#and I don’t feel like I can talk about it. that’s part of the problem tbh

[whatifitis]

♡ can we start it all over again? - LN 4 ♡

Summary: The person you thought was the love of your life turned out to be a liar. So now you're left with nothing, no love, no home, and no plans for the future. Everything feels awful but as soon as you feel things are getting better, you run into your first love.

Author's Note: After a long ass wait, here's part 3 to 'i wish you would've stayed'. thank you guys for all the support on this little series <3 yall are the reason i write

WC: 3469

CW: cheating, thoughts about not breathing, yearning from Lando, excessive song references

What I thought was for all time turned out to be momentary.

After a long day at work, you were excited to be able to come home and finally see the love of your life.

Even after all this time together, the love between you two was still so exciting and palpable. You were practically running up the steps to your shared home, fumbling with the keys a bit. You opened the door and didn’t find Gabe in his office like he usually is.

You heard some noise coming from your bedroom and booked it down the hallway in excitement, but when you opened the door, you were met with a sight you never thought you’d have to see. Red auburn hair swayed as the figure rode Gabe, covering his face.

You couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped your mouth. The two heads turn to face you and shock is drawn all over their bodies.

“Mikayla?!” you question, watching as your cousin climbs off your fiance, failing to cover herself with your bedsheets.

“I-” is all she’s able to voice.

Gabe is scrambling off the bed, “It’s not what it looks like, baby-”

“Don’t “baby” me. You lost that privilege the second you stuck your dick in someone else.”

“No! I didn’t- It’s not-”

“Oh! So you just tripped and it fell into her vagina?!”

Being met with silence, you’re quick with your movements, walking to the closet and packing whatever you can grab in this moment of fury and despair. You can feel heat consuming your face and body. Tears are forming on your waterline but you refuse to let them see you fall.

You zip up your bag and make your way to leave, stopping for a moment to look at the person you thought you knew. “Loving you was the biggest mistake I ever made. Someone will get the rest of my stuff later. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

You don’t even spare a glance at Mikayla. But, as you’re about to close the door, you pause, feeling the band around your finger: “Oh, and I guess you’ll need this for her” - you spat, tossing your engagement ring to Gabe’s feet.

After everything, everything you told him, he still went behind your back and chose someone else. Come one, come all, you guess. It’s happening again. He called you the love of his life. God, how could you be so stupid. You think back on everything, and it’s all making sense now.

Mikayla wasn’t necessarily ecstatic when you’d told her that Gabe had proposed to you. You were disappointed and confused but brushed it off as she had just broken up with her boyfriend at the time.

When you confessed to Gabe that you were disappointed in Mikayla’s reaction, he reassured you and told you he’d talk to her for you.. Gabe was always quick to problem solve and he always enjoyed making you happy, so when he jumped at the chance to speak with Mikayla, you didn’t think anything of it. After her “talk” with Gabe, Mikayla was giddy. She apologized for her initial reaction to your engagement and asked if she could help you with the wedding planning.

Planning the wedding with your cousin by your side was amazing. The two of you had a shared taste in aesthetic so it made everything feel a lot less stressful. Now you realize why she was so excited. Helping you plan the wedding allowed her to invite herself over a lot to “go over details”. It was almost as if she was planning her own wedding.

You are such a fool. You ended up lost inside a memory of someone’s life, it wasn’t yours.

After everything that just happened, you weren’t sure of what to do or where to go. You were driving around in silence, trying to keep from completely breaking. You call a friend of yours, asking if you could spend the night with her and that you could leave in the morning. Pietra, your friend, assured you that you could stay as long as you need.

After a long and dreadful drive, you had arrived at Pietra’s house. She sat you down on the couch and handed you a cup of tea. “Y/n, what happened?”

You took a deep breath and tried to stay composed enough to tell her, but you couldn’t. The words you wanted to say were stuck in a lump in your throat. Your breathing became irregular as you struggled for air. All you could do was break down into tears as Pietra moved closer to you and pulled you into her arms, rubbing her hand up and down your back.

The weight of everything just came crashing down on you now. You lost the love of your life, your cousin, and all your future plans in one day. You don’t have a home. You don’t have love. You don’t have the one person you trusted with your life. You don’t have the person who put you above everything else. You don’t have the person who had the ability to turn your bad days into good days. You don’t have the person who loved you for you.

You don’t even have Olive anymore.

The two of you grew fond of each other after you and Gabe moved in together. Olive became your best friend in a way. As crazy as it seems, she helped you pick your outfits a few times. But she's not yours. Nothing is yours. Was anything ever really yours?

Time passes and you’re able to calm your sobs. Through your hiccups, you tell Pietra about everything. You tell her about Mikayla, about Gabe, about how you feel so lost now.

“I’m sorry, my darling. I didn’t expect this, honestly. But don’t worry about finding a place to stay. Stay here for as long as you want, it’ll be nice to have you around. It’s hard to find time to hangout with you and I miss seeing you.”

“I missed you too. And thank you for letting me stay here, I don’t know how to repay you. I can pay some rent or something.”

“No. Don’t worry about that. Just help me make some brigadeiro when you feel up to it.” she says, offering you a soft smile.

“I’ll try. I think I’m gonna head to bed now. I gotta get to the office early tomorrow.”

“No. What the fuck? You just got your heart broken. Your whole life just fell apart. No offense. Take the day off, matter of fact, take the whole week off. We’re gonna take a break. Okay?”

“I kinda wanna go to work so I can have a distraction from the fact that I’m failing.”

“You’re not failing, y/n. Gabe failed you. Mikayla failed you. None of this is your fault. You did nothing to deserve this.”

“At some point, I have to realize there is something wrong with me. My relationships never work and the common denominator in all of them is me.” you say, shrugging your shoulders and accepting that maybe love isn’t meant for you. You stand to go to your temporary room. “Goodnight, Pietra.”

“Fine. You can go wallow in your sadness but call your boss cause you’re not going to work tomorrow. I will lock you in your room if I have to.”

You shut the door to your room, not having the energy to counter Pietra’s demands. You have to fight every bone in your body to keep from sliding down the door and sobbing. At least make it to the bed, you tell yourself. Your feet heavily drag across the carpet, trying to get you to the edge of the bed and when you do, you collapse onto it and break. You cry and cry as you curl into yourself. It gets harder and harder to breathe, but you won’t be able to feel the relief of ceasing your breath completely. There’s a hole in your gut in the shape of everything you had and lost.

Gabe played you, for years. It was like he was mocking you with everything you ever confided in him. You had told him things that you’d never told anyone else, and now you regret that. You wish you could unrecall how you almost had it all. Everything you’d dreamed of, being loved and wanted.

All those braids of lies. All those “I’ll never leave”’s and “You’re more than enough”’s.

If you could, you’d go back to the night you met Gabe. You’d go back and tell yourself that he wasn’t the one. You wish you’d never met him. You had all of him, then most of him, and now none of him. What the hell are you supposed to do?

Once your sobs subside briefly, you send a text to your boss, letting her know you won’t be in tomorrow, and probably the day after. You won’t be able to get stuff done while in this state. Maybe Pietra is right. It might be best if you take more than a day or two off work to get yourself back up on your feet.

The next week is spent with Pietra glued to your side. The two of you spent everyday either relaxing or going on mini adventures around town and shopping til you dropped. While it’s been nice, spending time with P and just going out, it doesn’t take away the pain or distract you from it too much. There’s still an empty space in your chest that feels like it will keep expanding until it consumes you into nothingness.

It seems as if your soul is disappearing, leaving you to be a ghost. You still don’t know how it ended. Yes, he cheated, probably more than once, but how? Why? Were you not enough? Did you do something to push him away?

You can’t feel it yet, peace and acceptance. But you are waiting. Desperate to feel anything but this, or nothing at all.

Days and weeks pass and you’re slowly coming to. You’re back at work and you’ve been touring some apartments with Pietra. She insisted that if you moved out, you would at least live close by. You agreed to this condition and you just sent an application for the apartment you liked most. It was beautiful with a few big windows to let the sun in, a window nook you could relax in, and a magnificent view of London.

You were on break at work when your phone pinged with a notification. You look down and see his name pop up on the screen. Gabe texted you, letting you know he packed the rest of your stuff so it’ll be an easier and faster process for you to get whatever was left after that night.

Without responding, you text Pietra, asking her if she could go and grab your stuff with her boyfriend, Max. You don’t think you could stomach going back there. Not after knowing what happened in what was your room. Not after you laid in bed, staring at the ceiling questioning how many times it happened. Where it happened.

Without hesitation, Pietra says yes and lets you know that she’ll have your stuff in your room by the time you get home. You’re forever grateful for Pietra for being there for you through all this, for allowing you to live in her home. You would mention Max as well since it’s his home as well, but you found out that he had told Lando about your situation in full detail. So, he’s on probation right now.

The work day wraps up quite late so by the time you’re driving home, it’s dark and cold. You call Pietra and let her know that you were on your way back, asking if she needed you to pick up anything on your way home. She says no but keeps you on the phone to make sure you get home safe. The two of you talk about work and make plans for the weekend.

As you pull into the driveway, Pietra is already waiting for you at the door, dancing around as you hear a one direction song being played from inside the house.

“Welcome home, bestie.” Pietra screams.

You run up to her and hug her so tightly. You had just seen each other this morning but it felt nice to feel appreciated and wanted. In the past few weeks, you two had grown closer and it felt like you were kids again.

You enter the house and drop your stuff onto the couch when you feel something furry run along your ankles. You look down to see Olive.

“Pietra, what the hell?”

You look up to see Pietra with a guilty look plastered on her face, “Well, when I went to get your stuff from that bitch, I was grabbing the last bag and he had Olive in her little crate. He said he wanted you to have her. He said that the two of you had grown close and he wants you to have her. And if it makes you feel better, he said she’s been shitting in his shoes since you left.”

Bending down to pick up Olive, you look at her face and just hug her close. Turns out she is a girl's girl, and you’re grateful for her, even if she is just a cat.

“Thanks, Pietra. For getting my stuff and bringing my little Olive.”

“It’s no problem. I’m glad you got something good out of all this.”

“Me too.” you say, watching as Olive curls into you and purrs as you scratch beside her ear.

The rest of the night is spent cuddling with Olive and listening to Pietra vent about her own work life and personal life. Apparently her manager wants her to do a brand deal with a cheese company? When Pietra is lactose intolerant?

The next morning, you are awoken by birds chirping outside your window as rays of golden sun make their way to warm your body. It’s a beautiful day outside so why let it go to waste?

After kissing the top of Olive’s head, you start getting ready for the day and put on one of your favorite dresses. It’s a beautiful, pink sundress that’s loose and comfortable but hugs your figure nicely. It’d been a while since you’d worn it, having forgotten about it after Mikayla told you that it made you look like one of the twins from ‘Alice in Wonderland’. Maybe you should’ve seen the signs.

You decide to head to your favorite cafe that’s down the street. After moving in with Pietra and Max, you’d ventured to each establishment in the area and just fell in love with the aesthetic and aura of this cafe. It was cozy with cream colored walls, big windows that allowed the warm sun to shine through, and potted plants in every corner and crevice of the place.

After ordering a coffee, you take a seat at a table in the corner where you can read your book in peace. That was until you heard an all too familiar voice. “Y/n.” - Looking up from your book, you’re met with his eyes. The eyes you fell in love with all those years ago.

“Lando.”

With a shaky exhale, he quickly explains himself, “Max told me you were here. Actually, I kind of berated him to tell me where you were and if I could talk to you. I heard what happened with Gabe and I just had to see you. Can I have a seat?”

“I’m not in the mood, Lando. I’m tired and I feel like I’m just starting to get back up on my feet. I don’t want to entertain this.”

He takes a seat in the chair across from you and you watch the pleads that leak from his body. “Please, Y/n. I just want to talk. I’ve thought a lot about what I’ve done to you and I just need you to listen. Please. I don’t expect to get back together or for you to forgive me and all that. I miss having you in my life and I would really like it if we could at least be friends?”

You just sit there with your arms crossed, raising an eyebrow at him. You know as soon as you see him, you’re gonna wring Max’s neck for telling Lando about what happened and about where you were.

Realizing you weren’t going to speak, Lando continues, “I fucked up, bad. I disrespected you and essentially used you. Like I said the last time we spoke, I didn’t realize what I had til it was gone. I didn’t realize that I actually love you, like a lot.”

With a deep breath, you tell him everything you never said. “Sometimes I can find peace with the fact that you left, accepting that this wasn’t meant for me. Other nights I would bargain with God, asking him what I had to do or give up for him to bring you back. After all of this, I don’t know why I’m holding on to you. There is nothing to hold on to. And I used to be scared of losing you. I think I still am somehow, which is weird. Like if I let you go then I officially lost you. If I just hold on to every little memory, maybe you’ll come back, even if I shouldn’t. And that’s even scarier. It’s scary knowing that after all this time, you still have this hold on me. Like all you have to do is say something, and I'll come back.”

“So why don’t you come back? To me? I’ve grown, Y/n. I’ve changed. And I’m still changing and learning. I love you. And I know that even if I love you wholeheartedly, that’s not enough. I will work everyday to prove to you that I love you. I will work every moment to show you how much I care about you. The day that I left, I lost the love of my life. I lost you.”

“You didn’t lose the love of your life, Lando. You just lost the person you had loved the most so far in your life. You’ll find the love of your life, someday. But it’s not me.”

“Y/n, I don’t know life without you. Everyday that’s passed since I ended things, you’ve always been at the forefront of my mind. I found you then I lost you and looking back is torture. It hurts to know I hurt you. If I could go back and do it all over, I’d do it differently. I would’ve never let you go and I would have treated you better. I would have loved you better.”

“But you can’t. We both need to move on. This whole situation is not healthy for either of us. We can’t keep going around and around. You fucked up and you need to deal with the consequences. I need time and space from anything to do with love. I just got cheated on by someone who was supposed to love and care for me. I have to explain to every person I know why I’m not getting married anymore. I have to tell every single person that I’m not enough and I’ll never be enough. I have to tell everyone that I’m the disappointment they always knew I’d be.”

“You’re not a disappointment, Y/n. You never have been and never will. Let me show you what love really is like. I promise. We can go as slow as you’d like. We can be just friends. I can’t promise sunshine and rainbows 24/7. I can’t promise that there won’t be times where you’re mad at me. I can’t promise that I’ll be perfect. But, I can promise to stay. I promise to love you wholeheartedly, and do it proudly. I will love you loudly, shouting it from every rooftop. I promise to keep you safe. I promise to take care of you. I promise to surround you with love. While I hope you can love me again, I know it’s not easy and not something that has a high chance of happening. I know I don’t deserve it, but can you please let me in again?”

As you sit there looking at this person, this person who you loved with all your heart for so long. This person who took your heart and broke it into pieces. This person who has come back over and over again. This person who hasn’t loved or dated since the last time you two had spoken. This person who claims to love you.

“I don’t know, Lan. Can you?”

—————————————————————————

Tags for pt 3: @leclerc13 @f1fantasys @htpssgavi

I only tagged those who specifically asked to be tagged in pt 3 cause I didn’t know if those tagged in pt 2 wanted to be tagged in this one 😭😭😭

[joelmillerisapunk]

Love me like a loaded gun

fuckbuddy!jJavier Peña x f!reader // 1.3k

There's things I wanna say to you but I'll just let you live. Like if you hold me without hurting me you'll be the first who ever did.There's things I wanna talk about but better not to give.

summary: Javier Peña is a man who never stays, but that doesn’t stop him from showing up at your door, seeking solace in the only way he knows how.

-or-

my interpretation of Cinnamon Girl by Lana Del Rey if it was a Javi fic

warnings: mdni, 18+, unprotected emotions, unprotected p in v, a lil fingering, a lot of angst

notes: this is the doings of this tiktok (which I suggest you watch the 23 seconds of it to get in your feels before reading) AND the song that was on the tiktok Cinnamon Girl by Lana Del Rey and then I heard 2 Hands by Tate McRae and it was over for me. Thank you @milla-frenchy for doing what you did. Thank you @thundermartini my baby for reading this lil guy over for me and always hyping me up and cheerleading me with everything especially my moodboard crisis that seems to be never-ending.love you both so much 💖

masterlist

Javier Peña is a hard man to hold onto. He never stays in one place too long. Never lets anyone get too close. You’ve known that since the moment you met him. 

But that doesn’t stop him from showing up at your door in the middle of the night, his knuckles rapping against the wood like he already knows you’ll let him in.  

You shouldn’t.  

But you do.  

Javi steps inside without a word, the familiar scent of cigarettes and whiskey clinging to him, sinking into the space between you. He looks like he had a long night—tie loosened, hair a mess, the weight of something unspoken pressing down on his shoulders.  

You cross your arms, leaning against the doorframe. “You could’ve called.”  

He huffs a quiet laugh, but it’s humorless. “Didn’t think I needed to.”  

He doesn’t. He never does. And that’s the problem.  

You watch him shrug off his jacket and take off his tie, tossing them over the back of the couch like he belongs here. Like this is just another night, another excuse, another way to forget whatever the hell’s been haunting him.  

Your stomach twists.  

“Mmm, guess not.” You say with a voice softer than you mean it to be.  

Javi looks at you—really looks. His dark eyes flicker with something unreadable, something caught between hunger and hesitation. He’s good at this game, at keeping his distance even when he’s got his hands all over you.  

You should tell him no. Should tell him that you’re done being the thing he comes to when he needs to bury the parts of himself he won’t face.  

But then he steps closer.  

“You want me to leave?” His voice is low, rough, but there’s something vulnerable under it, something he tries to hide.  

You could say yes. You should say yes.  

Instead, you reach for him.  

His lips crash against yours before you can even think, all teeth and desperation, almost angry, like he’s trying to take something from you—like he needs this more than he should. Your fingers slide into his hair, and he groans into your mouth, deep and ragged.  

Your fingers move down and twist into his shirt, holding on like you can stop him from slipping away. But he always does, in the end.

His hands grip your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you feel the heat of him through his clothes, through yours. You hate how easily your body reacts to him, how familiar this all is, how much you want him even when you know he won’t stay.  

It’s always like this. Heated, frantic, like he’s running from something. Like you’re the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

You let him back you toward the bed, your fingers fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders.

You break the kiss just enough to whisper, “Javi.”  

He breathes against your skin, his lips dragging along your jaw, down your throat. “Don’t,” he murmurs. “Don’t say my name like that.”  

Like you mean it. Like this means something.  

But it does.  

And you both know it.  

His hands slide under your shirt, rough fingertips against soft skin, and you shiver at the way he touches you—possessive, desperate, like he’s trying to brand himself into you. Like he wants to forget everything except the way you feel beneath him.  

Without a word, he grips the hem of your shirt and tugs it upward, his knuckles skimming along your sides as he peels it over your head. His eyes darken as he takes you in—bare skin, breathless anticipation, the way your chest rises and falls beneath his gaze.

His fingers find the clasp of your bra, unhooking it with a practiced ease. He pushes the straps from your shoulders, letting them slide down your arms before tossing it aside.

Javi’s hands are on you in an instant, palms rough against the softness of your breasts. His thumbs brush over your nipples, teasing them into hardened peaks.

You let him pull you down onto the sheets, let him hold you the way he only does in the dark. His hands are reverent, his mouth sinful, his body pressing into yours like he can carve himself into your bones. And you let him, because you need this too.

And he doesn't hold back.

Javi is all over you, his hands skimming down your stomach, pushing your pants and underwear off with the kind of urgency that makes your breath catch. His fingers brush against the heat between your legs, and he exhales sharply, like the feel of you alone is enough to unravel him.

"Always so fuckin' wet for me," he mutters against your throat, his voice rough, almost angry. The way his fingers stroke over you is anything but. It's worship. It's desperation. He spreads you open, a slow, teasing drag of his fingers before he slides one inside you.

Your back arches. "Javi—”

He cuts you off with his mouth, swallowing your moan as he works another finger inside you, curling them just right, like he knows your body better than his own. Maybe he does. Maybe that's why he keeps coming back.

His free hand grips your thigh, spreading you wider, keeping you in place like he needs you to stay right there—needs this to last. But it never does.

You reach for him, tugging at his belt, desperate for more, and he lets you, pushing his jeans down just enough to free himself. He’s already hard, already aching, the tip dragging through the slick between your thighs before he presses in, slow and deep.

Your head falls back, a whimper catching in your throat as he stretches you open, as your body takes him the way it always does. Like he belongs there. Like you were made for this.

Javi groans, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath ragged. "You feel so fuckin’ good."

His hips start to move, slow at first, deep, like he wants to drag it out, like he wants to feel every inch of you. But then your fingers dig into his back, your nails biting into his skin, and something in him snaps.

He thrusts harder, deeper, his hands gripping your hips tight enough to bruise. You cling to him, gasping his name, and he hates it, hates the way it makes something crack open inside him, so he kisses you rough and messy, like he can make you forget what you just said.

You don’t.

And neither does he.

It’s fast and desperate, a little too rough, a little too much, like you’re both trying to take something from each other that neither of you can really give.

But right now, it’s enough.

For a moment, it feels like he’s yours.

For a moment, you can pretend.

His hand slides between your bodies, his thumb rubbing slow circles over your clit, dragging you closer to the edge, until you're falling, unraveling beneath him. You cry out, your body tightening around him, and Javi follows right after, a shuddering groan pressed into your skin as he spills inside you.

For a moment, there’s nothing but silence. Heavy breathing. The warmth of his body still pressed against yours.

Then, like always, the moment starts to slip away.

Javi pulls out too soon. Rolls onto his back. And when you glance at him, when you see the way he stares at the ceiling like he’s already somewhere else, the ache in your chest spreads like wildfire.

You don’t ask him to stay. You don’t ask what this is or what it could be.

And he doesn’t offer, doesn't pretend this is anything more. 

Because Javi loves like he fights—reckless, desperate, and always ready to leave before the dust settles.

And you let him.

Even when it breaks you.

[fictionzet]

Ok there are quite a few but I promise they are worth reading:

🖤“Belief isn’t simply a thing for fair times and bright days, I think. What is belief—what is faith—if you don’t continue in it after failure?” (Sazed, The Final Empire)

💙I’d assumed an eventual rematch would be a way to take back my dignity. Turns out, nobody can take that from you. You’ve got to throw it away. (Frugal Wizard's Handbook)

💛Elantris:

💛“You talk about hunger and pain as if they are forces that can’t be resisted. Anything is acceptable, as long as the hunger made you do it—remove our comforts, and we become animals.” (Chapter 4)

💛Pain lost its power when other things became more important. Kahar didn’t need a potion or an Aon to save him—he just needed something to do. (Chapter 16)

💛The problem with being clever,  Sarene thought with a sigh,  is that everyone assumes you’re always planning something. (Chapter 32)

💚Some of my favorites ever, from Tress of the Emerald Sea:

💚There was somebody who cared. Naturally, it would be up to that person to do something. Tress couldn’t impose on anyone else. She was going to have to go rescue Charlie herself. (Chapter 5)

💚It might seem that the person who can feel for others is doomed in life. Isn’t one person’s pain enough? Why must a person like Tress feel for two, or more? Yet I’ve found that the people who are the happiest are the ones who learn best how to feel . It takes practice, you know. Effort. And those who (late in life) have been feeling for two, three, or a thousand different people…well, turns out they’ve had a leg up on everyone else all along. Empathy is an emotional loss leader. It pays for itself eventually. (Chapter 13)

💚Tress settled down, thinking about people and how the holes in them could be filled by such simple things, like time, or a few words at the right moment. Or, apparently, a cannonball. What, other than a person, could you build up merely by caring? (Chapter 39)

💚“Those stories always leave something out,” Tress said. “It’s really not a problem that someone needs to be saved. Everyone needs help. It’s hard to be the person who makes trouble, but the thing is, everyone makes trouble. How would we help anyone if nobody ever needed help?” (...) “The part the stories leave out,” Tress said as ... “is everything that comes before. You see, I’ve discovered that it’s all right to need help. So long as you’ve lived your life as the kind of person who deserves to be rescued.”

🩷Humans are incredibly malleable. Despite my breadth of experience, I’ve never stopped being surprised at how durable human beings can be. They can survive in almost any environment. They can recover from debilitating loss. They can be crushed physically, mentally, emotionally—and still ask you how your day is going. (Yumi and the Nightmare Painter)

I have quotes I love from The Stormlight Archive too, I can also share those if you'd like.

Folk, of the cosmere fandom, I have a question. Give me your favorite quotes that are NOT mainstream. I don't want to hear, "Honor is dead, but I will see what I can do", ideals, "the next step", "you will be warm again" etc. I need your niche lines from different books that stuck in your memory but don't get brought up enough in your opinion. Some of mine are:

You know, princess, the worst part about being a mercenary is living up to the stereotype (it's so good in context)

I was a demigod for millennia. Now … I stand in wet clothing, shivering. (Leshwi, WaT)

Never let something trivial like a sense of humor get in the way of a good joke (Yumi and the Nightmare Painter)

[cognitiveoverload]

Rejection (Aaron Hotchner x reader)

summary: Being Hotch’s favorite is hard, but when he suddenly asks you out, you don’t really know if you’d like to make things harder for yourself.

tags: fem!tech analyst!reader

note: There will be more parts, not necessarily in chronological order. What do you think, what situations will they find themselves in? Send an ask with your idea, and let’s see what will happen.

At first, it was just a casual and genuinely innocent observation from Spencer. “Have you noticed that Hotch calls only you if he needs something?” he asked one day as he sat between you and Penelope in your little den.

But then this comment spread through the BAU like wildfire, making everyone think back of all the times their boss needed information, and look at that, they all remembered the same detail–it’s not just the fact he was always calling you, it was the fact he always called you by your first name.

And that’s how the constant teasing began. Derek, Emily, JJ and Penelope tormented you, with Spencer occasionally joining to spit out some facts about the both of you, while Rossi targeted Hotch as far as you knew. It was mortifying, really, but you got used to it.

What you still can't get used to is the change in your boss’ behavior. Recently he’s been different, although you can’t quite put a finger on what it is that changed. Sure, maybe he shows up a little more often in your office, strictly when Penelope isn’t around, and he brings you coffee when you’re working late or arrive a little too early as he does.

“How are you holding up?”

You turn your swivel chair around to look at Hotch, who’s standing in the door with an almost worried expression on his face. He sent Penelope home a few hours ago when a case affected her too much, and now apparently it was time for another wellness check in your little office. It’s hard to miss the way he’s flexing his fingers, a clear sign that he’s nervous, although you’re not a profiler, so you remain silent before you say something stupid.

Thinking about his question, you realize one thing. “It didn’t really affect me. Does this mean something’s wrong with me?” you ask him.

His lips part as he takes a shallow breath and thinks about what you just said. For a moment you think he’ll not give you an answer, but then he sits on the edge of your desk and watches you with a small smile. “It only means you’re tough. Look, you said, ‘It didn’t really affect me,’ which tells me it did affect you, just not as intensely as it did Garcia for example,” he explains kindly.

Nodding, you look down at your hands in your lap, but your gaze rises when he bumps his leg into your thigh. You expect him to say something, but Hotch remains silent, and he even acts like he didn’t do anything at all. There is one little thing that’s different, though. That barely visible smirk, the one you’ve all seen before.

Times like this it’s hard to comprehend the extremes in his behavior. He can act like this, so kind and supportive, but he can play rough too, especially when he loses control. And times like that, like a few days ago when he yelled at an agent who tried to take a case from him, you can’t help but think about how he could yell at you any time with you even thanking him.

Because, as pathetic as it might sound, an angry Hotch is simply irresistible. You probably have some issues that should be analyzed, but that’s tomorrow’s problem.

“I often wonder how you all can do this every single day. Penelope told me to brace myself when I arrived, but… It’s hard sometimes,” you admit quietly. “Yet, there are cases that don’t really make me feel anything. I can’t really wrap my head around that.”

His brown eyes soften in sync with his expression, and then his lips curl into a smile. “You’re a good person, never forget that. Not feeling anything might be your brain’s way of protecting you. Either way, if you ever want to talk, you know where to find me,” he tells you as he stands up.

You nod, then return to your computer once he’s heading to the door. But then the sound of footsteps suddenly dies, and when you turn around to see if he has just disappeared into thin air, you find him watching you with a thoughtful look. Your brows furrow in confusion, but you don’t say anything, you just wait for him to spit out whatever’s on his mind.

“Aren’t you hungry?” he asks casually.

It seems like an innocent, regular question between co-workers. The members of the BAU often team up in pairs or bigger groups to grab something, even Hotch joins them for a drink in a bar or dinner in some restaurant nearby. But he has never, ever gone out to eat with someone alone. Maybe with Rossi, but that doesn’t count.

So, it’s no wonder you have to think about the offer. You would be on thin ice, the team already has a little too much fun with the fact Hotch is playing favorites with you. If you have dinner with him alone, they might think you’ve been in some secret relationship all along.

In the end, the rational–or maybe rather paranoid–side of your brain makes the final decision. “Thanks, but I’d rather go home after I finish this,” you say, pointing at your computer.

He nods, and you begin to think he’s about to leave, but then he gulps and takes a deep breath, as if he’s gathering the strength or courage to say whatever’s on his mind. “I have paperwork that can’t wait, but I can give you a ride home after I’m done,” he offers, and there’s a look in his eyes that you can’t quite identify.

“No need, I’ll be fine, but thanks anyway,” you tell him with a forced smile.

The last thing you need and want is Hotch taking you home. He means well, you know that, but you can’t risk being seen by someone who could easily start a rumor. The problem is, he’s almost as old as your dad, so people would talk about your nonexistent daddy issues, and he’s your boss, which would only make things worse.

So far the whole joke about being his favorite is something that stayed within the team, but if it gets out and reaches HR, you’re both done. You don’t want that, but not because of yourself. Hotch is ambitious, he’s insanely good at office politics, and if he wants to be promoted, he can’t be involved in such scandals.

You’re pulled out of your thoughts by the sigh that leaves his lips. He looks almost disappointed, which is something you don’t really understand, because you can’t remember anything that could be even remotely rude. What is his problem? Or is there something he wants to talk about, something he wants to get off his chest?

Before you know it, he closes the door and walks back to you. “I’ve been making offers, and you turn down each and every one of them without hesitation. Why?” You can’t help but give him a confused look, because you have absolutely no idea what he’s talking about. Well, you know, but why does it bother him? “Is it because we would be alone?”

“It’s just… Wouldn’t it be weird?” you ask.

He inhales and exhales slowly before he suddenly crouches in front of you. “Look, there is a chance it will be weird, yes, but why don’t we give it a shot to see, huh? Come on, just you and me. If you’re afraid someone we both know will see us, we can go somewhere away from the usual crowd.”

You tilt your head to the side as you watch him, observing the look in his eyes, the small smile that makes your heart melt, and you simply can’t get yourself to say no to him. “Why?” you ask, although you know the answer, you just want to hear him say it.

“I’m sure I don’t have to spell it out for you,” he says with a boyish smile.

Gulping, you nod. A date. Aaron Hotchner wants to go on a date with you. But he’s your boss, if you started a relationship, there would be the danger of the aftermath of a breakup. Would you really like to risk it? You love this job, you love this team, you love Penelope, losing them wouldn’t be worth it.

You lick your lips as you push your chair back to build some distance. “I really have to get back to work now, and I’m sure Jack would be happy if you got home before bedtime,” you say, even though it hurts to turn down the invitation.

Hotch lets out a disappointed sigh as he stands up. “If you change your mind… you know. Good night.”

“Good night.”

[revelboo]

Skin and bones part 12 when 🙏

Now!

Skin and Bones Pt 12

Megatron x Reader

• Leaning slightly over you, he brushes his mouth against your cheek and your head lifts, hair in disarray and those eyes sleepy. And you’re warm where he’s lying against your back, an arm draped possessively across you. When is the last time his recharge has been so peaceful? When he’s not been haunted by nightmares? The Nemesis could survive a rotation without him. And maybe Starscream won’t try anything for a little bit, no one will need him to solve idiotic problems and he can just have this.

• Face heating as he murmurs a growling ‘hello,’ you remember the feel of his big body caging yours. How gentle he’d been after, cleaning you and himself while peppering little kisses against you. And that had slid into another round of urgent love making. The thought snags at you and you shove it down. It’s just sex. Once love gets involved, it’s going to end up hurting you. Know you’re already falling for him hard despite knowing better. “Hey, you.”

• “Still awkward?” He asks teasingly as you smile, little fingers tracing shapes on his arm. Nothing about this is awkward to him, it’s like a reprieve from his past. Like maybe he can move past his mistakes and start over. Think about a future. About possibilities. “We could just spend the rotation right here,” he murmurs, lips brushing your neck to make you shiver. “Talking.” And not wondering if humans and Cybertronians can bond. About how good it would feel to find out, to feel you stroking through his spark.

• Turning in his arms to look up at him, you reach up to cup his cheek, thumb tracing the warm living metal of his face. Alien but so familiar to you. “Just talking?” There, warmth spills through you as one corner of his mouth twitches slightly and he presses a kiss against your palm. The gesture so achingly soft. Making you realize you’re lying to yourself. There’s no risk of falling in love, because you’re already there. You love him. Swallowing down the sudden panic, his servos tip your chin up.

• “What’s wrong?” For a moment there, you almost look afraid, but then you’re forcing a smile, arching into him to brush your mouth against his. And his spike responds, stirring against your soft belly as your kiss becomes a demand. Your little hands on him, clinging. Distracting him, head lifting as you make a needy little noise, he catches your hands and shifts over you to pin them above your head. Pinning you helpless under him shouldn’t make him hurt to be inside you like it does. Imagining binding your wrists, pinning you open and spread for him to conquer and claim. Growling softly, he shifts a knee between your thighs. “Talk to me, little one. I know something’s wrong.”

• Why does he have to pay so much attention to you? Pick up on everything. It’s not like you can just say it. Can’t tell him that you love him, because you’re just too different. That this will end with your heart broken no matter what you do or don’t say to him. “It’s nothing,” you whisper forcing a smile. Realizing that maybe you don’t want to go home. That maybe you want to stay with him. And afraid that he’s only interested because this is temporary with no strings attached. You don’t think he’s like that, not really, but you can’t push the thought away once it occurs to you.

Previous

[miss-noo-na]

Take What You Can Get (Yeonjun x Reader)

Title: Take What You Can get

Featuring: Choi Yeonjun (TXT) x Reader

Rating: Mature/explicit

Warnings: Verbal degradation and name-calling (slut, whore, etc), dubcon because consent isn't verbally given but insinuated. Rough sex/hate-fucking, dirty talk, choking, biting, yearning.

Word Count:  4000

Summary: You have been pining for Soobin, even though he doesn't return your feelings. You can't stand his best friend Yeonjun, but he notices, and he's going to make you forget all about him. Whether you want to or not.

Notes: It's been a long time since I posted something to Tumblr, so I thought I'd do it for funsies. Also to remind everyone that I'm still alive and update on AO3 now (check my pinned post for links) Love you guys <3

You didn’t expect much when Soobin invited you over. Sure, there was always a small part of you that hoped maybe today would be the day. The day he got the hint that you liked him and had for some time. The day he returned those feelings, or at least was curious to get closer. For the sake of your friendship you would never confess to him the crush you had been harboring for so long, unless you got that hint.

But you never imagined that standing in his kitchen he would introduce you to the girl he had been seeing. You had no idea he was dating anyone, especially not someone so pretty. It was early in the relationship but you thought for sure you would have known about this sooner, if not from him than one of your mutual friends. You smiled wide and happy when you shook her hand, even though inside you could feel the weight of the disappointment crushing down on your heart.

To make matters worse, halfway through the get-together they had left. He assured you and their other friends they would be back in a bit, they had something they needed to do together. You don’t know why they hadn’t done it before you bothered coming over, but there you were, alone in his bedroom trying to work out a problem with his computer. He had mentioned in passing that he was having some issues with a program you were familiar with, and it would be great if you could take a look at it while you were there.

“I’d really appreciate it.” He said with a gentle crease in his eyes that made you melt, and you nodded all too willingly. Now you just felt like an idiot, doing his tasks for him while he was out with his new girl doing whatever it was you didn’t want to think about.

You were vaguely trying to solve the issue, more so lost in your thoughts and clicking around idly. The door being nudged open loudly by someone’s foot startled you.

You swiveled halfway in the chair and locked eyes with Yeonjun, who half-smiled at you but not in a kind way. You rolled your eyes and turned back around without a word.

The baggage of pining for Soobin came with the unfortunate add-on of having to be around Yeonjun. From the moment you met, there was something about him that bothered you, and the more you got to know him that something turned into many things. He was arrogant and loud and always needed to be the center of attention. He thought too highly of himself and dominated conversations with his obnoxious presence that he was under the impression was charming to others, but not you. You tried ignoring him at first, but over time started to speak up whenever he was too extra, and cracking jokes and roasts at his expense had him glowering at you from across the room. You bickered like rivals even when it wasn’t that serious. Every time he opened his mouth in a group setting you couldn’t help but roll your eyes just as you had done when you saw him enter Soobin’s room.

“Does he know you’re in here?” He asked as he made himself at home on the edge of Soobin’s bed.

“Of course he does.” You said in a biting tone, trying to focus now.

“Got you doing his work for him, eh?” He asked with a laugh and the sound it of it went down your spine like nails on a chalkboard.

“I’m just doing him a favor.”

“Naturally, you’re always doing him favors.” He said off-handedly, and you fought the urge to turn around. You said nothing.

“Tell me, do all your little errands feel stupid now that he’s fucking someone else?” He asked in a voice that dripped in condescension and you could feel yourself getting hot with anger. Yeonjun had caught on to your crush long ago, far more attentive than Soobin had ever been. It was something he liked to bring up whenever he felt like getting under your skin. Usually in retaliation for the times you told him to shut up and stop pestering everyone.

You continued to ignore him, typing more furiously and glaring at the screen, mentally cursing him out but not allowing it to reach your tongue.

You heard him get up and hoped he was leaving, but instead you felt him behind you, his presence looming over your shoulder. He turned his head and his hot breath ghosted your neck.

“Does it make you crazy thinking about him and her in this room?” He laughed low and it tickled your ear. “I bet you get all worked up wishing it was you.”

You weren’t going to sit here and be mocked, the anger bubbling up inside but also the pin-prick feeling of something else you didn’t want to address. You shoved the chair back, bumping his chest and making him stumble back. You headed for the door, figuring you could do this later when he wasn’t here.

“Hey! Hold on.” He grabbed at your wrist and you snatched it away, turning and glaring daggers into him. He sat back down on Soobin’s bed and he was grinning.

“I’m just messing around.” He said, but it didn’t ease your fury. Then his voice changed, it got a little softer and deeper.

“Come here.”

You blinked, his smile had faded and his eyelids drew down. The way he was looking at you was different. Usually it was smarmy or annoyed, but this looked like….

“Why?” You asked, still angled toward the door.

“Because.”

He gestured to the spot next to him and you hated that you were curious about what he had to say. The day was already ruined, so you relented and went and sat next to him.

“Look, I’m the only person who knows how you feel right now.” He said, surprisingly understanding, but you wondered about his angle. He wouldn’t be the type to comfort you.

“And I think maybe you should take this opportunity to do something about it.” He leaned a little closer. “That I could help with.”

You pulled back and scowled at him. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about letting me,” He pointed at himself, “Make you-“His finger touched the center of your chest, below your throat, “feel better.”

You guffawed at his proposition, but the hysterical laughter was hiding the way your blood started rushing to your ears when you heard him say it.

“You think I’m desperate enough to do that?” You asked.

Instead of being offended, like you might assume, he smirked.

“I do.” He stated plainly. “I think you’ve been following my best friend around like a pathetic puppy and someone needs to snap you out of it.”

Your smile faded at his words and you didn’t know how to decipher the mix of emotions. It hurt, first and foremost. But it hurt in a way that made your breath pick up as Yeonjun stared you down. You wanted him to keep talking.

He put his hands on the bed and moved forward in a sudden motion, making you lean back so far that you fell onto your back and he was now hovering over you.

“I think someone needs to get it through your dumb head that he doesn’t want you.”

He sounded mad. Frustrated by your behavior and intent on letting you know.

“And I know that you hate me,” He said with a wry smile, his eyes taking in the sight of you beneath him for a moment. “So I’m the perfect person to fuck it out of your system.”

Despite yourself and everything your instincts told you, you trembled at his words, your eyes widening and hands going clammy.

“What’s in it for you?” You asked, irked by how weak your voice now sounded.

He laughed, almost gleefully. “Making the bitch who hates me squirm under me is satisfying in its own way.” He cocked his head to the side. “I’ll think about it next time you try to humiliate me in front of our friends.”

Your chest was rising and falling quickly now, as he talked it got harder to deny what it was doing to your body. It took you a moment to recognize that the more he degraded you, the more it turned you on. And even the shame of that revelation was exciting you.

“So,” He started, leaning down and pressing a kiss to the side of your neck, just under your jaw. “Are you going to let me ruin you or what?”

His kisses moved to your throat and then down to your collar bones. You stared at the ceiling, breathing hard and pressing your hands into the covers. You suddenly remembered where you were. This was Soobin’s room and his best friend was kissing down your neck in his bed.

His mouth moved to the crook of your shoulder where his teeth sank into your flesh. Not enough to break skin, but enough to make you yelp in surprise. Your hands shot up to grab his arms, holding on to him. He laughed against your neck.

“Take this off,” He said, toying with the hem of your shirt. You couldn’t understand yourself when you did exactly what he asked without hesitating.

“You might as well take your pants off, too.”

As you worked on removing your clothing, a voice in your head was asking what exactly you were doing, letting someone you couldn’t stand 5 minutes ago strip you down to your underwear. It was overpowered by a louder part of you that needed this. Needed to be taken and consumed and punished.

“You may be stupid,” He said, his tongue swiping over his lower lip as his vision grazed your body, “But you’re not bad looking.”

His half-lidded gaze, plump mouth and imposing form over you made you realize you thought the same of him. Maybe when you first saw him you recognized how attractive he was, but it was quickly replaced by a seething dislike. However here, in the afternoon glow of Soobin’s bedroom and his smoldering eyes, he looked like everything you’d desire.

In one harsh movement he grabbed your leg under the knee and pulled the limbs apart, settling himself between them. He attached his mouth onto your neck once more as his fingertips started a delicate dance down the front of your body, stopping to fondle your breasts through your bra.

“Maybe I should mark you up, huh?” He breathed against your skin before latching his lips to it and sucking hard, nibbling with his teeth. “Make him wonder where you got these from.”

He moved to the other side of your neck and did it again, and without seeing it you could tell he was leaving vicious marks in your skin that would be obvious to anyone.

“Then again, he probably won’t care.” He chuckled. “You’ll want him to. You’ll leave them out for him to see and he won’t give a fuck.” He hissed before capturing your mouth in a searing kiss.

It took you by surprise, and you made a sound against his mouth. However, it didn’t take you long to reciprocate, opening up to him and letting his tongue lap against yours. Your hands found their way over his shoulders, drawing him closer, and he pressed his hips into you in response.

He pulled back but kept close, staring down at you as one of his hands came up and took your chin, his thumb pressing against your moist lips.

“Look at you.” He murmured, pushing up on your chin to raise your head. “Your body is begging for attention. He’s ignored you for so long, hasn’t he?” His voice baby-talking those harsh words and his hardness grinding into you made you whimper. Your brain felt like it was being emptied out and all that mattered was what Yeonjun was doing to you.

“Aren’t you glad I was here?” He smiled, a devious edge to his sweet voice. “To take advantage of a pathetic, touch-starved whore.”

His words were like electricity jolting through you. No one has ever talked to you like this before, and never did the thought occur to you that you might like it.

Because he was right. You had followed Soobin around for ages, hanging off his words and vying for anything you could get. You hadn’t been desired or looked at by anyone else in that time nor did you want to be, until now. Until Yeonjun forced you to take what you had been lacking.

His hand on your chin trailed down your body once more, his large hand cupping over your clothed sex. He squeezed you, hard, and you cried out from the painful ache that it caused.

“I could’ve just stripped you down and fucked you raw and gotten it over with.” He commented nonchalantly. “You would have let me, too. But teasing you is so much more fun.”

You looked up at him with wet, wide eyes, lips pouted and wanting to say something.

“You’re so quiet now. Usually you never shut the fuck up.” He laughed, now gently rubbing his hand over you, feeling your wetness seep through your panties.

“What do you want to say, baby?” He leaned closer and his voice fell to a whisper. “Tell me.”

Some of your deep-seated anger was coming through as you heard him talk without changing pace in his motions. Even in the moment of actually doing something useful, he was still so goddamn annoying.

“I hate you.”

A smile grew over his mouth as his eyes narrowed, and you didn’t know if you detected anger or passion. Maybe both.

“Your mouth says that,” He started, then slipped his hand under the band of your underwear and sank down toward your wetness, his fingers pressing between the folds and stroking up toward your clit. “But your body loves me.”

When his fingertips grazed agonizingly over the sensitive spot, you moaned, your hips twitching.

“See?” He commented triumphantly, and you were too lost in the feeling to argue it.

After teasing you another minute, his middle two fingers sank inside you, pressing to the second knuckle and making your back arch up off the bed toward him. He kissed up your neck to your ear and breathed, making you shiver.

“I’m gonna make you forget all about him.” He said in an unusually serious tone. He curled his fingers up and massaged a place inside you that made your eyes roll back.

Yet just as you were starting to surrender to it, he retracted them, and you whined at the emptiness that followed. He ripped your underwear down your legs as he sat up, then grinned down at you before removing his shirt.

“Stop whining, you’ll get something much better.”

You watched him quickly strip away the rest of his clothing and before you could do anything else, he was grabbing your legs and pulling you down toward him, surprising you with his strength.

You looked down between your bodies, your knees trembling as he took himself in his hand and aligned it with your entrance, but didn’t enter quite yet. Instead, he ran the tip of his cock between your folds, all the way up to your clit and slowly back down again. He repeated the motion as he spoke.

“Do you want me to fuck some sense into you?” He asked, meeting your eyes. “Or do you want to save yourself for your precious Soobin?”

“Shut up.” You whined, not sounding as strong and biting as you usually did when you told him to shut up.  “Just fuck me.”

His eyes that once danced with amusement dropped down into a glare you were familiar with. “Fine.”

He grabbed your hips at either side and sank himself inside you in one fluid motion, pressing all the way to the hilt until he bottomed out inside you. Your eyes snapped open and you grabbed onto his forearms, digging your nails into his skin. It was overwhelming in both pleasure and burning pain but you didn’t want him to stop.

Then he started to move, his hips drawing back only about an inch before snapping back in. He made sure he pulled you flush against him each time, showing you just how deep he could go.

As the grimace melted away from your face and twisted into pleasure, he leaned forward.

“What happened to all that attitude?” He asked, his breath coming out in thick pants. “You sure don’t look like you hate me now.”

You dug your nails even deeper into his skin and he hissed, snatching your wrists and forcing them over your head, pinning you down and never faltering in his rhythm.

“How does it feel?” He asked, squeezing your wrists and breathing down your neck. “How does it feel knowing I’m fucking you into the mattress of the man you love?”

You tugged at your makeshift restraints and knew you were trapped, he was stronger than he looked, but even if you could break free you didn’t really want to. Your face burned in embarrassment, hearing him mock your feelings.

“What would he think about you?” His voice got lower and closer to your ear. “What would he think knowing that you long for him, and you fucked the first person who showed you any attention because you’re just that desperate. “

He punctuated his words with hard thrusts, sweat forming on his brow and temples as his hair fell into his face. He swallowed up your needy moans in a kiss.

“You’re so fucking stupid.” He laughed breathlessly as he pulled away. “Look at what I’m doing to you. You could have had this all along.”

Something about that sentence rattled your brain, and you tried to focus on what he meant, but the way he was driving into you and holding you down made it difficult to concentrate.

“All this time running after Soobin when I was right here.” He growled, and a very real anger clouded his eyes. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing, but he made it very clear he wasn’t joking when his motions became more purposeful.

“I wanted you as soon as I laid eyes on you.” He huffed out a breath. “And you couldn’t stand me.”

You were caught between listening to his confession and trying to hold on to your sanity with what he was doing with your body, and hearing the pure and unmistakable wanting in his voice spurned on your arousal.

“Now look at you,” That deviant smile came back. “You’re mine now.”

He let go of your arms and one hand encircled your throat. He didn’t squeeze too tight, just enough to get your attention and make you moan in approval.

“Isn’t that right, pretty girl?” He asked, and the tiniest hint of praise that hit your ears made you squirm and cry out under him.

“Yes.” You responded without hesitation, rocking against him and letting him grind down into you.

“Yeah? You like me taking care of this aching cunt and making it mine?”

You moaned in response, nodding your head in his hand and gazing up at him with a wanton stare. You realized the power you held in that moment, giving him exactly what you didn’t know he wanted.

“It’s all yours.”

The fire that lit up his eyes was worth it all, and his mouth crashed down on yours to kiss you with a new kind of fervor, grinding down deeper until his pelvic bone was in the perfect place to stimulate you. He knew exactly what he was doing, rolling his hips up and hitting the right spots until you could feel your release building up inside you.

He could see it in your face, and it only made him work harder. “I want you to come undone. I want to break you.” He rasped, his own ecstasy mounting right behind you.

You latched onto his shoulders and let him guide you to it. “I’m so close, Yeonjun.” You said his name in a way that drove him crazy.

“Then come for me, slut.” That sly grin found its way onto his features, “show me who it belongs to.”

With that it didn’t take long, fingers digging into his shoulders as your back arched and your orgasm hit you hard, washing over you in waves. He leaned down and panted in your ear “that’s it, baby,” and “All for me.”

Relentlessly fucking you through it over-stimulated you until you were a babbling, drunk mess. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him down, feeling the vibration of his moans against your collar bone.

“Fuck, I’m-“ He hardly had the time to warn you before it hit him, he slowed down into a gradual, pulsing thrusting motion as he whined out his release in the sweetest way.

He came to a halt and panted against your skin, your limbs all tangled up and chests rising and falling together. It took a long time for your heartbeats to slow down.

He lifted himself up on his hands and looked down at you, softening and twitching inside you still. After the haze of the arousal and the hormones wore off, you felt exposed under his gaze. You wondered if he was angry at you.

But there was a softness in his eyes that worried you more than anything, and you reached up to push his hair back so you could see him better. You locked eyes for a long moment and said nothing.

Finally, he slipped out of you and came to lay down next to you. You grabbed at the nearest cover and pulled it over your body. When you looked over, there was a small smile tugging at the edge of his mouth.

“You can’t hide from me.” He said in a tired, husky voice.

“I can try.” You said, tucking yourself down into the cover, concealing part of your face. He rolled to his side and pulled them up, joining you underneath. Before you could speak again, he reached out and held your cheek in a surprisingly tender motion, and placed an even more tender kiss to your ravaged lips.

“I really didn’t mean for it to go that far.” He said in a near-whisper under the covers. You could only kind of see his face, and his dewy eyes and pouted mouth looked delicate.

“That’s hard to believe.” You whispered back, even quieter than him.

“Well I didn’t expect you to give in so easily.” He chuckled, and you felt yourself get hot with embarrassment.

“Did you mean what you said?” You asked curiously, knowing this was probably the only time he’d be honest about it. Who knows how either of you would feel once the adrenaline wore off completely.

“About you?” He said, and before you could confirm he nodded. “Yeah.”

“You could have just told me.” You offered, and he laughed louder this time.

“My pride wouldn’t let me do that.  Not with how you were always yearning for my best friend.” He sighed and rested his head on his arm.  “Also you hated me, remember?”

“Hate is a strong word.” You offered.

He rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Either way…”

He trailed off and you were both quiet for a moment.

“How do you feel about me now?” He asked, and you thought about it for a moment.

“Hmm, you’re slightly less unbearable now.” You said playfully, and luckily he laughed, too. He reached over and pulled you over by the waist, making a surprised squeak come out of you.

“Well, we’ll have to do this a couple more times. Just to make sure.”

He kissed you, and for the first time in a long time, someone other than Soobin made your hands shake and your heart beat faster.

[vodika-vibes]

It Was A Bet?

Summary: Tech admits that Echo was dared to ask you on a date, and your whole world comes crashing down around you.

Pairing: TBB Echo x GN!Reader

Word Count: 1150

Warnings: This made me weepy as I was writing it. Miscommunication.

A/N: So, I've been toying with this idea for a couple of weeks, and I finally had enough to turn it into a story. Also, writing is hard right now because whenever I look at a screen for longer than 30 minutes I get a headache. I desperately need new glasses.

Click HERE to be added to my taglist

Your comm has been ringing non-stop for the better part of the day. And you know that if you were to look at the name on the screen it would have Echo’s name. 

You don’t want to talk to him.

You don’t want to see him either.

But you also know that the next step is for Echo to show up on your doorstep and insist that you let him in.

You don’t want to.

You feel raw. Exposed in a way you haven’t felt since you were a teenager.

Why couldn’t Tech have kept his big mouth shut?

…no.

No. That’s unkind of you.

This isn’t Tech’s fault. And him not telling you about the dare wouldn’t change the fact it happened.

And, to Tech’s credit, when he realized that you had no idea what he was talking about, he apologized to you and mentioned that he thought that Echo would have mentioned it to you by now.

But he didn’t.

He didn’t, and now you have to wonder if any of it was real. Or was it all pretend? Was it all designed to make him feel better about himself?

You jump when you hear a knock on the door, which is annoying seeing as you expected it, and you turn your head to stare at the carefully painted door. 

“Cyare? I know you’re in there. I can see the light on.” Echo’s voice comes through the door, “Open the door, please?”

You stare at the door for a moment longer, and then you pick up the remote and turn up the volume on the holo.

“Oh, very mature.” Echo says on the other side of the door, “No. Wait. I didn't mean that. Cyare, let me talk to you. Please?”

Again, you don’t respond.

“I have all day. And I have no issues making myself a problem to your neighbors.” Echo warns.

You scowl at the holo, but this time you drop your legs from the couch and stalk over to the door. You slam your hand on the button to open the door, though you open the door enough to look out, “What?”

Echo sighs, “You’re not going to let me in?”

“You’re lucky I’m even talking to you.” 

“Right. Fair.” He runs his hand over his head, “Let me explain. Please?”

“What is there to explain?” You counter as you fold your arms, “You were dared to ask me out. You won. Congrats. I never want to see you again.” Sure, it feels like you’re heart is breaking in your chest, but it’s fine. You’ve always known this was too good to be true.

“Wait, wait! It sounds bad. I know it sounds bad. But you don’t have the whole story.”

“What more do I need to know? That you laughed at me when I confessed to you? That it was all a joke to you?”

“What? No! It wasn’t! None of it was!” He places his hand on the side of the door, “Let me in, please? Don’t make me have this conversation with you out here?”

“Echo, please.” Oh, your voice is shaking. You’re going to cry again. Stupid traitorous body.

On the other side of the door, Echo falters. There’s a flash of guilt, and then he shifts and pushes the door open enough that he can enter your apartment.

Once inside, he lets the door close behind him, and he takes a step towards you, reaching out to touch you. Though he stops when you take a step away from him. 

“Cyare, please let me explain.” He’s pleading with you, alternating between panic and guilt. 

“Fine. If you insist on hurting me more—”

“No. I don’t--I wasn’t--That was never my goal, I swear it.” For the first time since the day you met him, Echo’s tripping over his own words. 

“Then what was your goal, Echo?” You shake your head, “What was the point? Did you think I would just never find out?”

“Do you remember the day we met?”

“...What?”

“It was sunny,” Echo continues, “You were babysitting your nephew, so you were both wearing tooka ears, and he was running around collecting pretty shells—”

“I remember you wouldn’t talk to me.”

“Couldn’t talk to you.” He corrects, “I was--force, do you even know how stunning you looked at that moment? I didn’t say anything because I couldn’t say anything. I was struck speechless.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Echo takes a half step towards you, and this time you don’t back away, “Whether you believe me or not, it’s the truth. And, I’m a confident guy, cyare, but the idea of talking to you when I look like…well, this.” He gestures to his body, “I couldn’t do it.”

You sigh softly, “You look fine, Echo.”

“I had a crush on you, which is embarrassing for a man my age, but I was too much of a coward to do something about it.” He says quickly, “So Crosshair and the others dared me to ask you out.”

“That doesn’t make it hurt less, Echo.” You say quietly.

“I know.” He inches a little closer to you, and you wince when his hand presses lightly against your cheek, “I meant to tell you. I really did.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Honestly, I forgot.”

“You forgot?”

“That…sounds bad.” He cautiously settles his scomp on your hip, “When I’m with you, the only thing I’m thinking about is you. And then I get home and I remember that I still haven’t told you about the dare, and the next thing I know six months have passed, and I still haven’t told you—” He trails off, “I’m sorry, cyare.”

You sigh softly, “You really hurt me, Echo.”

“I know.”

“I felt like I was a joke.”

“You’re not! You could never be.” Echo says quickly, “I love you, you’re everything to me.” He hesitates, “Can you forgive me?”

“...if you ever make me feel like this again, we’re done.”

“Oh, thank kriff.” He drops his forehead to your shoulder, “I thought I lost you.”

“I’m not happy with you right now, Echo.”

“I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” He pulls back and searches your face, “You still love me, though?”

“Yeah. I still love you.”

His forehead falls back to your shoulder, and his arms snake around you to hold you tight. “Good. That’s good.”

You don’t move for a moment, and then you lightly wrap your arms around him and stroke his back, causing him to almost melt into you. It seems like he was genuinely worried that he lost you because of this.

And maybe you’re an idiot for forgiving him. Maybe you’re a love-sick fool for taking him at his word. But you can’t help it. You love him and you trust him.

“Echo?”

“Hm?”

“Can we get pasta for dinner?”

He releases a slightly shaky laugh, “Whatever you want, cyare.”

@heidnspeak

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[suhnflowerstay]

game night pt 2

taglist: @j-onepostzz @lovesunshinefelix @straykeedz @skzbangchanniee

bang chan x afab!reader, lee minho x afab!reader

wc: 10.9k

tags: toxic situationship vibes, high emotions, light angst, smut, fluff, love triangle

part 1

----------

minho: yo so is your friend single

Your eyes open, and Chan's still not awake. Chan typically wakes up before you do, but your brain was so restless thinking about the text from Minho and what it could mean. Chan being deep in sleep has to be a sign, you tell yourself, and your heart starts racing all over again. A large part of you knows that the man sleeping next to you would purposefully sabotage any potential fling with Minho over the weird possessiveness he feels and the double standards he holds. Luckily, you both know each other’s phone passcodes. While that knowledge typically leads to arguments and broken hearts, this time it can lead to something good. (for you at least)

In a burst of impulsivity, you grab Chan’s phone and unlock it to reply, acknowledging in your heart that there will be a fight that happens as a result of going through Chan’s phone to give your number to someone else. That, however, is a problem for future you to deal with. 

chan: yeah, y/n’s single why do you ask

You bite your lip, (im)patiently waiting for him to reply, hoping so desperately that he’s also awake right now. To your surprise, the bubble pops up to show that he’s typing, and you internally squeal, looking over to ensure that Chan is still asleep.

minho: well after last night, i just couldn’t stop thinking about how y/n’s really funny and so insanely pretty it’s crazy 

minho: and i figured if you two aren’t dating, why don’t i give it a try?

Fighting the urge to throw the phone across the room, you send Minho your number before setting Chan’s phone back on the nightstand. You already know that when he sees the messages, it’ll start another fight, but by that point, it won’t matter since you just received a text from Minho asking how you’re feeling after last night’s drinking.

Chan wakes up an hour or two later and finds the bed empty. He assumes you’re in the living room and groggily reaches for his phone, squinting while trying to read the notifications on his screen. He sees the group chat has been blowing up, and when he opens his messages app, Chan notices something weird. In his thread with Minho, your phone number is the last text sent. Chan’s positive he’s not the one who sent that, which means you must have, and he feels sick. He tries to suppress the anxiety rising from the pit of his stomach and opens up the group chat. Where everyone is talking about how hot his friend was. Cool cool cool.

hyunjin: bro chan

hyunjin: next time you bring a baddie to game night please give me a heads up

hyunjin: i was in no way ready to talk to someone who was both hot AND funny

changbin: no seriously

changbin: i also held myself back because i really thought you two were dating

changbin: i didn’t realize i missed my chance until minho yelled from across the room asking if you were dating and then whispered dibs

minho: you snooze you lose

minho: y/n is single but not for long

Chan immediately shoots into panic mode, his worst fears realized. Minho is going to ask you out. You’re going to say yes. He’s going to be amazing, and you are going to fall in love with him and get married and have 12 kids and a farm and like puppies and kitties too probably. Okay maybe he’s spiraling but…

How the hell is he supposed to compete with that and what the fuck is he going to do about it?

“You went through my phone and gave Minho your number???” Chan storms into the living room.

“Well, good morning to you too,” you say casually, looking back down at your phone to text Minho like you’ve been doing since you woke up.

“Are you going to respond at all, bro?!” Chan asks, bewildered, “Why would you text him your number from my phone? What happened to ‘I’m never gonna see him again’?”

“Well… that was before he asked if I was single, and like I told you last night, I am,” you say matter-of-factly.

Chan cannot believe what he’s hearing. His ears are ringing and he feels the blood draining from his body, especially from his face. He's sure he’s about to die because he has no idea what to do, but he knows he has to sabotage it somehow. Maybe he’ll tell all of his friends that you and he are secretly dating or maybe he’ll tell them you have an STI or that you torture animals. One way or another he has to make sure that not a single friend of his wants anything to do with you at all. He wishes so badly he never took you to game night and that they had no idea that you existed.

Three of Chan's most attractive and charming friends all want you, and you’re clearly interested in at least one of them. If you knew the rest of his friends all had some sort of interest in you, would you also be interested in them? He’s spiraling and lost in the fear of what could possibly happen that he doesn't even realize you’re calling out his name. He looks up and he’s now sitting on the couch. How did he get here?

“Chan! Channie, are you okay?” your voice slowly fades in. You look so concerned. Have you always looked so beautiful in the mornings? Chan thinks.

“What happened?”

“You didn’t say anything for a bit, and then you straight up looked like you were about to collapse onto the floor! Your face is so pale- are you okay? Do you have alcohol poisoning?”

Chan’s face turns red, and he can’t believe he just almost fainted in front of you at the thought of you going out with Minho. He needs to learn how to hide his feelings better, and he needs to do it fast.

You make sure he’s okay and that he’s eaten before you let him know you have to head out to do homework. This, of course, is a clever lie so that you can text Minho all weekend without an extremely jealous and possessive man peering over your shoulder, watching your every move. 

What you don’t know is that Chan knows you’re doing this, or at least assuming you are, which is enough, and it’s making him progressively spiral and further lose his mind. He is overthinking every possible outcome. What if you’re talking about him? What if you don’t actually like how he is in bed and you tell his friend and now his entire friend group thinks he’s bad at sex? What if you say you don’t think he’s funny? What if you send Minho nudes? What if you send Minho nudes that he will never get? Chan doesn’t think he can handle that, and the room starts spinning again. 

What if Minho does ask you out, and what if you say yes? The yes feels like a guarantee to Chan. Not for nothing, but Minho is a super good looking guy. He’s super sweet and exactly what you would describe as your type, so there is nothing stopping you from saying yes. What happens next? Will you be Minho’s girlfriend? Will he have to stop sleeping with you and jacking off to your nudes on the nights he doesn’t see you? Will you even still consider him your friend after everything you two have done? Is he going to lose you forever to a man who can’t tell if two people are dating or cousins?

---

You’d been texting Minho all weekend, getting to know each other, and as you walk up to campus on Monday morning, you’re honestly disappointed that he hasn’t alluded to any plan to see you or take you out on a date. As you walk towards your first class, a boy with purple hair suddenly pops up in front of you.

“Hi, beautiful,” he smiles.

“Hi, Minho” you respond, surprised.

“How was your weekend?” he asks, now apparently accompanying you on your walk to class. You find yourself feeling so grateful this is not the class you have with Chan because you aren’t mentally prepared for that drama right now. It is way too early for that.

“It was great. I actually met this really funny guy. He was about yay high,” you say gesturing and putting your hand at his height, “kind of crazy hair and eyes… oh! and says fucko a lot.”

“Oh wow,” he says laughing, “That sounds like a super interesting and hot guy that you should seriously consider asking to marry you. Truly sounds like a keeper,” he kids.

“I don't know that I'm thinking about marriage right now,” you say, playfully rolling your eyes.

“Boo!” he jeers, before asking, “Well if you aren’t thinking about marriage, could I interest you in thinking about a date?”

Your brain shuts down.

“YES!” you say a little too quickly, “Uh yes, yeah. For sureeee, dude. Definitely. That sounds great! I’m so down-” you ramble

“Say yes one more time, and I'll be convinced,” he jokes

“I could change my answer to no,” you warn.

“Fine, fine, fine-” he concedes as you pull up outside your classroom, “I’ll text you the details, yeah?”

“Yeah, sounds good,” you smile.

“Perfect,” he smiles back, leaning in to give you a kiss on the cheek.

Internal screaming ensues

Safe to say that your heart is racing for the rest of the day, and you might as well not have gone to class because you were not mentally present and learned nothing. The only thought in your mind is Minho, Minho, Minho, Minho, Minho-

“Y/N!!!”

Your thoughts are interrupted as you turn around to see Chan jogging up to you.

“Hey, baby,” he says, kissing you.

“Hi,” you reply softly, a little worried that someone (Minho) might be around but melting into his arms anyway.

“How were your classes? Ready to go to the library?”

In the midst of the Minho flash mob going on in your head, you had completely forgotten about your usual study date with Chan on Mondays. How were you supposed to act normal when you were patiently waiting for whatever details Minho was going to send you related to your date?

Chan could sense something was off with you, so he said, “Let’s call off studying for the day and take a drive. What do you think?”

“Sure, sounds fun!” you said thankful to hopefully have more of a distraction than your usual table at the library would give you. You had no clue where he was taking you until you wound up at the beach.

“Hello? What are we doing here?” you laugh.

“Well clearly you’re feeling overwhelmed about something, so I figured a walk on the beach would help since it always does,” he takes your hands into his, looking down shyly. Chan’s behavior is throwing you off, and it feels like it’s coming out of nowhere. It all feels so intimate, making your heart do cartwheels. He knows something’s wrong, so he took you to your favorite place to try to help. You nearly melt.

“Awwwww, Channieeeeee! You love me, how cute,” you softly pinch his cheek, trying to play it off. Instead of joking back, however, he slides his hand to the back of his neck with a little smile and deflects, “Let’s go get you something to eat before we take a walk, and maybe… if you want, you can talk it out, o-only if you want though.”

Talking it out isn’t really an option for you, seeing as your inner turmoil is coming from potentially being in love with Chan and definitely having a crush on Minho. You do, however, feel stress-free spending time with one of your best friends, just listening to the sounds of the ocean and giggling at whatever dumb jokes Chan makes. The familiar feeling comes creeping over you again, as you fall back into comfortable silence alongside Chan.

You are definitely a little bit in love with Chan, and there’s really no doubt now. You’ve been in denial for a very long time because… it’s Chan. He is probably your best friend in the whole wide world, and you refuse to be one of the many people that just fell in love despite him being very clear about his disinterest in relationships. It’s also not something you’re proud of. You were supposed to be totally cool and distant, and it’s entirely too late now. Both of you may have been wrong when you thought it would be simple transitioning from being best friends with someone to having sex with them without some sort of romantic feelings developing.

Even though you know Chan will never want anything other than something casual with you, seeing him in the sunset, smiling and laughing, makes your heart yearn for him even more. You think about how easy it all is and how right it feels. It's him. It just sucks that you are not the one for him... that you aren’t enough. Not enough to get him to want to commit, at least, because otherwise, you wouldn’t be in this predicament. 

The sound of your phone buzzing throws you out of your depressive spiral, the screen lighting up with texts from the man you’ve wanted to hear from all day (and the only man who might be able to help you get over Chan).

minho: hi beautiful how was your day?

minho: are you free tomorrow night?

You smile a little at your phone, and Chan takes notice. He does his best to not look suspicious as he peeks over at your phone screen to see what Minho texted you, and his heart sinks.

“Who's that?” he asks, defeated.

“Oh, it’s just Minho,” you say, looking at your phone, unaware of the frown Chan is now wearing.

“What does he want?”

You look up and see Chan clearly not doing so well, and you begin feeling defensive and ready to remind him that he’s the one that doesn’t want to commit.

“He asked me out on a date earlier and texted me just now to see when I’m free,” you reply, waiting for whatever angry or annoyed response you’re about to get.

“Oh…”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, oh…” the boy looks down, “Did you want me to say something else?”

“No...” Yes! I want you to ask me not to go! you think. I want you to tell me you’re in love with me too and that you will never want anyone but me and that no one else could possibly be me. I want you to tell me that you want me just as much as I want you!

The two of you continue your walk in the sand after you let Minho know that you are indeed free. There is far less laughter, and there is no longer a carefree feeling. Chan drops you off at home, and you feel a bit sad over the shift that’s happening with him but hopeful and excited about your date with Minho.

---

Minho does not tell you what you two are doing on the date, so you have absolutely no idea what to wear. You decide to go for something casual enough that you wouldn’t feel too overdressed if you wound up at the movie theater but not so underdressed that you’d feel uncomfortable at a higher end restaurant. At least that’s how your best friend and roommate Haechan tells you to dress. He lends a helping hand by telling you if you look absolutely horrible or like you’re trying too hard. It may seem like it’s harsh, but he is tired of watching you cry over Chan on a weekly basis.

Being your roommate and best friend means that he hears about every fight with Chan and every girl you see Chan with. He sometimes even hears your fights if they happen in your shared apartment. He wants this to go well as much as you do, for your sake. You deserve someone sweet and caring who is serious about you, and from what Haechan has heard so far, Minho seems like he might be all of those things. This sentiment is reinforced when Minho picks you up.

Minho shows up to pick you up, but he picks you up. He doesn’t just text you that he’s outside. This man actually walks up to your door with flowers, and you are completely shocked. He's dressed in a button down shirt and some black pants, so you definitely feel comfortable with your choice of outfit.

“Wow, your place is really nice. It definitely feels like you,” he says, taking time to look at all the pictures of you and your friends, while you put the flowers in a vase. Then, he sees a picture of you with Chan.

“How long have you been friends with Chan?”

Taken aback by his question, you nearly drop the vase.

“Um- a few years. We met while both our families were on vacation, so we had a long distance friendship for a while before we decided to go to the same university,” you say, finally putting the vase down with the flowers arranged nicely. 

“Well that’s lucky. I'm glad you did because now I get the pleasure of getting to know you,” he says, grinning as he walks back up to you. 

Your cheeks warm, “H-how long have you been friends with Chan?”

“Oh, since childhood, like basically my entire life-“ he laughs, “I was always closer with his cousin Felix because we had similar interests, but Chan was always around as well. It’s actually super lucky that we met because I actually wasn’t going to go to the game night at all, but when I heard Chan was going, I knew I could get him to help me with the homework.”

“Oh wow, so we only met so that you could cheat on your homework?” you fake pout. 

“Nooooo! Don’t say it like that! We met because fate wanted us to meet,” he smiles dreamily.

“Whatever you say, Minho,”  your cheeks warm as you both make your way out the door to his car. 

He opens up the door for you like a true gentleman and slides over to the driver's side. 

“Do you have any idea where we’re going?”

“I do not!”

“Okay, perfect!” he responds, as he speeds off. 

You chat a bit on the drive, just getting to know each other more. You learn that he’s obsessed with hip-hop dancing, which feels crazy considering his being a STEM major. He tells you about his cats and how in love with them he is and how much he loves his family. The ride to your unknown destination is basically never silent and filled with lots of teasing and giggles. 

Finally, you arrive at your destination, and you look up to see you’re at the beach, once again. 

“I remember you mentioning in one of the messages that the beach is really relaxing and a safe space for you, so I thought it would be a good idea for a first date to quell any nervousness” he says, looking unsure of whether you are happy with his choice or not.

“Minho… this is so sweet. This is a great idea, thank you-” you hug him and give him a kiss on the cheek. He blushes lightly and leads you on your way. 

Minho planned for you two to have dinner at this small restaurant with a perfect view of the sunset. The meal was amazing, and the company you had was even better. Dinner was just an extension of the conversation you were having on the drive over, and after dinner, you then walked around the pier and decided it might be nicer to walk along the beach to avoid the crowds and have a more intimate and private date. 

Minho made you feel so secure, and he made you feel so heard and validated. You never ran out of things to talk about. This dynamic isn’t something you’ve experienced before, and it’s a refreshing change of pace. In fact, it’s such a change of pace that it’s kind of making you…

Is basic affection and respect making you horny?

You are suddenly hyper aware of your body and its proximity to Minho’s body. Your hands keep drifting closer to each other as you walk alongside each other, lightly touching but never making that connection. Your eyes move to his lips as he talks, and you can’t believe how gorgeous his smile is. He probably has the softest looking lips you’ve ever seen on a man. He must use a lot of lip balm, you think. Men usually don’t have such moisturized lips. Then, you realize that the lips you’re looking at are no longer moving and neither is the body they’re attached to. 

“Can I interest you in anything?” Minho asks smugly once you finally look up at his eyes.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry I can't believe I zoned out like that,” you reply, mortified.

“I’ll forgive you if you tell me what you were thinking about,” he smirks.

“I was thinking about how soft your lips must be,” you say matter-of-factly.

Minho’s facade crumbles a bit as he wasn’t expecting you to be so direct, and he looks down at your lips before looking back up into your eyes.

“Would you like to find out?” he asks and you immediately smash your lips against his. He has no idea where to put his hands. All he knows is he wants them all over you before finally landing on keeping them on your face. You finally part for air, and Minho has a hungry look in his eyes. 

“So my place or yours?” you say, chest heaving as you catch your breath.

“Definitely yours.”

Thank God Haechan decided to give you the apartment.

You tumble into your little apartment with Minho, hands grasping at each other, desperately needing to feel each other. One by one, articles of clothing are getting strewn about on your path to the bedroom before you finally land at your final destination, and the two of you are basically naked. He lays you back in bed and leaves kisses as he makes his way down to where you need him most. You haven’t really had sex with anyone but Chan for a while, so having a new set of hands and lips on you is making you more sensitive than you thought you’d be. You shiver at every light touch and Minho notices. 

“What’s wrong baby? Been a while?” he smirks. You decide to ignore him and instead say, “Please-”

“Please what, sweetie? I need words.”

“Please touch me-”

“Oh, don’t worry, darling. I will- I’ve been wanting to taste you since the moment I laid eyes on you.”

He finally makes it down to where you need him, and he licks a stripe over your underwear, groaning.

“Fuck, you smell and taste so good, and I haven’t even gotten the real thing yet,” he says, more to himself than anything.

He tears off your underwear, needing to get to the real thing immediately and starts messily licking and sucking at your core. Chan never really goes down on you as you usually just skip to the main event, so, it has definitely been a while since you had this. You can’t stop all the noises escaping you, and they only make Minho even more feral. He is obsessed with hearing you, and he thinks he could honestly die like this and feel completely content. You taste that good. He swears he’s never had pussy this tasty, and he’s officially whipped without even being inside you yet. 

He doesn’t even have a strategy as he eats you out- he’s more just being selfish. He just wants to get as much of your taste as he possibly can, and if you happen to cum in the process, then that’s a win in his book. His unpredictability in the way he licks and sucks and moans against your cunt is making you quickly approach your high, and the second you mention any word of being close, Minho proceeds to tongue fuck you while his nose rubs against your clit. The combination immediately tips you over as you chant his name. Even after you start to come down from your high, he's desperate to keep going down on you, and you have to pull his hair to get his attention. When you do pull his head up, the look in his eyes is unlike anything you’ve ever seen. He looks starved and desperate to taste more, pupils dilated, his mouth slightly open as he’s panting, waiting for the second your hand gives so he can go back to the task at hand.

“I need you inside me, baby," you say slowly. Minho almost throws a fit but decides there’ll be more time to eat you out later. He peels off his boxer briefs, and his member slaps up against his stomach. You’re shocked to say the least. You didn’t expect him to be so… big. He was definitely bigger than Chan. I should not be thinking about Chan right now. But it’s true! Not that Chan’s small, but he’s definitely not this big. You’re practically drooling watching him stroke it.

“You can have a taste later,” he smirks, reading your mind, “I need to feel that delicious pussy suck me in.”

He rubs the tip up and down your slit, groaning, coating it with every drop of wetness he can get. He thinks he could probably get off on just rubbing up against you with how wet you are. 

“Are you ready for me, baby?”

You can only nod in response, since you’re sure you’ll start whining if you open your mouth.

He thrusts in just a little bit, and your body is already overwhelmed in the best way. Your body has to be at peak sensitivity right now because the way his cock feels entering your tight hole is otherworldly, and you’ve barely begun. When he finally fills you completely, his face can’t help but show how amazing you feel. “Fuck,” he gasps, his eyes shut, mouth open, and eyebrows knit. He might’ve been joking when he said you should propose to him, but he feels 100% serious that he would marry you right now. 

“God, please move,” you moan, barely able to keep it together.

“Whatever you need, baby.”

As he starts to move, you see stars. Your body is completely overwhelmed, and you're grasping at the sheets, trying to ground yourself. You wrap your legs around him desperate to feel all of him all over you, and he gets the hint, leaning down to kiss you while continuing to plow into you. He starts kissing your neck and groaning in your ear and saying the dirtiest things. 

“Fuck, baby. You’re so fucking tight, and you’re taking me so well,” he says, continuing at a brutal pace, “You’re being so loud, too- I bet the neighbors can hear how loud you are. I bet you love that you’re putting on a show for them- probably want them to watch, huh?” he feels you clench and he slows down, lifting himself back up to be able to see your face.

“Oh- you like being watched, huh, baby?”

You shake your head, your face getting hot knowing how turned on you were by the thought of someone seeing how good Minho is fucking you. 

“No? Are you sure because that’s not what that slutty pussy is saying, is it? I think you love being watched, and you’d let me take you in front of all my friends, huh? Hyunjin and Changbin wanted a piece of you- maybe I’d let them watch.” You clench again, unable to keep yourself from babbling and moaning. You’re almost at the edge as Minho keeps ramming into you at the same pace, hitting the perfect spot everytime.

“Fuck, baby- you’re squeezing me so fucking tight- just a little slut wanting to get passed around by my group of friends, aren’t you?” he says as he wraps his hand around your throat, “You wanna get fucked over and over, baby? That it? You aren’t satisfied with one dick?” 

“Daddy, please,” you whine, feeling yourself nearly over the edge. He leans back down to kiss you, hard. The intimacy of the close proximity, the dirty talk, the new angle he’s hitting inside of you. It’s all getting you closer and closer to your high. Then, he goes and whispers in your ear.

“Just a desperate, needy, little slut-” nibbling on your ear. This light stimulation is enough to send you over the edge, as you cum the hardest you have in a while, leaving scratches all over Minho and practically screaming his name. Minho is rapidly approaching his orgasm as your pussy tries to milk his cock for all it’s worth.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum, baby- where do you want it?” he says, getting ready to pull out. You wrap your legs around him tighter and say, “Inside.” 

“Fuck- oh my god. Shit- fuck, oh my god,” he says, releasing inside you, unable to stop himself as he continues to pound his cum deeper into your pussy. Finally, when the overstimulation is too much to bear, he pulls out, watching his cum trickle out of your hole in awe. He cleans you up before lying alongside you and wrapping his arms around you. 

“I promise I don’t usually do this on first dates,” he says, kissing you on the cheek.

“Don’t worry- I won’t slut shame you,” you joke.

“I can be a slut,” he admits, “But this is not that. I really had a good time with you today, fully clothed, and I'd like to see you again- if that’s okay with you.

Wow. He fucked you, and he still wants to see you again. In public. On a date. With the intent of something serious developing between you two…

“I would actually love that,” you smile.

---

It's now been over a month with Minho, seeing him nearly every day. You always have a good time, and he always eats you out at the end of the date. He's so into you, and it’s a really refreshing change of pace. (But that hasn’t stopped you from seeing Chan on the days that you aren’t with Minho). 

You aren’t exclusively dating Minho yet, but he has made it abundantly clear that he is okay with taking things slow, per your request. He’s so sweet- he even (re)introduces you to his friend group. 

“This is Seungmin, who was at the game night,” Minho says as the boy shyly waves. “Then there’s Chan and Felix, who you already know.” Chan gives you a tight lipped smile. “There’s also Jeongin- he couldn’t be at game night because he had a music assignment to do.”

“Nice to meet you, Jeongin,” you say, and Jeongin just smiles in return. 

“Then, there’s the troublemakers,” he jokes, and it makes you giggle a little bit which Chan notices. Chan actually notices everything. How Minho has his arm around you like it’s where it belongs. How you’re looking at him with stars in your eyes. How he is introducing you to his group of friends like you’re his girlfriend, which you definitely aren’t because he was deep inside you 2 nights ago, making you beg for his cum. 

“There’s Hyunjin who you met,” Minho starts as Hyunjin pulls you in for a hug and whispers just loud enough for Minho to hear, “There’s still time to leave him.” 

You giggle as Minho pulls you away and glares at Hyunjin. 

“Hey! This is not why I’m doing these introductions… This is Changbin,” he says, turning back to you, “He was at the party, but I don’t think you two spoke.”

“No, we did not, and that was a big mistake on my part,” Changbin says, going in for a shorter hug than Hyunjin. When he pulls away, he keeps his hands on your waist.

“Nice to meet you officially, gorgeous. I second what Hyunjin said- it’s never too late to pick the better member of the friend group.”

You are now officially flustered. Did Minho tell them about the comment he made the first night you slept together? (and several nights after that) 

You look around the group and a few of them are looking at you like they’d also like a taste… except for Chan who is glaring at Felix for staring.

“Yah! Stop it! I didn't bring them here for you guys to all stare and latch on. They’re here so that you all can meet the person I'm going to marry,” he jokes. Chan chokes. Why did Minho have to say that while he was drinking water? Now all of the attention is on Chan, everyone trying to figure out what happened. Finally, Chan is able to properly breathe again and Minho says, “Okay, well, moving on. I saved the best for last. This is my best friend Jisung!" 

The boy smiles big and gives you a hug, just like the other boys (minus the suggestive comment) and says he’s happy to finally meet you, and apologizes for being so shy previously. The boys go on having independent conversations in small clusters, and you stick by Minho’s side listening to his conversation with Hyunjin and Changbin, that is, until you feel like someone is trying to make your head explode with their stare. You turn and look over to see none other than Chan who is not giving any attention to what his cousin has to say. He is instead trying to make not your head but Minho’s head explode. He thinks that if he hopes and prays enough, Minho’s head will just roll right off his body.

“I’m gonna go catch up with Chan,” you say, and the boys let you go but not without watching you leave. Minho slaps both Changbin and Hyunjin and says, “Hey! Stop it! You’re gonna scare them away!”

“Listen, you might have called dibs, but you aren’t married yet,” Changbin says.

“I have to agree,” Hyunjin adds.

“Guys, this isn’t funny anymore- don't even look at them!” They both immediately turn to look at you and Minho sighs, exasperated.

“Hey Chan,” you say, interrupting Felix’s rant about god knows what, “Can I talk to you about that thing?” You grab Chan’s arm and walk out of earshot before saying:

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“What are you talking about?” Chan asks, knowing all too well what you’re talking about.

“Chan, don’t play dumb- you’re looking at Minho like you want to kill him!”

“Am I not allowed to look at people?” he says, nonchalantly.

“Not when you’re looking at them like you want to kill them!” you whisper-yell.

“It’s just funny to me that he’s introducing you to everyone as if I wasn’t in your guts basically any day you weren’t with him.”

“Shhhhhhut the fuck up,” you hiss, looking back to make sure no one heard you two. “We aren’t official yet, but I like him, Chan- and you’re going to have to be okay with that.”

“Dude, he’s corny like- does he even know how to fuck you right?” he says in a cocky tone.

“You don’t want to know the answer to that, Chris, stop doing this.”

“What I can’t ask about your sex life with one of my friends?”

“No, actually. You can’t. Because you’re just going to start a fight, and look we’ve been on a few dates now. Talks are getting more serious and him introducing me to his friends is serious,” you respond.

“Minho is never serious about anyone-” he deadpans.

Your heart kinda breaks at hearing that, but you won’t let Chan know that so you throw it back on him. 

“Okay well, that’s even more of a reason for you to not be concerned and to remember that it’s none of your business. If he’s not serious, then why is it a problem- how does it affect you?”

“It doesn’t- I’m just letting you know,” he mumbles.

“Well, I didn't ask for your input. You are going to have to act normal and not be a dickhead out of spite-”

“It’s not out of spite,” he interjects, “It’s-”

“It’s? It's what, Chan?” you ask, officially heated from this conversation.

“Hey, is everything ok over here?” Minho says, coming to your rescue and wrapping an arm around your waist.

“Yeah, we were done actually,” Chan says before walking away.

You nearly roll your eyes. You look back to Minho, smiling, and wrap your arms around his neck. You stay like that, talking about anything and everything while Chan glares from afar.

---

You've been spending a lot of your days waking up in Chan’s bed and then going to sleep in Minho’s. All this juggling has you feeling all sorts of things, but also, a pro is you have never been fucked so good and consistently. It would almost be worth it if it weren’t for all of the emotional turmoil and distress you’re feeling. Minho is so incredibly sweet and he fucks you so good, but the second you get a text from Chan, you’re down bad all over again. 

For example:

3:25pm

minho: are you free tonight, beautiful?

3:25pm 

channie: babyyyyy

channie: you’re coming over tonight right?

No! Enough is enough. You decide it’s time that you fully give yourself to Minho. If you’re still sleeping with Chan, there’s no way you’ll ever be fully focusing on Minho. 

you: we need to talk

Chan's heart drops to his ass. This can’t be happening. He knows exactly what you’re going to say, and he actually thinks he will collapse this time. Maybe he does have feelings for you, but what’s he supposed to do about it now?

You show up at Chan's door, feeling like you’re going to puke out your heart. It’s just sex, right? You’re just friends who have sex, and so, this will be nothing. This will be a super easy conversation that will go so smoothly, and neither of you will feel any differently. You try to convince yourself all of that’s true and knock on the door. 

“Hey, baby,” he greets you, already looking like something’s up. 

“Hi Channie, how was your day?” you respond, walking in.

“Oh, it was pretty good. The same old shit. Hyunjin was nagging me about our group project, but it’ll be fine. What did you want to talk about?” he asks, cutting to the chase. You take a seat on the couch right next to him and try not to think about your knees touching and how you desperately want to touch more of him.

“So… as you know… I’ve been seeing Minho, and we’ve been on several dates…” Chan’s jaw clenches, “and things are going really well, honestly…” you smile genuinely. Minho has truly given you butterflies and is constantly making you feel like you’re the most gorgeous person he’s ever met. You have never ending conversations, and you truly have insane sexual chemistry. He's just not…

“Chan… we have to stop sleeping together. We always said if one of us needed to end it, we would- and I really like Minho, and I don't really want to be sleeping with anyone else while he’s trying to start a relationship with me-” you ramble, looking at the ground on that last part. “Is that okay?”

“Oh yeah- of course that’s okay! You know I can always get sex somewhere else, Y/N. It’s not a big deal,” he comments.

Well, that stings.

“Oh- okay. Great! Well… are we still friends?”

“Yeah, of course we’re still friends,” he smiles.

---

THAT WAS A LIE 

It has been two weeks since your talk with Chan, he hasn’t so much as looked at you. He hasn’t been around his group of friends, and he’s been ignoring your texts. The only time you see him is at school with his arm around random girls or one time, at a party walking up to his room with- you’ll never guess- a random girl. You try not to let it bother you, but you’re failing miserably. You’re currently at a party glaring at him with a girl sitting on his lap when Minho comes up. Minho who you have been seeing for two months and who you still haven’t let be your boyfriend.

“Hi, baby,” Minho says, coming up behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist, resting his head on your shoulder. You turn around and see he’s a little pink. He's definitely drunk. 

“Minho- honey, how much have you had to drink?”

“Like- literally nothing? I had like 4 shots of vodka,” he says, holding up 2 fingers. “Oh! And I only had a few hits off Jisung's bong,” He smiles. He's so cute. You can’t believe how cute this grown man can be. 

“Okay, maybe we should go home- how does that sound baby?” you say in your sweetest voice because you know the cuteness overload will get him to listen to you.

“Aw- I can’t say no to youuuuu,” he smiles, booping your nose.

You walk him through the crowd as he has both arms wrapped around your shoulders so as to not lose you. He decides he isn’t ready to leave just yet and pulls you in the direction of dancing bodies. 

“Minhoooooooo-”

“Come on, baby, just one dance? Please?” he pouts. You may know his weaknesses, but he knows yours too. 

“Fineeeeee,” you sigh. “Just one,” you say, holding a finger up to let him know you’re serious.

Chan sees you two dancing and fights every urge to not get up and steal you away from Minho. He hates how happy you look and how close the purple-haired boy is to you. He hates knowing that you’ll be in his bed tonight or maybe he’ll be in yours, but either way you’ll definitely be with Minho and not with him. He wishes once again that he would’ve never taken you to that stupid game night. He thinks about how he lost his chance as he watches you full of joy with a man who is giving you everything you’ve ever asked for.

---

You luckily were able to get Minho home safely and stayed the night at his place to make sure he was taken care of. You wake up to the smell of him making breakfast, and you walk into the kitchen absolutely gobsmacked at how normal and not hungover he seems. 

“I don’t understand how you just never suffer the consequences of your actions.”

“Someone up there really wants me to make you breakfast without being hungover- I don’t know what to say,” he laughs before turning to kiss you on the forehead. “How’d you sleep, gorgeous?" 

Everything is so domestic with him. It just works. So why does it feel like something’s wrong? All of a sudden you’re hit with so much emotion, and you start crying in Minho’s kitchen. 

“Whoa, are you okay? What's wrong? What did I say?” he asks, concerned, pulling you in for a hug.

You start crying harder because it’s not Minho’s fault, and it could never be Minho’s fault. All this time, you’ve been repressing your emotions, and this is how they boil over. Over a forehead kiss from the sweetest, hottest, best man because you know you can never truly belong to him. 

“It's Chan, isn’t it?”

“Wha- huh?” you look up and Minho isn’t mad or angry, but he gives you a look of compassion and understanding.

“I mean, it is Chan, right- like it’s not Hyunjin or Changbin or something? I’d be pissed if it was either of them,” he shakes his head, keeping his arms around you.

“Minho, I'm so sorry. I really do like you- I just- I'm a mess, and I thought I was over Chan and being with you made me feel like I could get over him, but it wasn’t fair to you- and it didn’t even help-” you cry a few more tears into his chest before looking back up at him, “How did you know?”

“If I’m being honest… I knew from the day I met you. That’s why I had to double check you two weren’t dating. You looked at each other with stars in your eyes. I'm definitely interested in you, but it was clear to me that something was going on between you two, and that I, more than likely, wouldn't be able to tie you down.”

“I’m sorry, Minho. I’m so sorry. I mean, I know I have feelings for Chan but I doubt he feels that way about me-”

“Oh. He definitely does. He has not been able to stop staring at me like he wants to rip my head off in class. He’s definitely jealous,” he laughs

“Yeah, but jealousy doesn’t need to involve feelings,” you retort.

“Trust me, it does. I've known Chan for a while, and he has never been so upset or jealous over someone. And he has never targeted that jealousy at me. Not to be crass, but… we’ve sort of shared before.”

Your jaw drops. “WHAT? What do you mean shared??”

“Why? Are you interested?” he smirks. 

“Minho,” you deadpan (though you definitely are interested, but that’s not the priority right now). 

“I mean that we have actually shared… you know, been in the same bed? Tunnel buddies? Crossing streams? But we’ve also found out that we slept with the same people and sort of… compared notes once we realized.”

“Ugh, Minho, ew! Why would you do that?”

“Listen, it was just out of curiosity! In my defense, I am not typically interested in relationships and usually just sleep around. And also to be fair, we only compared like twice, okay?? But regardless, we have shared and also slept with the same people, and he has never had an issue with me going for anyone he’s ever slept with.”

“Okay…” you respond, skeptical.

“Okay. So that means you’re special, duh” he rolls his eyes.

“Minho, I just really don’t think that Christopher Chan Bang likes me the way you think he does.”

“I don’t think he likes you. I know that he loves you, but I think I know a way to help you out and prove it,” he says with a mischievous smile.

“What are you going to do?”

---

Another day, another party. Chan shows up with Felix and looks around the room, not really interested in seeing anyone but you. He's really hoping you’re not near Minho right now- but well, there’s Minho, surrounded by their group of friends, and he looks awfully smug. 

“Dude, I can’t believe you’ve been playing them this whole time! It looked so real,” Jeongin looks incredulous. 

“Wait, but do you think I have a chance? What was it like?” Changbin asked, desperate to know more.

Minho sees Chan come up and says, “They tasted so good,” provoking the already annoyed older man. “No wonder you kept Y/N around for so long,” he says, now making direct eye contact with Chan, “but they just never. stop. yapping. Like sometimes, I just want to stick my dick in their mouth to get them to shut up.” 

Jisung knows that these aren’t Minho’s real feelings at all and is very confused as to why Minho would say these things in front of his friends. He’s ready to stand up for you when he sees the look on Chan’s face and suddenly understands what’s going on.

Chan is fuming. He can’t believe his ears. This is the guy you chose over him? This is the guy that’s going to sleep in your bed every night? He’s fighting every urge to rip Minho’s head off until Minho makes a pointed comment:

“That’s all Y/N’s good for. Am I right, Chan?”

Chan is not in control of his body when he swings at Minho’s face, hitting him square on the nose. Felix and Jisung have to physically pull Chan away as he continues to try to swing at him.

“What the fuck is your problem?!” Minho screams.

“Y/N’s too good for you-” he hisses, thrashing against Felix and Jisung.

“Oh yeah? And what are you going to do about it?”

“Fucking- let go of me!” he pushes the younger boys off and storms off.

There is only one thing he can focus on right now: finding you. He sees you off in another corner of the frat playing beer pong with Hyunjin by your side and fights the urge to punch another one of his friends for being within 2 feet of you.

“I need to talk to you-” he grabs your arm, dragging you away from the game.

“Wait, I was playinggg,” you whine.

“Don’t care.”

“Where are we going?” you ask, now extremely confused.

You finally make it to one of the bedrooms, looking around at the decor, this must be Felix’s room if the gaming setup is telling you anything.

“I'm with Minho,” you say indignantly as a reminder to Chan, knowing full well you aren't with Minho. His plan must have worked if Chan is in such a fuss over needing to talk to you.

“He’s a bitch, and you need to break it off with him.”

“Um… are you going to elaborate? You being pissed that I’m not fucking you anymore is not a good enough reason to end things with Minho.”

“He doesn’t give a shit about you, Y/N!” he responds, frustrated that you aren’t listening.

“Oh and you do? You haven’t even talked to me since I ended things with you, Chris!”

This is it. He’s going to say it, and it is in fact even scarier than he could have ever imagined.

“Yes, actually, I do- I’m in love with you and I give every shit about you and you’re the only person or thing in the world that I actually give a shit about!” he almost screams.

He sits down on the bed, unable to deal with the silence as you stand there shocked. You heavily doubted but thought maybe he harboured some romantic feelings for you, similar to a crush. Love? That is not what you were prepared for.

“I’m sorry he just- he talked about you like you were a piece of meat… and- and he’s not good enough for you! And I know I'm not either but… please,” he says, not even knowing what he’s asking for, “Just- please. I’m sorry it took me so long and I know it doesn’t seem genuine because of everything that’s happened but-” He stands up and takes your hands in his.

“I promise that I have felt like this the whole time. Since meeting you on that stupid vacation, I have not been able to control how I feel about you, and when we started sleeping together- it was like I was in heaven. But I was scared of losing you. Minho coming into the picture scared my ass into taking action after realizing how close I was to actually losing you. I promise I love you even if you don’t love me… and even if you don’t love me, please don’t be with him because he-” you kiss him to end his little rant. 

Having his mouth against you again is better than anything you could’ve imagined. He’s hesitant at first, completely shocked at what’s happening, but immediately, he’s kissing you harder than he ever has. You can feel the desperation and every built up emotion he’s been holding back. Not even fireworks are enough to describe the atomic explosions going on inside you.

“Huh?” he says, completely dazed after you break apart, “Um, what was that? I-uh, I thought you were with Minho.”

“I’m not, actually,” you smile awkwardly.

“Bro, wh- what do you mean?” he asks, completely disoriented.

“Minho and I aren't together, and he was convinced that you had real feelings for me but I didn't believe him, so-”

“So, he said something that would make me want to punch him in the face,” he sighs.

“You punched him in the face??” you stop, your eyes wide.

“He was asking for it, quite literally, if what you’re telling me is true.”

“Oh wow. I really owe him big time.”

“Ummm… I don’t think you owe him anything. In fact, maybe you just never perceive Minho ever again. Sound like a good plan? I sure think so,” he says, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Ha ha, very funny.”

“So… does this mean you have feelings for me? Real feelings?”

“Yes, dummy!” you say, nudging his shoulder, “I thought that would’ve been clear to you- you’re the one that was always out of reach.”

“I know, I know. It was like I was trying to avoid my real feelings for you and ended up self sabotaging.”

“How about now?” you ask softly, “Are you still trying to avoid your feelings?”

“Are you joking? There is absolutely no way to deny it anymore- I just punched my friend! Oh my god, I just punched my friend,” Chan repeats, in shock at the realization of what just happened. 

“It’s fine, I'm sure he’ll forgive you. I'll put in a good word for you,” you joke.

“Actually, executive decision- starting now, you can never see any of my friends ever again, you’re too hot.”

“What? They’re literally my friends now!” you argue.

“I don’t care! They think you’re hot, and now after Minho’s little stunt, they know you taste good.”

“They know WHAT?”

“Let's not think about that right now. I'm going to make love to my baby without any interruptions,” he says, tugging your hips to be flush against his.

“Oh? Your baby huh? I don’t remember you asking me to be in a relationship,” you tease.

“Baby, beautiful, love of my life, will you please let me be your boyfriend?”

“I guess,” you sigh, pretending not to care before pushing him on the bed and straddling him. “This has been a long time coming, Channie. I can't believe you made me wait so long,” you say grinding down on him. “That's not very fair to me, huh?”

Chan is unable to think, feeling you rub against him for the first time in a long time. God, he’s missed you.

“Now tell me. Do you have a condom?” 

“Wait, why would I need a condom?” he sits up, confused, way too distracted by how good you feel against him. 

“Chan, I know you’ve been sleeping with other people,” you stop your maneuvering on his lap, anticipating an argument.

He whines, “No, baby, I haven't.”

He's tried to fuck other people, but he hasn’t been able to follow through with sleeping with anyone since you left. 

“I wasn’t able to stop thinking about you. There was no interest for me. I couldn’t fuck someone else even if I tried.”

“But- you had girls on your lap and you’d take girls upstairs?”

“That was like one time, and it was just to make you jealous” he sinks. “I never did anything with her. I couldn't. She wasn’t you…” he trails off, looking embarrassed. 

“Look at me, and tell me you didn’t sleep with anyone else.”

“I didn’t sleep with anyone else, my love. I couldn't. I only want you. I have always only wanted you. I love you.”

Finally.

You kiss him, and it’s the explosions all over again, but it’s even more emotion-filled this time. You were ready to experience what you always have: a passion filled desperate kiss. However, that isn’t the kiss you get. You can feel the love through the softness in the way he kisses you. He really wasn’t lying when he said he was going to make love to you. This lovestruck boy is going to make up for lost time. 

He gently takes you off his lap, making you stand up, so that he can get you completely naked before laying you down. He moves his lips down to your jaw, kissing down to your neck and shoulder. He removes your shirt and leaves your torso completely bare before continuing to kiss down your body. He’s on his knees when he takes your bottoms off and looks at you in awe.

“God, I’ve missed this.”

He spreads your legs and kitten licks at your slit, immediately groaning at the taste he has craved for weeks. You’re so wet and he’s barely started touching you. You whine, and he realizes that keeping you standing is probably not ideal for what he’s trying to do. He gently lays you down, kissing you softly once again before going back to where you need him most. He doesn’t lick lightly this time, and he immediately captures your clit in his mouth. He begins to eat you like a man starved, as if he’s in a desert, and you are the last glass of water. The man cannot get enough of you, messily making out with your cunt, groaning and making the dirtiest sounds. You can hear how wet you are from the squelching sounds he’s making and if it wasn’t for how insanely good it feels, you might feel embarrassed. Chan has never eaten you out like this- it’s something you didn’t even know was possible from him. He almost never went down on you before, but now it’s like he needs your pussy to survive.

Chris cannot get enough of you. He is so lost in your cunt that he doesn’t realize that you’re telling him you’re close. You start grinding against his face chasing your high, and he decides to help the process by harshly sucking on your clit. You throw your head back and swear you see stars because you’ve never cum so hard from head before. You have to pull on Chan’s hair to get his head away from your core, and when you do, his face is covered in your slick. The way he looks at you is completely animalistic and it takes everything in him to not go right back into eating you out.

“Daddy, I need you- please,” you beg, as he moves his hands up and down your thighs, wanting to feel and caress all of you.

“Sweetheart, I have been thinking for weeks nonstop about how I needed to taste you again. You can give me one more orgasm, right? You’re gonna let me stretch you out on my fingers and tongue fuck that pretty pussy, right?”

You almost whine, but he’s never been so eager to go down on you. As much as you’ve missed his cock, this new side of Chan is turning you on so much. He sees the look on your face and knows you’re giving in, causing him to dive right back in. His digits slide into you with ease, slick from your first orgasm. Your walls are already clenching around his fingers, sensitive and still reeling from cumming so hard. It turns him on so much- he starts moaning into your pussy. Chan is so desperate to rip another orgasm out of you before finally getting to feel you around his cock.

“God, yes, just like that, Daddy,” you writhe underneath him, already close.

“Play with your tits for me, baby-”

You tweak your nipples, arching your back, but Chan presses his hand onto your lower abdomen, making the sensations even more overwhelming. Chan’s fingers curl perfectly against your g-spot and your whole body feels like it’s on fire. This orgasm feels like it’s radiating even more than the last one. He eats you through your high, not stopping until you’re pushing him away. 

“How was that?” he checks in, giving you a quick peck on the cheek. “Are you okay? Do you still want me inside you, baby?” “Yes, Chris, please- need to feel you,” you pout.

He immediately gets up and gets naked as fast as is physically possible.

“How do you want me?” you ask, still fuzzy from your two intense orgasms. He puts you in missionary, without answering, before lining himself up with your hole.

“I’m not going to last very long, sweetie. Eating you out nearly made me cum untouched.” You almost moan at this admission. “Wanna look at you when I fill you up with my cum,” your boyfriend states. 

He thrusts in, filling you to the brim, and both of your mouths fall open into a gasp. The sensation is so overwhelming, you can hardly breathe. 

“Baby- please,” you beg, needing him to move. 

“Feels so fucking good, pretty,” he grunts.

He begins to slowly thrust in you and bends down to attach his lips to yours. Once your lips smash together, he begins to roughly and desperately ram his hips into yours as he chases his high. Chan keeps his lips on yours, swallowing all your moans. He slightly changes the angle and his tip begins to hit your sweet spot, already bringing you close to cumming again. Chan can tell from the way that you’re sucking him in that you’re going to cum with him, and he needs just one thing from you.

“Tell me you love me,” he pleads, eyebrows scrunched together in pleasure. He’s so close, and he needs these 3 words from you to tip him over the edge.

“I love you, Chan. I love you I love you I love you,” you moan, not stopping. I love yous flow out of your mouth in every breath and soon Chan is filling you up, the sensation ripping one last orgasm out of you.

Chan pulls out of you, not caring about the mess that would definitely be left on his cousin’s bed. The two of you lay there, panting messes. He feels like he’s dreaming, and he’s in disbelief that he has you back. Upon the realization, Chan immediately wraps his arms around you, burying his face in your neck and squeezing you.

“What are you doing?” you laugh. He responds but it’s muffled. “Channie, I can't hear a thing you’re saying.”

��I’m just so happy to have you back and so happy that I get to be your boyfriend,” he responds looking up at you, and would you look at that- he has stars in his eyes.

---

It's the first game night since you started dating Chan seriously. 

“Babe, do we have to go?” your boyfriend groans, sitting on your bed. He’s looking at you through the mirror as you get ready for a return to the friend group. He has made it a point to walk you to every class since you became official, and he told you it was to make sure you know he’s proud to be your boyfriend. (But if you actually ask him, he did it so that none of his friends would be able to talk to you for more than 30 seconds.)

“Yes, of course we have to. Literally, everyone has been asking for us to go. We’ve missed 3 weeks already.”

“Yes, but everyone includes people who want to fuck you, and that’s not really people I want to be around,” he whines.

“Channie. They don’t all want to fuck me.”

-

“Thanks a lot, Minho. You could’ve let us know they were gonna end up together, so we could’ve had a shot before it happened,” Hyunjin groans.

“Listen, I would've, except I think that it’s way funnier to watch you thirst for Y/N from afar,” he laughs.

“Do you think Chan would be down to share one time for the one time?” Changbin asks.

“Listen… never say never, but if anyone is going to convince him first, it’s going to be me,” Minho winks before walking up to greet you and Chan.

“Hi, Y/Nie!” he says, giving you a big hug that lasts longer than Chan would like.

“Hi Minho,” you smile.

“I hope you know that everyone here wants to fuck you,” the mischievous purple-haired boy loudly whispers.

You slap him on the shoulder, “And whose fault is that?”

“Listen, I wasn’t going to lie about my personal experience at the Y/N establishment,” he says, hands up.

“Yeah, but you didn’t have to say all that. Now everyone knows how they taste,” Chan butts in, grumbling.

“Well listen, I have to keep you on your toes, Bang Chan. Now you know that if you slip up, Y/N has several guys waiting desperately to swoop in and save the day.”

“And now you know,” Minho says looking at you now, “if he ever fucks up, I can fuck you real good and make you forget all about it.”

“We’re going to go now,” Chan says, dragging you away. “I told you they all want to fuck you-” he groans.

“Okay, I didn’t think it would be this bad. Lucky for you, I’m ending up in your bed tonight and every night til you get sick of me.”

“Lucky for me, that’s never going to happen,” he says, giving you a wet sloppy kiss.

----------

a/n: lol it only took me a year to complete pt 2. sorry! since the first part was based on my real life it was hard to decide where part 2 should go. this was genuinely like a therapeutic exercise lol i wasn’t sure if i wanted the mc to end up with chan or minho because i wasn’t sure what made the most sense. i ended up choosing chan over minho because i thought that might be the best idea for what most people would want. plus i think creating a story where the person does change and does become the guy you deserve is very sweet and hopeful. while in real life i think the minho character makes more sense, i think chan being endgame is romantic. i also SUCK at writing smut i think i just don’t have the creativity for it- it was SO HARD however i did entertain the idea of writing a side bit where chan actually does allow minho/hyunjin/changbin a shot to sleep with y/n because i love 3some/4some/5somes hahahah but anyway thanks for reading this far i hope you have/are having a beautiful day!! <3

[asarigg]

About: Part 3

DEVELOPMENT OF THEIR RELATIONSHIP. PATH TO HEALING: part 3

Overall, I think they’ve dealt with the process and development of Koujaku’s trauma and healing in a pretty decent, kind and nice way, which is exactly what he needed. Koujaku kept everything to himself, locked in a cage where he was alone, immersed in agony and loneliness, without counting on anyone and simply ignoring his fears and traumas hoping that with time they would heal. But the path to healing is not achieved with time alone. Facing his traumas is not comfortable, it doesn’t feel secure, it doesn’t give him peace, he can only see his still bleeding wounds, and a reflection in the mirror of a body marked for life. He acts as if they’re not there, maybe thinking that the wounds will scar by hiding them under a layer of optimism, he gets used to living with the pain and makes it stand in the background, but it doesn’t disappear.

The healing process is complex, continuous, and nonlinear. When you think you’re getting better, in a few seconds you can fall back into that pit of darkness and pessimism. The solution is neither simple nor immediate. Being honest about your struggle and your vulnerabilities is important, so is the support you give and receive from others, facing and working through your pain instead of resigning yourself to living with open wounds. The shield that Koujaku used when interacting with his family no longer works because he’s no longer in the same situation, but that is how he has become accustomed to living and he continues to use the same cover, without breaking the cycle.

It’s only once Koujaku opens up, maybe not completely but it’s a first step, about his past and the reasons why he was so distant that things start to go better. Aoba could have forced it out with Scrap, yeah, but that’s not how he wants to do things, he wants it to truly be Koujaku’s will. When Aoba scraps him, it’s impossible to fail if you don’t do it on purpose because it’s so simple, because it’s when he’s letting Aoba into his world that he feels confident about what he has to say to help him. If he doesn’t let himself be loved, supported by other people and continues to insist on doing things alone, pushing Aoba away from him believing it was the best choice, that’s when Aoba feels so distant from him that he doesn’t know if he really knows him, he doesn’t know what to say anymore. Only then you can fail.

It’s probably more confusing in Japanese considering kanji and that they can be read very differently, specially if it’s mixed with a bunch of other kanji like it happens when you choose the “wrong” options, but still. If you payed attention, you know what you have to say.

What’s great about this is that things don’t get better just like that, things aren’t fixed with magic or quick and simple solutions, and they show you, they don’t skip that and pretend it happens off screen. Scrap almost feels like it doesn’t really do anything, we’ve already seen that it doesn’t affect that much whether Koujaku turns into a beast or not, that’s up to him. The only thing Scrap does is somehow carve Aoba’s words into his mind so that he never forgets that Aoba will be there for him, whenever he needs to talk, giving him the security he didn’t have before. (Althought this is partial, and you’ll see why. The thing is that, obviously, what Aoba says is important for everyone’s scrap, but they’re very different interactions, and the moment you can choose good or bad ending varies with each character. And with Koujaku it’s literally just words, words that Aoba had already said to him five seconds before that. So these two things, it being something he already says, and something that only solves the problem partially, is why it gives this sensation of that you’re really not doing anything, it’s nothing that only Scrap can solve, I don’t know if I’m making myself clear) It “destroys” the Koujaku who held himself back, who was caged and afraid to face his tattoos. He doesn’t even try to convince him that it was not his fault, because he knows that Koujaku won’t accept that because of the way he is and would probably not be helpful, he’ll never stop blaming himself. It’s an idea so rooted into the depths of his mind that maybe not even Scrap can change that, so instead he changes his speech to something that encourages Koujaku to think about the people around him that care about him, about making up for the lives he forcefully took instead of making everyone around him suffer with his death and live a meaningful life, by Aoba’s side. In Buddhism, in order to help someone it’s believed it’s better to have a flexible mind and change your approach depending on what suits the other person’s needs. Many times Buddha statues take different forms than the classic and original, they’re adapting to the needs of the person they’re guiding.

In Re:connect when Aoba wants to wash Koujaku’s back is when he gets uncomfortable, because he’s hyper-aware of his tattoo. Of course, Aoba is aware too. He doesn’t know how much he should push on his wounds to help him vent and face them because he understands that’s something that ultimately has to come out of Koujaku, he knows that forcing things or insisting would have a rather negative result. He only pushes a little, enough for Koujaku to notice he’s there, but not so much to suffocate him, risking him closing the doors again. He wishes he could erase them by washing them, if he keeps going maybe it would work, but of course that’s just a fantasy.

Aoba mentions that if Koujaku wants to act like those scars aren’t there, he’ll do that too, but his feelings are overwhelming and bloom, and without giving it a second thought he can’t help but impulsively kiss his tattoo and scars, acknowledging them as a part of Koujaku and a sign of his persistence and his strength to stay alive and trying to give them a positive meaning, so that when Koujaku remembers them, he thinks of his kisses and his caresses rather than the pain they’ve brought him. He whispers “I love you”, but he doesn’t seem to be even saying that for Koujaku to hear, maybe a whisper to himself, as if his demonstration of love, told directly over his tattoo, could penetrate his skin, like the ink once did, and erase it. 

And for now it seems that all Koujaku wants to do is comfort Aoba when he’s about to cry, but not acknowledge his tattoos and scars himself.

But it’s later in bed when they are relaxed and Koujaku is reflecting that he finally decides to talk about his tattoos and express what he feels, out of his own free will. And how those tattoos represent his guilt, his shame, his greatest vulnerability, it’s extremely difficult and he feels that a part of him doesn’t want Aoba to touch them because it would be like dirtying him, but another part of him, the one that is recovering, does want him to touch them, because it’s part of the process, he wants to be open with Aoba, he wants him to know the truth and he wants to let himself be vulnerable in front of him. He wants to feel the affection he was neglected of, he wants to heal, he wants to change, he wants to hope.

When the haircut happens, and the cherry blossom symbolism accompanies them, such a major change in their life for me that is representative of a much bigger life commitment, tied to marriage. Aoba is practically living with Koujaku, so for me this day also symbolically marks an engagement, or even the marriage itself. It’s funny that they have such a direct confession scene, because a lot of these things happen without really saying anything, but rather showing them. Saying or making gestures that could be literally referring to something different but are constructed in a way that seems like a marriage proposal, or promising to each other.

Btw I love Koujaku’s obsession with his visible neck. Apparently women started to pull the neck of their kimono back in order to experiment with some glue on their hairstyles and it has stayed a thing ever since, especially noticeable with Geisha/Geiko. There’s always a hint of eroticism and beauty to it and of course it’s Koujaku’s brainrot, bet he salivates wanting to bite it.

[dreamsteddie]

Stretch Zone Part 2

Hi everybody! I'm back with the next part of my Yoga Steve Steddie AU. I've decided to call it Stretch Zone as a bit of a teacher joke 😅

Still not sure where this is going or if it will go further, but I will be officially starting a tag list after this installment so if you want to be added let me know if the comments or tags.

Part 1

------

Despite his best efforts, Robin does not come with him next week to Chrissy’s yoga class. He tried to tell her, many times, that Chrissy was totally into her but she was impervious to his completely air-tight proof.

“She asked if I was your boyfriend and totally lit up when I said I wasn’t. She totally wants to get with you, Robbie”

“First of all, gross. Second of all, that is not proof of anything.”

So he came along this week. Mostly, it’s the same thing as the first class but instead of introductions, they just get right into the exercises. Chrissy is a good teacher. Kind, patient, and always giving alternative ways to do the poses for people who want more or less difficulty. Of all the girls Robin has liked, she’s definitely Steve’s favorite and he’s determined to play wingman.

Chrissy always leaves enough time after class for everyone to mill around and clear up their stuff, which leaves Steve plenty of time to meddle.

“Hey Chrissy!” he calls out, jogging a little to reach her before any of the vultures do. Chrissy is a cute girl and he thinks more than one of these guys is here is more interested in her than mindfulness. Probably some of the girls, too. “I wanted to thank you for the links you sent me. This one is much better than the one they loaned me at the desk.” He says a little louder than is probably necessary, but he wants the vultures to hear and think that he’s already got an in with the pretty blond.

“Oh, no problem Steve, I was happy to help,” she says. She really is tiny, he finds himself thinking. Steve himself isn’t the tallest guy around but she has to tilt her head all the way up to look him in the eye. She’s going to look so cute next to Robin, speaking of which. “I didn’t see Robin this week. Was she not able to make it?” Steve once again curses Robin’s stubborn streak. Chrissy was very clearly hoping to see the other girl today.

“Nah, she decided it wasn’t for her. I don’t know if you saw, but she’s kind of clumsy,” Steve admits. “She told me to say hi though. She’s always talking about how great your ideas are for your writing class. I think she said something about peer editing? I don’t know,” he says with faux nonchalance. Robin most certainly did not ask him to pass on a hello and she would be mortified to know that the previously anonymous peer edits she submitted for Chrissy’s last paper are not so anonymous anymore. Steve would feel bad, Robin was definitely effusive with her praise, but if he’s right about this whole situation then Robin with thank him later.

“Oh! Robin was my editor last week? I didn’t know that! That review was so thoughtful and kind I was wondering who it was. I’ll have to thank her in class tomorrow,” she says with a bright, excited smile.

Robin is going to owe him big time.

Mission accomplished, Steve becomes aware that he’s taken up a good chunk of Chrissy’s time and there is a small pod of people awkwardly loitering around, probably waiting to ask questions that are actually yoga-related. One guy in particular is boring holes into Steve’s head like it’s his damn job, which is…well, it’s a little uncomfortable but Steve can appreciate he’s being kind of annoying taking up all the instructor's attention.

He says his goodbyes to Chrissy and turns to leave, catching that guy’s eyes again and sending him a little wave and sheepish smile. He might as well try and be friendly; they’re going to be in this class together for the next two months, after all. To Steve’s mild relief, it seems to snap the guy out of his single-minded glaring. He watches as the guy blinks hard and turns a charming shade of pink, clearly embarrassed to be acknowledged, and give a little wave back.

The guy is kind of cute, in a wet cat kind of way. He’s wearing black sweatpants and a shirt for some band Steve doesn’t recognize with the sleeves cut off and despite the fact that he’s got long, curly hair he clearly didn’t bring any kind of hair tie because the whole thing has become one tangled, sweaty mess. He’s not the kind of guy Steve would expect to be taking yoga classes, but he supposes anyone can get into this kind of stuff.

With one last look at the strange man, Steve continues toward the door, mind once again turned toward making sure Robin is prepared to talk to Chrissy on Monday.

—---

Eddie can not believe this is his life.

Of all the things he thought he would do one day - write an award-winning song, buy his uncle Wayne a better trailer in a better town, find a man to take his virginity - yoga was never on the list.

Eddie Munson is not, and has never been, the kind of guy to do exercise that didn’t involve running away from jocks and preps he’d annoyed to the point of violence. In fact, he’s been adamant that he would only ever do recreational exercise of the non-sexual variety when the sun fell out of the sky and Andy Johnson from high school professed his undying love to him.

Neither thing has happened as of yet but unfortunately, his best friend is the surprisingly cunning Chrissy Cunningham, who is determined to make Eddie into a healthier person. Chrissy, a bonafide jock but also the kindest person on planet Earth, has tried every trick in the book to get her best friend to commit to a better lifestyle, but Eddie has always been stubborn to a fault. Even he can admit that his dedication to cigarettes, microwave meals, and general sloth is not the best way to ensure he lives a long, healthy life, but old habits die hard and he’s still too young to be thinking about his inevitable death. 

No amount of pleading, cajoling, or petty theft from his apartment has gotten Eddie to commit to anything for more than a week, but Chrissy isn’t his best friend for nothing. She knows him better than anyone and that means she knows that Eddie is proud to a fault and when presented with a challenge he can’t - won’t - turn it down. She traps him into a bet he can’t win and in all her cruelty, she demands that he sign up for her two-month yoga course at the rec.

Two months.

Eddie won’t make it.

Eddie definitely won’t make it if the absolute snack of a man diagonal from him doesn’t start wearing something other than the tightest pair of yoga pants known to man. Seriously, Eddie thought this would be bad enough when all he had to worry about was his stiff joints and complete lack of lung capacity and then this man had the gal to walk in and set up not 10 feet away.

 From the front, it had been bad enough. Droopy puppy eyes, sweet moles, a strong nose, and a fit body. And, well, Eddie is not a creep. He isn’t. But there is also an adonis of a man standing right in front of him wearing yoga pants and it’s kind of hard not to look but much to his dismay, or relief he can’t tell, the adonis seems to know what he’s doing and has worn the correct undergarments to keep everything from flopping around.

And then he turned around and…

Dear god.

Those pants can not be fucking legal.

Eddie spent the entire class trying not to stare like the creep he swears he isn’t and failing. His only saving grace is that he doesn’t fall on his face, but it’s a near thing, especially when Chrissy guides them into these weird lunges that make the back of Eddie’s thighs burn and the man of his dream’s ass look completely biteable. He swears Chrissy is torturing him on purpose. She’s probably trying to get him back for being such a brat about taking care of himself.

When the class finally lets out 45 agonizing minutes after it started, Eddie feels like a wrung dish towel. He’s sweaty and gross and he’s going to be aching in places he didn’t even know existed until next week when he has to do it all again. Seriously, fuck bets.

When he finally summons the will to sit up, he is once again treated to the sight of the most fabulous ass this side of the Mississippi. The equally gorgeous man attached to it is chatting to Chrissy, something about yoga mats that Eddie doesn’t care to understand and general pleasantries that he tunes out until his brain hooks on something very interesting.

Robin.

As in Robin Buckley the girl from Chrissy’s writing class that his best friend has been crushing hard on for weeks.

Very interesting indeed.

But he can think about that later. At the moment, he is more concerned with getting off the floor and shuffling a little closer to the front of the room for a better look at his future husband’s face. There’s something pleasant about the shape of his mouth, a thought Eddie has never had about a person before but is nonetheless true. There’s a curve to his smile that is present even as he speaks. Eddie kind of wants to kiss his smile. He’s so caught up seeing if he can count all the moles on the man’s neck that he doesn’t notice him turn toward Eddie until he’s wiggling his fingers in a little wave.

Eddie is suddenly reminded that staring at another man’s moles in the middle of a yoga studio is not socially acceptable behavior, and this man definitely saw him doing just that. He can feel all the blood in his body rush to his face in record time. This is definitely the most embarrassing moment of his adult life. 

Helpless to do anything else lest he look like even more of a freak, he gives a little wave back, feeling supremely stupid as he does. The guy gives him one last look before walking out the door.

As soon as he’s gone Eddie collapses back onto his abandoned mat and covers his eyes with his hands, too mortified to face the world. He doesn’t care if there are still other people lingering around talking to Chrissy and cleaning up their mats, he kicks his feet into the air and groans loud and long. Let Chrissy deal with the weird looks for him, this is her fault anyway.

A couple minutes later the room dims even more as Chrissy looms over him. He refuses to take his hands away from his face, not wanting to deal with her no doubt smug face.

“See something you liked?” She asked, unperturbed by Eddie’s childish behavior.

Eyes still closed, he says, “You’re going to hell. This is best friend abuse.”

Chrissy just laughs.

-------

Little reminder that I am doing a little fanfiction giveaway to celebrate 500 followers. If you want to enter, go to this post for the details!

[literary-illuminati]

2025 Book Review #5 Daisy Jones and the Six by Taylor Jenkins Reid

This was a book recommended by a friend an absolute eternity ago which I finally got around to reading, having long since forgotten any of its selling points or interesting qualities which might have accompanied the recommendation. Going in blind, I quite enjoyed the book as I read it, finished it feeling it had ended somewhat anticlimactically, and have grown a bit more sour on it as I thought about it to write this review. It’s not a bad book – still a fun, easy read! - but I’m not sure it’s really much more than that.

The book is structured as an oral history – or maybe the transcript of a documentary – about the titular band, a musical phenomenon that set the world on fire for a moment in the late ‘70s before dramatically breaking up halfway through the tour after releasing one of the best albums of the decade. Aside from bits of narration and scene-setting at the start of each chapter (and one conversation in the climax) the documentarian is invisible, and the story is entirely told through quotes from members of the band, associates and hangers-on, or just critics and writers on the period, as they’re interviewed thirty years and change later in the 2010s.

In the abstract, I adore this. I love unreliable narration, and Rashmoon-esque scenes where we get mutually exclusive versions of the same conflict from different perspective. Properly packaged, I am an incredibly easy mark for messy self-destructive codependency and melodrama. Thanks to some peculiar media taste on my parent’s part, I even have enduring fondness for the whole, I don’t know, heroic age of rock&roll? And the whole mass of accompanying narratives and tropes that you get buried in talking about music in the 60s-through-early-80s. And it’s not that the book doesn’t deliver on any of that, exactly – it’s not at all poorly executed, it knows what it’s trying to do. It’s just-

It feels like this is a book about a fictional band because it would be impossible to make such a morally simple, happy and redemptive story about any of the actual bands that clearly inspired it without seeming like Jenkins was getting paid to whitewash someone. It’s not that there isn’t mess, exactly, but it comes across like a born again Christian giving lurid descriptions of their debauched and sinful former life. There’s sex and drugs galore, but the worst person in the entire book is just a shitty deadbeat boyfriend. The entire main thrust of the book is building up an unacknowledged love triangle between Daisy, Billie and Camilla – actually quite compelling! And then it finally reaches a head, is cleanly and simply resolved in the most boringly conventional way, and the story jumps thirty years ahead to a ‘where are they now’. Where is the toxicity, the mess, the unforgivable betrayals everyone has to ignore so they can get on stage together, the fortune-destroying legal battles over the rights to the band’s legacy once it all falls apart? You finish the book feeling like Charlie Brown trying to kick a football.

This might be a problem of me setting my expectations too high, but up until the halfway point it does feel like it was building up to something appropriately nuclear. Instead, it peaked with Billie (and, despite the book’s name and cover art, in a narrative sense he really is the main character of the book) hits rock bottom and goes to rehab so he can be a good father for his daughters and husband to his wife. A truly mind-numbing fraction of the book from there is dedicated to singing the praises of the redemptive power of the reproductive nuclear family and an advertisement for going to rehab and learning self-control before drugs ruin your life. I spent two hundred pages waiting for it all to be groundwork for juicy, bitter dramatic irony, but no – just sincere, straightforward themes of the work. Hideous.

There is one rather hostile reading of the book that works? It’s revealed at the book’s climax that the diegetic framer and compiler of this oral history is Julia, Billie and Camilla’s daughter, and she is creating this project when her mother rather abruptly dies. And you know? This story is exactly what you might expect from an entertainment industry nepo baby asking her parents and a bunch of family friends (including who everyone assumed to be The Other Woman) about her parent’s romance and relationship and putting it all together into a deeply mediocre documentary that will kickstart her career entirely thanks to all the juicy stories from last generation’s superstars. But I am on the one hand really pretty sure this is not even close to the intended read of the story, and on the other still leaves you only reading the deeply mediocre documentary with no access whatsoever to the more interesting story underneath it. Decent conceit for fanfiction, I guess?

The identity of the diegetic narrator is also the justification for how shamelessly the story plays favourites with which band members to focus on – of course her parents and their relationship will be the central focus of the whole piece, of course her uncle and his girlfriend will get second-string status, of course the rest of the band will basically exist to provide colour commentary and throw peanuts (if that). A disparity the story itself draws enough attention to it, honestly, goes from charming to eyeroll inducing when it never actually does anything with it.

The story very much wants to be About gender and feminism, and (going by the discussion questions I glanced at while skimming through the reader’s guide section at the back of the book) is proud of it. Which isn’t really unjustified – it really does have a decent number of different female characters with their own developed personalities and prominent roles in the narrative. It does the thing I kind of hate where by happy coincidence all of them (even the ones on opposite ends of a romantic triangle) end up liking each other whenever they interact, but that’s just kind of a piece with the book not really letting anyone be a proper piece of shit. It is however very funny that the only black-coded character in the entire story is literally in the narrative to be Daisy’s longsuffering and supportive best friend there to provide a bit of maternal influence and talk sense into her when she really needs it.

But yes, decent airport read I suppose? Fun for a lazy day if you enjoy the premise, but not really worth seeking out otherwise.

[athenagc94]

Dear Daddy Long Legs - Chapter 5

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

Also posting on AO3 which you can find here.

Might have to take a few days off so I can catch up on some writing. I am very happy with the direction this story is taking. (If you couldn't tell, this is more of a slow burn piece because I can't imagine Jason as anything but someone who yearns.)

TW: Minor depictions of violence

First | Prev | Next

Chapter 5

You dropped your letter off the following morning before heading to your first class of the day. The first two weeks at Gotham University passed in a blur as you tried to orient yourself. You liked school when you were a kid. It distracted you from the harsh realities of the world. College was a different beast entirely, especially one as prestigious as this.

It was hard not to feel othered here. Other students came from old families, ones with money and prestige. You recognized some of their faces from interviews or social media. It was their seats that went vacant in class. They had nothing to prove. There were no consequences when you had money to throw at a problem.

You settled in your seat of your history class. From Goddesses to Witches: An Overview of Women’s History. With a title like that, how could you not sign up for it? There were a lot of cool classes here, and you wanted to take them all, but there were only so many hours in the day.

The blonde who usually sat on your right had already arrived. Her purple hoodie was branded with the University logo, though you don’t recall the school store selling purple apparel. She offered a friendly smile as you sat. You failed to return it as you sifted through your bag.

Sure, you wanted to make friends. It would be nice to find like-minded people who liked to discuss classic literature and the relevance of the oxford comma, but you weren’t entirely sure where to start.

Returning a smile might have been a smart move, but the moment had passed. Your table mate shifted her attention to her phone, so you decided to do the same.

A text awaited you from your manager: Rosa quit last night. I need you to come in tomorrow night to cover a party.

You suppressed a groan. Seriously? Rosa had wanted to quit for a while, but now it fell to you to pick up the slack. You shot back a quick text though you knew it wouldn’t make a difference: I have a night class.

Bubbles appeared instantly.

Shit.

His response was exactly what you expected: I wouldn’t be asking if we had options. I hired two new waiters that need a veteran to show them the ropes. You’re the best I have.

Flattery would get him nowhere, but you’d be stupid to turn down an extra shift—especially as an event lead. That role usually went to Rosa who had a kid to consider. Now, the title would shift to you, and the boost to your salary would reflect it.

With a defeated sigh, you replied: I’ll be there.

I’ll send you the details tonight. You’re a lifesaver, he shot back.

Hardly, but you weren’t about to argue. This decision was entirely selfish on your part. If you did this, you’d have a valid argument to ask for Christmas off in a few months.

Your professor arrived and class began. As she talked about your assigned reading, which you’d already finished and annotated the night prior, your mind wandered as you considered your options. Skipping one class wasn’t the end of the world. It was a philosophy class that didn’t count toward your major, but allowing this set a dangerous precedent. Your boss got what he wanted this time. What would stop him from trying again?

Some students might get away with skipping class, but you weren’t one of them.

Glancing back at the blonde, you noticed meticulous notes she’d started in glittery purple ink. She was also in your philosophy class, though you didn’t sit next to each other.

In hindsight, maybe you should have returned that smile.

Your fingers drummed the table. It’s not like you were asking for a lot if she was already taking notes. She might be cool to talk to, to hang out with. Friendships had blossomed for less.

Or maybe you were asking for too much?

Ask for notes and leave things there. After years of doing things for yourself, it felt like cheating to rely on the kindness of a stranger like this. Not to mention, you were a little rusty at making new friends. The ones you had came from work and the shared trauma of working in catering.

Do you even know how to make friends?

You warred with your pride until the professor dismissed you. The blonde hopped out of her chair, swung her bag over her shoulder in one fluid motion, and hurried out before you mustered the courage to speak. You were moving before you realized it, abandoning your bag to hurry after her.

“Hey! You in the purple. Wait up.”

It wasn’t the best identifier, but she stopped anyway, peering over her shoulder. Her surprise gave way to something friendlier as she grinned. “That’s me.”

You approached, your heart pounding. “So, I hate to ask this, but I got called into work tomorrow night. Since you’re in my philosophy class, I was wondering if you could take notes for me?”

“Yeah, no problem,” she said as she pulled out her phone, “What’s your number? I can text you a picture of them once class let’s out tomorrow night.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary. I can just grab them when I see—”

“Don’t sweat it. Professor Edwin is an ass. He failed me last year because I slept through our final exam and refused to let me retake it for partial credit. Like, come on man, it’s not my fault I overslept. I’m not going to let anyone fall victim to his shit if I can help it.”

How did that make him an ass? You almost asked, but she shoved her phone in your face and continued, “I’m Steph, by the way. Pre-med.”

You introduced yourself as you punched your number into her phone. “Writing and Classics,” you offered as you handed her phone back.

“Radical.” She gave you a quick once over. “I’m thinking red.”

“Huh?”

“That’s what color I’ll write the notes in. Something about your aura just screams it, ya know?”

You did not. “Black ink is fine too.”

Steph looked at you like you had just suggested slaughtering a small child instead. “Absolutely not. Why would I do that when the world is such a colorful place? I know we live in Gotham, but that doesn’t mean we have to abstain from happiness.” Her phone beeped in her hand, and she gasped. “Crap, I gotta get to class, but I’ll send you a text later.” She hurried off, leaving you to stare after her in disbelief.

Huh.

Maybe making friends was easier than you thought.

***

Your manager failed to mention the party was at Wayne Manor.

Deep down, you knew it didn’t matter. You had catered dozens of his parties over the years, but that was before you accepted his money like a sellout. How working for him was any different, well, you weren’t exactly sure—it just was.

Anxiety bubbled in your belly as you lit the food warmers on the banquet table along the far wall of the sitting room. Every so often, you’d glance over your shoulder like you expected Bruce Wayne to step out of the shadows and yell at you for skipping class.

This was stupid. Bruce Wayne had no idea who you were beyond a name on an application. He didn’t care that you skipped class. Students skipped all the time. Hell, your first letter probably hadn’t even reached his desk.

Still, a small part of you disliked the power he had over you.

“Excuse me.”

You nearly jumped out of your skin as you whipped around to face the elderly butler who’d let you in that evening to set up. He quirked a wispy eyebrow, almost amused.

“I apologize. I didn’t mean to frighten you. Master Wayne asked me to check in with your team to ensure you have everything you require.”

Heat bloomed in your cheeks as you tucked your lighter away. “I’m good on the food end, but I should check with our bartender to make sure. How many guests are we expecting again?”

“Fifty, ma’am.”

“Perfect. I’ll be right back.”

This was a more intimate affair than what you were used to, but intimate usually meant easy.

You tasked the new hires with preparing platters of hors d’oeuvres in the kitchen. They arrived in ill-fitting uniforms and messily knotted hair. They also seemed more interested in their phones than listening to you. If they made it through tonight, you’d be impressed.

Catering was lucrative, especially when the owner never turned a job down. Not a single one, even if the client was far from reputable. Staff turnover was unreal because of it, but you didn’t mind if you got paid at the end of the night (and the mob paid very well for discretion). You had a rule. Keep your head down and do your job. People largely ignored you as long as you did.

It was the same here, among the Gotham elite. No one looked at your face or bothered to learn your name.

You ducked inside the kitchen where Mark, the bartender, sorted through a crate of liquor. Several platters of half-finished hors d’oeuvres sat on the counter, but the new hires had disappeared.

Your eye twitched. “Where are they?”

Mark looked up from his crate. A few strands of strawberry blonde hair fell into his eyes. He ran his fingers through his hair and held the pose to show off the carve of his bicep. It was a well-practiced motion that made the ladies swoon. You have been one of those ladies before you learned he used that move on everyone.

“They mentioned a smoke break and left out the back.”

You scoffed. “Great.”

“Starting to feel a little sympathy for Rose, aren’t ya?”

“Shut up.” You crossed the room to lay out the platters yourself. “Do you need anything? The butler asked.”

Mark whistled softly. “I wish I was rich enough to have a butler.”

“Who knows? You might finally get a sugar momma if you play your cards right.”

“That’s the goal. You could find yourself a sugar daddy if you tried.”

“Hard pass.” You’d accepted enough charity in your life. No one but the Red Hood knew about the scholarship, and you wanted to keep it that way. Accepting handouts went against your morals, and you didn’t want people calling you a hypocrite—even that was exactly what you were.

“I should go track those assholes down,” you grumbled as you finished one of the platters, “I don’t think they’ll last an hour.”

Mark snorted. “Have a little more faith. I bet they can make it to the end of the night.”

You wiped your palms off on the front of your apron. “I don’t bet on anything.”

“Lame.”

You left out the back door to search for your servers. What were their names again? Brian and Jon? That sounded right, but if it was wrong, you weren’t going to feel bad about it. They had spoken less than a dozen words to you since arriving at the manor. You rounded the corner to find one of them with a burning cigarette hanging from his lips.

“Where the other one?”

Jon/Brian (you couldn’t be pressed to tell them apart) glanced up from his phone, his blatant disregard for the job palpable. “Brendan took a lap to stretch his legs.”

Brendan. Fine. Brendan and Jon.

“He’ll have a chance to stretch his legs once the party begins. Find him and get your asses back inside.”

“Bitch,” he grunted as he flicked his cigarette at her feet. He stalked off to find Brendan.

Men, you seethed to yourself as you stomped out his cigarette.

At least Rosa was fun to talk to. That and she made sopaipillas for your birthday. Shame she had to go and quit on you.

You returned to the kitchen as the butler stepped inside. He noted the half-finished platters with an unimpressed sniff. “Would you like some help? Our guests are due to arrive any minute.”

Your shoulders sagged. “Yeah, that would be great.”

An hour later, the party was in full swing, and you were counting down the hours before you could go home and work on your readings for class. You wove through the guests with a full platter of bacon-wrapped water chestnuts balanced in one hand. Some people grabbed them before you had a chance to offer, while others waited for you to present them with a vacant smile and a pleasant, “Would you like one?”

It was automatic at this point. You didn’t think. Jon and Brendan on the other hand…

You searched for them in the crowd, but it was difficult with all the bodies crammed in one room. Fifty people were just shy of too many people for the spacious sitting room, but no one else seemed to mind. You shared a look with Mark, who mixed drinks at the bar in the corner.

You motioned to the crowd, and he shrugged, already guessing your question. He hadn’t seen them either.

Perfect.

Your boss would have hell to pay in the morning because this was ridiculous.

A man knocked into your shoulder as he passed, nearly spilling your platter in the process. You swore as dove to save it. As you did, your attention snagged on familiar tattoo that painted the guest’s knuckles a deep crimson. You’d seen it before, but only ever on the east side and when you did, you knew it was time to run the other way.

A member of the Blood Knuckles—here at Wayne Manor.

Your mind raced as you made a beeline for the bar. Mark passed a glass of red wine to a woman with flushed cheeks. She giggled at nothing as she dropped a crisp twenty in his tip jar.

When she stumbled off to join her partner, you set your platter down and said, “Head back to the kitchen.”

His brow furrowed. “What?”

“Just do it. I can explain everything later. I need to find the—”

A shot went off behind you. Screams rippled through the crowd as you hit the ground. The Blood Knuckle stood with his back to you. He raised his gun to the ceiling, shards of crystal raining down from the chandelier. Three more men removed guns from their waistbands, each donning the brand of their gang.

 Bruce Wayne stood near the fireplace, a trembling hand raised as if he were soothing a wild beast. He wore his usual black on black, his jaw set with a severe expression as he stared the gun down its barrel. “Woah there,” he said as he tucked a younger boy behind his back, “We don’t want any trouble.”

“Neither do we. Well, not with most of you anyway.” He turned his attention to but an aging man in the corner with thinning hair. “Oscar Franz, our boss has business with you.”

Oscar staggered back, the color leeching from his face. “W-Who sent you?”

“Oh, I don’t kill and tell.” He leveled the gun at him. “But we have a few questions first.”

Your ears rang as you scanned the room, weighing your options. If only you’d noticed sooner, you might have gotten Mark and you out of the room before the Blood Knuckles revealed themselves. They usually kept to their territory, so seeing them this far outside of East Gotham unsettled you. They weren’t usually hitmen, and you weren’t too keen to watch a man die before your eyes tonight.

Slowly, you got to your feet and used one hand to flip your platter. It clattered noisily to the ground, drawing the attention away from the target. The hitman locked eyes with you, and you recognized him instantly.

Brendan—now dressed in a tuxedo to blend in with the guests. How had you missed the tattoo before? Did you even get a good look at his hands?

Your manager would hire gang members by accident. To think, you could have been having a deep philosophical discussion about morality and the error of humanity instead. Now, you had to face the reality of your morality as he trained the gun on you.

A laugh bubbled in your throat as you lifted your hands, feigning innocence. And here you thought he was just a shitty server. This made a lot more s—

You sensed someone behind, but it was too late. Jon cracked the butt of his gun on the back of your head and the world went dark.

[bimboficationblues]

Finished the first chapter of the Second Sex. Pretty interesting so far. It feels like there’s a tension in Beauvoir’s writing where she’s trying to reject biological determinism and the valuation of women’s bodies inherited from misogynist social orders and corresponding conceptions of the world, but has difficulty fully relinquishing some of those valuations when discussing biology. Which is fair. Beginnings are difficult. Demystification even more so.

This is best illustrated in her language about women being “subordinated/enslaved to the species” from puberty to gestation to childbirth to menopause, which I think ascribes agency and a telos to an abstract species-being, which I don’t think quite holds up (for all the reasons that Feuerbachian “humanity” is a bit flimsy). For me the defensible version of this claim, and one she advances later in the chapter, is that these bodily experiences are or can be felt as an arbitrary imposition due to accidents of birth. In other words an affect. But that is itself a process of valuation, taking place on a social terrain, not an inherent fact of any of the described bodily experiences. So I think that’s an interesting tension.

This relates to a different problem: I think the choice to begin with “biological data” is a trade-off, because while I understand her motivations - it’s important to talk about the body and how it experiences the world - she presents a lot of proximately true facts (e.g. lesser lung capacity) as fixed transhistorical truths, when as Iris Young has sincr argued, many of the sex differences we take to be “natural” are themselves the product of socialization either on an individual level or on a longer timescale. Semi-ironic, given Beauvoir’s fixation on the individual, is that she really subsumes individuals to statistics here. (Women are statistically less “strong” than men =/= all women are less strong than all men - part of the process of gendered domination is the attempt to fit individuals to a model even when they defy the model.)

[dazaih]

wingman - luke skywalker x reader

chapter one -> new beginnings chapter two

your university roommate han solo finds a rival (and love interest) in student council president leia skywalker, but both of them are too stubborn to admit that they have feelings for each other. luckily, you and her twin brother, luke, devise a plan to get the two of them to spend more time together. challenges arise, however, when you start to develop a crush on him.

chapter warnings: mentions of drugs and alcohol

a/n: hiiiii here’s my university!au mini series with roommate han solo and love interest luke skywalker! this chapter isnt super juicy but i wanted to set up a foundation before getting crazy with the plot. i’m gonna go ahead and publish the next part where luke arrives so you guys don’t have to wait to meet him hehe hope u enjoy!

You and Han Solo had a lot in common.

For starters, you both transferred into your university at the beginning of your sophomore year. In your case, you’d been getting through your gen-ed requirements at community college for a year to save money on tuition. You had worked hard, and now you had been accepted to transfer into your dream school. You showed up to the mandatory transfer student orientation feeling more hopeful than ever, excited to meet new people and make life long friends. Your only anxiety was that it was a pretty preppy school, and the student body was known to be quite affluent. You had thrifted a pretty cute outfit, though, so you prayed that your lack of frivolous spending wouldn’t be obvious to your new peers. You tried to pay attention to the speaker who was delivering the opening remarks, but your ambitions surrounding the new adventure you were embarking on were too loud, and you found yourself imagining what the next three years would entail.

Completely engrossed in your thoughts, you barely registered the sound of the auditorium door creaking open to grant entrance to a latecomer. For this reason, you nearly fell out of your chair when a gruff voice pulled you from your daydreaming:

“Mind if I sit?”

Startled, you looked up to see a slightly disheveled man staring down at you, his brown hair tousled and arms folded over his chest. He sported a pair of worn-out jeans, a flannel, and a heavy duty Carhartt coat that looked like it had seen better days. His combat boots had scratches all over the toe, and he smelled faintly of cigarettes and pot. Compared to everyone else in the room, he looked incredibly out of place, his casual attire and rugged disposition setting him apart. Despite being late, he still exuded confidence—or was it arrogance, a voice in the back of your head chimed in—and hold on, did this guy have his ear pierced?

“Well?” he prompted, looking annoyed, “Can you move your shit?”

You jumped a bit, having forgotten that he’d asked if he could sit next to you. Nodding, you moved your bag, clearing the chair out for him. Only after he sat down did his impoliteness begin to register. Should you say something to him about his attitude? You had been staring, but not long enough for him to get hateful with you.

After stewing in silent anger for a few minutes, you whispered, “Y’know, I only put my stuff in that chair because I didn’t think anyone would show up fifteen minutes late to orientation.”

Slowly, the man turned his head. When his eyes met yours, you realized that you might have made a mistake. Within your first few minutes of being on campus, you had probably just confronted the only person at this entire university who looked like he’d have no problem smacking you across the face for looking at him the wrong way.

“You better pay attention instead of talking to me, sweetheart. I heard that they’re gonna be going over how to mind your own business soon, and you could use a lesson or two in that.”

“Well, you were a little rude to me when you came in, or else I wouldn’t have said anything about it,” you replied quietly.

He just rolled his eyes, and you both turned your attention back towards the front of the room. The speaker went on and on about how this was such a prestigious school, telling you all that you were very lucky to be getting an education there. The comment struck you as a little strange, but you didn’t think much of it until the man beside of you spoke again.

“Luck’s hardly got anything to do with it,” he scoffed, looking very unimpressed.

His voice was quiet enough that you weren’t sure if he was talking to you or just mumbling under his breath. You decided to reply anyway.

“That was kind of a weird thing to say,” you agreed, hoping this would patch up whatever ill will you’d ignited in the stranger. In your defense, he had been rude to you first, but you’d only been on campus for under an hour and you weren’t trying to make enemies on your first day.

He nodded, at least acknowledging you, and listened to the rest of the orientation with an incredibly sour look on his face. As soon as the assembly concluded, he shot straight out of his chair, zipping up his coat and pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket.

“Waste of time,” he muttered, walking towards the door. When you didn’t follow him, he turned and looked at you like you were stupid. Confused, but getting the idea, you scurried after him, offering a small smile to him when he held the door for you. The two of you stood outside, and you watched as he leaned up against the brick building and pulled a cigarette from the box. This guy was cool, you thought; definitely an asshole, but cool. Not at all the type of person you were expecting to meet at this school, that was for sure.

“What’s your name?” he asked you, flicking his Zippo lighter open with a small clink.

You told him your name and that you were an incoming sophomore, explaining that you had gone to community college first to save some money. That made him look at you, and he seemed to regard you with something other than contempt for the first time since you’d met him.

“Huh,” he muttered softly to himself, “You got a job?”

“I did before transferring here. I worked all year. I’m here on a scholarship, so I only have to pay for room and board, but that’s still expensive, y’know?”

“Not here on daddy’s money, then,” he mused, exhaling smoke, “You want a cigarette?”

“No thanks,” you declined politely, “What about you, though?”

“Suit yourself,” he replied, taking another drag, “Han. I’m a junior. Transferred from community college like you, but I also had to raise my GPA a little bit before they’d look twice at my application. Snotty bastards.”

“You seem to hate rich people a whole lot for someone who’s gonna be sitting in class full of them in a few days,” you teased.

“Well I’m not an idiot, kid. If you wanna make money, you’re gonna have to put up with people who already have it. I can deal with a bunch of wealthy brats if it means getting an education good enough to land me a six figure job as soon as I graduate.”

“We’ll see. If transfer orientation pissed you off, I can only imagine how exciting trying to make friends with all of these wealthy brats will be for you.”

“What, you prayin’ on my downfall or something?” he snapped, though his voice lacked malice, “I’m not making friends with any of them, anyway.”

“Well, you’re trying to make friends with me, aren’t you?” you challenged, crossing your arms. He rolled his eyes.

“You’re not rich. You had to work to afford going here. And who said I wanna be friends with you?”

“You didn’t know that before inviting me out here to smoke with you.”

“First of all, you’re not smoking. You’re just standing there like a dumbass while I smoke. Secondly, I didn’t need to know that to see that you ain’t got a trust fund, kid, ‘cause I almost bought the jacket you’re wearing at the thrift store down the road last week.”

Your surprise must have shown on your face, because he cut you off before you could even begin speaking, “And I know it’s the same one, ‘cause there’s a tiny stain on the sleeve. I only sat next to you because I was gonna point it out to you and then offer you ten bucks for it.”

You just laughed, shaking your head at him.

“I bought it for twelve, so the answer is no,” you replied, picking at the stain on the sleeve that he’d pointed out.

“Whatever,” he mumbled, rolling his eyes for the third time that night, “I’ll find one without a stain.”

“You can barely see it!” you exclaimed, and then, before you could stop yourself, added, “But if you want, we can always go thrifting tomorrow to see if we can find one.”

You had said it before considering the possibility that Han would reject you in the most offensive way possible, which, based on what you knew so far, didn’t seem wildly out of character for him. He was silent for a moment, looking at you as if he had caught you trying to do something sneaky. He seemed like he was about to make fun of you, but to your surprise, he didn’t say anything mean.

“Sure,” was his simple reply.

And the rest was history.

From that moment on, Han had become your closest friend on campus. He was abrasive and rude, but he was real, and he didn’t care that you couldn’t afford to go to Cancun over spring break. He had introduced you to his friend Chewie, a silent stoner type with long, brown hair and a well trimmed goatee. The three of you had formed a little group, and while you didn’t fit in super well with most of your peers, you’d still been having a great time. Even Han, for all of his distaste towards them, had never had any real altercations, and generally seemed pretty happy.

Before you knew it, your second year of college had come to an end, and you at least had two pretty good friends and a solid GPA to show for it, despite the academic rigor of your classes. You celebrated the end of the year at a dive bar, excited for what was to come.

It was only a week into your third year and Han’s fourth when trouble began. You had moved into a shitty apartment with Han and Chewie, the rent not so bad if split three ways, and you had managed to decorate it in a way that made it feel sort of charming. You had just finished hanging a fall wreath when the door flew open, the force behind it causing your new addition to fall. Irritated, you turned to scold Han, but one glance at his face and you knew that you’d have to yell at him for the wreath later, because he looked pissed.

“I can’t take this. I can’t do an entire semester with her. I hate her,” he seethed, throwing his bag on the ground.

Han was an engineering major, which allowed him to be relatively independent and not interact with his classmates too much. Last semester, however, he’d declared a minor in linguistics, realizing that he had quite an affinity for languages. He was already going to have to stay for a fifth year since he had transferred so late and still needed a few more classes for his major, so he’d decided to pursue another interest to make the most of it. The only problem was that one of his linguistics classes was also a popular elective for politics majors, and apparently, Han was starting to develop real issues with one of them.

“Politics major?” you asked, grabbing a beer out of the fridge and offering it to him.

His expression softened for a second and he muttered a silent thanks before launching into his rant again.

“Not just a politics major,” he began, a look of pure contempt in his eyes, “You know the Skywalker twins?”

You nodded. Of course you’d heard of the Skywalker twins. They were the epitome of everything you’d expect a prestigious private university to be—rich, multi talented, and incredibly popular. The girl, Leia, was the student council president, and the boy, Luke, was a star soccer player who had scored the winning point against the school’s number one rival last season and landed them a national championship title. Their reputation transcended the school, though, as their mother was a widely respected senator whose views made her incredibly popular nationwide. Their father was the youngest Air Force pilot in history to receive some kind of honor. He climbed the ranks of the military quickly, but retired from his position and became an outspoken critic of the military several years ago. He’d published a memoir, and then starred in the film remake of said memoir, and his acting was so surprisingly skillful that he now had a career in it. It was as if the Skywalkers succeeded in everything they tried, no matter how unexpected or different the routes they chose were.

You didn’t have any strong feelings about the Skywalkers, and aside from seeing them trend on Twitter every now and then, you hardly thought about them. Han, on the other hand, hated them, and every time he saw one of the twins in passing he’d make some remark about how rich people always wanted to stick their noses where they didn’t belong, ranting about how he thought their mother’s platform was just a campaign strategy and nothing more.

“It’s her. It’s the Skywalker girl. Leia,” he hissed out her name like it was poison, taking a swig of the beer you’d given him to wash it away.

“Ah. Your worst nightmare,” you replied, trying to be sympathetic.

“I know! I don’t think I can do this. She’s got it out for me. Told me to stop smoking cigarettes before class because the smell gives her a headache. Can you believe it?”

Han did need to stop smoking so much, but now probably wasn’t the time to say that.

“And I assume you handled that comment with grace?” you teased.

“Told her she should stop coming to class altogether because her voice gives me a headache. Think her parents are gonna get me kicked out if this keeps going on,” he mumbled.

You sighed, clasping his shoulder and shaking your head.

“Just let it go, Han. You don’t need to start a rivalry with the most distinguished family in the state.”

“You’re right. I’m gonna let it go,” he promised, and you let out a sigh of relief.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Han did not, in fact, let it go. Every Tuesday and Thursday evening, he stormed into the apartment, complaining about something Leia had said to him or something she’d done that just grated on his nerves. He talked about her so much that you and Chewie made a drinking game out of it one day.

This particular Thursday was different. Instead of slamming the door wide open and swearing, he entered the apartment quietly, a slouch in his posture that screamed defeat. You and Chewie had been studying in your living room, appreciating the quiet atmosphere that was sure to be disturbed when Han came home from going to war with Leia again. Only, this time, Han didn’t say a word.

“Penny for your thoughts?” you asked, sitting up a little straighter to take a good look at him.

He sighed, long and dramatic, and slowly took off his shoes.

“Professor got tired of her royal pain in the ass and I arguing,” he confessed, a pained expression overtaking his features.

“What happened? Did you get in trouble?”

“Worse,” he grimaced, looking at you sadly, “We got assigned to work together on the upcoming project.”

You winced, because although you were amused by his dramatic behavior, you really did feel bad for him. This semester had been stretching his patience thin, and this was sure to be the final straw.

“I’m sorry, man,” you told him, Chewie nodding sympathetically, “When’s it due? Does it have to be good?”

“It’s due in three weeks, but it’s worth a big portion of our grade, so she wants to work on it tomorrow. Can you believe that? Friday night, and I’ll be cooped up with the Princess doing research on linguistics. I’d rather drop out. We weren’t even supposed to do this as partners until today. Why would he just drop that on us out of nowhere?”

Probably because you and Leia are at each other’s throats so much that he’s losing his mind and this is his last attempt to force you guys to get along, you thought, but you said nothing.

“Maybe you guys could do it here,” you offered, “I’ll be around for moral support, and we can order a pizza and have some beer so it feels less like a horrible study session and more like the weekend. And if things escalate, I’ll help diffuse the situation.”

A look of relief passed over his face, and he exhaled slowly, nodding.

“That ain’t such a bad idea,” he said, “And if she’s gonna be uptight about it, I’ll tell her we can work on it Sunday night instead, ‘cause I’m not gonna be miserable on a Friday. No way.”

“Perfect,” you told him, smiling, “Chewie and I will make sure the apartment is clean.”

He offered you a small smile—a rarity from Han Solo, and you thought that maybe, things would be okay after all.

[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.

[maxdibert]

I don’t get it—so a man can only wear a skirt if he’s trans? A man can only be gay if he also performs traditional femininity? Can’t someone be gay and still have masculine traits? Can’t someone be heterosexual and have feminine traits? Why do these people talk about transness as if just throwing the word around makes them super anti-system, when in reality, what they’re demanding are just stereotypes based on gender binarism? How do they have the audacity to claim they’re going against JK Rowling’s ideals when, in reality, they’re promoting the same hegemony as her, just with different colors? At what point is it not problematic to claim that a man has to be feminine just because he’s gay, or that a man has to be masculine just because he’s straight? Isn’t that the epitome of gender normativity? Have these people only read four Tumblr posts written by some drugged-up monkey and watched a couple of TikToks from some Gen Z guru who’s never opened a damn book in their life, just parroting concepts they don’t understand and haven’t reflected on at all?

It might be hard for them to grasp, but a gay man can absolutely perform traditional masculinity, and a straight man can absolutely not fit into the masculine stereotypes associated with his sexuality. Gender has nothing to do with sexual orientation—that’s a basic concept, like Gender Studies 101 for kids.

On another note, sorry, but no—Sirius Black would never wear a skirt. Sirius Black is a guy who performs not just traditional masculinity but an exaggerated version of it. He is constantly described as embodying every classic “bad boy” high school stereotype: he’s extremely tall and imposing, he’s ridiculously handsome, girls swoon over him, he’s violent, he’s impulsive, he has sadistic tendencies that get excused with “well, he’s just a boy,” he has a motorcycle, and he literally has pictures of girls in bikinis hanging in his room. Rowling makes a huge point about how tough and hegemonically masculine Sirius is, so no—Sirius wouldn’t wear a skirt. Sirius wouldn’t want to look feminine. It doesn’t matter whether he likes men, women, or both—his sexuality has nothing to do with it. His gender expression is absolutely cis, and that is part of his personality and the image Rowling wanted to project with his character. If you don’t like that, if you have a problem with it, it’s not because you’re some kind of gender revolutionary—it’s because you just don’t like the damn character. But instead of accepting that, you feel the need to twist and mold him to your liking because otherwise, you can’t project onto him and feel like the cool protagonist for a day.

Pathetic.

Just saw someone say "if you don't like Sirius wearing skirts and say it's unrealistic you're transphobic"

What? What?!

I don't like Sirius in a skirt because he wouldn't do it. He's the one who'd bully the kid who's actually wearing a skirt, aka Severus Snape who is far more likely to do so. Fuck it, even Remus being feminine wouldn't clash with his character entirely.

I don't like Sirius being feminised because it goes so violently against canon and ends up making him into a completely different character, when you can still explore him as a queer character without removing his masculinity.

Actually, why must he be feminine to be trans? Why can't he actually have been a trans man? Fuck it, why can't he be non-binary and still hyper masculine? Why is he so feminised?

Nobody's transphobic for hating a headcanon that's so out of canon.