit between us”

“You fell in love, right?” Wonwoo’s eyebrows rose.

“Kinda?” you shrugged, giving an awkward laugh “We started as friends with benefits, with some rules to follow. We could kiss and have sex. We could make it stop when one of us asked to. We banned jealousy and we were not exclusive…except-”

“You were being exclusive” he chuckled and shook his head “I don’t see the problem, though. If you two were fine by how things were going…”

“He was not” you sighed, taking a sip of your can so you could continue the story with a little bit more courage “He asked me to start seeing other people so we could follow that stupid rule, and he explicitly said ‘I don’t want us to be a couple’”

Wonwoo seemed to be contemplating where the narrative was heading before he asked “But he still wanted to fuck you?”

“We were not having sex every time we met up — that was what bothered him the most, I guess. Not because of the act in itself, but because he felt we were practically a couple when he came over, cooked with me, and cuddled to sleep instead of being all over each other”

“So…”

“We fought and he finally came over to apologize. But now we’re in this weird position where he doesn’t know what he wants and I’m waiting for him as if I were Rapunzel trapped in a tower. He knows I don’t see him as a friend anymore. But I don’t want to lose him if he chooses to make this end” you looked down to your lap, eyes welling up. Wonwoo shifted from his side of the couch and scooted closer, hugging you with his right arm so you could place your head on the crook of his neck.    

“You won’t lose him. It might be weird at the beginning, yes. But he needs you as much as you need him. Do you think he is willing to cut ties with you if he doesn’t choose commitment?”

“I guess he’s not” you mumbled, taking in Wonwoo’s scent to calm down your hiccup. 

“If he is the one, and you are his one, there’s nothing to worry about,” his low and calm voice had a magical effect on you, and as you felt the vibrations of his voice through his neck, you began to soothe your worries “ If you still think he’s the one when he’s still not ready to treat you as his girlfriend, maybe time will eventually bring you two together. And if time doesn’t, then… I’m still gonna be here” 

“You are an angel” you mumbled, feeling your eyes heavy. 

“Only for you”

. . . . . . . . . .

Eleven. Exactly eleven days had passed, and Mingyu was still nowhere to be seen, or heard of.

You knew by a friend in common that he had been going from his home to the office, and from the office to his home all along. It had been suspicious for his coworkers too, because one of them had reached out to ask you if everything was alright with him. I think so — was all you could say. 

On your way home after a pretty light day at work, you opened his chat at least ten times. At that point, it was more of a necessity rather than a desire to know if he was okay. Tomorrow, you promised to yourself. If he doesn’t say anything by tomorrow, I will come by his house.

The thought of seeing him again brought tears to your eyes. You missed him more than anyone, you missed his skin against yours, his lips traveling down every piece of you, the soft smiles and the caring kisses he gave you before going to sleep.

You had to rub your eyes because the tears made you miss the keyhole as you tried to get into your apartment. Should I call him?

Your question was answered as soon as you opened the door. 

The most gorgeous peony bouquet sat on your coffee table, accompanied by a small off-white envelope. 

You discarded your bag and blazer on your way to the table, not caring if the door remained open. The envelope had your name, the handwriting was unmistakenly Mingyu’s.   

Y/N

I’m not good with words and you, more than anyone, know this. You will notice that this is too well written — I took my time. I think it took four days to complete and one more to rewrite it. Don’t get your hopes up, though. I may be an editor-in-chief, but writing from the heart is not my forte.

When I left your house, nothing of what you said was clear to me. I don’t like commitment — I have never liked it, even before we met. So of course I had wanted to avoid it, I ran from it. How could I ever fall comfortable with what we had if it was obviously what I had never wanted?

After I got to my house, my heart felt empty. I was no longer looking forward to anything else, not even after-office drinking or my mum’s dishes. But it wasn’t until I unconsciously made my way to your dorm one Wednesday evening that I realized why.

You were what I was looking forward to every day. No one or nothing else but you. Not even sleeping together. The sole thought of having you was what kept me happy and satisfied with my life.

And when you left, I knew there was no way I was losing you.

I don’t know if what we were doing was commitment. I want to believe so — and that reassures me that I am capable of being the man you deserve to have in your life as a partner in all aspects. Please be patient with me if I need you to teach me how to be a proper boyfriend. I am and will always be willing to learn because I want to be it for you.

I want to be your boyfriend. I want you to be my girlfriend. I want us to be us, you and me, no one else in between.

I love you and I think I fell in love with you the night I wanted to trespass on your dorm — drunk or not, the butterflies would have been there. I didn’t know what falling in love implied, so I guess I tried to dodge it for eight years to avoid admitting it.

Better late than never, right?

If you still want to take this fool, I promise to never let you down. If you are done with my dumbness, I will respect it. I deserve that anyway.

Once again, I love you with all my heart. 

Yours,   

KMG.

Shocked, relieved, ecstatic. So many emotions were evoked by that one letter that your hands trembled when you put it back down in hopes that the flowers would calm you down. But the man whose handwriting you so dearly adored had other plans.

“Can I be your boyfriend?”

You let out a surprised yelp and immediately turned around. 

There he was, standing by the door frame, hands in his pockets, a light blush on his cheeks. How much you had missed that image in front of you.

Your body reacted before your brain did. You ran towards Mingyu, who swiftly caught you before you even jumped at him. You clung to his neck with both of your arms and hugged his hips with your legs, not wanting to let go of the man who took it upon himself to break and pick up the pieces of your broken heart, all in two weeks.

“Is that a yes?” he giggled, closing the door with his foot, effortlessly making his way to the bedroom with you in his arms.

“It’s a ‘You took your damn time, cowboy’!”

“Sorry,” he sighed, gently laying you down on your mattress, careful to support his weight on his own and not on your body “I can be a bit slow”

“A bit?” you giggled, taking his face with your hands and caressing his cheeks with your thumbs “Is eight years just a bit to you, Gyu?”

“If you put it that way…” 

“Shut up and kiss me”

“Your wish is my command, my love”

Mingyu had always been a great kisser, but damn. The way he kissed you as his girlfriend? A new wonder of the world, if they asked you. It was tender, sparkly, romantic. He took care of you, he didn’t rush it. It felt like he was measuring his every move because it was different now.

“I,” kiss “love,” kiss “you,” kiss.

As he peppered you with sloppy kisses all over your face, you finally felt at home. Kim Mingyu was all you could have asked for, all you could have wished for, all you could have died for. 

And he was there. In your arms, telling you with each breath how much he loved you. 

Life was good. Life was very good.

• • ┈┈┈┈ ๑ ⋅ ⋯ ୨ ୧ ⋯ ⋅ ๑ ┈┈┈┈ • •

epilogue: mingyu as your boyfriend

• • ┈┈┈┈ ๑ ⋅ ⋯ ୨ ୧ ⋯ ⋅ ๑ ┈┈┈┈ • •

part 1 | you decide... mingyu or wonwoo (3) soon!

[luvst4rc0r3]

If you're interested in a bsd request

Dazai’s suicide attempts keep getting interrupted by Reader barging in and dragging them into the most ridiculous. arguments and then the mending that he comes with them to the computer so they can look up the answer to the question they're arguing about. Successfully distracting him before he can drink poison or hurting himself. Little does he know that was Reader's secret plan all along!

“The art of distraction”

Dazai x Reader

The room was dim, just the flicker of a lamp illuminating the small, quiet space. Dazai sat on the floor, staring at the small bottle of poison in his hands. His fingers traced the edge of it as if trying to decide whether today would be the day. The darkness of his mind crept in again, and the familiar numbness filled his chest.

But just as he was about to tip the bottle to his lips, a loud bang from the door echoed through the room.

“Dazai! You won’t believe this!” You barged into the room without hesitation, a flurry of energy as you stomped in, completely oblivious to the fact that he was about to end it all.

His gaze flicked over to you, the poison still in his hand. His face fell into its usual mask, though the pain behind his eyes was impossible to hide. “You’ve got terrible timing, [Name].”

“Timing? No way!” You scoffed, dramatically placing your hands on your hips. “I need your help with something very important, and you’re coming with me.”

Dazai blinked. “Important? Right now?”

“Yes! Right now,” you said firmly. Before he could even protest, you walked right up to him, grabbed the bottle from his hand, and yanked him to his feet. “No more of this self-pity nonsense. I need you to help me figure out if penguins are technically birds or if they’re some kind of sea creature.”

“…What?” Dazai stared at you, incredulous.

“I mean, seriously! We need to settle this debate! You can’t leave me hanging!” You pulled him out of the room before he could voice any more objections, dragging him toward the computer.

He stumbled behind you, still dazed and now thoroughly confused. “You’re dragging me to look up penguin classifications?” His voice was full of disbelief, but the edge of bitterness in his tone had softened.

“Absolutely. It’s vital.” You plopped him in front of the computer, forcing him to sit down. “I’ve been arguing with Atsushi for days. He thinks penguins are just ‘cute sea birds.’ But I know there’s more to it! Now, type it in and let’s end this, once and for all!”

Dazai sat in front of the computer, running his fingers through his messy hair. He stared at the screen in front of him, completely caught off guard by your sheer determination to distract him. “Is this really what we’re doing right now?” He let out a small, defeated laugh. “I thought you were going to stop me from doing something foolish, not… start a ridiculous debate.”

“Well,” you said with a sly smile, “a debate is way more fun than the alternative.”

His eyes softened, just a little, though his usual smirk remained in place. “You really think arguing about penguins is going to save me, huh?”

“Why not?” You gave him a look that was equal parts sarcastic and sincere. “Maybe it’ll remind you that there’s something worth sticking around for. Even if it’s just a penguin debate.”

Dazai stared at you for a long moment, as if weighing the depth of your words, but before he could say anything, the computer beeped with the results.

“See? Penguins are birds, but they’re not just sea creatures,” you declared triumphantly, pointing at the screen. “They’re a whole thing, and now we know.”

Dazai chuckled softly, shaking his head. “I still can’t believe you managed to distract me with something like this. You’re too clever, [Name].”

“Maybe,” you said with a grin, “but I’d rather use my powers of distraction for something more… productive. Like keeping you alive and arguing about penguins.”

He leaned back in his chair, his posture relaxing slightly as he allowed himself to smile. “I suppose I should thank you for that. You’ve got an odd way of pulling me out of my own darkness.”

You shrugged. “I’ve got my methods. And they involve penguins. Who knew?”

Dazai let out a genuine laugh, something rare and pure. “I suppose it’s a good thing you barged in when you did.”

“See?” you teased. “I’m basically a superhero.”

And for the first time in a while, Dazai didn’t feel quite so alone in the darkness.

this is kinda a silly fic

I want food

[audiovideodisco]

hii

could you please do a chase x house!daughter (also a doctor) fic where chase meets her for the first time and dr wombat falls head over heels for her (followed by australian pining, much to the amusement of the team)?

thank you so much!

Hello!!!! thank you for the req!!

sorry i took a while, ive been a bit busy with my masters degree and ngl i forgot how exhausting uni is when ur ill, but this was a nice break ❤️❤️

i hope you like it!!

Worshipping the bloodline.

When Foreman hires a new doctor, things go a little bit sideways, and very down under. Who is she?

cw: mild language, house being house, one unintentional uncomfortable joke by taub, australians

word count: 964

requested: yes

relationship: chase x house’s daughter!reader

characteristics: doctor reader, she/her reader, no other descriptors

•••

“Dr. Veltz will be joining later this afternoon. Play nice.” Foreman said, directing his last words at House. He didn’t react much outwardly, but sent Foreman a cheeky eyebrow raise, which in turn made him roll his eyes and walk out the glass office door with a rhythmic thud of his new dress shoes on the hospital flooring.

“Who’s Dr-“ Chase started, soon cut off by House, not to anyone’s surprise.

“She’s… I don’t know. Ask Foreman. I didn’t hire her.”

“You didn’t?”

“Officially, I did. Unofficially? I don’t want anyone else on my team, wait, no, I officially don’t want anyone on my team either… You get the point.”

Chase looked at Dr. Park across from him, as if searching for information, but she just shrugged and began rambling about the case file ahead of her, and House gladly took the opportunity to steer the conversation away.

As the day wore on, the team almost forgot about the mystery Dr. Veltz, until she turned up at House’s office door.

“Hi, I’m-“

“Yeah, Veltz, I know-“

“Could we, um, talk, before I start? Uh… in private?”

House looked at her pensively but eventually nodded and took her to his office, shutting the door.

Chase couldn’t help but be mesmerised by the woman that had just walked into the room, rather unsubtly staring at her through the glass walls. She wasn’t his usual type, but she really was magical…

“HEY! AUSSIE!” Chi practically barked at Chase as she slammed her hand on the table, just about bringing him back to the differential office.

“W-woah- what?”

“You were staring. Like, directly at Veltz.” Taub said, not sure how aware Chase actually was of his actions.

“What? I wasn’t-“

“Yeah, you kinda were, she is very pretty, I don’t blame you…” Adams said, a little bit of amusement still lingering on her face, but her compliment to Veltz was genuine.

Chas put his head in his hands as he felt himself go read with embarrassment. Meanwhile, Veltz and House spoke in his office, trying to ignore the shenanigans in the other room.

“Don’t mind him. He’s just… well… Australian and Catholic.”

Veltz laughs softly at his teasing but isn’t able to hide her nerves.

“What is it. You’re practically vibrating.”

“Uh… I pushed for this job so that I’d get the chance to actually talk to you about something-“

“You’re not a patient are you-“

“No- no… nothing like that, I genuinely want this job, but I think you have a right to know about… well incase you don’t want me to work with you because of it-“

“Get on with it-“

“I’m your daughter.”

House’s face went quickly through all five stages of grief except acceptance.

“That’s ridiculous, I’ve never gotten anyone-“

“My mom… I took her legal surname, but you met her as a sex worker in medical school. Leonie Lane.”

His face flashed with recognition. Why the hell did he think he was able to defy nature back then… in med school of all places? Condoms, House… although, maybe this wasn’t a bad thing. She was clearly incredibly capable or she wouldn’t have even gotten this far.

“She… um… she never told me.”

“She knew you didn’t sign up for that, and said it was as much her fault as yours. She wanted me, and I’m the one who asked about your name.”

“My name?”

“Yeah. She told me my dad was a doctor who saved lives, but she didn’t pretend that something happened to you or anything, she told me the truth, and I had a lovely supportive family in others too. But I asked if she knew your name, I wanted to meet you. You’re the reason I became a doctor.”

“Wow. Um. It might sound horrible, but can we do a DNA test? I just-“

“Of course, that’s not horrible, that’s completely reasonable.”

He nodded solemnly.

“Alright, uh, let’s go back to the case for now, we can catch up more later…”

“Alright, cool.”

They go back to the room, hearing the other doctors bickering, which ceases as soon as they enter.

The weeks go on as normal, and House and Veltz find out that she is his daughter. It’s a bit confusing for them both to navigate, but it gets a little easier. Park, Taub and Adams notice his slight - very slight - favouritism towards Veltz, and Taub can’t help himself but make a remark about it. It’s a particularly bad pain day for House, so he’s even worse at masking his preference towards her, and his words are practically entirely unfiltered…

“Veltz has sauntered in and captured House’s heart, almost like he’s got the hots-“

“Don’t you DARE insinuate that about my dau-“ He caught his slip up, but it was too late. Veltz mouthed to him, knowing he felt guilty for her sake, not his,

“It’s alright.”

“Wait, does this mean that Chase has a crush on House’s kid?” Park says out loud before her brain stops her.

“Kid? I’m- wait… what?” Veltz turns to look at chase, who by this point is burning bright red, and had averted his gaze.

“Oh jeez.” Chase mutters.

“Okay. Let’s move on so our patient doesn’t die of SEPSIS before with untangle whatever the hell is going on here.” Everyone nods, looking back at the whiteboard.

As the case comes to a close, Veltz hands Chase the test results to file away, and a small slip of paper sat on the top. He had given up at this point, not thinking anything of it, but when he unfolded the slip, seeing her distinct handwriting…

Call me. (555)555 555.

he couldn’t help but smile widely, almost like a child, blushing furiously and stuffing the paper in his trouser pocket, calling her that very night.

[fourthavecafe]

can you do a L x reader where reader is nothing L while he’s trying to work and he gets up and just tickles them crazy! Take as much time as you need!

when annoying your boyfriend L takes a wrong turn ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

The room was silent except for the rhythmic tapping of L’s fingers on his keyboard. He sat in his usual crouched position, his dark eyes fixed on the multiple monitors in front of him.

The glow of the screens reflected off his pale face, highlighting the bags under his eyes. He was deep in thought, piecing together clues for his latest case, when you decided to interrupt again.

“L, come on! You’ve been sitting there for hours” you said, leaning over the back of his chair. “Don’t you ever take a break?”

L didn’t look up. “I’m working” he replied in his usual monotone voice. “and you’re distracting me.”

You pouted, walking around to face him. “But you’ve been working all day! Don’t you want to do something fun? Like… I don’t know, eat cake? Or watch a movie? Or—”

“No” L interrupted, his eyes still glued to the screen. “I don’t.”

You sighed dramatically, plopping down on the floor next to him. “You’re so boring. How can you just sit there all day and not go crazy?”

L finally glanced at you, his expression as blank as ever. “I’m not the one who’s been talking nonstop for the past hour.”

You stuck your tongue out at him, earning a slight raise of his eyebrow. “Well, maybe if you paid attention to me once in a while, I wouldn’t have to annoy you so much.”

L didn’t respond, returning his focus to his work. You groaned, flopping onto your back and staring at the ceiling. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

For the next hour, you continued to pester him, asking random questions, making jokes and occasionally poking his arm. L remained calm, answering your questions with short, clipped responses and ignoring your attempts to get a reaction out of him. But beneath his stoic exterior, he was growing increasingly annoyed.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, L closed his laptop and turned to face you. “Are you quite finished?” he asked, his voice as calm as ever.

You sat up, grinning. “Depends. Are you finally going to take a break?”

L stared at you for a moment, his dark eyes unreadable. Then, without a word, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. “Actually, I need your help with something.”

Your eyes lit up. “Really? You never ask for my help! What is it?”

L held up the handcuffs, examining them closely. “These are a new design. I need to test them on someone to see how effective they are. Would you mind?”

You hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. “Sure, why not? What do I have to do?”

L gestured for you to stand up. “Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”

You did as he asked, feeling a slight thrill at being involved in one of his experiments. L fastened the handcuffs around your wrists, his movements precise and efficient. “How do they feel?” he asked.

You wriggled your hands a bit. “A little tight but not too bad. What’s next?”

L didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he stepped back and tilted his head, his gaze drifting down to your stomach. You were wearing a crop top and your belly button ring glinted in the light. L’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if he were studying a particularly intriguing puzzle.

“Your piercing” he said suddenly. “How long have you had it?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. “Uh… a few years, I guess. Why?”

L stepped closer, his expression as calm as ever. “I’ve always found body modifications fascinating. The human body’s ability to heal and adapt is remarkable. Have you ever experienced any complications? Infections, for example?”

You shook your head, feeling a bit self-conscious under his intense gaze. “No, not really. I made sure to take care of it properly.”

L nodded, his eyes still fixed on your stomach. “Interesting and does it still cause any discomfort?”

“Not really” you said, shifting uncomfortably. “Why are you so interested all of a sudden?”

L didn’t answer. Instead, he reached out and gently poked your stomach, just below the piercing. You let out a startled shriek, jerking away from his touch. “L! What the hell?”

L tilted his head, his expression unchanged. “You laughed. Why?”

You glared at him, your face turning red. “Because it tickled, you idiot!”

L’s eyes widened slightly, as if he’d just made a groundbreaking discovery. “Tickled?” he repeated, his voice tinged with curiosity. “Fascinating.”

Before you could react, he poked your stomach again, this time with a bit more force. You burst into laughter, squirming in an attempt to escape his touch. “L, stop! That’s not funny!”

But L wasn’t laughing. In fact, he looked more serious than ever. “This is an interesting reaction” he said, his tone clinical. “The human body’s response to tickling is a complex neurological phenomenon. It’s often associated with vulnerability and trust, as the sensation can only be triggered in certain areas.”

You tried to back away but L followed you, his fingers now exploring your sides. You let out another peal of laughter, your legs giving out beneath you. L caught you easily, lowering you to the floor with surprising gentleness.

“Your laughter is quite… intense” he observed, his voice calm despite your frantic squirming. “I wonder if other areas are equally sensitive.”

“L, I swear—” you started but your words were cut off as he dug his fingers into your ribs. You screamed with laughter, tears streaming down your face as you tried to wriggle away. But with your hands cuffed behind your back, there was no escape.

L continued his “experiment” with the precision of a scientist, methodically testing every spot that made you laugh. He took mental notes, his expression never wavering from its usual blankness. “The sides are particularly sensitive” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “And the area just below the ribs… fascinating.”

By the time he finally stopped, you were a giggling, breathless mess on the floor. L stood up on his heels, studying you with a thoughtful expression. “That was… enlightening” he said, his tone as calm as ever.

You glared at him, though the effect was somewhat ruined by your flushed face and tear-streaked cheeks. “You’re the worst” you muttered, still trying to catch your breath.

L tilted his head, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Perhaps. But now I know how to silence you when you’re being… disruptive.”

You groaned, letting your head fall back against the floor. “I hate you.”

L walked off, brushing off his pants. “No, you don’t” he said simply. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

and with that, he walked back to his chair, leaving you cuffed and helpless on the floor. You couldn’t help but laugh, despite yourself. L was impossible, infuriating, and utterly unpredictable and somehow, that was exactly why you couldn’t stay mad at him.

[lightan117]

I will wait, no matter how long - Part 1

Guys, I had to break up this massive chapter. It took me forever and tons of rewrites. 12k words just for part 1 alone. And I'm not even done yet! Please let me know how you guys like this! I worked really hard on this and to bring up more of Daisy's past.

Pairings: Lucanis/ (F)Mourn Watch Rook

Warnings: Some violence, drinking, ghosts, and mentions of abuse. There is also a lot of pining, fluff, and Lucanis/Rook being fools in love but can't express how they feel.

~oOo~

Daisy had never moved so quickly in her life. One second, she was in the pantry with Lucanis, and the next, she was almost taking Harding's door off its hinges. “I’ve fucked up.”

“I’m sorry?!” Lace’s head shot up as Daisy barged into her conservatory room, sending a ceramic pot teetering dangerously on a ledge. Her eyes went wide when the curse word fell from Daisy’s lips. “What in the Maker’s name—Start from the beginning!”

Daisy wheezed, trying to form a coherent thought, but her brain was still soup. Her whole life was about staying composed in tense situations—handling wayward spirits and working through magical problems with a steady hand. She was supposed to be calm. She was supposed to be rational. So why did it feel like she had just sprinted through a battlefield naked while screaming her deepest, most shameful secrets? She grabbed Lace by the shoulders. “I made a mistake.”

Lace stared at her. “Did you set something on fire?”

“No.”

“Did you accidentally invite a demon into the Lighthouse?”

“No!”

“…Did you finally tell Lucanis you like him, and it backfired spectacularly?”

Daisy made a strangled noise and smacked her hands over her burning face.

Lace howled.

“Oh, this is better than I hoped. Keep talking.”

Daisy flailed. “I didn’t mean to! I was just—Spite took over, right? So I talked to him, trying to keep things from getting worse—”

“Of course you did,” Lace muttered.

“—And then Lucanis took control again, and he was all broody and apologetic and tragic-looking, and I was just trying to be supportive, but then—then things happened—”

Lace leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “What things?”

Daisy whimpered. “He—he cornered me, Lace.”

Lace nearly fell off her chair. “Excuse me?”

“Against the pantry wall! He—he put his hand next to my head and looked at me and—and his voice got all deep and serious, and I—I said stupid things—”

Lace grabbed her arm. “How stupid?”

Daisy sucked in a breath. “He said, ‘This isn’t a good idea.’ And I—I told him—” She gulped.

Lace shook her. “What did you say?”

“I told him… ‘Sometimes a bad idea is better.’”

Lace screamed.

Daisy screamed with her, shaking her by the shoulders in sheer secondhand horror. “No, no, no, it gets worse—” Daisy babbled. “He said I liked walking too close to the edge, and I said, ‘So do you,’ and then he said, ‘At least I know I’m doing it,’ and his voice dropped, and Lace, I thought—” She gasped for air. “I thought he was going to kiss me!”

Lace was already standing up. “Did he?!”

“NO!” Daisy wailed. “He just stared at me, like he was debating all of his life choices, and then he walked away!”

Lace clutched her head like she was in physical pain. “HE DID WHAT?!”

“I DON’T KNOW, OKAY?! I’VE NEVER DONE THIS BEFORE; I PANICKED, HE PANICKED, WE PANICKED, AND NOW I’M DYING.” Daisy flopped onto the floor, groaning into her hands.

Lace exhaled sharply and rolled her sleeves up. “Alright, I’m getting my crossbow.”

“Lace, no!” Daisy latched onto her waist.

“Oh no, no, no. He pulled away?! After that kind of tension?! What, does he think he can walk off a near-kiss like it was a casual chat about the weather?! I’ll show him weather—”

Daisy clung harder. “It’s fine—”

“IT IS NOT FINE.”

“I JUST WANTED TO VENT, NOT INCITE A MURDER.”

Lace gritted her teeth, arms crossed. “Alright, fine. No murder. Yet.” She sat back down, hands still twitching. “But what’s the real problem, Daisy? Because I know that face, and that face says, ‘I’m spiraling into an existential crisis.’”

Daisy sniffed. “…What if I imagined everything? What if he doesn’t actually like me that way?”

Lace gawked at her. “Are you joking? Have you seen the way he looks at you?”

Daisy frowned. “But what about him and Neve?”

Lace groaned like she had been physically wounded. “Daisy. Please. You’re smarter than this.”

Daisy buried her face in her hands again. “I feel so stupid.”

Lace softened, placing a hand on her shoulder. “You’re not stupid. You’re just… catastrophically in love for the first time and have no idea how to process it.”

Daisy whimpered.

Lace sighed, standing and offering her a hand. “Alright. Get up. We’re going for a walk.”

Daisy peeked through her fingers. “A walk?”

“Yes. Because if we don’t, I’m going to march straight to Lucanis and tell him to fix this before you combust.”

“…Fair.”

As they left, Tassh appeared at the top of the stairs. “Uh. What’s happening?”

Lace pointed. “Daisy’s in love and suffering.” Daisy's face grew red with every glare sent in Lace's direction.

Tassh nodded sagely. “Ah. Been there.”

“Want to join us?”

Tassh shrugged. “Why not? Watching Daisy have a meltdown sounds entertaining.”

Daisy groaned. “I hate both of you.”

Lace slung an arm around her. “No, you don’t.”

“…Fine.”

"We should go to the Hall of Valor. Isabella owes Rook a few drinks for helping out. Besides, the company isn't bad, and the Lords are fun to party with." Taash offered. It wasn't a bad idea, but...Daisy wasn't best friends with alcohol, and the few times she does have any, it's minimal moderation. Varric gave her some fruity Orleasian wine the last time, where one could hardly feel intoxicated until they stood up. Then, the feeling would slam them up against a brick wall.

"What's going on?" The group turned toward Neve, and Bellara approached them.

Before Lace could open her mouth Tassh jumped in, no stopping them. "Lace and Rook want to drink at the Hall with the Lords. Wanna join?"

"There are plenty of places in Minrathous, but is there something about the Hall that's more exciting, Taash?" Neve asked, and Bellara quickly jumped in with excitement over the idea.

"The Hall has free drinks and no venatori. What more could we ask for? We all deserve a drink." The three of them started to plan for the night, which was settled on that very evening, while Lace looked up at Daisy for some sign of discomfort. Lace had never seen Daisy take such a quiet stance before, and the far-off look behind her eyes was worrying.

"Daisy? I know how you are with drinking." Lace whispered, and Daisy shook her head, her ear cuffs jingling softly.

"It's fine Lace. I have you watching out for me, right?" Daisy's smile didn't reach her eyes. Lace nodded, speaking the word always before squeezing her arm while the three members of their party planned the night. "Besides, one drink won't hurt. It might kill any leftover embarrassment I have."  

No time like the present. Daisy barely had time to protest before Bellara, practically vibrating with excitement, grabbed her arm and dragged her from the Lighthouse. The energy was infectious, but Daisy could only manage a half-hearted chuckle as they stumbled forward together. Behind them, Lace hurried toward Emmrich’s quarters, knocking sharply before slipping inside to inform the necromancer of their plans. They wouldn't be gone long, just enough time for a needed reprieve from the constant weight of their reality. Meanwhile, Taash was already deep in conversation with Neve, pouring over the list of drinks with a mischievous glint in their eye. If all went according to plan—or horribly awry—they could always crash at their mother’s house should the need arise.

Daisy tried her best to keep up appearances, her usual mask in place. She smiled; she laughed at the right moments, but the effort was exhausting. She felt Lace’s perceptive gaze flicker toward her every now and then as if trying to decipher the emotions lurking beneath the surface. But Daisy was a master at misdirection, and Bellara, with her boundless enthusiasm, made for an excellent distraction. She seized every opportunity to steer the conversation toward Bellara’s latest experiments, her magical advancements, and all the questions Daisy had been meaning to ask but never quite remembered at the moment. Bellara, ever the

inquisitive person was happy to oblige, her voice animated as she shared her knowledge.

Daisy had spent much of her early life feeling like an outsider. Raised by two human women in a world where bloodlines mattered, her elven heritage had been a mystery—at one time, she was desperate to unravel. Now, she just wanted to know more about what she was missing. Learning the language had been a struggle; each word clawed from the depths of an identity she was only beginning to grasp. Even now, the scars of old prejudices lingered, reflected back at her every time she saw her...ruined pointed ears in the mirror. She had been judged for them, scorned by those who saw her as neither fully human nor entirely elven but something in between—something lesser. A half-breed. A mutt. A weed.

Meeting Bellara had been a turning point. The Dalish elf carried the weight of her people’s traditions with pride, and she had been more than willing to guide Daisy toward the answers she sought. When their paths eventually crossed with Davrin, a seasoned Gray Warden, Daisy had another mentor willing to help her navigate her tangled heritage. Davrin had taken her under his wing with an ease that had startled her, offering not just guidance but acceptance.

For the first time in her life, Daisy wasn’t an outsider looking in. The rag-tag group she had assembled—Taash, Davrin, Lucanis, Lace, Neve, Bellara, Emmrich—had become more than allies. They were her family. Not one she had stumbled upon in the shadows of Nevarra, not one she had been abandoned to by fate, but one she had built with her own hands. It hadn’t been written in the stars. It hadn’t been some grand destiny. It had simply happened. And she had never been more grateful.

When they arrived at the Lords, the night of celebration was in full force.

Laughter rippled through the warm night air, mingling with the scent of salt and spirits. Daisy sat with the others around a long wooden table, a half-empty mug in her hands. The glow of lanterns cast flickering shadows on their faces, and the sound of waves crashing against the distant shore provided a steady, rhythmic backdrop to their revelry.

Bellara and Lace were already deep into their drinks, each engaged in an unspoken contest of who could down more without slurring their words. Neve leaned back in her chair, eyes glinting with amusement as she sipped from a delicate glass, while Taash, already flushed from the alcohol, animatedly recounted a story of a battle in a jungle, arms waving dramatically. "You should've seen it," Taash boasted, their grin wide. "This thing was bigger than a druffalo, with scales like darksteel and teeth like daggers—"

"—And yet, here you are, still in one piece," Neve drawled, smirking over the rim of her glass.

"Obviously," Taash said, feigning offense. "What do you take me for? Some common soldier?"

Isabella snorted. "We take you for someone who embellishes their tales more with every drink. Take it from someone who embellishes often."

Lace laughed, slamming her mug down. "If she’s lying, at least it's entertaining!"

Daisy chuckled along with them, warmth blooming in her chest—not just from the alcohol but from the ease of the moment. It had been too long since they'd all had time like this, where battle and duty didn’t weigh down on their shoulders. Here, they could just exist in a pocket of laughter and camaraderie, away from the expectations that usually hung over them. But even as she smiled, something in the back of her mind buzzed with unease. She shifted in her seat, rolling her shoulders as if trying to shake off the sudden prickling under her skin. Daisy...a whisper of her name more than once caught her attention, shifting her eyes to look over her shoulder. She ignored it, mistaking her real name being mentioned instead of her normal Rook.

When she started to feel it, Daisy was perhaps two or three drinks in.

The night around her buzzed—too warm, too loud, too much. Even outside, the air felt thick, pressing in on her skin like a smothering embrace. Voices blended into a single, overwhelming hum, layered with laughter, cheers, and the occasional clink of mugs. Even the spirits of Adventure, those boisterous echoes of old stories and grand exploits, seemed to swell in volume, their ghostly voices bouncing off one another like a chorus inside her head. The heat crawled up Daisy’s neck, settling behind her cheeks. The alcohol left her limbs floating and buzzing at the same time, like she wasn’t fully anchored to the ground. Her fingers tightened around the half-full mug in her hands—whatever they had given her was more potent than she anticipated. The Lords around her continued their endless tales; their excitement was palpable, their pasts bleeding into the present as if time had unraveled for them. Isabella was chatting with Neve and Taash, their laughter cutting through the thick air like a blade. Bellara and Lace had disappeared and were likely off to get another drink.

And Daisy… Daisy was alone.

The thrill of it sent a tremor through her chest. And yet, so did the fear.

Every sip made it easier, loosening the iron grip she kept on herself. The last time she had drunk this much, it had been with Lace and Varric by a crackling campfire, the stars sprawling overhead like tiny, unjudging eyes. She had been reluctant then, hesitant in the way only someone raised to fear indulgence could be. But Varric had made sure she drank, nudging her toward a lovely Orlesian wine that had hit harder than she expected.

That night, the weight of years had spilled from her lips. The War of Banners. Her family. The orphans she had cared for as penance, as repayment. The chains she would wear until her last breath. Her memory loss. By morning, she had been dizzy and aching but lighter.

The ocean breeze brushed past her, but it wasn’t enough to cool the fire in her skin. "Having fun?" Daisy flinched. Neve leaned against the overlook beside her, drink in hand, sharp eyes watching.

Daisy willed herself to stay steady, gripping the railing as if it could anchor her to the moment. "Just… thinking," she managed, the words heavy on her tongue. "Needed to step… away. Got hot all of a sudden."

The ocean stretched before them, the salt air tangling in her hair. Beautiful, as always, but the thought of sand sticking to her boots was enough to sour the scene. "Everyone seems to be having a great time, though," Daisy added, voice slightly distant. "Glad we could do this. Gods, can you imagine if Davrin were here? I’d pay to see who could drink more—him or Taash."

Neve hummed. "My money’s on Taash. But Davrin did mention Wardens drink a lot. Could be close." Daisy nodded, grateful for the distraction. But Neve’s gaze lingered too long. "You do remember I’m a detective, right?" Neve said, her voice light but her meaning sharp. "It’s my job to notice what’s missing. Find the problem. Or—" She stepped closer. "understand why something happened." Daisy’s stomach twisted. "You wouldn’t happen to be thinking about a certain assassin who lives in our pantry now, are you?"

Her breath hitched. "I am not…" The denial came too quickly, her voice too tight. She refused to look Neve in the eye, afraid her expression would betray her.

Neve chuckled. "You know he likes you, right? More than likes you."

Daisy’s heart tripped over itself.

"I’m sorry?" Her tongue felt clumsy, too thick.

"For such a strong leader, you might be a bit blind when it comes to someone having feelings for you." The words were casual, but they slammed into Daisy with the force of a war hammer. "What could possibly be the problem between you and Lucanis that makes you look like the world just ended?" Daisy’s grip on her mug tightened.

"Lucanis and I… nothing is going on between us!" The words rushed out, too high-pitched, too defensive. Her pulse pounded in her ears, drowning out the sound of waves. "You and Lucanis are—I mean—the way you two flirt, I assumed…"

Neve raised an eyebrow, and Daisy felt herself unraveling by the second.

"He rejected me," Daisy admitted, cheeks burning. "I thought it was because he was with you. If I had known you were, I wouldn’t have…"

"Developed feelings?" Daisy made a strangled noise, her entire body thrumming with heat. Neve laughed, sipping her drink. "Sunshine, nothing is going on between us. Sure, he’s handsome, and the flirting is fun, but when he looks at you… it’s different." Daisy wanted to melt into the ground. Or vanish. Or throw herself into the sea. Neve’s voice softened. "Should I have stopped flirting when I noticed? Maybe. Maybe I was still bitter about your choice of city to save. But now… I understand. You did what you thought was right. And I have to deal with the aftermath."

Daisy opened her mouth, guilt rising in her throat, but Neve lifted a hand.

"Don’t," she said simply. "I don’t need an explanation. I just wanted you to know—there’s nothing between Lucanis and me. What we have is a shared love of our homes. We’re good friends. But you? You’re different. And if he rejected you… maybe he just got cold feet."

"Cold feet?" Daisy echoed, barely above a whisper.

Neve tilted her head, eyes sharp. "Have you ever been with someone, sunshine?"

Daisy’s breath hitched again. The room—the night—everything felt too close—the warmth of the alcohol, the weight of Neve’s gaze, the pounding in her chest. "Neve…" she pleaded. "Please stop looking at me like that. I think I’ve had too much to drink."

Neve smirked. "Go figure—the two people utterly smitten with each other, both too blind to see it, are both virgins." Daisy nearly choked on air. Neve leaned in, her grin wicked. "Adorable." Daisy groaned again, resting her face in her hands as Neve gave her head a soft pat. "Talk to the man and tell him how you feel since he can't tell you himself. Words are good. Actions can always come later."

"Thanks, Neve," Daisy muttered softly.

"Anytime, sunshine." She was gone, leaving Daisy alone. Without much thinking, Daisy downed the rest of her mug in one go. The burning made her quickly regret the small burst of courage, but she held it down. Daisy would talk to Lucanis once she was sober enough. Once she had the courage to confront him and tell him her honest feelings. That even if it took forever to admit his own, she would wait.

She felt it then.

Eyes.

Someone was watching her.

The sensation crawled over her skin like icy fingers, squeezing the breath from her lungs. Her stomach churned—not just from the alcohol, though the burn of it swayed her movements and made the world tilt dangerously.

Daisy…

She turned too fast, nearly stumbling. The tavern spun in a haze of dim lantern light and smoke, but none of it could blur what stood before her.

A spirit.

A ghost.

A person who should be nothing more than the rotting bones of a memory, yet here she was.

Watching.

Seething.

Daisy’s breath hitched. The spirit’s lips never moved, but the voice slithered into her ears, coiling around her brain, slurring through the alcohol clogging her thoughts.

Found you.

A sharp jolt of terror cut through her stupor, but her body lagged behind her mind. She lurched sideways, her shoulder hitting a table, glasses rattling. Someone cursed. Strapped to her back, her staff clipped a mug—amber liquid sloshed, drenching the table. Someone shoved her. Laughter? A shout?

The spirit moved.

Not walked—moved. Gliding, reaching, her presence stretching toward Daisy like something cold and wet curling around her throat.

She ran. Her pulse thundered. Footsteps stumbled beneath her, too sluggish, too clumsy. Behind her, the spirit turned, those hollow eyes locked onto her, a silent promise that made Daisy’s veins run to ice. She ran past Lords, who were drinking joyfully, not paying any attention to one lone person who seemed to be too many in their cups. Daisy's companions were nowhere close, and she wasn't sure if what she saw was real.

So she ran.

And she didn't stop.

~oOo~

Daisy staggered through the crossroads of the Rivan eluvains, her mind drowning in a haze of memories and shadows. The world spun around her, uneven beneath her feet, and she barely registered the rough scrape of stone and sand against her palms as she caught herself from falling. No, no, she could not have been here. The face she had seen—so familiar, yet impossibly distant—could not have been real. It couldn’t be. Faces like hers existed only in nightmares, in the twisted corridors of dreams she dared not walk, illusions that flickered and vanished like candlelight in a storm.

Her breath came in ragged gasps, the air too thick, pressing down on her chest like unseen hands. Her stomach twisted violently—not just from the alcohol burning in her veins, but from the knowing. A terrible, clawing knowing that something had shifted, something had changed. But what?

Sand clung to her skin, gritting beneath her nails as she dug her fingers into the ground, desperate for something solid. But even the earth betrayed her, shifting, slipping, reminding her of everything she could not hold onto. The hum of the Fade pulsed around her, seeping into her bones and pressing against her skull. She felt it in every pore, every breath, every panicked heartbeat. It was an itch she could never scratch, a voice just beyond the Veil, whispering things she couldn’t make out.

Her hands shook.

No.

Her hands weren’t hers.

Daisy let out a strangled gasp, reaching up instinctively to claw at her throat, her fingers searching for the cold bite of metal that wasn’t there. But she felt them—tight, constricting, chains digging into her skin, wrists bound, movements sluggish as she fought against invisible restraints. Her pulse roared in her ears, a frantic drumbeat of terror, the weight of something unseen dragging her back into a place she refused to return to.

She wasn’t there. She wasn’t there.

She tried to stand, but her legs refused to move, too tangled in past and present, in fear and liquor, in a reality that felt paper-thin. Her vision blurred, and for a moment—just a moment—she swore she saw her again. A glimpse of dark eyes watching, waiting.

A ghost. A memory.

A whisper. A shift in the air.

And then, they stood before her—spirits of Adventure and Madness.

"We need your help! They will die without aid!" The Spirit of Adventure seized her hand, its ethereal grasp cool yet urgent, pulling her toward the Rivan Coast gate. Daisy clawed for breath as her head swam, her senses oscillating between sharp clarity and thick, muddled fog. She barely registered that she had moved, had passed through the eluvain, and now stood upon the ruined fort they always appeared at. "This way!"

Daisy did not resist. She knew better than to fight fate when it called.

Possession was nothing new to her. She had long since mastered the art of housing spirits within her, allowing them to speak and feel without relinquishing complete control. She had safeguards and rules—she would not let rage consume her or let vengeful spirits take the reins. She had learned that lesson well. Daisy followed silently, gaining back control of her body once they were close enough. The spirits had explained that their friends were to meet them on the beach with refugees but were met with ill fate. Antaam pirates, if you could call them that, had sunken their ship and were going to take them to be slaves. Madness cackled and spoke of cracking of bones, splitting of skulls, and...familiar faces?

Daisy gave Madness a look before trying to slowly shake away more of the fog that continued to cloud her mind. Within a moment, they hid among the trees lining the coast. There, Daisy could see clearly that this would not be an easy fight. Twenty-five antaam pirates stood, weapons gleaming beneath the crimson kiss of the rising sun. Behind them, fifteen captives knelt in the sand—elf, human, and qunari alike. Some sat defiant, their gazes hard, while others bowed their heads in silent resignation. Madness and Adventure murmured silently about their plans of help, but Daisy was already deep within her plan.

Before stepping onto the sand, Daisy raised her hands, weaving an illusion with magic. The air thickened, the shadows stretching unnaturally around her. Her form elongated, her fingers turned into clawed, blackened talons, and her eyes glowed with spectral, inhuman light. The whispers of the Fade amplified, swirling around her like the wails of the damned. From the vantage of the antaam pirates, what approached them from the jungle was no mere human—it was a monster born from nightmares.

"Let them go! They belong to me!" Daisy used magic to throw her voice, making it errie and echo along the shore.

"Come on out! Fight us, demon!" The pirates stiffened, some gripping their weapons tighter, others shifting uncertainly. One took an involuntary step back. Fear flickered in their expressions, uncertainty gripping them in their hands. It wasn't enough.

"Where are you going?!" The Spirit of Adventure pressed urgently while the Spirit of Madness merely laughed, coaxing her forward.

"To kill the antaam pirates who hold those people captive. Don’t worries, I’ll... hick... be fine." Daisy slurred, shaking her head to clear the fuzziness, though it did little good.

Then, with a slow, deliberate step, Daisy let the illusion flicker and twist, just enough to keep them in suspense before stepping fully into the open.

The jungle gave way to golden sands, her bare feet sinking slightly with every step. The scent of salt and blood thickened the air, warning of the carnage to come. The antaam leader, a hulking qunari with a face carved by old battles, sneered. "You think a drunken human and her foul magic can stop us?"

Daisy did not answer. She stepped forward, slow, deliberate, the wind catching the edges of her dark cloak, making it billow like the wings of a shadowed specter. With measured calm, she drove her staff into the sand. The earth trembled. Shadows coiled around her feet, slithering outward like ink in water. From the depths, skeletal warriors clawed their way free, their hollow eyes burning with spectral fire.

The antaam hesitated. Then, with a bellow, they charged.

Fools.

The battle erupted in a symphony of steel and sorcery. Daisy wove between them, necrotic energy crackling from her fingertips. A pirate lunged—she sidestepped, whispering a curse that sent him crumbling, his own shadow snaking up to choke the life from his throat.

A skeletal warrior met another attacker, its spectral blade driving deep into quivering flesh. A pirate swung wildly at her—she raised her hand, impaling him through the jaw with a flick of dark magic. Yet even as she fought, she knew that she would be in trouble if they charged all at once.

She called to the dead, and they answered.

The fallen antaam rose, their lifeless eyes turning on their former comrades. Panic rippled through the remaining pirates as their own slain brothers turned against them. The antaam leader roared, hoisting his Warhammer high. Before he could bring it down, Daisy let out a terrible, inhuman wail. The Fade surged, swirling into a necrotic storm that crackled and burned, consuming all in its path. The captain screamed in terror and pain as slowly his skin started to decay, turning black and green, melting away. The remaining pirates broke, their courage shattered, and fled into the wilds.

As the storm dissipated, Daisy swayed on her feet. Her breath was ragged. With a mere wave of her hand, the captives' bonds unraveled. "You are free," she murmured. "Go before the tide claims the dead."

The last echoes of battle faded, and the dead returned to their slumber beneath the sand one by one. Daisy, too, felt herself unraveling. Her body ached as though she had run for miles. Her limbs trembled from exhaustion, and the world tilted dangerously.

"By all the Gods of the dead... Daisy, is that you?" She turned, her vision swimming. A qunari stood before her, his face familiar yet blurred by the drunken haze still clouding her senses. But his voice—that voice she would recognize anywhere.

"Ti'Lan? That... you?" she whispered, the last shreds of strength slipping through her fingers like sand. Darkness swallowed her. She never felt herself falling, never felt the impact of the ground.

But she was caught.

Strong arms lifted her, cradling her against a broad chest. A low chuckle rumbled through the night. "Easy, sister. I have you." As she drifted into unconsciousness, she barely registered his following words, though they carried the weight of a grin. "Oh, I can’t wait to tell the others how drunk you got."

~oOo~

Lucanis felt like such a fool.

After leaving the pantry, he strode toward the walkway beside the kitchen, trying to steady his breath. He only realized then how tightly he had been holding it in, how his chest ached from restraint. He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face, but it did nothing to shake the burning fire beneath his skin.

Spite, ever-present, roiled with frustration in the back of his mind. Coward, the spirit snarled, its anger a reflection of his own. Lucanis ignored it. He had enough of his thoughts clawing at him.

Daisy deserved more.

More than an assassin tainted by a demon of Spite. More than a man whose hands had done far too much harm, whose past was stained with blood he could never wash away. Daisy, with her kindness, her patience, her warmth—she was light, and he was the shadow at her heels.

But Maker, he wanted to kiss her.

That moment had been perfect, painfully perfect. It was as if it was out of Bellara's serials that she was writing how her eyes met his, unwavering and filled with something unspoken but understood. The way she had answered him—not with fear, not with hesitation, but with certainty, with want. Every small inch she moved closer sent his heart into a frantic rhythm, a sound so loud in his ears he swore she must have heard it too. And then—

He froze.

He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to close the space between them, to press his lips to hers, and finally let himself have this one thing. But the weight of it crushed him. If he kissed her, if he allowed himself even a sliver of what he longed for—what then? What happened when Spite reared its head at the wrong moment? What happened when the past he carried became a weight she had to bear? Spite had lost control and put one of his daggers against her throat. The fear that he could lose control could harm her...

He couldn’t do that to her.

So, instead of leaning in, instead of taking what he wanted, he pulled away. He left her standing there, looking at him with something he couldn’t bear to name. He told her he needed to clear his head and walked away. Like a fool. Like a man who did not know what to do with something precious when it was offered to him freely.

Gifts like her...

Lucanis braced himself against the wood railing, gripping it tight enough to make his knuckles ache. His hands curled into fists. He could still feel the warmth of her presence, the ghost of where their fingers had nearly brushed, the space between them so small he could have—should have—closed it.

Spite simmered, its presence crackling through his veins. She wanted you, it hissed, low and knowing. And you ran.

Lucanis closed his eyes. He knew.

And yet, despite the torment in his chest, despite the pull he could not fight, he still wasn’t sure if he had made the right choice. Because even now, as the cool fade air failed to steady him, all he wanted to do was turn around, find her, and finish what he couldn’t bring himself to start.

"Enough Spite. I don't want to hear more of it; I made a choice."

A foolish choice. Spite stood beside him, its presence a flickering distortion in the dim light, pressing close enough that Lucanis swore he could feel its breath—if the thing even breathed. Its sneer curled like a knife at the edges of his thoughts. She likes us. Wants us. And you let her go! Go. After. Her!

Lucanis winced as Spite’s voice crescendoed, each syllable pounding against his skull like hammer strikes. He pushed himself away from the railing, rolling his shoulders as if he could shake off the demon’s weight and the lingering regret clinging to his skin. He turned, forcing his feet to move, leading himself back into the kitchen, where the scent of smoldering embers and barrels of coffee beans greeted him.

The fire still burned low in the hearth, its golden light licking at the edges of the stone walls. The silence was thick, save for the occasional pop from the wood. The kitchen, once filled with the warmth of company, now felt empty. He had no hope that Daisy would still be here. That didn’t stop his pulse from leaping for a foolish second before the quiet confirmed what he already knew.

Disappointment gnawed at his ribs.

With a steady breath, he reached for the coffee grinder, pouring dark beans into the worn wooden bowl. The rhythmic scrape of the handle twisting against the coarse grounds gave his hands something to do, something to focus on other than Spite’s simmering irritation. The demon materialized fully before him, its form purple flickering with embers of its agitation. Anger was etched deep into its expression, its sharp features twisted in frustration. It muttered under its breath—dark, crackling words Lucanis refused to acknowledge. He kept his gaze downward, watching the rich, ground coffee collect in the vessel below.

His thoughts drifted, unbidden, back to Daisy. To the way she had looked at him, eyes searching, lips parted just so—an invitation, if only he had dared to take it. His fingers tightened around the mug as he poured steaming water over the grounds, watching the deep brown liquid swirl. A creak of the dining room doors pulled him from his trance. He blinked, realizing he had been staring into the fire, fingers curled around his cup like a lifeline.

"Seems like it's just you, me, and Emmrich tonight. The others have gone off with Rook for something." Lucanis turned as Davrin strode in, his usual easy manner in place, though his sharp gaze flicked over Lucanis with something keener. Assan followed at his side, the griffon letting out a short, expectant squawk. Lucanis absently ran a hand over its feathered head, earning a satisfied huff.

"They left?"

"Maybe an hour or so ago? I just ran into Emmrich, who told me." Davrin studied him. "Daisy didn’t tell you?"

Lucanis cleared his throat, forcing himself to keep his expression still, unreadable. "No, I haven’t seen her in a while. I thought she was researching with Emmrich." The lie slid out smoothly, easily—a believable one. Davrin didn’t buy it.

His brow furrowed, and Lucanis could feel the weight of scrutiny settling over him. "Look, Lucanis, I know we’re not on the best terms, but you sound off. Is everything alright? Is it Spite?" Lucanis exhaled slowly, fingers flexing around his cup. The warmth of the coffee did nothing to thaw the cold coiling beneath his ribs. Davrin crossed his arms, watching him closely, then tilted his head with a knowing smirk. "Ah. I see now. This isn’t just about Spite, is it?"

Lucanis stiffened slightly. "I don’t know what you’re talking about." He lifted his cup and took a slow sip, feigning disinterest.

"Right, sure. Because you always look like a kicked mabari when someone leaves without telling you." Lucanis shot him a glare over the rim of his mug. "Let me guess," Davrin continued, undeterred. "It’s Daisy, isn’t it? You’ve got that whole brooding, ‘I could have kissed her but didn’t’ look about you. I bet you—" His words trailed off as realization dawned on his face. "Oh. Oh, I was joking, but... that’s it, isn’t it?"

Lucanis sighed, running a hand through his hair before setting his coffee down with more force than necessary. "Meirda, drop it, Davrin." Spite was beside Davrin, making crude gestures, which Lucanis rolled his eyes at.

"Gods, I was just messing with you, but you actually—" Davrin let out a low whistle, shaking his head with amusement. "Lucanis, you really are a piece of work. You like Daisy, but instead of doing anything about it, you just… skulk around in dark corners and wallow in self-loathing?"

"I don’t skulk."

"Oh, you absolutely skulk. Or brood. It’s like your second nature." Lucanis shot him another glare, but Davrin just grinned. "Look, I get it," Davrin said, his tone shifting from teasing to something softer. "She’s different. She has this whole kind-hearted, ‘probably too good for an assassin with a demon in his head’ thing. But if you think pushing her away is going to make things easier, you’re a bigger idiot than I thought."

Lucanis clenched his jaw. "It’s not that simple."

"It never is," Davrin agreed, shrugging. "But here’s the thing—if she really didn’t care about you, she wouldn’t care about you as much as she does. She wouldn't look at you like she does. And don’t even try to pretend you don’t know what I mean." Lucanis didn’t respond, but the muscle in his jaw twitched. Davrin smirked.

"See? You do know. Not as blind as I thought."

Lucanis sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Even if that’s true, it doesn’t change anything." His voice turned hoarse, thick with something he couldn’t quite voice. "Daisy is… she’s light. She’s warmth, she’s kindness, even when she has every reason not to be. She looks at people and sees their worth, even when they don’t deserve it. He prays over the dead when they just tried to kill her." He let out a slow breath, running a hand down his face. "And me? I’ve got blood on my hands that’ll never wash away. I’m...tainted, Davrin. I’ve been tainted for so long that I don’t even remember what being whole is like. And Spite—" He let out a humorless chuckle. "You think Daisy deserves a man who’s possessed by a demon? Who can’t even trust his own mind?"

Davrin leaned against the table, arms crossed. "You know, for someone who thinks so highly of her, you don’t actually give her much credit." Lucanis frowned, glancing up. Spite turned back to Davrin, glaring at the warden. "If Daisy is as strong and kind and good as you say, then don’t you think she’s capable of making her own damn decisions? Don’t you think she already knows what you are and cares about you anyway?"

Lucanis opened his mouth, then closed it. His chest ached, and for a moment, all he could think about was how Daisy looked at him in the pantry. The way her breath had hitched, how her fingers had rested on his chest, the warmth of her hand through his clothes. He had wanted to kiss her. Had wanted it so badly it hurt. But instead, he had pulled away. Just like he always did.

Davrin sighed, shaking his head. "Look, all I’m saying is—stop being an idiot. If you want her, do something about it. If you think she deserves better, be better." Davrin watched him carefully, then shook his head with a laugh. "You’re hopeless. But hey, if you ever decide to stop being a coward about it, let me know. I’d love to see what happens when you actually act like a person instead of a brooding shadow."

Lucanis shot him one last glare before picking up his coffee again, but Davrin just chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder as he walked off.

"You so like her," he called over his shoulder. "Yell if you need any help, assassin."

Lucanis groaned. This was going to be a long night.

~oOo~

Daisy felt like the dead.

Truly, like the dead.

Her skull throbbed with the force of a Mourn Watch guard hammer, each pulse a fresh wave of agony that made her groan into the scratchy fabric beneath her. The taste in her mouth was an unholy mix of stale wine, sand, and regret—like she had been chewing on old parchment dipped in seawater. Her tongue felt too big for her mouth, dry and sluggish as she smacked her lips, immediately regretting it when nausea twisted in her gut.

From what she could tell she was residing in, the tent around her was stifling, the canvas trapping the heat of the morning sun, making the air thick and heavy. A dull glow of daylight filtered through the fabric, far too bright for her pounding head. She squeezed her eyes shut and let out a pathetic whimper, rolling onto her side, only to feel sand shift beneath her. That was the second worst thing—sand. Everywhere. Stuck to her skin, gritted between her fingers.

Oh, Maker. She remembered. She had passed out on the beach.

Her stomach twisted as fragments of memory drifted back—staggering through the Rivan eluvains, the flickering glow of the Fade pressing against her mind, voices she wasn’t sure were real. She had run. From what, she wasn’t entirely sure. A face? A shadow? The past? It was all muddled in the thick haze of alcohol and exhaustion. She reached up, her fingers grazing her throat instinctively. It was too hot, and for a brief, terrifying moment, she swore she could feel the weight of chains that were no longer there. They had been gone for years, but in her drunken haze, the memory clung to her like a phantom pain. She clenched her fists tighter as if grounding herself in the feeling of sand slipping through her fingers would somehow bring her back to reality.

Outside, the rhythmic crashing of waves only made things worse, a constant reminder of the poor choices that had led her to this exact moment of misery. A distant noise—footsteps crunching on the sand, the tent's flap shifting in the breeze—made her groan and bury her face deeper into the makeshift pillow.

If anyone tried speaking to her right now, she might actually die.

“Well, now, I see that you aren’t dead.” Daisy cracked an eye open; her vision blurred and wobbly, but she recognized that voice—steady, warm, and tinged with an affectionate tone. The face hovering above her was familiar in a way that loosened the knot in her chest, a balm to the ache in her head. “Come now, little sister, drink this.”

A cup was pressed to her lips, and Daisy drank greedily, the cool liquid easing the desert dryness of her throat. She tried to gulp more than Ti’Lan allowed, chasing the brief relief, but he pulled the cup back with a soft chuckle. “Ti’Lan?” she croaked, her voice a rasp. “Is that really you?”

“A home in life, a berth in death. A house of many mansions. How long has it been? A year?” He set the cup down beside her makeshift bed and lowered himself to the sand beside her, his long limbs folding comfortably as if he’d sat by her side a thousand times before. “Gods, where did you come from? I did not expect you to rescue me when I asked the spirits to get help.”

“Was…drinking…” Daisy muttered, the admission slurring slightly.

“Oh, I can see that from how you reek of it—not to mention you fighting pirates drunk!” Ti’Lan’s voice rose, exasperated, and Daisy winced at the spike of pain his volume sent through her head. Immediately feeling bad, he softened, his expression shifting to one of gentle concern. “Sorry.” He reached out, and his hand threaded through her tangled hair, untangling a few knots with the tender familiarity of someone who’d done this since she was small. His touch was grounding, soothing, a reminder of simpler days when their biggest worries were stolen sweet rolls or whose turn it was to help with the washing.

Daisy blinked slowly, trying to piece together the tangled mess of memory and dream. “You...you were really in trouble?”

“I was,” Ti’Lan confirmed, his hand never stilling in its comforting strokes. “But it seems the spirits saw fit to send me a bedraggled, sand-covered sister instead of a rag-tag group of Lords.” His lips curled in a grin, eyes dancing with amusement. “Not that I’m complaining. I’d take you over anyone any day.”

A tiny, fragile smile broke through Daisy’s hangover misery. “I’d fight pirates for you any day. Just…maybe not while drunk.”

He laughed softly, the sound rolling like the waves outside. “I’d prefer that. But you did well despite the state you were in. You have to teach me that one spell at the end with the captain later.” He reached over to dab a cool cloth at her temple, soothing the sweat and grit. “Besides, when I saw it was you, I knew you'd be ok. You always come through when it matters.”

Daisy groaned again, rubbing her temples. “What were you even doing as a captive?”

Ti’Lan let out a slow breath, his expression turning more serious. “Helping the Lords of Fortune. We were smuggling people out—those who escaped the Antaam.” He leaned back slightly, absently tracing patterns in the sand. “Our ship was caught.”

Daisy pried open one eye, attempting to focus. “So… you were captured for helping people?”

“Essentially,” he said with a slight shrug. “But that’s not the only thing.” His tone grew hesitant, and she could tell something weighed on him. “There’s a matter I need to discuss with you—about one of the captives. A little Qunari girl.”

Daisy squeezed her eyes shut as another wave of nausea rolled through her. “Can’t talk until the world stops spinning. But I promise to talk about her when I can...think clearly.”

Ti’Lan chuckled, shaking his head. “Fair enough. Rest up, little sister.” He reached out, ruffling her already messy hair with the same affectionate ease he always had. “I’ll check on you in a bit.”

She groaned in response, curling into the thin blankets, while he chuckled again and stood. As he slipped out of the tent, the scent of sea salt and cooling embers drifted in, mixing with the lingering haze of alcohol in her mind. Daisy exhaled slowly. Whatever he had to tell her could wait. For now, she just needed to survive her hangover. Daisy’s eyes fluttered closed, the tension in her body slowly unwinding under her brother’s gentle care. “I missed you,” she murmured, the confession slipping out like a secret.

“I missed you too,” Ti’Lan replied, his voice softening with an ache that mirrored her own. Feeling safe and loved, Daisy drifted back into the dark, the warmth of her brother’s presence anchoring her through the storm.

The next time Daisy woke from the darkness, the sky was painted in strokes of red and orange, the sun dipping low over the water. The salty breeze carried the mingling scents of roasting meat and the sand beneath her. Her head still ached, but the world wasn’t spinning nearly as much. She groaned, pushing herself upright, her fingers digging into the fabric of the tent for balance before she finally got to her feet.

Outside, the battle remnants had been cleaned up, and the remaining captives had formed a small camp. A few fires flickered against the twilight, and around the largest, Ti’Lan sat turning a spit, the savory scent of cooking meat wafting through the air. The soft murmurs of conversation filled the space, punctuated by occasional laughter—an attempt at normalcy after everything. Daisy’s gaze landed on Ti’Lan, who was calmly rotating the spit, his large frame steady and familiar. But what truly caught her attention was the tiny figure clinging to his legs. A little girl with silver hair and small, barely developed horns peeked out from behind him, her large eyes darting around curiously.

When Ti’Lan spotted Daisy, he grinned and waved her over. “About time you woke up. Hungry?”

"Starving." Daisy took a few steps forward, her legs still shaky but stronger than before. Her gaze dropped to the child, who pressed herself closer to Ti’Lan’s leg but continued to watch Daisy with quiet interest.

Daisy knelt, offering a gentle smile. "And who is this beautiful princess standing next to you?"

"This is Demihan, but everyone calls her Demi." Ti’Lan rested a large, protective hand on the girl's head, ruffling the soft strands of silver hair between her small, growing horns. “Demi, this is my little sister, Daisy. Can you say hi?”

Demi hesitated, her tiny fingers curling into the fabric of Ti’Lan’s pants. After a long pause, she managed a small wave, her expression uncertain but curious.

“She’s still a little skittish,” Ti’Lan explained, watching the girl with something like affection—guarded but genuine.

Daisy chuckled. “That’s okay. The big teddy bear you’re holding onto was skittish, too. He used to crawl into my bed during thunderstorms just so I could chase them away.”

Ti’Lan groaned, rolling his eyes. "Hey now, I remember you came to me a few times too."

“Yeah, the one time,” Daisy shot back playfully, winking at Demi. The little girl’s lips twitched, the first hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. She slowly peeked out from behind Ti’Lan’s legs, her small horns catching the last light of the setting sun. Daisy took a moment to take her in properly—she could be no more than four, her horns still round and stubby, her gray skin peppered with freckles.

Daisy sat down on the sand, stretching her legs in front of her. “I’m guessing she’s the one you wanted to talk about?”

Ti’Lan exhaled, his expression shifting to something more serious. He glanced down at Demi, his hand resting lightly on her head. “Demi is... special.”

Daisy raised an eyebrow, looking between her brother and the little girl. “Special, how?”

Ti’Lan hesitated before answering, his expression unreadable, his fingers tightening briefly on Demi’s head. “She’s a mage.”

Daisy exhaled sharply through her nose. “Yes, and?”

“I need you to take her home with you.”

Daisy blinked, her exhaustion giving way to sharp irritation. She ran a hand down her face before fixing Ti’Lan with a look. “I can't take her with me, Ti'Lan.”

“What do you mean? Of course, you can,” he said, his voice edged with impatience. “You bring kids home all the time.”

Daisy scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “Ti’Lan… when was the last time you were home?” Her tone shifted, more pointed now, a warning laced beneath her words. “I haven’t seen you in over a year.”

His jaw tensed, and for the first time, he looked uncomfortable. “I shared a few letters with Alilya and Ma, but… not for a while.”

Daisy let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Of course you haven’t.” She shook her head, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “Listen to me, I was sent away from the Mourn Watch. There was an uprising—a war called the War of Banners. I was… able to stop it, but it resulted in me being practically banished. I can’t go home until they allow me.”

Ti’Lan’s eyes widened. “What? That can’t be true.”

“Oh, it’s true,” Daisy said, her voice thick with sarcasm. “And you would know that if you ever bothered to check-in. But no, you’re off doing gods-know-what, and I’m the one left to pick up the pieces because that's what I do. I fix everything and continue to put back pieces that should remain broken, but I'm too stubborn to say no.”

Ti’Lan had the decency to look guilty, but Daisy didn’t stop. “And for your information, brother dear, for the past year, I’ve been helping Varric Tethras hunt down Solas—yes, that Solas—the one who just happens to be Fen’Harel, an ancient elven mage trying to bring the Veil down and return the world to the time of the ancient elves. And guess what? I interrupted his ritual! That little act of heroism unleashed two elven gods—Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain—from their prison, and now Solas is trapped in the Fade.” She threw up her hands. “And the best part?! Almost every time I sleep, I get to see his ugly, annoying face staring at me from the other side.”

Ti’Lan was staring at her like she had grown a second head. “Daisy…”

“Oh, I’m not done.” Daisy gestured around them wildly. “The spirits you called to help found me leaving an eluvian, which—by the way—is an ancient mirror that lets people travel through the Crossroads inside the Fade itself. My friends had to drag me away because of—well, let’s just say reasons—and I left because I’ve been remembering things from that time.” She let out a breath, rubbing her temples. Ti’Lan was silent, his brows furrowed in concern, but Daisy wasn’t in the mood for his judgment or shock. She was exhausted and aching, and now, somehow, he expected her to take in a kid when she barely had control of her own life.

She sighed, dropping her hands to her sides. “So tell me, dear brother, where exactly in that mess do you see room for me to take in a child?”

Demi pressed herself closer to Ti’Lan, watching Daisy with wide, nervous eyes. Daisy felt a pang of guilt but pushed it aside—she needed Ti’Lan to understand that this wasn’t a simple request. Ti’Lan exhaled, running a hand over his horn. “Shit.”

“Yeah,” Daisy said dryly, “Shit.” She let herself fall back onto the sand, the fine grains sticking to her sweat-dampened skin. The world was still tilting slightly, but the cool breeze from the ocean helped settle her stomach. She closed her eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply before exhaling in a long, tired sigh. “I can send a letter home and see if someone could meet us at the Necropolis, but that’s as far as I’ve been allowed to go. The higher nobles still hate me, and I still hate them. I saved lives, and what do I get? A big fat ‘fuck you,’ as Iishka would say.”

Ti’Lan let out a quiet chuckle. “Gods, Iishka would curse them to the Void and back.”

“She probably already has,” Daisy muttered, rubbing her temples. Ti’Lan sat beside her, Demi still clinging to his leg as he absentmindedly ran a hand over her silver hair. The little girl watched Daisy carefully, trying to figure out if she was safe.

“Well, where are you staying?” he asked after a moment. “If it’s okay, I’d like to stay with Demi until we hear back. I promised her father I would look after her.”

Daisy cracked an eye open, glancing at the girl again. Demi’s tiny hands were curled into the fabric of Ti’Lan’s trousers, but her gaze had softened just a bit. “Everyone else gone?” Daisy asked.

“Yeah,” Ti’Lan confirmed, his expression darkening. “I promised I would watch over her and give her training once she was old enough. She’s sensitive, Daisy—really sensitive. She can sense spirits before even I can.”

Daisy lifted a brow. “That’s impressive.” She waved a hand vaguely. “And everyone else? Where did they go?”

Ti’Lan exhaled through his nose, his jaw tightening. “No idea. We were supposed to dock at Kont-aar, but I’m not even sure where we are now.”

Daisy sighed, pushing herself up onto her elbows. “Well, good thing I’m here then. I can escort everyone somewhere safe. My friend Isabela will be able to get them where they need to go.” She looked to Ti’Lan then. “After that, I can take you to the Lighthouse. That’s where my friends and I have been staying. It’s the safest place for us while we figure out how to stop the gods.”

Ti’Lan’s brows lifted slightly. “Gods… gods are real, then.”

Daisy let out a humorless laugh. “Oh, you have no idea. And they’re ugly.”

Ti’Lan snorted, handing her a piece of roasted meat. “Ugly, huh?”

“Elgar’nan looks like he was carved from rage and bad decisions, and Ghilan’nain? She’s a nightmare with too many tentacles and not enough mercy.” Daisy took a bite of the meat, sighing at the taste. “And those are just the two I know of."

Ti’Lan shook his head, staring into the fire. “Shit.”

Daisy’s nerves buzzed beneath her skin, an uneasy restlessness that refused to fade. From what she could gather, it had been a full day—maybe two—since she had left the Lords. Time had slipped through her fingers like sand, and though she had no way of knowing what was happening back at the Lighthouse, she prayed that nothing catastrophic had erupted in her absence. She ran through the plan again in her head, trying to find some comfort in its structure. If all went well, getting everyone through the eluvian would take half a day, and then she could make the return trip to the Lighthouse before nightfall. Ti’Lan and Demi would bunk with her until she received a letter back from her mothers. They would be safe there—at least, safer than wandering unfamiliar lands with nowhere to go.

The rest of the night was spent huddled close to the fire, laughter breaking through the heavy weight of exhaustion. Daisy and Ti’Lan took turns sharing stories, weaving images of mischief, daring escapes, and childhood memories. Demi hung onto every word, her silver eyes wide, her small hands clenched in excitement. When Daisy exaggerated a tale about Ti’Lan getting stuck in a tree while trying to impress a girl, the little girl let out a breathless giggle, covering her mouth as if she wasn’t supposed to laugh.

The warmth of family, of shared history, settled something deep in Daisy’s bones. By the time sleep came, Demi was nestled between them, her tiny frame curled close to Daisy’s side, her fingers tangled in Daisy’s shirt as if afraid she might disappear by morning. Daisy lay awake for a while, listening to the rhythmic sound of Ti’Lan’s breathing, the soft crackle of dying embers, and the distant hush of the waves against the shore. She shut her eyes, willing herself to rest, knowing that tomorrow would come too quickly.

~oOo~

The morning was a blur of movement, tension, and unspoken emotion.

The camp stirred before the sun had fully risen, the air thick with the scent of smoldering ashes and damp sea breeze. People moved with a quiet urgency, rolling up bedrolls, securing packs, and dismantling makeshift shelters. The weight of departure pressed down on them, heavy but necessary.

Daisy moved through the motions, checking supplies and ensuring no one was left behind, all while keeping a careful eye on Demi and Ti’Lan. The little girl clung to her brother sleepily, rubbing her eyes with tiny fists, her freckled face scrunching as she tried to shake off the last remnants of sleep. Daisy exhaled slowly. Today would be long, but if everything went according to plan, it would at least be the first step toward something better for all of them.

The journey back was slow but steady, and as the hours passed, Daisy felt the remnants of her hangover gradually loosen their grip on her. The sluggishness remained, clinging to her limbs like a heavy fog, but at least the pounding in her skull had dulled to a manageable throb. The spirits of Madness and Adventure lingered close, their presence a steady, guiding hum. They whispered warnings when needed, alerting her to any dangers that lurked ahead.

Thankfully, only one threat stood in their way. A wandering group of antaam had blocked their path, but they barely posed a challenge. Daisy and Ti’Lan made short work of them, their movements fluid and practiced, a silent rhythm between siblings who had fought side by side before. By the time they reached the eluvian, Daisy felt the first stirrings of relief settle in her chest. Handing Demi over to Ti’Lan, she stepped forward first, placing a cautious hand against the cool, glass-like surface of the mirror—the magic within thrummed beneath her touch, sending a ripple through the Veil as she passed through. The world bent and twisted around her, and then—silence. The Crossroads stretched before her, an eerie and endless expanse of pathways and ancient structures. She scanned the area; her muscles were tensed, her senses sharp, but nothing stirred.

Satisfied, she turned back, watching as her brother hesitantly stepped through with Demi clutched in his arms. His face morphed from suspicion to awe, his golden eyes widening as he took in the surreal landscape. "By the gods…" he whispered.

Daisy smirked. "Worth the trip, huh?"

He huffed, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’ve been traveling through this?”

“Among other things,” she said, guiding them forward toward the Hall of Valor eluvian. The short walk was enough to allow Ti’Lan to gather himself, though his grip on Demi remained firm as if he feared she might slip through his fingers in this strange realm. What Daisy didn’t expect was Isabella storming at her when she approached the main area. The pirate queen did a double take once she saw her, an uncharacteristic look of concern shadowing her usually mischievous expression. Isabella’s sharp eyes locked onto her, scanning her from head to toe.

“Where the hell have you been?” Isabella’s voice was edged with worry, but her posture remained guarded. “Your friends have been looking for you everywhere. You ran out of the Hall like you saw a damn ghost, and then—nothing. No word. Nothing.”

Daisy parted her lips, struggling to find the right words, but Ti’Lan spoke before she could. “She ran because of me.” His voice was steady, carrying the weight of quiet authority. “She found out I was in danger and didn’t hesitate. She had no time to waste.” Daisy swallowed, feeling a mix of gratitude and guilt. That wasn’t the whole truth, but it was close enough. Close enough to shield her from the real answer—the one she couldn’t bring herself to say. That she had run not just because of her brother’s plight but because of the face she had seen. A face from a long-dead memory, one that shattered her resolve and sent her fleeing like a coward.

She had felt the weight of chains that no longer existed, their phantom grip tightening around her throat, dragging her back into the abyss she had spent years clawing her way out of. How could she explain that?

She couldn’t.

Instead, she exhaled, forcing a wry smirk onto her lips. “You know me, Isabella. Always running headfirst into trouble.”

The pirate queen didn’t look entirely convinced, but she let it go with a shake of her head. “You’re a damn headache, you know that?”

Daisy grinned. “Wouldn’t want to be anything less.”

Thankfully, Isabella had other priorities. When she learned of the refugees, she immediately offered her help, her usual roguish charm slipping back into place as she took command of the situation.

With a plan in place, Daisy let herself breathe. Just for a moment. Because soon enough, she would have to face everything she had been running from. As Isabella took charge, she wasted no time in assessing the newcomers. Her sharp gaze flicked over Ti’Lan, appraising him with obvious interest. A slow, knowing smirk curled her lips as she sauntered closer, placing a hand on her hip.

“Well, well,” she drawled, her voice dripping with amusement. “Daisy, you didn’t tell me you had such a charming company. You keeping him all to yourself?”

Daisy groaned, already regretting every choice that led to this moment. “Isabella, don’t—”

“Oh, hush, sweetheart. I’m just being friendly.” She turned her full attention to Ti’Lan, her smirk widening. “So, tell me, tall, dark, and handsome, do you happen to have a taste for pirate queens?”

Ti’Lan blinked, momentarily taken aback, before chuckling. “I appreciate the compliment, but I’m very married.”

Daisy nearly choked on her own relief as Isabella feigned a wounded gasp, placing a hand over her heart. “Oh, tragic! Another good one taken.” She sighed dramatically, but the twinkle in her eye showed she wasn’t truly disappointed. “Tell me, does your wife happen to be the jealous type?”

Ti’Lan smirked. “Extremely.”

“Shame.” Isabella winked before stepping back, clearly enjoying herself. “Well, if she ever decides to throw you overboard, do let me know.”

Daisy rubbed her temples, her annoyance peaking. “Are you done?”

Isabella grinned. “For now.” She gave Ti’Lan a final, exaggerated once-over before turning back to business.

Ti’Lan simply shook his head, amused but unfazed. “Is she always like this?” he asked, glancing at Daisy.

“You have no idea.” Daisy crossed her arms, eyeing Ti’Lan with open suspicion. “But before we leave—married? Since when?”

Ti’Lan chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “For a little while now.”

Daisy gawked at him. “A little while? You’ve been gone for over a year! When exactly were you planning on telling your favorite sister?”

"You are certainly not my favorite." He shrugged, clearly enjoying her reaction. “I figured I’d tell you when I saw you.”

Daisy threw her hands up. “Unbelievable! Do I at least know this person?”

Ti’Lan’s lips quirked into a small, knowing smirk. “You might.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “That’s not an answer.”

“It’s all you’re getting for now,” he teased.

Daisy groaned in frustration. “Oh, you are horrible.”

Isabela, still within earshot, let out a low whistle. “Mystery spouses? How intriguing. Now I have to know who was lucky enough to tie this one down.” She wiggled her eyebrows at Ti’Lan, but he only chuckled.

Daisy jabbed a finger at him. “We will be talking about this later.”

Ti’Lan grinned. “Looking forward to it.”

The journey back to the Lighthouse was eerily quiet, the hum of the Fade surrounding Daisy and Ti’Lan as the boat carried them through the shifting mists. The air crackled with magic, the reflection of distant, shattered eluvians flickering in the distance like dying stars. Demi clung to Ti’Lan’s cloak, her small hands gripping tightly as she peeked over his shoulder, wide-eyed at the strange, weightless movement of the boat. Daisy, still drained from the remnants of her hangover, pressed a hand to her forehead and exhaled slowly, trying to center herself. As they neared the Lighthouse’s dock, the familiar sight of its ruined stone archway wrapped in roots was a relief. Daisy stepped out first, her boots crunching on the gravel path leading to the main courtyard. Daisy helped Demi out of the boat first, holding her tightly while trying to keep her distracted until Ti'Lan stood beside her.

Just ahead, movement caught her eye. Two figures—Lucanis and Emmrich—emerged from the opposite dock, deep in conversation. Daisy’s heart leaped at the sight of Lucanis, a mix of relief and something deeper settling in her chest. She took a step forward, calling out, “Lucanis! Emmrich!” She handed Demi off to Ti'Lan.

She barely had a moment to breathe before he was suddenly there. One second, he was across the courtyard, and the next—Lucanis, or perhaps Spite, had closed the distance in the blink of an eye. His arms wrapped around her with a force that nearly knocked the air from her lungs, holding her tight—as if afraid she might vanish if he let go. The sheer intensity of it stunned her, and for a moment, all she could do was grip his coat, grounding herself in his warmth.

“Are you alright?” Lucanis’s voice was rough and urgent, with the faintest tremor beneath it. His breath was warm against her temple, and his grip was unrelenting.

Daisy blinked up at him, her hands instinctively coming up to cup his face, thumbs brushing over the sharp lines of his jaw. His skin was cool to the touch, his warm brown eyes flickering with something she couldn’t quite place—relief, concern, and something raw beneath it all. “I’m fine,” she murmured, searching his face. “Are you? Has something happened to Treviso? Is everyone ok?” For a moment, he just stared at her as if committing her to memory, as if he hadn’t been sure he’d see her again. Then, finally, he exhaled, his shoulders loosening just a fraction, but he didn’t let go.

Lucanis gripped Daisy so tightly that it almost hurt, his arms like iron bands around her as if he were afraid she might slip through his fingers. His breathing was uneven, and she could feel the tremor in his body as he held onto her.

“Daisy,” he rasped, his voice raw with something she couldn’t quite name—fear, relief, anger, all tangled together. “Where the hell have you been?” Lucanis’s grip was firm, tense, his fingers pressing just a little too hard into Daisy’s arms as he held her. He was breathing steadily, but there was something controlled about it, too measured—like he was forcing himself to stay composed. His dark brown eyes flickered over her, sharp and assessing, taking in every detail—her disheveled state, the exhaustion lining her face, the way she swayed just slightly from the remnants of her hangover. “You vanished,” he said, his voice low and taut. “No word. No sign. Just—gone.”

Daisy met his gaze, trying not to flinch under the weight of it. She could feel the tension in his grip, the effort it took for him to keep his touch from bruising. Lucanis was always careful, always in control—but right now, that control felt like it was on the verge of snapping. “I had to,” she said, barely above a whisper. “It wasn’t—”

Lucanis’s fingers twitched against her arms before he exhaled sharply through his nose. “You ran,” he muttered like he was trying to make sense of it. “You never run.”

Daisy swallowed hard, not knowing what to say. Not knowing if there was anything she could say that would make a difference. Then Lucanis’s gaze flickered past her, his body going still as he finally took note of Ti’Lan standing at her side. His grip on Daisy loosened slightly, but the tension in his frame only deepened. “Who,” Lucanis said slowly, his voice like a blade sliding from its sheath, “is that?”

Daisy barely had time to open her mouth before Ti’Lan, ever the opportunist, clapped a hand on her shoulder and grinned. “Me? Oh, I’m Daisy’s husband.”

Daisy choked. “Ti’Lan—what the fuck?!”

Lucanis went completely still. His eyes darkened, a flicker of purple flashed before it disappeared, his expression unreadable—but there was something almost lethal in how his jaw tightened. His fingers flexed at his sides like he was resisting the urge to reach for a weapon. Ti’Lan, the absolute menace that he was, just grinned wider. “What? No ���dear husband’ for your beloved spouse?”

Daisy smacked his arm hard. “I swear to every god listening, I will drown you in the ocean.”

Ti’Lan finally laughed, holding up his one free hand in mock surrender. “Alright, alright—she’s my sister.” He winked at Lucanis. “Though if you saw the look on your face just now—priceless.”

Lucanis exhaled slowly through his nose. “Charmed,” he said flatly.

Daisy groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

Lucanis just crossed his arms, glancing between them. “So this is your brother?”

Ti’Lan extended a hand. “Ti’Lan. A pleasure.”

Lucanis eyed the offered hand, then, after a moment, shook it briefly before releasing it. His gaze flickered back to Daisy, unreadable. “We’re going to talk later.”

Daisy sighed. “Yeah. I figured.” Before Daisy could recover from the absolute humiliation of Ti’Lan’s little joke, another voice cut through the tension.

“By the spirits. Ti’Lan Ingellvar.” Daisy turned to see Emmrich standing behind them, arms crossed, his sharp gaze assessing. His usual stern expression softened only slightly, though his tone carried something bordering on approval.

Ti’Lan straightened, his posture shifting instinctively into something more formal. “Professor Emmrich. It’s been some time.”

Emmrich gave a slow nod. “It has. Last I heard, you were working with Professor Klous. I take it that didn’t go as planned?”

Ti’Lan exhaled through his nose. “That would be putting it lightly.” He hesitated, then inclined his head. “It’s good to see you again. I didn’t expect to find you among Daisy’s allies. I thought Mourn Watchers never leave Nevarra?”

Emmrich arched a brow. “Some of us do travel. And I didn’t expect one of my more promising students to turn up needing rescue. Life is full of surprises.”

Daisy, at this point, was entirely done. She had reached her limit between Lucanis, Ti’Lan’s nonsense, and now Emmrich sizing up her brother like a disappointed father figure. With a dramatic sigh, she shifted Demi in her arms and turned on her heel. “I swear to every spirit listening before I deal with any of this—any of you—I am having a bath.” She pointed a firm finger at Ti’Lan, Lucanis, and Emmrich. “You can all stand here and analyze each other to death, but I smell like a damn sewer of Minrathous, and I refuse to do anything else until that changes.”

Ti’Lan merely nodded. “Understood.”

Lucanis gave the slightest twitch of his lips but said nothing.

Emmrich, however, smirked faintly. “Still as dramatic as ever, I see.”

Daisy didn’t bother looking back. “And still dealing with too many men talking at once.” With that, she strode off toward the Lighthouse, Demi tucked securely against her chest, leaving them behind to their quiet assessments and unspoken judgments.

[save-the-villainous-cat]

ENEMIES WITH BENEFITS FT. PINING! WITH A HAPPY ENDING! (because the other one wrecked me. how could you)

“You’ll get a cold.” The villain took off their jacket and put it around the hero’s shoulders and as their fingers brushed against the hero’s bare shoulders, both seemed to hesitate for a moment.

“It’s alright, really,” the hero said, laughing awkwardly. And despite their desire to convince both of them that it wasn’t a big deal, they put their arms into the sleeves and pulled the jacket closer. Its smell reminded the hero of their enemy’s bed, of takeout shared in the living room after a rough session and admittedly of the intimacy they yearned for.

“Although I can’t use my telepathy anymore, I’m pretty sure you were freezing. Your whole body was shaking.” It was quite tragic, wasn’t it? To be stripped of your powers. The hero thought about it often and though it hadn’t left physical scars, the hero knew how tormented the villain actually was.

Being destined for greatness hadn’t made the villain untouchable. And neither was the hero. In fact, maybe this privilege, this destiny made them so vulnerable in the first place. Potential and opportunity — what if someone took these things? What would be left?

“You’re very sweet,” the hero said. It was a long walk to the hero’s apartment and since the hero refused to pay for a taxi, the villain made sure to bring them back. Every time.

“If I want to.”

“No, you can’t really control kindness. You’re very sweet. That’s who you are.” The hero looked along the many houses, stretching into the endlessness of the city. God, they never quite knew how to treat the villain when they were alone like this. Sleeping with each other was easy, but this type of exposure was something else.

Somehow, this was an opportunity, too. Most of the time, they talked about nothing in particular but every now and then one of them dropped their guard. Those moments were precious to the hero.

“I’m not gonna mention my body count.” The hero smiled softly. They were close to the hero’s house now.

“I thought your body count is one.”

“Not that body count,” the villain said and when the hero looked at them, they saw a blush on their stoic enemy’s face. God, what a sight. “Christ, you drive me crazy sometimes.”

The villain stopped and looked at the hero for a moment. They wanted to say something, but didn’t.

“What is it?”

“Do you think I’m ruined?” they asked, rather helplessly. Shifting to serious topics was becoming a natural habit. The hero loved it. “Do you think it ruined me when they…you know, took my powers?”

“No,” the hero answered immediately. “No. I…honestly, I believe you lost your way. You lost purpose and a part of yourself. But I don’t think it ruined you. I think you just needed a new purpose.”

The villain stared at them again. They were good at this, staring and saying nothing. Silently, they agreed on continuing their walk.

“I always told myself that if I still had my powers, I’d be a better person. I always told myself that if it hadn’t been for that one thing, I would be perfect. I managed to convince myself that I couldn’t possibly be better than I am, due to the circumstances. But maybe I was just afraid of trying to be good and failing. That’s why I didn’t try at all.”

“Well, that’s the thing. You’re not a bad person. You’re trying to be one but that’s not what you are.” The hero looked at them and, god, the villain’s eyes sucked them in. “You’re wonderful. You just didn’t get that back then.”

They arrived at the hero’s doorstep.

“You really think that?” The hero searched for their keys, so they were surprised when they looked up and found the villain incredibly close to them.

“Uhhh…I think so yeah. Your powers had potential, yes. But it’s not this one thing, this one goddamn thing that decides over what you could be. I think it’s dedication and it’s desire, it’s love and it’s inspiration. It’s something you decide, it’s something you make. I have the potential to save this world but if I am dedicated to saving just this one person…” Their gaze dropped to the villain’s lips. “…then maybe I don’t need to save the world.”

The villain kissed them hard and the hero could barely ask them if they wanted to come up with them.

Of course, the villain said yes.