#and it was a nice time and place to revisit in my mind :)

[diamonddaze01]

Plan B (for Boo)

pairing: bsk x f!reader genre: frenemies to lovers | wc: 9.0k au: non-idol au warnings: alcohol consumption, both reader and seungkwan are emotionally constipated a/n: based on this tweet https://x.com/galacticidiots/status/1582385401997955072 // thank you to the amazing @wongyuseokie for this BOO-tiful banner and divider (haha get it.) // and an enormous thank you to my lovely wonderful betas @chanranghaeys and @lovetaroandtaemin

summary: it's just a stupid pact. what could possibly go wrong?

“So,” he starts, his tone dripping with mock sincerity, “why are you still single? Could it be that no one wants to handle all this,” he gestures up and down with an exaggerated flourish, “24/7?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes as you sip your drink, but before you can respond with something equally sharp, he leans in a little closer, voice softer and yet somehow still insufferable. “If it’s still like this by the time we’re 30, maybe you should just give up and marry me. Think about it—life would be so much easier.”

It’s a jab, you’re sure. The kind he always takes. But maybe it’s the alcohol or the fact that it makes you laugh in a way that even catches him off guard—a laugh deep enough to make him blink before breaking into a grin too. And before you realize it, your own words slip out in response.

“Alright. If we’re both single at 30, I’ll marry you.” You shrug nonchalantly, but there’s a flash in his eyes that you can’t quite read. “And let’s be real, Boo—I’d be doing you the favor here.”

His brows shoot up as he crosses his arms, clearly ready to go head-to-head. “Please, I’d be your retirement plan,” he says with mock indignation, his tone warming for just a second as if this is more than a joke. Then, holding out his hand, he adds, “Deal?”

You shake it, the alcohol dulling the tiny voice that says this is a terrible idea. And just like that, you grin at each other, certain it’ll be nothing more than a passing joke, something to laugh about later. Neither of you knows that this will stick with you—that it’ll be a memory you revisit every time Seungkwan pops up at exactly the wrong (or right) moments.

11 months, 23 days post-pact: 

The “pact” starts as a drunken joke during a night out, one of those silly promises that friends (well, frenemies) make when they’re feeling a bit too invincible. It’s almost always out of sight, out of mind, but fate is a cruel mistress. Just as things begin to go well with someone, Seungkwan inevitably shows up.

Today, you’re out with Keeho, a charming, laid-back guy you met at a friend’s party last month. After a few flirty texts, you both agree to meet for coffee downtown, and things are going smoothly. You find yourself in a cozy bookstore café on a lazy Saturday afternoon, the kind of place that smells of freshly brewed coffee and old books. Keeho is funny and easygoing, and you’re genuinely enjoying yourself.

Just as you settle into a cozy corner table, sipping your latte and discussing your favorite novels, you feel a chill pass through the air. The bell above the door jingles, and you turn just in time to see Seungkwan burst in, a whirlwind of energy in his bright, patterned sweater.

“Oh, you’re on a date!” he exclaims, his voice echoing off the bookshelves as he approaches. He has that familiar look in his eyes—part mischief, part determination—as he slides into the seat across from you without so much as a greeting to Keeho.

You freeze mid-sentence, watching in horror as your carefully curated date suddenly turns chaotic. “Yes, Seungkwan,” you say, forcing a smile as you lean slightly away from him. “This is Keeho, and we were just—”

“Oh, Keeho! Nice to meet you!” Seungkwan interrupts, his tone dripping with faux enthusiasm. “So, you’re the brave soul who decided to take Y/N out on a date. You must have some serious courage.” He looks at you, feigning concern. “Are you sure you’re ready for her? She’s a handful, you know.”

Keeho raises an eyebrow, amusement battling with confusion. “I’m up for a challenge,” he replies, a smirk tugging at his lips as he glances between you and Seungkwan.

You can feel your cheeks warming, mortified at Seungkwan’s antics. “It’s really not—”

“Oh, but it is!” Seungkwan cuts you off again, leaning closer to Keeho. “Just last week, she convinced me to join her for a book club, and it was a disaster! I’m telling you, she had me reading some really intense romance novel.” He chuckles, but his eyes sparkle with mischief. “Let me tell you, that kind of emotional rollercoaster is not for the faint of heart.”

Keeho laughs, glancing at you with a playful glint in his eye. “Sounds like you have some strong opinions about romance, Y/N.”

“Okay, but I liked that book!” you protest, feeling the urge to defend your taste. “And it’s not my fault Seungkwan has no sense of romance!”

Seungkwan feigns offense, placing a hand over his heart. “I am a romantic! I just happen to be very selective about my literature. Besides, I didn’t think I’d need to give a warning to your date. Guess I was wrong!”

The two of them continue bantering, Keeho managing to hold his own, but you sense the dynamic shift. Each playful jab from Seungkwan feels like it’s chipping away at the ease of the moment. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Seungkwan leans back with an exaggerated sigh.

“Well, I’ve done my duty here,” he announces, clearly satisfied with the chaos he’d stirred up. “Just wanted to make sure Keeho knows what he’s getting into. You know, if things don’t work out, I’m still single and ready to mingle!” He winks at you, a smug smile plastered on his face.

You roll your eyes, watching him leave, but deep down, you’re more entertained than you want to admit. Just as he reaches the door, he turns back, giving you one last wink and whispering, “Call me when you’re done with this guy, yeah?”

As he walks out, you lean your head in your hands, half-laughing, half-sighing. “I’m so sorry about that,” you say to Keeho, who is still chuckling at the spectacle.

“I mean, he’s entertaining, I’ll give him that,” Keeho says, shaking his head. “But is he always like that?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” you admit, the humor of the situation beginning to sink in. “But he means well.”

Keeho smiles, his eyes warm. “Well, if he’s the worst I have to deal with, I think I can handle it. Let’s just get back to our coffee and forget about the chaos, okay?”

You nod, relieved, and try to refocus on your conversation. But as you chat about your favorite books, you can’t shake the feeling that Seungkwan has left a lingering awkwardness in the air. Sure enough, as the date progresses, you notice that Keeho is distracted, occasionally glancing toward the door as if waiting for Seungkwan to return.

After a few more minutes of stilted conversation, you decide to lighten the mood. “So, what’s your favorite genre? Maybe we can find a book to recommend to each other?”

Keeho shrugs, a slight frown on his face. “Honestly? I’m more of a sci-fi guy. I guess romance isn’t really my thing.”

You feel a small twinge of disappointment but try to brush it off. “That’s okay! Everyone has different tastes. I really enjoy a good sci-fi too.”

As the conversation drifts back and forth, you both struggle to find common ground. You notice Keeho’s smile faltering more often, and he seems less engaged than before. It’s clear that Seungkwan’s surprise entrance has cast a shadow on the date, and the initial chemistry you felt is fading.

By the end of the hour, as you both finish your drinks, Keeho’s attention drifts to his phone. “Hey, I should probably get going. I have a few things to take care of at home,” he says, standing up and looking apologetic. “But it was nice meeting you.”

You nod, a hint of disappointment settling in your stomach. “Yeah, nice meeting you too.” You both exchange polite goodbyes, and as you watch him leave, you feel the familiar twinge of frustration. It’s as if fate is determined to keep sabotaging your chances of finding someone.

And deep down, you know Seungkwan will find a way to poke his head into your next date, too.

1 year, 6 months, 17 days post-pact: 

The sun poured into the little bistro, casting a warm glow over your table as you shared easy laughs and stolen glances with your brunch date. It felt like a scene right out of a movie: the coffee was just strong enough, the food delicious, and the company—Sunghoon, a coworker you’d finally worked up the nerve to get closer to—was even better. You’d reached that perfect point where a little hand-holding across the table felt natural, like something you’d done a hundred times before. And you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe this could actually go somewhere.

But just as you’re about to lean in with a smile, it happens.

A voice, unmistakably loud and dripping with exaggerated surprise, rings out. “Oh my god, is that you?”

Your heart sinks, but you turn anyway, because there’s no ignoring Seungkwan, especially when he’s dressed in his brightest pink sweater, standing a few tables over with a grin that could rival the sun. He’s holding a large coffee in one hand, eyebrows raised high in mock surprise.

“Seungkwan,” you say, forcing a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. “Wow, what a coincidence.”

“Oh, it’s not just a coincidence.” With the practiced ease of a performer, he slides into the seat beside Sunghoon, who has gone from looking amused to very, very confused. “Y/N and I go way back, actually. Practically family, really. Isn’t that right, Y/N?” He flashes you a grin, one that’s both infuriating and endearing.

You clench your jaw, trying to suppress the urge to strangle him. “Right. Practically family,” you murmur, hoping Sunghoon isn’t catching the way your fingers have turned white from gripping your napkin too hard.

Seungkwan seems to ignore you, his attention now entirely on Sunghoon, whose eyebrows have slowly started climbing into his hairline. “So,” he continues, his voice loud enough for the whole restaurant to hear, “you’re here with Y/N? Cute choice. I hope you know what you’re getting into. Y/N’s kind of… high maintenance.” He winks at you like he’s just told an inside joke.

Sunghoon chuckles nervously, glancing over at you as if he needs confirmation. You shoot him an apologetic smile, trying to silently convey that, no, this isn’t normal and, yes, you’ll explain later.

“And I mean, Y/N and I?” Seungkwan keeps going, gesturing between the two of you like there’s some deep, mysterious connection. “The chemistry? It’s off the charts.” He taps his head, sighing. “We can practically read each other’s minds, you know?”

By now, Sunhoon is fidgeting, a small smile glued to his face as they look between you and Seungkwan. “Oh, really?” he asks, clearly wondering if he’s missing something monumental. “So you two… you’re not—”

“Oh, no, no,” you say quickly, shooting a glare at Seungkwan, who’s clearly trying not to laugh.

But Seungkwan doesn’t stop there. “Ah, Y/N’s right,” he adds, shrugging. “We’re not together. Yet.” He drags out the word with a smirk, and you can practically hear the gears turning in Sunghoon’s head as he processes the word "yet."

You feel your face heating up, half-tempted to kick him under the table. “Seungkwan, don’t you have somewhere else to be?” you ask, voice tight.

“Hmm, let me think…” He pretends to ponder this, tapping his chin before leaning across the table. “Nope. Nowhere. Besides, isn’t brunch better with a crowd?” He gives Sunghoon a friendly, if slightly unnerving, pat on the shoulder. “You must be so lucky to have Y/N’s attention like this. People are usually lining up for it.”

Sunghoon shifts again, looking more and more uncomfortable by the second. You know Seungkwan can sense it too, his eyes glinting with amusement as he continues his casual interrogation. “So, tell me about yourself,” he says to Sunghoon, putting on his most interested expression, though you know he’s sizing him up with each word.

The back-and-forth goes on, with Seungkwan jumping in to answer Sunghoon’s questions as if he’s your personal biographer. He throws in every childhood story, every embarrassing tidbit he can remember—all exaggerated, of course—until Sunghoon’s head is spinning. The worst part is, it’s so absurd that it’s almost funny, and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing as Seungkwan slips in comments like, “Oh, Y/N definitely prefers pineapple on pizza,” or, “Trust me, Y/N’s a total night owl.” As Seungkwan shares “insider secrets” and childhood anecdotes, a strange sensation bubbles up in your chest. It was annoyance, sure, but there was something else there—a soft ache that confused you. Why did he care so much about who you were dating? And why did you feel so strangely relieved that he was here?

Finally, just when you think you can’t take any more, he stands up, clapping his hands together like he’s just wrapped up a grand performance. “Well,” he says, turning to you with a look of smug satisfaction, “if you ever need a brunch buddy who doesn’t skip out on the bill…” He winks. “Call me, yeah?”

He pats Sunghoon on the back as he heads for the door, grinning like he’s just pulled off the prank of the century. “Nice to meet you!” he calls to your date, who’s left sitting in stunned silence as Seungkwan struts out, practically radiating smugness.

When he’s finally gone, Sunghoon lets out a slow breath, shoulders relaxing as they turn to you. “Sooo… that was interesting.”

You let out a small laugh, rubbing the back of your neck. “Yeah… interesting is one word for it.”

He raises an eyebrow, a hint of a smile creeping onto his face. “So, does he do that a lot?”

“Oh, all the time,” you say with a sigh, though you can’t keep the fond smile off your face. “But hey, he means well. In a very… loud way.”

He chuckles, clearly unsure but still intrigued. “Well, guess I’ll have to stick around and see what other ‘friends’ you have in store.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you lean back in your seat, finally able to relax. In that moment, the chaos of Seungkwan’s interruption almost fades—almost—because part of you knows that with him around, peace and quiet will always be temporary at best.

2 years post-pact, to the day: 

Seungcheol’s birthday is practically a national holiday among your friend group. Every year, he insists on throwing an over-the-top party, renting out a venue and packing it with everyone he knows (and some people he barely knows). This year is no different. He’s booked a rooftop bar with an incredible view, and the night promises to be one of laughter, loud music, and Seungcheol’s legendary knack for making everyone feel like family.

Of course, as soon as you walked through the doors, Seungkwan had cornered you, teasing you about your outfit, asking if you were sure you wanted to dress up this much for just any party. He’d even given you a once-over with a smirk, as if he could see right through your intentions. You’d brushed him off, but you knew he wasn’t done stirring up trouble.

The party is buzzing with laughter, conversations blending into a symphony of voices, and there you are, casually observing from the edge of the room. You spot Seungkwan in the distance, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed as he talks to a girl who’s completely engrossed in whatever story he’s telling. She’s laughing, touching his arm every now and then, and her eyes are practically twinkling. He’s playing it up too, charming as ever, and for a split second, it almost looks real.

A strange feeling knots in your stomach. It’s not jealousy, you tell yourself, but a weird twinge of something uncomfortable that you can’t quite name. You push the thought aside, focusing instead on the playful banter you’ve always shared with him. But still, you can’t help but feel a flicker of annoyance as the girl giggles, leaning in closer to him, her hand lingering on his arm. Why does it bother you so much?

You shake it off quickly – you know him too well. There’s no way it’s real (right?). Time to have a little fun of your own.

You bide your time, watching for the perfect moment before you make your move. Finally, you spot an opening, and with a quick breath, you slip through the crowd and tap him on the shoulder, putting on your brightest, most endearing smile.

“Hey, honey, sorry I’m late!” You say, practically singing the words as you slide an arm around his waist.

Seungkwan’s body tenses immediately, and when he turns to look at you, his eyes are wide with a mix of surprise and warning. Don’t you dare, his gaze practically screams, but you just tighten your grip, patting his side for emphasis.

“Oh… um, hi,” he stammers, clearly caught off guard, trying to maintain his composure as he looks back at the girl.

You flash her a warm, overly friendly smile, as if you’re just so glad to meet her. “So sorry to interrupt! He promised we’d catch up tonight, you know, since we’re…” you pause, feigning a thoughtful look as you glance up at Seungkwan, “what did you say the other day? Practically inseparable?”

The girl’s confident smile falters, her gaze shifting between you and Seungkwan, her expression growing more uncertain by the second. You can feel Seungkwan’s silent plea for mercy, but you keep going, leaning into him a bit more.

“Oh, and did he tell you about our little pact?” you add, raising your eyebrows with a playful grin as you look back at him. You feel his muscles tense under your arm, his cheeks beginning to glow a telltale shade of pink.

“Pact?” She asks, eyebrows knitting in confusion as she looks at Seungkwan, who’s now fidgeting slightly, glancing around as if looking for an escape.

“Yes, we’ve had it forever,” you say with a wistful sigh, clutching his arm as if this is the most romantic thing in the world. “You know, just in case we’re both… single. Isn’t that right, darling?”

The girl’s smile drops completely, and her mouth opens just a bit, as if she’s about to ask for clarification, but she seems to think better of it. Her cheeks flush as she glances at Seungkwan, now visibly flustered and clearing his throat, his eyes darting everywhere except toward either of you.

“Um, I… I should find my friends,” she mutters, shooting him one last look before quickly turning on her heel and slipping away into the crowd.

As soon as she’s out of sight, you can’t help but smirk, glancing up at Seungkwan’s astonished expression. Leaning up, you plant a quick peck on his cheek before stepping back, watching as he turns to you, looking thoroughly scandalized.

“Are you serious right now?” He hisses, though his lips are twitching, betraying the hint of a laugh he’s trying to hold back.

“Oh, come on, you had it coming,” you reply with a wicked smile. “After the whole pineapple on pizza stunt? I’d say that’s one for me.”

He shakes his head, laughing softly as he runs a hand through his hair, his pink cheeks now joined by a glimmer of genuine amusement. “You’re impossible,” he mutters, but there’s a light in his eyes that tells you he’s not mad in the slightest.

“Hey, you started this game,” you shrug, giving him a little nudge. “I’m just playing to win.”

Seungkwan lets out a dramatic sigh, rolling his eyes as he glances toward the direction the girl went, then back to you, a begrudging smile breaking through. “Fine, fine. But don’t expect me to go easy on you next time. Speaking of which, what happened to that guy from brunch a few months ago? Sanghyun? Sanghoon?”

“His name is Sunghoon, idiot, and nothing happened. You made sure of that. That’s why I’m here, evening the score,” you retort, crossing your arms with a mock scowl.

Seungkwan raises an eyebrow, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “So you’re telling me I’m your secret weapon now?”

“More like your meddling is a curse,” you say, shaking your head.

He chuckles, the sound light and infectious. “Well, I guess I’ll take that as a compliment. Just know, I’m not done with this game yet.”

As the night continues, the laughter and music surround you, but a lingering thought gnaws at the back of your mind. Watching Seungkwan charm his way through conversations, it strikes you how easily he can captivate others, and for a fleeting moment, you wonder if there’s a part of him that prefers their attention over yours. You push it away, the pang of unease echoing with the music, reminding you that this is just a party, just a game, but somehow, you can’t shake the feeling of something deeper bubbling just beneath the surface.

2 years, 4 months, and 9 days post-pact:

This time, it’s dinner at a new trendy restaurant in the nicer end of town. Dinner with Yuta had been going perfectly—a warm, candlelit setting, the faint hum of jazz music, and conversation that felt so easy you were actually starting to think you could see something real with him. He’s charming, you’re feeling all the right butterflies, and he even leans in, smiling as he teases you about the most embarrassing moments you’ve shared from work.

Then, right on cue, a waiter appears at your table, his expression a mix of confusion and apology.

“Miss Y/N?” he asks, glancing between you and Yuta, who’s now watching with mild curiosity. “I was told by a gentleman to deliver this to you with his regards.”

In his arms, he’s holding an enormous bouquet of deep red roses, wrapped in an extravagant silk ribbon that practically glows under the restaurant’s soft lights. Yuta raises an eyebrow, his lips curling into a curious smirk.

As soon as you spot the bouquet, a sinking feeling settles in your stomach. You already know exactly what’s coming next.

The waiter hands you the bouquet, and you catch sight of a note nestled among the roses. The cursive writing on the card reads: “Forever yours, my little dumpling. ~ Boo”

“Oh my god…” you murmur, your cheeks flushing as you let out a strained laugh, trying to brush it off. “Um… wow. This is… an inside joke that got a little out of hand.”

Yuta’s eyes sparkle with amusement, but you can tell he’s a little taken aback. “Inside joke, huh? That’s… a lot of roses for a joke.”

“Yeah,” you say, stumbling over your words, “he just… has a sense of humor, you know?”

Before you can think of a more believable explanation, your phone vibrates on the table, the screen lighting up with a text notification. You already have a bad feeling about it.

Picking up your phone, you see a picture text from Seungkwan. He’s standing in front of a florist, grinning mischievously and holding the exact same bouquet that now sits on your table. “Enjoy,” reads the message, punctuated by a devil emoji.

You feel your jaw tighten, your fingers twitching with the urge to throw the phone across the table. But you take a deep breath, glancing at Yuta, who’s watching you with even more intrigue now.

“Let me guess,” he says, clearly trying not to laugh. “That was him?”

“Unfortunately,” you mutter, gritting your teeth in a half-smile. “He’s a… close friend. Very close. Close enough that he thinks things like this are hilarious.”

Yuta chuckles, leaning back in his chair, but there’s a flicker of doubt in his eyes. “Is he… an ex or something?”

“Not at all,” you say quickly, cringing as you realize just how absurd the whole situation must look. “He’s just… Seungkwan. This is his idea of fun. Like, sending flowers to a date to ‘make sure I’m being treated well’ or something.” You laugh awkwardly, trying to make light of it, but Yuta’s expression suggests he’s a bit less enchanted now than he was a few minutes ago.

You can almost feel Seungkwan’s satisfaction from across the city, and it only makes you clench the bouquet harder. The playful irritation bubbling inside you suddenly feels like something else—was this jealousy? You push the thought aside. It’s ridiculous. Seungkwan is just your friend. He doesn’t mean anything by it, does he? Yet, the way Yuta’s laughter seems to wane, the way he glances at the bouquet with uncertainty, leaves a sour taste in your mouth.

“Look,” you start, leaning in, “I know this is kind of… bizarre. But it’s not like that. Really, it’s just him trying to mess with me.”

Yuta smiles, but it’s a little strained. “Right, well… I guess I’d better bring my A-game if I’m up against grand gestures like that.”

You sigh, giving him an apologetic smile. “Trust me, if there’s anyone that doesn’t need to compete with Seungkwan, it’s you.”

The conversation moves on, but there’s a noticeable change in Yuta’s demeanor. He glances at the bouquet one too many times, and even as he smiles, there’s a lingering distance that wasn’t there before. You feel the weight of the situation pressing down on you, and it gnaws at you that, in this moment, Seungkwan’s antics are the wedge between you and someone who could be something more.

By the end of the night, he’s still polite, still charming—but the spark feels a little dimmer. Seungkwan’s mission has been accomplished, and as Yuta bids you goodnight, his words are just a little too formal, a little too hesitant, making it painfully clear that he probably won’t be calling again. You should have been devastated. Yuta was the perfect gentleman – but something about a boy with the devious smirk, planning exactly when to have a bouquet of roses delivered, soothed the pain. 

2 years, 9 months, and 18 days post-pact:

You never thought he’d go this far. Seungkwan, of all people, invited you out on a double date. The plan sounds innocent enough—a cozy dinner for four, just a casual night out. But the second you step into the dimly-lit, deafening restaurant he’s picked, you know he has a hidden agenda. The music’s loud, the lighting’s too low, and the tables are packed so close together you’re practically bumping elbows with strangers.

Settling into your seat, you force a smile as your date, Kevin—a genuinely nice guy with a warm laugh—leans in close, probably the only way he can hear you over the noise. Across the table, Seungkwan’s already chatting up his own date with way too much charm. Every time you try to ask Kevin a question or tell a story, Seungkwan seems to pick that exact moment to raise his voice.

“Oh, did I ever tell you about the time Y/N accidentally confessed to me?” Seungkwan practically shouts, cutting you off mid-sentence.

Kevin freezes, glancing between the two of you with a hesitant smile. “Wait… you guys dated?”

“Oh, no, no,” Seungkwan laughs, waving a hand dismissively, as if the thought is absurd. “Y/N only confesses on accident. Isn’t that right?” He sends you a playful, almost conspiratorial look, as if you’re both in on some inside joke—one that you’re definitely not part of.

You shoot him a glare, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. “That was one time, and it was a misunderstanding!” You retort, but the laughter in his eyes makes you feel small. It’s not just annoyance you’re feeling; it’s a mixture of embarrassment and something deeper, a frustrating recognition of how easily he shifts the spotlight onto you.

As the evening progresses, the laughter and clinking of glasses fade into a dull background noise. You try steering the conversation back on track, giving Kevin an apologetic smile, but every time it seems like he’s interested again, Seungkwan throws in a casual remark, making sure no topic gets a chance to really take off.

By the end of the night, Kevin’s enthusiasm has dulled significantly. He gives you a polite, almost strained smile, saying something about “catching you later.” Seungwan’s date is no different. She attempts to give him a hug, but he somehow maneuvers it into the world’s most awkward handshake, and you stifle a giggle into your hand. With a quick wave, she’s gone too, leaving you alone with Seungkwan.

You turn to him, folding your arms as he grins, entirely too pleased with himself. “Why do you look like the cat that swallowed the canary?” You ask, narrowing your eyes.

“Because I had a wonderful evening with you, darling,” he replies, throwing an arm around your shoulders with an exaggerated wink. 

“Do you always ruin dates for fun?” you fire back, trying to mask the mix of frustration and something that feels suspiciously like longing.

He shrugs, a mischievous glint in his eye. “What can I say? It’s part of my charm.”

You shove him off, but can’t fully hide the amusement flickering in your eyes. He catches it, his grin widening like he’s won something. For a second, you wonder if this is less sabotage and more of a game he doesn’t want either of you to stop playing.

But as the laughter fades, a heavy silence settles in. The thrill of their playful rivalry leaves you feeling conflicted, tugged in two directions: part of you relishes these moments of banter, while the other is increasingly aware of the emotional chaos underneath it all. You should be angry, but instead, a tiny voice in your head whispers that maybe, just maybe, this game is his way of keeping you close.

“What’s next, Seungkwan? Are you going to plan another ‘double date’ with your other friends just to make sure I never get a moment alone?” You challenge him, half-joking, but your heart races at the thought.

His laughter rings out, but there’s a flicker of something in his gaze, a hint of vulnerability that surprises you. “You know I’d never do that to you… I just like watching you squirm,” he admits, his tone lighter but the sincerity hidden underneath that’s palpable.

Suddenly, the air is thick with unspoken words and emotions, and you feel a strange mix of gratitude and frustration wash over you. Why can’t you just see him as the annoying frenemy he pretends to be? Why does it hurt a little too much to think about how you might actually miss him if he were to stop?

As you both stand to leave, your heart is a tangled mess, caught between the irritation he brings and the inexplicable thrill of having him in your life. He gives you one last playful nudge, and you can’t help but wonder if this rivalry is just a cover for something deeper, something you’re both too stubborn to acknowledge.

2 years, 11 months, 24 days post-pact: 

After the double date fiasco, a week goes by, and you find yourself dress-shopping with Jeonghan. It's for Seungcheol’s wedding, and naturally, Jeonghan insisted on tagging along to “make sure you don’t show up looking like a bridesmaid nightmare.”

You’re in the dressing room, running your fingers over the delicate lace of the navy blue dress, adjusting the neckline before giving yourself one last glance in the mirror. Jeonghan’s already dismissed five of your previous picks with commentary ranging from “horrific” to “Good luck trying to upstage the bride in that.” But this one feels right. You’re almost nervous to step out, knowing he’s going to have plenty to say.

As you walk out, Jeonghan’s eyes narrow with that same hypercritical gaze he reserves for... well, everything. He circles you slowly, his hand resting gently on your shoulder as he steps back to get a better look, then reaches forward to adjust the strap by your collarbone with a delicate touch. “Hmm,” he muses, tapping his chin theatrically. “That one doesn’t look like it’s trying to be the main character.”

You sigh, unable to hold back a little smile as his hand lingers on your shoulder. “Thanks, I guess?”

“Hey, no, that’s a good thing,” he says, brushing his fingers over your sleeve reassuringly. “It’s got enough class to charm all the moms, and just enough allure to turn a few heads. But you won’t make anyone jealous.”

He grins and pinches your cheek affectionately, like he knows he’s giving the highest possible praise. You swat his hand away, laughing, but there’s a warmth in his gaze that makes your cheeks flush.

“Think Seungcheol will approve?” you ask, spinning around to check the back in the mirror, letting him watch you pretend you’re not grinning.

“Oh, Seungcheol?” Jeonghan gives a faux-surprised raise of his eyebrows and gently nudges your elbow, keeping his tone light. “I think someone else might have a stronger opinion than our blissfully oblivious groom-to-be.”

You look at him, and he just smirks, half-mischievous, half-knowing. “Don’t look at me like that,” you mutter, the lace brushing against your neck as you turn back to the mirror.

“Like what?” he says, leaning his shoulder against yours with exaggerated innocence.

“Like you have any clue what you’re talking about,” you reply, smoothing the fabric of the dress, still avoiding his eyes.

Jeonghan hums thoughtfully, crossing his arms, but you can feel his gaze studying you in the mirror. “Alright, well then, tell me about this little ‘date rivalry’ with Seungkwan that I keep hearing about.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you try to focus on fixing a stray curl rather than looking at him. “It’s nothing, okay? Just a… joke.” You try to laugh it off, though you’re pretty sure he can tell you’re deflecting. “You know, one of those... running gags.”

He snorts and slings his arm over your shoulders casually, squeezing as he leans close to your ear. “Right, because a ‘silly joke’ lasts for, what… three years?”

You elbow him gently, trying to hide your smile. “Two years, eleven months, and twenty-four days,” you correct, giving him a playful nudge. “Not that I’m counting.”

“Oh, of course not,” he says, deadpan, squeezing your shoulder again as he leans in. “Hence all the sabotage and dramatic entrances and flirty messages you two just pretend to brush off.”

You roll your eyes, pulling his arm off your shoulders as you smooth down the fabric of the dress. “It’s really not that deep, Jeonghan. We just... tease each other. Keeps things interesting.”

“Hmm,” he says, draping an arm around your waist this time, like he’s just making himself comfortable. “And all this talk of keeping things ‘interesting’… It’s what? Your foolproof plan to stay single?”

You hesitate, leaning back into his casual embrace as you stare into the mirror, focusing on a barely-there wrinkle in the fabric rather than his too-observant gaze. “We just… keep each other entertained.”

He’s quiet for a second, watching you a little too closely, his chin resting on your shoulder now. “You know, some people choose each other because they’re in love, Y/N.”

You huff a laugh, nudging him off your shoulder but leaning against him a little longer than necessary. “And some people spend too much time meddling in other people’s love lives, Jeonghan.”

“Oh, guilty as charged.” He grins, unbothered, slipping his fingers through yours and giving your hand a quick squeeze. “But unlike you and Seungkwan, I don’t spend three years pretending I don’t have feelings for someone.”

You stare at him, but he’s already shifted his attention back to your outfit, reaching up to tuck a loose piece of hair behind your ear with a gentle touch. “So, who says I’m pretending anything?” you ask, looking down, hoping he doesn’t notice the warmth creeping up your neck.

“Oh, please,” he says softly, his hand lingering at the nape of your neck. “You two sabotage every other date, throw each other’s names into any conversation just to keep the other on your mind, and act like you don’t know what you’re doing. Speaking of which, I was the one who told Seungkwan what restaurant your date was at so he could send you those flowers.”

Your eyes widen in surprise, and you shove him lightly. “You did what?”

He chuckles, clearly amused by your reaction. “What? It’s not like I wanted you to end up with Yuto.”

“Yuta, and thanks for that, really,” you say, trying to keep your tone light despite the flutter of annoyance in your chest. “I thought I was going to have a nice evening.”

“Please, it was a public service,” Jeonghan insists, feigning seriousness. “And it was all part of the ‘evening the score’ strategy.”

You groan, half-amused and half-exasperated. “God, you’re impossible.”

He laughs, the sound light and infectious. “Well, I guess I’ll take that as a compliment. Just know, I’m not done with this game yet.”

You swallow, feeling your throat tighten as his hand drops to your shoulder. He squeezes it gently, his touch grounding as you try to ignore the truth in his words. Jeonghan’s seen it all: the way Seungkwan’s messages light up your screen, the not-so-casual dinner invitations, and how every other date just... doesn’t quite measure up.

“So when’s the wedding?” he teases, giving your shoulder a playful shake.

“Oh my God,” you groan, half-smiling as you grab a hanger and whack him gently on the shoulder. “Can we not do this right now? You’re supposed to help me pick a dress, not psychoanalyze my love life.”

Jeonghan raises his hands in surrender, his grin shameless. “Alright, alright. But for the record, the entire group’s got their money on you two.”

Your mouth drops open, half-horrified, half-amused. “Excuse me?”

“Yep. Seungcheol thinks it’ll happen at his wedding. Joshua’s got New Year’s. And I, of course, bet on tonight,” he says, winking.

“Oh, really? You’re just that confident, huh?” you ask, punching his arm softly.

He grabs your hand, pulling it to his chest with an exaggerated sigh. “Come on, admit it. You’re a little curious to see if Seungkwan feels the same way.”

You stare at him, and he looks back with that rare, soft sincerity that makes it impossible to tell him off. His words stay with you, settling like a soft ache in your chest as he tugs you toward the counter to pay for the dress, his arm still draped loosely around your shoulders.

Later that night, as you lie in bed, Jeonghan’s voice echoes in your mind: “A silly joke doesn’t last three years, Y/N.” You reach for your phone, the screen casting a soft glow as you scroll through your texts with Seungkwan. Before you know it, you’ve typed out, Why do you keep doing this?

The message sends, and your heart hammers in the quiet as you wait. The response is almost immediate.

Because I know those guys aren’t right for you.

A smile pulls at the corners of your mouth as you type back, And who is?

This time, the pause is longer, and you can almost picture him hesitating. Then, his reply lights up the screen:

Maybe someone who’ll crash every date just to see you smile.

You toss your phone aside, pulling the covers up over your head, fighting a grin that’s nearly impossible to contain. Because maybe, just maybe, Jeonghan’s meddling isn’t so misguided after all.

3 years, 1 month, 11 days post-pact:

The night is warm, a faint breeze carrying the scent of roses and lavender through the garden. Twinkle lights strung above cast a soft glow over the reception area, while the hum of laughter and clinking glasses fills the air as guests flow between the tables and the dance floor. It’s the perfect evening for a wedding—Seungcheol's wedding, of all people, the friend who used to swear up and down that he’d never get tied down. The ceremony had been beautiful, of course, filled with tender vows and stolen glances, the kind of moments that only make the ache in your chest a little sharper. It’s the kind of night made for weddings—the sky deepening to a dusky navy color not unlike the rich blue of your dress, soft to the touch and fitted just right, brushing the tops of your heels.

As you catch glimpses of friends in the crowd, your gaze lands on Seungkwan, who stands just beyond the garden’s edge. The fairy lights soften his outline, illuminating his black suit—perfectly tailored to his frame—and his navy tie, which, oddly enough, matches your dress exactly. The thought comes with a smirk. Jeonghan had said nothing, but you know he had something to do with this.

“Oh hey,” he says, voice warm with that little hint of sarcasm that’s so him. “Didn’t expect you to be sneaking up on me like that. What happened—already bored with your dance partner?”

Rolling your eyes, you return his smile. “Hardly. I just needed a break. It’s like, the second you make eye contact with someone, they’re convinced you’re interested.”

He nods knowingly. “Trust me, I know the feeling.” For a moment, he glances back at the party, and you both lapse into comfortable silence, letting the hum of music and laughter fill the space between you. But when he looks back, there’s something softer, almost vulnerable in his expression.

“So here we are,” he murmurs, crossing his arms, “just the two of us again, while everyone else is off being sentimental.”

Something in his tone makes you pause. It’s rare to see him peel back the layers of playful banter, but there’s a weight in his words that has your heart pounding a little faster.

“What, is being single at a wedding getting to you?” you tease, trying to keep things light, but his answering look is serious, his eyes narrowing just slightly.

“Oh, please,” he says, shaking his head with a slight huff. “But… I can’t lie; that pact of ours has been on my mind.”

The “if we’re both single at thirty, let’s get married” pact. A joke you’d made years ago, on a night not so different from this one, laughing over the idea of “settling” if neither of you found someone by then. You raise an eyebrow, voice softening. “That was just a joke, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he replies, but his voice is softer, almost wistful, and he looks down at his hands. "It was a joke."

Your breath catches, feeling an ache that’s both familiar and new, the words between you now feeling a little too real. You’re about to say something when Jeonghan’s voice interrupts, calling your name from across the garden. He’s grinning, waving you both over.

"Hey!" he calls, all too cheerfully. "Are you coming to join the dance floor or just hiding in the shadows?"

Seungkwan groans, rolling his eyes. “Looks like my break’s over,” he mutters, but there’s a reluctant smile there as he lets Jeonghan drag you both toward the dance floor.

A new song starts, slower than the upbeat tracks that played earlier, and suddenly, everyone around you is pairing off. Before you know it, Jeonghan has nudged Seungkwan into place in front of you, giving him a wink as he steps back. The faintest pink dusts Seungkwan’s cheeks, but he recovers quickly, giving you a playful smirk as he offers you his hand.

“Guess you’re stuck with me now,” he murmurs as you take his hand, his touch warm as he pulls you closer. The scent of his cologne wraps around you, subtle yet comforting, and his hand on your waist grounds you as the two of you sway under the twinkle lights.

It’s maddening, how close he is, how his gaze holds yours with a quiet intensity that feels like it’s about to crack through years of careful friendship. For a moment, the world around you fades, leaving only the warmth of his hand, the navy blue of his tie, the slow rhythm of the music, and the unspoken words hanging between you.

But just as quickly, Seungkwan clears his throat, breaking the spell as he takes a step back, glancing away. “I should… um, I should probably go help Jeonghan with…” His voice trails off as he disappears into the crowd.

You stand there, heart racing, feeling the weight of what was left unfinished. Jeonghan appears at your side, giving you a knowing smile.

“Go after him,” he says, nudging you with a grin. "Trust me, it’s time.”

With a deep breath, you weave through the clusters of guests, catching sight of Seungkwan just past the garden’s edge, leaning against a tree, looking out into the night. 

As you approach, he turns, eyes widening just slightly before he speaks. “Oh. You’re here.” There’s a vulnerability about him that takes you by surprise.

“Yeah. Still… need a break,” you reply, barely above a whisper, and there’s a pause as he searches your gaze, something soft and hopeful flickering in his eyes.

“Seungkwan, I-” you start, voice shaking just a bit. He chuckles, shaking his head, but there’s no humor in it. 

“Don’t say anything you don’t mean right now, Y/N,” he warns, voice low. You swallow hard, the weight of his words settling over you like the warm, heavy night air. Behind you, the music fades as guests migrate to the bar, the hum of conversation filling the garden. But here, in this quiet corner under the fairy lights, it feels like you’re the only two people in the world.

“Why?” you ask, feeling your cheeks warm. “Do you have something you need to tell me?”

He pauses, glancing down at the ground and taking a deep breath, his fingers flexing at his sides as though he’s gathering courage. When he looks back up, there’s something vulnerable in his gaze, raw and unguarded in a way you’ve never seen before. “I’m saying that maybe, just maybe, I’ve wanted this all along.”

His confession hits you like a wave, a rush of emotion you weren’t prepared for. Memories flood back—those lingering glances, nights spent sabotaging each other’s dates, and playful jabs that always seemed to hit a little too close to the heart.

You manage a shaky breath, words tumbling out before you can stop them. “You’re not… just saying this because of the open bar, are you?”

He laughs, a soft sound that cuts through the tension, and steps a little closer, his hand brushing yours. The slight contact is electric, sending a thrill through you. “I’ve had plenty of chances to back out of that pact,” he murmurs, voice dropping to a near whisper. “But I didn’t want to. Because I kept hoping… that maybe it wasn’t just a joke to you, either.”

For a moment, time seems to stop. The music, the laughter, the soft glow of the lights—all of it fades until there’s only him, his face inches from yours, his hand hovering near your waist. His touch is gentle, yet electric, barely there, but enough to make your heart race and a thrill skitter down your spine. You can see the way his eyes search yours, a mix of vulnerability and desire reflected in their depths.

“Well, if we’re being honest… maybe I’ve been waiting for you, too,” you admit, your voice trembling slightly as the words slip free. The admission feels like a weight lifting, revealing the truth you’ve both danced around for far too long.

He lets out a breath, almost a sigh of relief, and pulls you a fraction closer, his hand settling firmly at your waist, warm and steady. The world around you blurs into a hazy backdrop, and all that matters is the heat radiating from his body, the way his thumb strokes your side, sending warmth pooling low in your belly. His smile is soft, just for you, a detail that makes your pulse quicken. Damn Jeonghan.

“Fucking finally,” he whispers, his voice low and inviting, igniting a fire deep within you. He leans in, closing the space between your lips, the anticipation crackling in the air like static electricity. His breath mingles with yours, warm and tantalizing, and in that moment, it feels as if the entire universe has tilted just for the two of you.

Then his lips meet yours in a kiss that’s as warm and gentle as the night around you. It’s soft, exploratory, as if he’s afraid to rush and scare you off, yet there’s a warmth that ignites between you, a spark that feels both thrilling and reassuring. The kiss deepens, his lips moving against yours with a sweet urgency, a rhythm that feels instinctive.

You can taste the hint of mint on his breath, the lingering flavor of a cocktail from earlier in the evening, and it mingles with the scent of his cologne—a heady blend that makes your senses spin. As his fingers slide further down to the small of your back, pulling you closer, it’s like everything has led up to this one perfect, terrifying moment. 

He groans against your lips, and it makes your breath catch. “Three years,” he whispers, nipping at your bottom lip until you melt against him with a sigh, “I’ve waited three years to do this.” 

You pull him closer by his tie. “Then shut up and kiss me more, Boo.” 

He obliges with glee, running his hands up the buttons of your dress until you shiver. With each soft sigh that escapes you, you can feel the warmth pooling deeper, a delicious tension that makes the air around you crackle. The kiss ignites something primal between you, a yearning that has been simmering just beneath the surface, and every part of you is alive with the sensation of him. It feels as if the whole world has faded away, leaving only the two of you suspended in this moment—breathless, hearts racing, and tangled in each other.

When you finally pull apart, breathless and wide-eyed, the sounds of the wedding rush back in, laughter and clinking glasses filling the air. But all you can focus on is him, the way his gaze holds yours, sparkling with a mix of surprise and delight, as if he can’t believe what just happened.

For a second, you just stare at each other. 

“Wow,” he breathes, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I didn’t know we were doing that tonight.”

You can’t help but grin back, the thrill of the moment still coursing through you. “I guess we both had a little waiting to do,” you tease, a soft challenge in your voice, and you can see the spark of mischief in his eyes as he steps closer, closing the distance once more.

As he steps closer, the air between you crackles with electricity. “You know,” he murmurs, hands tickling your waist, fingers brushing just enough to send delightful shivers down your spine, “we should do that again. For science.”

“For science?” you echo, trying to sound serious but failing as a laugh escapes you.

“Absolutely,” he insists, leaning in slightly, his breath warm and inviting. The moment feels suspended in time, as if nothing else exists but the two of you and this playful game you’ve begun.

You pull back just enough to look into his eyes, the mischief swirling there igniting a flutter in your chest. “So, how many trials do you think we should run? Five? Ten?”

He leans in, his forehead nearly brushing against yours, a teasing grin still plastered on his face. His hands find your waist again, this time holding you a little tighter, his fingers warm against your skin, and you feel your heart race in anticipation.

“Maybe we should just keep going until we know for sure,” you suggest, your voice barely a whisper, laden with both challenge and excitement.

“Now that’s the spirit,” he replies, and before you can react, he swoops in, capturing your lips with his once more. This kiss is bolder, filled with laughter and the thrill of newfound freedom, as though you’ve crossed a line into something deeper and more exhilarating together.

As you pull away, breathless and grinning like giddy schoolchildren, you hear Jeonghan’s voice from behind you. “Oi! This is a WEDDING!”

You turn to find Jeonghan approaching with a playful pout, arms crossed over his chest. “I can’t believe you two actually went for it!” He shakes his head, mock-serious. “Seungcheol! You officially win the bet. You said they’d get together at your wedding, and look at this!”

Seungkwan’s hold on you tightens slightly, an instinctive response to the sudden attention. He leans closer, his warmth enveloping you like a cozy blanket, and you can feel a hint of shyness creeping into his demeanor, contrasting with his earlier bravado. You exchange sheepish glances, cheeks flushed with embarrassment under Jeonghan’s teasing gaze.

“I can’t believe Jeonghan was right,” Seungkwan mutters, still smiling but now a little bashful, as he nudges you playfully, fingers lingering at your waist as if he’s reluctant to let go.

Jeonghan feigns indignation, throwing his hands up dramatically. “This is unfair! You get a bride AND you win the bet on the same day? What kind of luck is that?”

“Guess you’ll have to deal with it,” Seungcheol says with a laugh, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his new bride’s cheek. She preens with attention, and it makes you lean a little closer to Seungkwan. 

You let Jeonghan pout, turning back to Seungkwan with a grin. 

“Guess this means I don’t have to keep sabotaging you anymore?” he teases, his hands still resting on your waist.

You laugh, swatting his shoulder playfully. “Oh, no way. I think you’re stuck with me now, Boo Seungkwan. We’ll find a new game to play.”

“Here’s to our next game, then,” Seungkwan declares, raising an imaginary glass. “No more hearts; I’m thinking something more… hands-on.”

Jeonghan pretends to puke, and it makes you laugh that much harder. As you glance around the wedding venue, laughter and celebration filling the air, it dawns on you how different this moment is from where it all began. The pact you had with Seungkwan was never about waiting. It was about finding your way to each other all along.

[xmads-omensx]

It's Okay To Let Go

Masterlist

Word Count: 1,769

Pairing: Noah Sebastian X Reader

Content Warnings: swearing, slight angst, fluff, comfort, crying, mentions of grief (in the context of a friendship ending)

Summary: Noah supports Y/N through a friendship ending

Noah peeked his head around our bedroom door and looked into the darkness within.

“How you feeling bub?” He asked in a gentle and hushed tone.

I didn’t reply.

“Y/N?” He stepped further into the room. “How you holding up? Do you need anything?”

He walked over and sat next to me on the bed, placing his hand on the back of my shoulder and rubbing affectionate circles there.

I still didn’t reply.

I felt numb.

“Do you wanna talk?” He leaned down closer to my face. I shook my head into the pillow and turned further away from him.

I still didn’t reply.

The bed dipped beside me as Noah laid his entire body down on the bed, on top of the covers that I was selfishly keeping to myself. The hand that was previously rubbing my shoulder moved down to my waist as he resumed tracing circles with his large hands.

“I know it’s hard, honey, but you’ll get through it.” He whispered.

After that, he went silent. It was comforting. The silence. He was there offering me his quiet support and love despite not knowing the thoughts that plagued my mind.

He knew roughly what had happened.

He knew that I was upset.

That I was angry.

That I was hurt.

But in this moment, he was left in the dark.

I hadn’t told Noah the specifics of what had happened the night prior, just that there had been an argument. Vicious words were shared on both sides. Accusations were thrown. Tears were shed. That I had a fight with my two best friends.

What he didn’t know however, was that the fight had started over something stupid. Something so miniscule that it really shouldn’t have ended the way it did. He didn’t know what truly happened.

“Let’s revisit this in the morning, Y/N. It’s getting late and we both need to sleep.” Noah suggested with a yawn.

I simply nodded my head, prompting him to undress and climb into bed beside me, now under the covers.

He didn’t pull me into him like usual, which I appreciated. Instead, he simply placed his hand back on my hip and offered a reassuring squeeze.

I backed up slightly so that I could feel his front ghosting over my back, before I gave in and shuffled so that I was flush with him. After all, this was my safe space.

New tears welled up in my eyes as his warmth invaded my body. He was always there. No matter what. If I needed a hug, he was there. If I needed someone to vent to, he was there. If I needed space, he was there from a distance. If I needed anything at all, he was there in a heartbeat.

My body shuddered as sobs wracked my body. He responded simply by gently nudging me to turn over and facing him. I gave in, completely unable to resist his comforting embrace.

“Shh… Shh… You’re okay. You’re okay. I’ve got you.” He whispered, placing a kiss on the top of my head and pulling my into his chest in a slightly awkward hug since we were laying down.

My sobs began to lessen after about five minutes of relentless emotions poured through me. He still continued to hold me close to him, as if I would disappear if he loosened his grip even for a second.

“I just don’t understand.” I whispered, defeated.

“I know babe.” Noah replied, rubbing my back affectionately.

“Did I do something wrong?” I asked.

“No you didn’t. From what you’ve said, they’ve been like this for a while now.” He responded.

“But what if it was my fault? And I’ve just been annoying them and bothering them for years?” I asked, getting more frustrated as I went.

“Don’t do that Y/N. You know it’s not your fault.” Noah warned.

“But-“

“Nope. Not gonna hear it.” He interrupted with a firm tone.

I huffed in reply, causing him to laugh. I loved his laugh.

“So what? They’ve just been pretending to like me this whole time?” I asked.

“Babe, they aren’t nice people. They’ve lied to you repeatedly over your entire friendship. They’ve taken you for granted and treated you like shit. If I’m being honest with you, I think they were using you because they can’t do shit for themselves.” He continued, his tone getting slightly angrier.

“Why would they use me though?” I asked in a hushed tone.

“Well, you did everything for them. You were there when they needed a shoulder to cry on, when they needed help with literally anything, you would drop everything to make sure they were okay, you were an amazing friend to them and they took it for granted, then threw it right back into your face.” Noah explained.

I stayed silent and buried my face further into his chest.

“What happened last night babe?” Noah asked in a gentle voice.

I sighed.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to honey.” He added.

“No. It’s okay.” I sat up and rubbed my eyes that were tinged red from crying.

“I went into the kitchen and they were just chatting between the two of them, which is obviously fine and they have every right to do that, but they were stood in front of the cupboard I needed to get into so I could grab my pan out to cook my dinner.” I took a breath.

Noah rubbed my thigh comfortingly.

“I said hi to them and asked if they would mind moving for a second so I could grab it, they did but started groaning about it and rolled their eyes. I didn’t think anything of it because that’s what they do. They make a big deal out of things. I grabbed the pan and starting cooking my food. They were both still stood talking to eachother, but just wouldn’t speak to me.”

“What? Like they ignored you?” Noah asked.

“Yeah.” I sighed.

“That’s shitty of them.” He went on. “Sorry, continue.”

I giggled at his apology and he gave me a relieved smile.

“Okay.” I continued, “They were ignoring me so I tried to talk to them. You know, like asking about their day and if they had evening plans. I suggested watching a movie when they said they didn’t really have plans. Lily rolled her eyes. You know honestly with the amount of times she does that you’d think they’d stick up like that.” I laughed, trying to cheer myself up.

Noah laughed too.

“Anyway. Jay laughed too. Lily made a joke about me having shitty taste in movies, and Jay laughed along with her like usual. I tried to stand up for myself a bit and laugh along saying that they could choose because I chose last time. They kind of stopped laughing when I tried to join in and went back to their conversation. I asked again, suggesting going out to get some movie snacks , and they shared a look between them before laughing again. Lily said sure and we could watch a movie later.

About two hours passed, I had finished my dinner and I was kinda just sat in my room waiting. So I took my dishes out to the kitchen and saw them sat on the couch together watching a movie. Without me.” I looked down at my hands.

“What the fuck!” Noah exclaimed. “That’s fucked.”

“They turned around and started laughing again when they saw me.” I quietly continued, keeping my voice low as I tried to hold back my tears. “I don’t know what happened, but I just lost it. I accused them of not liking me and resenting me. Lily called me annoying and clingy. Jay just went along with everything she said like usual. I swear to god that bitch wouldn’t know what a backbone was even if it smacked her in the fucking face.”

Noah sat up and wrapped an arm over my shoulder and pulled me into his side, placing a kiss on the top of my head.

“Long story short they aren’t my friends anymore and I don’t think they have been for a while. Maybe I was just too scared to face facts and let go of them.” I concluded.

“Have you spoken to the landlord about moving?” Noah asked.

“Yeah, I can’t get out of the tenancy unless I can find someone the other two approve of to take my place and cover rent, but it’s not like those two have any other friends.” I laughed.

“Then it’s settled, you’ll just have to live with me and the guys.” He said with a proud smile on his face.

I laughed, “Noah did you not hear what I just said? I can’t get out of rent until the lease is up.”

“Who said anything about getting out of rent? I’ll help you cover it, but you cannot be in that house for a second longer.” Noah explained, clearly very proud of his plan.

“Noah that’s a lot of money.” I sighed.

“Don’t care. If it made you happy, I’d spend every last penny on this planet.” He whispered.

“I don’t know. They won’t want to see me ever again.” I mumbled hesitantly.

“Y/N you have got to be kidding me. Thet don’t want to see you now and you literally live with them.” Noah sighed.

“I know.” I said in a quiet voice.

“It’s okay honey. The guys love you and would be over the moon if you lived with us. Hell, we’ll do a movie night and you can pick the movie.” He smiled at me.

“But… they’re my childhood best friends Noah. I don’t think I can say goodbye to that. I literally don’t speak to anyone from my childhood. They’re all I have.” I whispered.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Noah asked.

I nodded my head.

“It’s okay to let go.” He said. “If it’s hurting you, let it go. You don’t need that in your life.”

“I hate it when you’re right.” I mumbled.

“Yeah I know. But unfortunately for you, my love, I have a nasty habit of doing it a lot.” Noah laughed.

He leant down and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear before moving in and pressing a loving kiss to my lips. My heart leapt in its confines within my chest. It felt like years since we had kissed, despite it only being a day.

It was okay if I didn’t have those two anymore because I had Noah. And that was all I ever needed.

[gremlin-girly]

Kinktober Day 1

Kink(s): Scratching

Pairing: Johnny Storm x f!Reader

summary: You’ve met Johnny Storm a handful of times but enough to know one thing: you hate him. His smugness, his attitude, his everything. Well… almost everything

warnings: SMUT, dom!reader (kinda?), sub!johnny, P in V (wrap it folks!), oral (f recieving), multiple orgasm, Creampie, scratching, lovebites

distant!reader, not much aftercare on reader's part (that’s a warning), I wasn’t kidding when I said you don’t like him haha

word count: 3.2k

AN: I was editing this the other day in app and accidentally lost 3 hours of work. Almost broke my phone. Learned my lesson. Never again.

I am usually a big ol’ sucker for a romance but, decided this Reader needed to keep Johnny at arms length. Who knows. Maybe I’ll revisit 👀

Likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated - this is my first time writing something like this so feedback is appreciated. And obviously, I do not consent for my work to be reposted, copied or translated!

Next | Masterlist

Johnny was stood smiling and chatting to at least three women on rotation. You were convinced they were tagging out with other women at the party just to take turns to speak with him. Bask in his presence or whatever it was that made them want to stand next to such an asshole.

You grimace hearing his loud laugh booming dramatically at something one of the women said to him. You didn’t think it was possible for you to hate someone so much for merely existing, but Johnny was living proof of that. You sip at your champagne flute and scan the crowd, looking for literally anyone else to occupy your mind, when Johnny laughs again somehow louder this time.

You grumble and move away from the crowd of women around him and make a bee-line for the buffet, idly picking up canapés that did not taste as nice as they looked. The murmur of obnoxious laughter was still grating your nerves in the back of your mind as you chewed a piece of bruschetta angrily. Why was he like this? How did he manage to rile you up by just existing.

“Hey, beautiful.” A voice from behind you purred. An arm reached around you, picking up a bruschetta and when you followed the arm back around you, you were met with the charming smile of Johnny Storm. And you visibly recoiled.

It, somehow, made Johnny chuckle as he popped the bruschetta into his mouth. He pulled a face, clearly unimpressed by the taste but the expression was gone as quickly as it had appeared, charming smile back in place.

“Why didn’t you come say hi?” He asks, his blue eyes shamelessly roaming over your figure.

You couldn’t hide the disdain for him from your face. “You seemed busy.” You huff out.

“Oh that,” he looks over his shoulder at the women and waves before looking back at you. “I wouldn’t worry about them, sweetheart.”

You click your tongue and turn away from him. “I’m not.” As you move up the table, Johnny follows closely. Your temper flares when he moves in front of you, blocking your path, leaning against the table with an arrogant smirk. What you wouldn’t give to wipe that smirk of his face.

“What do you want?” You growl, scowling at him.

“You.” He says it so smoothly that, had it been anyone else, you might have felt a little weak in the knees. But it’s Johnny. It makes you cringe.

“Ugh. Please.” You hold up one hand to stop him from continuing. You look so disgusted, anyone would think you’re about to puke from gorging on one too many canapés. Johnny chuckles and with a shake of his head, inches a little closer.

“Come on , beautiful,” he bats his eyelashes at you, looking incredibly irresistible – which irritates you more. “One night’s all I’m askin’.”

“You ask me that every time you see me,” you grumble with a frown. Maybe you wouldn’t hate him do much if you didn’t have to be in the same room as him so often. “The answer is still no.”

“Why not?” He sounds and looks genuinely confused as to why someone, anyone, could refuse him.

“Because I cannot stand you,” you finally snap at him, looking around quickly to make sure you weren’t loud enough. You sigh softly when you see you’ve not drawn any extra attention to yourself but continue to glare at Johnny.

“Hmm.” Johnny says thoughtfully with a theatrical hand on his chin, unperturbed by you clear intense dislike of him. When he glances back to you his eyes glimmer with a mischief.

“Well, if you can’t stand me,” He begins, dropping his voice lower. “How about we go somewhere where you can sit on me instead?”

You blush and to your frustration, your pussy throbs at the thought. You can’t decide if you want to slap him or throw your drink in his face, or both. But then again, if he’s the one to frustrate you it’s only fair he relieves you. Besides; who speaks with their mouth full?

You take a deep breath, weighing your options before hissing, “Hotel Creche. Room 206 on the second floor. Leave fifteen minutes after I do. I don’t want anyone to see you leaving with me.”

Johnny looks utterly smug, watching you storm away with a lick of his lips. Tonight would be fun.

Johnny does exactly what you ask – which is surprising. After fifteen minutes, he attempts to follow suit but gets stopped multiple times by the various women he had been flirting with earlier in the evening when you were ignoring him. This adds another ten minutes to his journey – then another ten when he’s stuck in traffic. He’s tempted to flame on and just fly to the hotel but he’s wearing one of his best Armani suits. Plus, the anticipation was going to add to your excitement.

When he reaches room 206, he knocks hurriedly and loudly. You throw the door open, scowling at him. He tries to smile and say his sorry excuse but he’s cut off. You’re no longer in that lovely tight dress you were in at the party; you’re in lacy red lingerie that he is just drooling over.

“You’re late,” you snap, grabbing his tie and yanking him viciously into the room. You half drag him onto the bed and Johnny is too stunned and turned on to even muster words.

“Lie down,” you command releasing his tie.

Johnny wastes no time clambering onto the bed and loosening his tie excitedly, eyes hungrily watching your every move as you stalk around the bed impatiently. The ire in your eyes makes him feel out of his depth for once. You’re looking at him like how a lioness looks at a gazelle before ripping it’s throat out and he is loving every second of it. Once he’s where you want him, you step out of your panties quickly, kicking them to the side.

As you kneel onto the bed, Johnny watches you with wide eyes and reaches out to touch you, only to be swatted away.

“’M sorry I’m late. I-“

“Do you ever shut up?” You growl, straddling his head between your knees. His hot breath on your cunt makes you shiver. You curse when you feel a wet, hot stripe along your folds as Johnny licks you teasingly in response.

“Only when I’m eating.” He mumbles into your cunt, licking again, slower and more precise this time. Johnny’s tongue takes it’s time tasting you, teasing you; and when you finally grind yourself along his face, he tilts his head ever so slightly to suck the sensitive flesh of your clit.

You gasp out at the sensation but you don’t give him the satisfaction of moaning his name. No, never that. You’d die before you do that. You still can’t stand him – even when he eats you out so good you see stars.

One of Johnny’s hands grips your hip, tugging you closer onto his mouth. The sounds he’s making beneath you make your breathing hitch; he’s good at what he does, there’s no doubting it. You can feel your thighs tighten, pressure building in your core already. You thought you’d last longer but Johnny’s expert tongue is hell-bent on making you cum over his face.

Johnny seems to take note of your quivering legs around his head and smirks into your folds as he takes another long, slow drag with his tongue.

“You’re such a fucking dick,” you breathe out, grinding your wet cunt over his face when he halts his movements. Johnny latches onto your clit again and hums, vibrations shivering all the way up your spine and you gasp, jerking forward splaying your palms across the wall in front of you.

“You were saying?” Johnny mumbles, using his free hand to sink two fingers easily into your soaked pussy, continuing to kiss, lick and suck at your hot flesh. You stifle a moan, gritting your teeth despite your glassy eyed expression. You were ready to cum but you wanted everything out of your system.

“Arrogant. Egotistical. Attention whore.” Each word is punctuated by a moan as you get closer and closer to your first orgasm of the night – but it’s those final two words that make Johnny moan around your clit, sending vibrations to all of the right places again. You curse loudly as you cum, taking a few moments for your breathing to steady before lifting off his face briefly to look down at him with a wicked smile. Johnny is panting and breathless, eyes blown to saucers as he stares back at you; licking his lips and covered in his own spit and your cum.

“You like that, huh?” you taunt. “Being a whore?”

“Fuck.” Johnny’s hands grip you tighter, trying to feebly pull you back down onto his face. You allow it, for a moment, the delicious heat of his tongue more feverish than before. You sit up again, making him groan out for you.

“Say it.” You say, voice dangerously low. Your body thrums with excitement – with power you have never felt. Johnny’s cock twitches desperately against his slacks and his chest heaves as he looks up at you. Fuck. That look you give him makes him want to cum in his pants right then and there.

“I do,” he breathes out, eyes never leaving you. “I like being a whore.”

His admission makes your cunt pulse with excitement. “Thought so. Only whores know how to eat pussy like that. Tongue out.”

Johnny sticks his tongue out immediately with a short moan, muffled by your pussy on his tongue again. He wastes no time continuing where he left off; swirling your clit with his tongue and two fingers working your pussy relentlessly. He lifts his head to envelop the silky flesh around your clit with his lips, sucking gently as he rolls his tongue over the sensitive bubble of nerves as he finds the spongy velvet of you g-spot. Your pussy convulses – second orgasm creeping up on you as you almost yell out. Your thighs shake around his head and the sound – the sound - you make; stuttering out a long, loud moan as Johnny continues to suck and lick everything you can give him. He thought he was close before but damn – he was wrong. He couldn’t remember the last time his dick was this hard.

You sit up, allowing him to breathe. For a few moments, you relish at the state he’s in; flushed, covered in your cum and rock hard. You’re tempted to leave him like that, however, you’ve got an itch you need him to scratch.

When you catch your breath, you inch down over his torso, settling your wet pussy against the hard on in his slacks. You pull at his tie and make quick work of the top few buttons of his dress shirt, revealing his sleek, unmarked neck.

“So pretty,” you purr, leaning down to pepper kisses along his neck. Johnny moves to kiss you but you duck away, splaying a clawed hand over his face and holding him in place. “Ah – ah – ah,” you chide. “You’re not allowed to kiss me.”

Johnny huffs, settling to kiss the finger closest to his mouth instead, wishing he could have your lips – either set – on his again. You dip your head again, nibbling at the soft flesh experimentally. You can smell your cunt on him and it makes you want to lick him clean. But you won't. Not tonight, anyway.

Taking a small portion of skin between your teeth you bite down slowly, feeling a bruise blossom. Johnny feels so utterly powerless as he mewls beneath you. His hips jerk upwards at your words and he was right before, lioness is the perfect word to describe you. You leave another love bite and Johnny moans louder than before and grinds your hips against his to feel the sweet friction he so craves.

“Want you.” He pants. “Fuck me, please. Jesus Christ.” The frustration is killing him. His cock his so hard it hurts.

“So fuckin’ needy,” you snarl, huffing angrily.

Johnny then does something he’s never done in bed before; he whines. God, you on him using him like this was driving him wild and he was starting to hate how good it felt. And you were just starting to love it.

You shuffle back and rake your clawed hand down his chest, five raised red lines appearing in its wake. Johnny watches in wide eyed awe, chest heaving as he follows your hand . He thinks his heart stops when he feels you reach between you both to palm his cock.

Another curse falls from Johnny’s lips as he shudders. He’s used to getting what he wants, taking what he needs, but you’re just toying with him. The thought of being balls deep inside you, making you come again and again until your resolve breaks and you beg for more is what makes him snap. And you seem to read his mind, because you smirk and ask, “Still want to fuck me?”

Johnny nods desperately.

“Then, fuck me like the whore you are.”

He pushes you back and you squeak, falling a little roughly to the pillows. You can feel Johnny trapped between your legs, gripping your thighs with a look of primal need. He runs the tip of his cock through your wet folds, expecting you to moan out. When you don’t, he pouts slightly.

"What’s wrong?” You taunt, meeting his eyes. “Need a hand?”

You don’t expect Johnny to rut into you, burying himself deep within your slick cunt with ease, and your face conveys as much. You’re wide eyed and your mouth hangs open in silent moan as you look up at him. Johnny places his hands either side of your head, looming over you and setting a brutal pace; burying his cock into your pussy again and again.

You groan loudly as you clench around him, latching your nails into his back to ground yourself. Your nails dig into his skin so tightly you think you’ll draw blood. Johnny moans at the sensation of being inside of you and your nails – no claws – feel so good digging into his skin he thinks that maybe he should do this again with you. Maybe more than once. Definitely more than twice.

“So. Desperate.” You pant out. “Everyone was right; you are a good fuck.”

“Fuck, so are you.” Johnny uses his right arm to hook your left knee, raising your leg up over his shoulder. His left arm wraps under your right shoulder, anchoring himself to you before fucking into with newfound fervour. The new, deeper angle makes you curse loudly and it’s not long before you cum over his cock.

“Feel so good,” he grunts into your neck, leaving sweet kisses along your exposed skin. “I knew you liked me. I fuckin’ knew it. This is exactly where you wanted to be.”

“I hate you,” you correct swiftly, trying to glare up at him but the pleasure you’re feeling makes it hard to stay focused. “You’re such an ass. At least you’re good for something.”

Johnny groans, hips faltering for a moment at your words. His cock throbs inside you and he moves to kiss you but you hand grasps his chin millimetres from your lips, halting him in his tracks.

“I meant it when I said you wouldn’t kiss me.” You say firmly.

“But – but I wanna kiss you,” he whines, picking up pace again. “Feels so good, fuck.” His head drops to your shoulder, grunting as he listens to your breathless moans. The wet slapping sounds of his sac against your soaked cunt as he pummels you into the bed fill the room. You can feel pressure building again and you know your orgasm is close.

“Please.” Johnny begs again, pushing your leg over his shoulder up towards you. “Shit I don’t know if I can hold out much longer baby.” Johnny’s eyes meet yours but it’s brief. Your eyes roll back into your head, legs shake and you moan loudly. Your pussy clenches around his cock, milking him as you soak his precious Armani slacks in your cum. Johnny’s orgasm follows closely after with a stuttering groan, watching your blissed out expression as he spills into you.

His hips still and he collapses on top of you, mumbling sweet nothings and kisses to your neck, whilst you both come down from your respective highs. Once your breathing levels out, you look down to your neck to find Johnny’s blue eyes looking up at you, a shit-eating grin on his face. He expects you to smile back, wrap your arms around him and thank him, praise him. Maybe even throwing in a line about wanting to see him again and getting his number.

But you don’t. You raise an eyebrow at him and offer a wry smile, patting his back gently. You lie back into the pillows with a deep, exhausted from the frustration and from your orgasms. Your eyes flutter closed – floating away on the plush, soft pillows.

“So,” Johnny says, trying to keep the bafflement from his voice when you offer him nothing. “How was that for you?”

Irritation nags at the corner of your brain and you try not to scowl. Stupidly, you’d thought he’d slink out – head back to the party. Leave you to your slight shame of the events of tonight – and surprisingly relaxed demeanour – and not either you again. You had thought wrong.

“Good.” You say, trying to sound at least marginally happy.

“Just good?” Johnny presses, shifting a little to try and see your face. Now you you’re really trying not to scowl.

“Uh...” You search for words, trying not to be sarcastic and mean. “Amazing?”

Johnny smirks, looking incredibly smug despite reading your expression wrong again. “Good.”

You hum, pulling a small face of disgust and shift in the bed, turning away from Johnny. You cosy down and your eyes flutter again. Then you feel Johnny’s warm arm drape over your waist and he wiggles forward, holding you close against his chest. Your stomach turns. It’s so.... inviting, so caring, it makes you sick. It’s fake.

“You were amazing too, by the way.” Johnny murmurs, pressing a kiss to your ear. You can feel him still smirking and you shiver. Your annoyance level is rising again. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea after all. You didn’t realise tolerating him after would be something you had to worry about.

“Mmhmm.” You attempt to zone him out, letting him babble to himself whilst you get to sleep.

“I’d like to do this again – see you again.” He whispers, settling into his own pillow.

“Yuh huh.” Sleep is tugging at you now and you’re not paying attention. It’s not all bad you suppose – you have someone you will, and quite literally, keep you warm for the night. But you do wish he’d stop talking.

After a few more moments of soft murmurs, Johnny finally sighs into your neck, lulling himself into sleep with you not far behind. You fall asleep dreaming of anything but him and he falls asleep dreaming of you.

Day 2

[jr-acrux101]

Meeting Abby -

(Extension of Carousel - prequel)

Summary: What Mike didn't know was the two of you had already met, and Abby wholeheartedly approved.

Word count: 2.3k

Tags: pre-established relationship, fluff, dates

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This was your 3rd date since the carousel meeting. Mike was still well Mike, the more quiet, nonchalant, and tired type.

Mike really was interested in you but his mannerisms did leave you questioning if he did or of he was trying to get a quick fuck.

The two of you sat at the diner, it was 1 in the morning. It was an odd ass hour to have a date but Mike said it was because of his work hours. Though there was a tinge of fear that maybe you were a side chick or he was trying to land some action.

You were wide awake, you had a nap after class so the sleep wasn't creeping on you but it was slowly on Mike.

Every so often he would nod off and blink himself awake, hoping you wouldn't know; you did.

"Do you want to schedule this for another time?"

He furrowed his eyebrows and shook his head 'no.'

"You look tired Mike."

He liked it when you said his name, and showed concern.

"S fine. I have a semi-normal shift tomorrow."

"Then you should be sleeping then. I don't mind waiting. "

Mike didn't want to say so he shrugged instead. "S fine," he repeated.

You gave a sigh but nodded. You noticed the book by. "What's the title?" You asked, cutting the country fried steak to eat.

"Oh um it's called dream theory. It's … hmm.. it's about how every single thing we see is stored in our brain in like this deep vault and dreaming subconsciously unlock those tiny details."

"Hmm. I think I've something similar to the whole we remember everything subconsciously but I never really looked into it. Though I guess it could explain my art."

"Your art?"

"Yeah about half my paintings are landscapes, but I don't really remember any of those places when I was too small. Like um when we went to see snow the 3rd time around when I was a little older and able to grasp some things, I remember I dreamt this oasis of cold in the redwood forest, a tree had fallen down and was mostly covered but some red was showing. Anyway, I dreamt it but don't remember the actual day, just that one scene and when I painted it my mom was shocked I even remembered that specific place. I was still small, she even showed me pictures."

"What made it stick out that you mom knew it was the place you guys went too?"

"Oh um hehe yeah, there was this small grave with flowers on it. It was in the painting as well."

"How old were you?"

"Maybe anywhere from 3 to 5."

"And you remember that detail."

"I'm assuming so, the picture my mom showed was when I was like 1 but we revisited again about that age range. There were no pictures at that spot again because of the grave. We recently started going again and I leave flowers."

"That's nice, I mean to leave flowers for someone you don't really know."

"Yeah, I guess. It was such a lonely place for a grave though so I guess maybe that's why I leave flowers, so they're spirits can know someone else enjoys that spot too. They must have really loved it to be buried there."

"You believe in spirits and the afterlife and all that?"

You hesitated, "I don't know. Do you?"

"Maybe," was his short reply. The conversation came to a stop as the two of you ate quietly.

Glancing at the time, you say it was 1:30 a.m. now.

You quickly finish as Mike finishes his. "Come on l, get up." You leave $25 on the table for the food and tip. Mike protests but still allows himself to get dragged away.

The moon is full, and the asphalt is wet from the earlier rain. You jump on the bed of the small beat pick up truck, patting the seat next to you. Mike took the offer and sat next to you.

With the dead of night and few lights, the two of you stargaze. Mike listens as you ramble on and on about the constellations, giving a nodded and humm of acknowledgment to show he's following along.

He looked at you. As you talked and talked, he loved how your hair frames your face, or how he noticed you fret about your mascara even now and then especially if you laughed a little too hard you'd cry a bit, he liked how passionate you got, and he really liked how kind you were.

While he would get praised for taking care of his sister from strangers, for being kind and self-less. He still felt selfish in a way.

He looked at your headband, shiny black and small. Abby popped into his mind. He knew that after texting for a day he was already too deep to let this be a fling.

It became silent after you were done listing the constellations, now just appreciating the night.

Mike cleared his throat to talk, and you turned your attention to him.

"Would…," he breathed out, "would you want to meet my little sister Abby?"

Your eyes widened in shock. While Mike didn't say much, he said even less about his sister. Another reason why you thought this was maybe just a fling, or trial run before he really got out there.

You opened your mom to speak but nothing came out.

Mike sighed and got up. "It's fine. I gotta go-," "Wait!"

Mike stared as you went up, "I wanna meet her! I do, really. It's just I was shocked since you've never like well talk about her."

Mike stared at you still not really knowing what to say. "Look Mike. What do you want out of this? Before asking if I wanted to meet your sister I was kind of getting the impression this was like a fling. And I'm not really interested in a fling right now."

"Oh."

"Oh?" You questioned.

"Well what made you think this was a fling?"

Mike looked down, not really wanting to look you in the eyes. "I don't know, I just got the feeling you weren't too interested. Mike, well we've only been together for about 3 dat3s. I genuinely can't recall anything you like or dislike or memories you've shared. Even when I text you it feels a bit one-sided."

"Oh."

You hummed as you continued to look at the stars, giving Mike some time to collect his thoughts.

"I'm not really a big talker if you haven't noticed. To be honest, I like to listen to you talk. You have a nice voice."

"Okay."

He gave you a look, "Okay?"

"Okay I can work with that. I just needed to know if it was disinterest or if that's just how you are."

"So it's fine? If I don't speak a lot most of the time."

"I guess we'll find out together, but between you and me I like that whole stoic, "bad boy" look / attitude you have."

Mike laughed and smirked. "Bad boy?"

"Mike every now and then you look like a genuine degenerate."

Mike raised his eyebrow. He closed the distance between the two of you. "Yeah? Isn't that what you like though." He whispered before he gave you a chaste kiss.

You blushed and gave a small laugh. "Yes, yes I do."

You brought out your phone and the time read 2:30 a.m.

"What time do you have work?"

"11 a.m. to 5 p.m."

"Mike!"

He had an amused look on his face, "What?"

"Oh my god! Go home already you have work in less than 12 hours ! You still have to sleep!"

"Don't sleep much to be honest." You huffed air out of your nose.

"Well you should."

Mike grinned, and he put his arm around your waist, pulling you closer. "I like the color green."

You smiled back. "Green? Hmm…"

"Hmmm… what?"

"It fits you."

"Is that a good thing?"

"Yeah of course, green is a very strong but soothing color."

"It is."

The two of you sat in silence before Mike's phone rang. He looked at it and rolled his eyes.

"Hello. Yeah. Yeah, got it. Okay I'm on my way."

He gave a sigh, "Sorry that was my aunt. I asked her to babysit but I guess something came up at her place."

"Oh okay that's fine. Text me when you get home so I know you made home safe."

He gave a tired smile, "Isn't that my line to you?"

"It would be if you weren't running on minimal sleep."

"Fair enough. But text me too okay, in case I forgot while talking to my aunt or you get home first."

You gave a nod and he gave you another chaste kiss. You blushed again, and smiled. He hopped off the truck and waved bye. You waved as he left the parking lot in his beat up car.

You rushed inside your car and towards home, excited to tell your friends everything.

With texts of 'I'm home,' and 'goodnight' s, the two of you feel asleep dreaming of each other.

A week had passed before Mike brought up meeting Abby again. This date was way earlier and on his day off.

"Do you think she'll like me?"

Mike paused. "I'm not sure to be honest. Not ! Not that you're unlikable or anything like that! She's just a timid kid, hell she barely likes me."

"I'm sure she likes you Mike."

"Yeah well you haven't met her," he grumbled.

You gave an amused look but relented. "So she gets out in an hour right?"

Mike nodded.

"Okay and you said she likes art right? To draw and such?"

Mike nodded again. "Okay, perfect. I'll be back here at 3!"

As you started to slide out the booth, Mike stared at you confused. "Wait where are you going?"

"Don't worry I'll be back." You practically dash out the door to your car.

Mike gave a frustrated sigh and got up after paying the bill. 'I guess I'll just have to wait until 3 too then.' He ran a hand through his curly hair and hopped in his car.

Mike parked at the diner, looking back at Abby. "Okay we're gonna meet a friend of mine okay Abs?"

Abby furrowed her brows, "Your girlfriend?"

Mike nodded. Abby stayed silent. He got out of the car as did she. He held her hand as they entered, he spotted you immediately.

You h/c shining from the sun, you were drinking water while reading a book. Lost in your own world Mike cleared his throat. You looked up at him and then down at the little girl.

Abby recognized you as you recognized her. "Hi!”

Before you could get another word in, Abby motioned you forward. You raised an eyebrow towards who gave a shrug reply but you went with her request.

“Don't tell Mike about Mr. Bunny.” She said in a hushed whisper.

You stared at her then at Mike and then at her again. “Okay. Got it. But why?”

Abby looked at Mike, shoved him slightly to get away from their secrets. She cupped her hand, “Because I want to have a secret between us. I like you, you gave my Mr. Bunny when you didn't have to.”

You gave a warm smile, “ Okay deal. Pinky promise, and seal the deal.”

As you pinky crossed and thumbs stamped together, Mike gave you an expectant look.

Abby slid in across from you and Mike sat next to her.

“What?” He rolled his eyes.

“What were you two whispering about?”

“It's a secret!” Shouted Abby.

Mike looked at you again. “Sorry can't see, those are the secret rules and it's backed by a stamped pink promise. You'll never know.” You have a sad look and shrugg. Abby laughed at your expression and Mike shook his head.

“Well I guess it can't be helped.” You and Abby nodded.

You remembered a thought, “Oh yeah!” You rummaged through your bag and got the present for Abby you bought.

“Here you go Abby. It's a sketchbook for your private drawings.”

“Private drawings?” She turned her head to the side.

You smiled at her, “Yeah, drawings for yourself. I have a lot of them that I don't wanna share because they're private and for me.”

“You draw!”

You nodded and hummed. “Can you draw me something?”

“Uh sure. Is it fine if it's in your book?”

She nodded vigorously. “Okay what do you want me to draw?”

She pondered the question. “Oh! A bunny!”

“A bunny? Hmm okay like a realistic bunny or a cartoon?”

“Cartoon.”

“Yeah sure.”

Mike smiled. “Yeah she's been obsessed with bunny's after some girl won one and gave it to her instead.”

You fought off the smile as you drew, and Abby giggled. Mike gave her a questioning look but all Abby did was stick out her tongue, which Mike did back, only for a split second though.

Mike and Abby watched as you sketched out the cartoon bunny, erasing and redoing the line a couple of times. You finished the outline as food came, Mike ate and watched as you stuck your tongue out slightly finishing up the little details. It had a top hat and a bow.

“Alright Abby, here you go!”

Abby squealed in delight. “Thank you!” She stared are your drawing as she ate, it did resemble Mr. Bunny. Mike noticed that too but thought it was a mere coincidence.

The meal went smoothly, with Abby begging for a shake and Mike giving in. Sitting here, you thought it was nice, maybe something to get accustomed to. In fact, you hoped it was.

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Y'all I can't stop writing im procrastinating 😩 anyway enjoy!!

Taglist: @stinkii-boii @hellothisisprincesskitty

[myezblog]

Ep 4

Pretty solid episode... most of the theories have been validated.

What we got right -

All experiences that Great is having of saving people and essentially everything , it is all in his head... nothing happening for real

4 minutes because heart stopping and brain stopping - dead to really really dead is 4 minutes (we are 11.02 right now.. Great is alive until 11:04)

After death experience - were right about beliefs... wherein one patient saw angels performing on her.. whereas the 4 min. thing is more about regrets and what ifs... ( interestingly, we did not hear Lukwa tell us which part of her life she revisited during her 4 min. journey)

Thing is linked to saving Tyme... This is Great grappling desparately and with all the what ifs to save Tyme... his most important moment, person, life phase...

Tonkla's motive and brother, Tonkla using Win

Timelines -

Scene before intro is the real normal actual timeline (i had this theory since ep 2 and there is another person who had the same theory...don't recall user id) ... So, in the present, ep 1 - Great is in the hospital and Tyme is dying ; ep 2 - Tonkla did murder and take revenge ; ep 3 and 4 - Police is investigating the murders

All of great's experiences - whichever scene he is in is playing in his mind... timeflow is not normal pace

Don't think there are more timelines. Even Korn-Win-Tonkla thing that we are being shown is in the past/ actual past (we can see this because Great is living the past... so he has the full picture at this time)

Where the timeline falters-

3. So, lady was also in her arrest while/when Great went into arrest- ep 1... SO, when she came to visit Dan with her 4 min. experience, she had come out of her cardiac arrest moment and interacted with Dan quite a few times by then...

But great is still on the hospital bed... and yet Dan talks about Great as another patient who can see 4 min. in the future..

My guess is, Lukwa is also someone who existed in past... and great heard of her case...hence she is part of the story in his brain...

He hasn't met lukwa yet in the 4 min. room... he will... and i guess that's when timelines will start sorting themselves out..

Tonkla -

Tonkla killed his dad or was involved hence his fingerprints exist in the database. Cat was likely killed by dad. That's why Mio was so against title because title abuses girls too and is an aggressive person

Definitely using Win for the case

Did love Korn, does love Korn... but will be interesting to see how he reacts when he knows that along with Title, Great was also there when title bludgeoned his brother to death

Korn said he would tell the world that tonkla is his boyfriend...but now korn has a fiancee and uh! messed up

(lol.. at Win not wearing his pants back during the whole time korn was there)

Great -

The place they have run to... which Great has taken them to and not tyme... again reaffirms that this is not real.. all is happening in his head...

So, he is with tyme.. in a nice romantic serene place where no one can find them and which Great doesn't know himself

Ost lyrics

I could give it all to be with you even if it is merely an illusion from the heaven

Every sin and sorrow i shouldered was from my heart's command

It means i could do anything and everything if you were to leave me

I will not say it again but please keep this in mind, You can never leave me

I know fairly well that caring for a venomous snake would make my life suffer everyday

And if one day, anyone betrays me, I can assure you in one word:

Avenge, i will destroy and cleanse it all till your very last day

There will not be a single minute where your wish can be fulfilled

If you ever let go of my hand, i promise you that when we meet next time You will have to come crawling back to me

Even when i know you are venomous, i still endure it

Whatever reason it may be but i am not giving you up to anyone else

You can never leave me

I know fairly well that feeding a venomous snake would make me live in paranoia everyday

And even if you turn to bite my feeding hands and betray me, i can assure you that i will "Avenge"... destroying and cleansing it all till your very last day

I will use your tears to cleanse it all..

In summary

Tonkla and Great have to overlap somewhere with respect to Tyme for the two stories to make sense. Likely Tonkla is on revenge targetting both Title and Great (he could go after tyme given Tyme is precious to Great) Or Korn-Tyme conflict linking itself to Tonkla (aka what if Korn could freely love Tonkla and never pushed into business)

Great's arc... it is like the Godfather... Great is the nice guy, detached from all shady and business stuff... but going by OST... he has to emerge as someone who is way better than Korn at handling this business and upping against every other player

The past that we see in Great's mind is also twisted... e.g. we don't know if Tyme genuinely liked Great or was using him till the very end... but Great must have turned grey (taking over business, handling korn.. etc etc.. to protect tyme)

Going back to the statement that has been made twice now about one's beliefs and religion playing a part on the deathbed.... I THINK.. it is the sheer strong will of great to save Tyme that Tyme might be saved by the end of this ordeal.. Great may or maynot be alive

[the-littlest-lily]

30 Days of G/t Self Care

I'm not fully sure where this idea came from, but here we go! I do enjoy a fun little daily challenge, and like most things my mind went to “but how can I make it G/t?” And here we are! Just in time for the new year, a 30 day self care challenge but… sizey. I wanted to make an actual calendar thing, just in time for the new year (though it can be started at any time, it's not specific to January). Check the days off, spread them out over a longer time, pick out just the ones that speak to you, whatever you want to do 😊 Here's the guide to go with it.

Day 1. Set aside a few minutes to take some deep breaths and focus on the present moment. To help ground yourself, perhaps wrap yourself in a blanket and imagine you are in a large, lovingly grasping hand, or hold a small item and imagine it's a tiny friend.

Day 2. Revisit some nostalgic G/t media. What first got you into this? Let yourself reminisce and remember why you love this in the first place.

Day 3. Make G/t art. It can be anything! Drawing, writing, crochet, pottery, you name it. No need to hold yourself to a certain standard or show anyone else, just take some time to be creative. Even if you don't deem yourself an artist, give it a shot and see if you enjoy it!

Day 4. Relax with a word search puzzle. I made a G/t themed one for you right here!

Day 5. Try out this journal prompt. If you could be tiny/big at will, what types of things would you do to relax? How might you extrapolate from this and apply it to your real life?

Day 6. Stretch your body today. What imaginary setting could you give yourself to make it G/t? Are you surrounded by gigantic furniture in your mind’s eye? Perhaps the yoga video on your phone helps you pretend you have a tiny instructor?

Day 7. Listen to some G/t music. This could be anything, from sizey music videos to songs with sizey lyrics to the Arietty soundtrack.

Day 8. Practice gratitude by listing out all the little things you're thankful for. (See what I did there?) Add some big things to the list for good measure.

Day 9. Practice stepping out of your comfort zone a little bit by talking about G/t, out loud if you’re able. Whether it's discussing with a friend (you brave soul), recording yourself on your phone (you can immediately delete it), or just mumbling to yourself in the shower. Maybe you’ll realize you want to make a G/t podcast and we all win!

Day 10. Here's a little creative prompt. Arrange everyday items to make a G/t scene (use toys, miniatures, or even fashion a tiny person out of paperclips or paper). Take a picture, share it if you like!

Day 11. Create a cozier space today to enjoy your G/t content. Grab some blankets, make yourself a snack or some tea, light some candles, whatever sounds nice to you. Sometimes it's making a mundane moment special!

Day 12. Make yourself something healthy to eat. While you prepare it, imagine how different the task might be to carry out if you were very big or very small. Maybe even have some fun making your snack in miniature too.

Day 13. Try out some affirmations today and see if you can make them both sizey and relevant to your life. Ideas of mantras could be “I am allowed to take up space,” “I choose to appreciate the little things today,” “I will achieve great things through small steps.”

Day 14. Go out into nature for some fresh air. Lean in close and pay attention to the small details, perhaps imagining a shrunken version of yourself or a small friend exploring.

Day 15. Challenge yourself to learn a new skill today to bring your Gt ideas to life. Maybe it's learning how to code, or making your own VR avatar, or learning a new art tool or technique. It's finally time to watch that tutorial you've been saving! 

Day 16. Pull out your dream journal, or start up a new one! Maybe we’ll figure out the whole lucid dreaming thing and come close to experiencing Gt, wouldn't that be the dream~ If this doesn't resonate with you, maybe start a journal to jot down your Gt daydreams instead!

Day 17. Relax with a crossword puzzle. I made a G/t themed one for you right here!

Day 18. Try to cross a few to dos off your to do list someday. Make it more fun by adding in some joke tasks in there, like “leave out a snack for the fairies” or “prep for borrowing trip tonight” or “meet with giant friend for coffee.” Maybe even schedule some real life Gt tasks - such as “work on chapter 2 of (Gt story you're writing)” or “plan a VRC hangout”.

Day 19. It's time to dress the part! Is there any way you can dress up or accessorize yourself in a sizey way? Maybe you have an oversized hoodie, or a necklace of a tiny Eiffel tower, or an old shirt with Tinkerbell on it. Did you know you can actually buy Arietty’s giant hair clip thing? Or if this better scratches your creative itch, maybe your objective is to make tiny accessories for a toy or figurine.

Day 20. Take some time to rest. Just allow yourself to lay down in a quiet, cozy setting for at least a few minutes and have some dedicated G/t daydreaming. 

Day 21. Try out a new exercise routine and use your G/t imaginings to make it more fun. Watching a new workout video? You’re a giant visiting the gym and that's your human instructor on the screen. Spontaneous dance session in your room? You're a fairy frolicking in a field of enormous wildflowers. Going for a swim? You're actually crossing a vast ocean, or maybe a small glass of water.

Day 22. Check out a new G/t story. Not a big reader normally? Just give it a shot!

Day 23. Give yourself a pamper night, whatever that means for you - face masks, cucumber water, a warm drink, candles, the works. Pamper night (face masks and stuff)

Day 24. Make or buy something for your G/t interests (miniatures or toys, “max”iature like a giant flower pillow, fairy-themed stationary, make a giant paper mache strawberry, etc)

Day 25. Relax with a coloring page. You can use any of your favorite artist’s lineart (just make sure to get permission and/or proper attribution if you want to post it). Here's an example option from me.

Day 26. Make a list of all the things you love about G/t. It's always nice to remember the various ways this interest might benefit our lives.

Day 27. Motivate yourself to try out a new hobby by making it G/t. Take that pottery class you've been meaning to take and make a giant acorn-shaped mug. Get into cosplay so you can dress up as a borrower. Dabble with watercolors and you may end up becoming a G/t artist. Study a new language and enjoy new sizey media you couldn't understand before. Whatever speaks to you! 

Day 28. Do a favor for your future self and make a self care kit for when you're having a hard time. This could include a journal or affirmation cards, or perhaps some grounding items like fidget toys, stress balls and mints. Add a little something G/t in there too. Perhaps some kind of miniature with an interesting texture, or a fidget toy in the shape of a person, or a stuffed animal of a giant ladybug to hug. 

Day 29. An act of kindness can do wonders for our mental health. Send someone in the G/t community a kind comment today, whether it's a long-time friend, someone you just met in a Discord group, or a comment to your favorite G/t artist. 

Day 30. Reflect on all the activities you’ve tried during this self care challenge and journal about it. What have you learned about yourself? What might you incorporate more into your self care routines going forward? Pat yourself on the back for investing some time and attention into yourself - you deserve it!

[wheels-of-despair]

@oneforthemunny's one-derful year The Title: The Big Three The Eddie: Dom!Eddie The Prompt: Revisit The Greatest Horny Hours Ever The Summary: A certain bratty reader finds herself reliving a familiar situation with Dom!Eddie... or three. The Words: 3k Youths and ageless blogs, Do Not Interact. I will block your ass.

It had been a pleasant evening.

After a few hours of shopping at the mall in the next town over, you and Eddie had stopped for dinner at a nice little restaurant nearby. Your waitress was sweet - a grandmotherly type - and the food was great. Eddie didn't even complain when you ordered a salad and proceeded to pick at his "real food".

Until he got up to pay the check, and you saw her.

That bitch Sandy.

The reason you never went to that cute little Woodstock-themed restaurant in Hawkins ever again. She'd practically drooled over Eddie, flirted with him right in front of you, shoved her tits in his face. And he didn't even fucking stop her.

You'd fought about it on the way home, and he'd pulled the van over and pulled off his belt in an embarrassing event that you mentally refer to as The Mel's Parking Lot Incident. Both your face and your ass burned at the memory of it.

And here she is again. Still dressed like a cheap hooker. Tying on an apron that was longer than her slutty little skirt.

"Oh, hey, baby! It's so nice to see you again! Still got that beautiful hair!" She reaches out and runs her glittery talons through Eddie's hair. YOUR Eddie's hair. The asshole smiles and mumbles something that makes her giggle. You rise out of your seat and stomp toward them with your fists and your jaw clenched. You're going to fucking kill her this time.

He hears you coming.

"No."

You keep walking, and he places himself in your path.

"No."

You growl and try to step around him. In any other situation, he might laugh, but in front of his whore, he grabs your arms to hold you still.

"Van. Now." He puts his keys in your hand and marches you to the door and pushes you out of it. He stands there, inside the door, guarding it for a second, until you stamp your foot in defeat and march toward the van, parked just a few steps away.

You unlock the passenger door and climb in and watch through the windshield as he drops a few bills on the table for your waitress and picks up the purse you'd forgotten about. He smiles and says something to that bitch behind the counter on his way out.

You're LIVID.

He steps outside, and his smile drops when his eyes settle on you. He tries to open his door, but you haven't unlocked it yet. He taps on the window. You fix him with a glare and cross your arms.

"Unlock the fucking door."

You roll your eyes and reach across to pull up on the lock. Not because he told you to. Because you're ready to give him a piece of your mind. He hops in and slams the door, dropping your purse on your lap.

"Keys."

You throw them at him.

They hit his arm and drop into the floorboard with a jingle. Instead of reaching for them, he slowly turns to you.

"You remember what happened last time you pitched a fit over her?"

You want to reply with a real zinger, something that'll make his jaw drop. But the memory of The Mel's Parking Lot Incident silences you.

"Pick 'em up."

You seethe.

"Pick 'em up, or I'm gonna come over there and give all these fine people a show."

You look through the diner's windows at all the people eating… and see HER. Staring at you. Bet seeing Eddie punish you because of HER would make that bitch's fucking year. You reach for the keys and drop them in his lap, then face your window with your arms crossed.

Eddie starts the van and backs out of the spot. A few minutes of driving passes in tense silence.

"What's your fucking problem?" he asks after a while.

"You're my fucking problem."

"I'm gonna be if you don't quit acting like a little bitch."

You're the bitch? Your rage bubbles.

"So did you know she was working there? Is that why we went there? Did she blow you when you went to the bathroom? Or did you slip out back and fuck her against the dumpster?"

"What the fuck?!"

"Fuck you! " you yell. "And your ugly whore, too!"

Eddie laughs. LAUGHS.

You pick up your purse and throw it at him. It's the closest thing in reach. He swerves and slams on the brakes. Your seatbelt keeps you from hitting the dash. The things you'd bought at the mall and stashed in the back go flying. A pack of brightly colored bath beads flies by you and spills into the floorboard by your feet. The van comes to a shuddering stop in the middle of the quiet road. Shit.

You look from the mess to Eddie's red face. You can see the vein pulsating in his neck.

"Alright."

Shit.

Eddie changes gears and keeps driving, scanning the side of the road for a place to pull off. You've done it. You're not going to be able to sit for a fucking week. And it's all that fucking whore's fault.

Eddie finds a forgotten driveway that looks like it leads to nowhere and pulls the van into it. How far does this go? Has he been here before? If you run, how long will it take for him to catch you? How much worse will it be? Your thighs clench. Your nails dig into the seat. Finally, the van comes to a stop. You look around, wondering if people can still see you from the road.

Eddie turns off the ignition, gets out, and stomps around the front of the van. His face is red. His jaw is clenched. You're going to get it.

So you lock your door before he can yank it open.

He looks from the handle up to you with fury on his face.

"Unlock. The. Door."

You shake your head.

Eddie glares for a second, then walks back around the front to his side. You reach over and lock that too. The keys are still in the ignition. You'll let him in when he calms down.

"You're playing a dangerous game, little girl," he growls through the glass. His tone makes the heat pool between your legs.

"Are you gonna say the word, or are you just being a fucking brat?"

You know the word he means. But you don't feel like it's the right time to use it. You stick your tongue out at him. What's he gonna do, break his own window?

He disappears. The back? Can he get in the back? No, the back is always locked, because he keeps his band equipment in there.

You frantically look from mirror to mirror, wondering where he'd gone to. Is there a secret Flintstones hole in the bottom he can climb though? What's he doing? You're leaning over to look out the back window when you hear a click coming from your door.

Fuck. The spare key he hides by the back tire.

He's got your door open before you can flee out the driver's side. You slip on one of the bath beads and fall over the seat.

"No you don't," he grunts, grabbing your ankle.

"Eddie, I'm sorry!"

"You're gonna be," he growls, pulling you to him.

Your feet hit the ground, but they're not there for long. He sticks his boot on the edge of the doorframe and props a leg up and tosses you over it, holding you in place with a strong arm around your waist. You dangle helplessly as he flips your dress up and starts smacking.

"Ow!" Slap! "Eddie!" Smack! "I'm sorry!" You kick out in protest, and he responds by shifting you further over his thigh and smacking harder. You try to brace yourself on the side of the van, to get at least some kind of leverage so you're not flopping around helplessly, but it's useless. You can't do anything but flail and cry.

And then, before you know it, you're standing upright again. You bounce back against the door as you get your bearings.

You look at him bashfully. You bat your teary eyes, hoping he'll just tell you to get back in the van.

"Go pick me a switch."

"Eddieeee," you whine.

"Plenty to choose from. Make it a good one."

"It's not my fault!" You stamp your foot again. "It's HERS!"

Eddie starts to roll his eyes, but they land on something in the van.

The new wooden bath brush he'd picked out at Bed Bath & Beyond had fallen out of its bag. Eddie had spotted it on a clearance shelf, picked it up, and smacked it on his hand to test it. The crack echoed through the store and made your thighs clench. He'd smirked and placed it in your basket. You'd had to carry it around for the rest of your shopping trip, wondering if everyone else knew what it was really going to be used for.

It had seemed fun and sexy at the time.

When he reaches for the bath brush with one hand and you with the other, like he knew you would try to run, you quickly change your mind.

He tosses you back over his thigh and starts bringing that big wooden brush down on your ass. You squirm and whine as the burn sets in. Eddie stops for a second, and you think it's over... until he yanks your panties down to your knees. You whine, but he just keeps going. The wood cracks so loudly against your bare skin, you're sure all the wildlife has fled the vicinity in terror. You cry in protest and humiliation at being bared out here in the open, but he doesn't stop spanking until you give in and quiet down.

"You gonna be good now?"

"Yeah," you sniffle, wishing there was more of a cool breeze on your ass right now. Your panties had slid down your legs at some point and landed in a crumple on the ground. You hadn't noticed until just now.

"Yeah?" he asks with another hard smack.

"Yes, sir," you correct yourself.

"Good girl." He puts you back on your feet. "Now go pick me a switch."

"Eddie, I said I'd be good," you whine.

"Then go pick me a fucking switch."

You huff and stomp away and pick a fucking switch, strip it of its leaves, and bring it back to him.

"Hands on the side of the van."

You glare at his stupid van and flatten your hands against it.

"Spread your legs."

You spread your legs.

He steps closer and pulls your short dress up, bunching it up and tucking it in so it won't be in his way.

"Stick that ass out."

You bend over further and give him his target.

SWISH.

The first strike isn't so--

SWISH!

BAD!

The switch swishes through the air so quickly, you're glad you weren't asked to count. You cry and shift your weight and try to avoid the stinging lashes setting your ass on fire until he steps closer and grabs you around the waist.

"Stay still," he orders over his shoulder. He keeps his arm wrapped around your waist, pinning you to his side as the switch keeps flying.

You try to obey, but it's so hard. By the time Eddie's done switching you, he's got his jean-covered leg between yours to keep you from lurching forward to escape the sting, and you're pretty sure there will be a wet spot when he releases you.

He drops the switch and gives your burning rear a rub, and you sigh, thinking it's over.

"Alright, hands back on the van," he orders with a light smack to your right cheek.

"What?" you ask, eyeliner streaming down your face. He reaches for his belt buckle, and you sob. "Eddie, I'm sorryyy."

Eddie unbuckles his belt and pulls it through the loops, never breaking eye contact with you. He folds the leather in half and holds it up and jerks it with a loud SNAP. You flinch at the sound. He lifts his hand and makes a twirling motion that means "turn around."

You do what he wants. Hands on the van, legs spread, ass out.

"Count."

You take a deep breath and brace for--CRACK.

"One!"

CRACK!

"Two," you cry as the belt lays another stripe.

"Three, four," on your already-tender sit-spots.

"Five!" on the left.

"Six!" on the right.

"Seven, eight!" stripes the tops of your thighs.

"NINE!" and "TEN!" set your whole ass on fire.

You lean your weight on your hands against the van, praying that he won't go to twenty. But through your sobs, you hear him shushing you as he rubs his hand across your sore ass.

"You got somethin' to say to me?" he rumbles in your ear, his breath hot on your neck.

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For being a brat."

"And?"

You want to stomp on his foot, but you know better.

"And being jealous of that whore."

He smacks your exposed rear with his hand.

"Of that GIRL."

"Better. Anything else?"

"I'm sorry for locking you out of the van and not listening and for being a bad girl," you say quickly, hoping that'll cover it all.

Eddie laughs and dips a finger between your still-spread legs.

"Well shit, if I didn't know better, I'd say you enjoyed that. You like being punished? Like it when I have to spank the brat out of you?"

He slides a finger inside of you, and you have no reply but a moan. You arch your back and spread yourself more for him, hoping he'll add another finger or two. He pumps in and out a few times and starts to circle your clit. You're so close, you can almost--

"Shame there's no dumpster out here to fuck you against," he says, pulling his hand away. You whine. He gives your ass another slap with his sticky hand. "Guess you'll just have to blow me. On your knees."

You salivate at the command and turn quickly to drop to your knees on the grass, reaching for his zipper eagerly. He lets you do all the work, not making a move until he's in your mouth. His hand comes to rest on the back of your head, and you respond with a moan around his shaft.

It doesn't take him long to finish.

"Alright, back in the van," he smirks as he zips up.

"Eddieee," you whine, rubbing your thighs together from your position on the ground.

"Oh, did you want to get off too?"

You wrap yourself around his leg and look up at him with the best puppy eyes you can muster. You must be quite a sight; you know your eyes are red and your eyeliner's running. But you want him in you so fucking bad you don't care about anything else. You'll ride his boot if you have to. If you just shift a little--

"Too bad," he says simply, wrapping his fingers around your upper arm and helping you stand. Before you can protest, he guides you back to the passenger door and helps you into your seat. You hiss when your ass makes contact, and he smirks as he leans over to buckle your seatbelt. You glare down at the bath brush in the floorboard instead of at him.

"Is that how bad girls ride home?"

You look down at yourself, wondering what you've done wrong.

Eddie reaches in and tugs your dress out from under you so that your ass makes direct contact with the cracked leather seat. You'd forgotten about this part of The Mel's Parking Lot Incident. How the hard surface adds heat, and the cracks dig into your tender flesh.

When the van rumbles to life and backs out of the bumpy road, it's like being punished all over again. The paved highway is a smoother ride, but still extremely unpleasant.

You know better than to lift up. Last time, you got caned for it. But maybe if you put your hands on the seat and put your weight on them, it would help take the pressure off…

"Get those hands on your head."

"Won't that look weird when people pass us?" you ask hopefully, mad at him for seeing what you were doing immediately, and mad at yourself for even trying.

"Don't care. Do it."

You pout and put your hands up, the full weight of your burning ass pressing down on that cracked seat from hell.

You were so relieved when Eddie pulled into the driveway. You were nearly free. You'd behaved on the way home, so he wouldn't cane you this time; he'd probably take you inside and cool you off with some lotion and bend you over something so he could admire his work as he plowed into you. You unbuckle your seatbelt and carefully climb out, where he's waiting for you.

"Pick up all those bath beads."

You turn around to start picking up those colorful little beads from the floor, quickly and without protest because you want to get inside and get fucked right now. You feel a breeze. He's lifted up your dress and tucked it in again. Your striped, burning ass is on display for the whole neighborhood.

"Eddie!"

"What?"

"People will see!"

"Better hurry up then," he says, unbothered. He stands behind you, partially blocking the view, but making you feel so exposed… and dirty… and so wet, you're seconds away from dripping.

You stuff the bath beads back into the flimsy plastic box they fell out of as quickly as you can. Eddie opens the side door and stands guard as you re-bag all the things that had scattered after he slammed on the brakes.

When everything is finally back in a bag, Eddie reaches out and lets your dress back down. You both grab an armful of shopping bags, he slams the van's doors closed, and he follows you into the house.

Now it's time for the fun part.

[nadas-dirthalen]

I Saw Solas's Origin in an Achievement Icon and It Opened My Eyes on 15 Years of Lore

— PART EIGHT: if you haven't read previous parts, do it now! —

[ 1 ] [ 2 ] [ 3 ] [ 4 ] [ 5 ] [ 6 ] [ 7 ] [ 9 ] [ 10 ]

Welcome, friends and travellers! I wanted to get some thoughts recorded before Veilguard's release so I could see if I am right about an absolute BOATLOAD of theories I have.

In short: I saw the achievement list when it was released. I have seen the backstory hints for Solas included in said list. AND MY MIND WAS BLOWN.

You have been warned: THIS COLLECTION OF THEORIES INCLUDES SPOILERS FOR EVERY DRAGON AGE GAME AND ALL PROMOTIONAL MATERIAL UP TO AND INCLUDING OCTOBER 18, 2024.

Come sit down with me. Make a nice cup of tea (and hide it from Solas). We've got a lot of unpacking to do.

(no, this photo isn't the spoiler, I just like it.)

The Story of Solas: Him Solas Evanuris, Da'durgen'lin (1/3)

— The Ballad That Played Right Before Our Eyes —

I meant to write this as soon as I got my day started today (perks of being on the border of a sinus infection right before Veilguard). But I thought of something last night, and I had to do some of the Temple of Solasan and Trespasser all over again to confirm it.

I'm glad I did. I'm horrified at what I found.

Let's begin.

Seriously, as ever, go read the other parts before this one. If you need to only read a few, then read 1, 3, 4, 5, and 7 (linked above). All of those matter for context here, you've been forewarned!

This post will exist in three parts. First up, we've got:

The World at the Time of Solas's Manifestation

Da'durgen'lin: Not the First, but Perhaps Mythal's Last

Solasan: The Icy Terror the World Forgot

The Dread Wolf: Inspiring Hope in Friends, and Fear in Enemies

The World at the Time of Solas's Manifestation

I will be as brief as possible here. Remember when I said the other parts were important for context? It's because we're largely skipping the context we've already covered today.

In the briefest of terms:

Titans, unsundered.

Maker's second children, made. Evanuris, jealous. Evanuris, slaying Titans.

Evanuris, already doing all of their lyrium/Titan-atrocities. We'll get to how I know that.

Conditions are perfect for the blight to begin. All Titans, thus far (that we know of), have been wounded consistently. All are ramping up to "fight back." (We'll get to that.)

But the Evanuris are continuing, heedless of what their arrogance will bring.

Enter: Solas Evanuris.

Da'durgen'lin: Not the First, but Perhaps Mythal's Last

More brevity here, but now with added screencaps from when I just played Trespasser this morning (in fact, I just finished the Shattered Library, and am going to go back to Trespasser after this).

We already knew Mythal was mining Titans for people. What I've refreshed my memory on are three things:

We don't know where in the Deep Roads this is (that I know of)

This is not the only place we see lyrium coffins

This is where we see the codex about needing to forget this place: the one I mentioned began the blight yesterday.

Before I go on, I wish to revisit one more codex from this portion of the Deep Roads: Mythal's Lullaby.

Ir sa tel'nal Mythal las ma theneras Ir san'a emma Him solas evanuris Da'durgen'lin Banal malas elgara Bellanaris, bellanaris.

Isatunoll Mythal gives you dreams Lyrium within Becomes Solas evanuris Blight you give to the Titan Forever, forever.

I've discovered new significance in it that I have not been able to fit into these posts as yet: this lullaby is almost perfectly in the Hallelujah cadence. It follows Hallelujah's meter, but the lines are split up as a distraction.

It can be arranged as:

Ir sa tel'nal, Mythal las ma (8) Theneras ir san'a emma (8) Him Solas Evanuris, da'durgen'lin (11) Banal malas elgara (hallelujah, hallelujah) Bellanaris, bellanaris. (hallelujah, hallelujah)

With the use of "you" in the song and the fact that it is called Mythal's lullaby, I am going to posit that she is singing this to Solas. Why?

Cole tells us in Trespasser. "He did not want a body. But she asked him to come. He left a scar when he burned her off his face."

I believe that this is Mythal asking Solas to take physical shape. But... why? Why coax a spirit if he did not want to come into the physical world, outside of his Titan? If she coerced him into a body, only for the horrors of the Blight to follow, why would he look up to her as the lone voice of reason among the Evanuris?

I'm choosing to read Mythal in a good light here. Know that, as I continue to theorize, the worst case scenario is also possible.

Solasan: the Icy Terror the Elvhen Tried to Forget

Last night, after writing part 7, I could not get this codex out of my mind. The moment of the blight's beginning. I am astonished that I have not seen it theorized before (not to say it does not exist, just that it has not been flung far and wide across the fandom—at least not where I can find it).

Let's go back to it.

In the light of the veilfire, the runes seem to shift, coiling and uncoiling like snakes. A thunderous voice shatters the stillness, shouting: "Hail Mythal, adjudicator and savior! She has struck down the pillars of the earth and rendered their demesne unto the People! Praise her name forever!" For a moment, the scent of blood fills the air, and there is a vivid image of green vines growing and enveloping a sphere of fire. The vision grows dark. An aeon seems to pass. Then the runes crackle, as if filled with an angry energy. A new vision appears: elves collapsing caverns, sealing the Deep Roads with stone and magic. Terror, heart-pounding, ice-cold, as the last of the spells is cast. A voice whispers: "What the Evanuris in their greed could unleash would end us all. Let this place be forgotten. Let no one wake its anger. The People must rise before their false gods destroy them all."

I could not help but think again on how Mythal's lullaby directly says, "Blight you give to the Titan." I asked myself, late at night, in despair: could Solas's manifestation TRULY have been the beginning of the blight on Thedas?

Well, we know where to find out, don't we? The Temple of Solasan. I'm not the kind of person to grab 114 shards in a video game (sorry, Bioware), but I did find a mod that let me in over the summer, and I pulled up an old save.

Jogging my memory made me cry.

The top chamber in the temple is where one finds the inscription on Solas. We'll get there, and we'll also get to the outside of the temple, don't worry. For now, I want to focus on the lower level. (Pardon my Inquisition screenshots and their messiness; I told y'all I wasn't going online in any real capacity today, and I meant it. You're getting all homemade footage here.)

There are three rooms down here. One for plants (left), one for fire (right), and one for ice (center).

Huh. Doesn't that sound like...

For a moment, the scent of blood fills the air, and there is a vivid image of green vines growing and enveloping a sphere of fire. The vision grows dark. An aeon seems to pass. Then the runes crackle, as if filled with an angry energy. A new vision appears: elves collapsing caverns, sealing the Deep Roads with stone and magic. Terror, heart-pounding, ice-cold, as the last of the spells is cast.

My heart sank. My stomach twisted into knots. I explored the fire and plant wings again, and found little that I hadn't already explored or looted—only corpses possessed by demons.

But the ice room...

Something flashed within. Something that made my blood run cold (fittingly, I think).

I ventured in. And then I began to cry, for I knew.

Without enemies, not in combat, the floor periodically flashes when you run over certain spots in the room. The whole floor, just for a second, is covered in these.

I'm not one of the fancy fly-cam people, so I spent a lot of time running around until I could hit the Tactical Mode button at the exact right second.

I don't know what this exact sigil means. But I swear that it has blight or bad-bad-not-good-magic implications, and... well, it's red. Red, in a blue room full of ice.

Even with no corpses around this time, no enemies left to fight: I knew, deep in my bones, that this place is what that codex was referring to. Let this place be forgotten.

Let the Titans be forgotten, because of what horrors we have seen.

It makes me read the codices of this temple in a new and horrifying light.

Faintly carved into the stone is a figurebound in chains. Two other figures haveturned their gaze from the central image.The script below the image is ancient,though Solas is able to provide a partialtranslation: Pride in our accomplishments and in our hearts. That same pride became (a word meaning corrupted or altered) within him, he sought to claim (indecipherable), cast from favor and so was bound. Hidden from mortal eyes, death lies within.

"That same pride became (a word meaning corrupted or altered) within him." Now, we have new context on what corrupted or altered might imply.

The same with, "cast from favor and so was bound." The Titan—the Stone—rejected Solas. But why? Was it because of what he was seeking, or because of what Mythal was coercing/asking him to seek? And when he was "bound" — it was by her, right?

But we know what came next. We know that Terror—a Forgotten One, a Titan—fought back, just like Cole says.

"They made bodies from the earth. And the earth was afraid. It fought back. But they made it forget."

The Earth—the Titan—was afraid. It was Terror. It fought back, lighting a room entirely in horrific red circles that gave me a jump-scare (and no doubt doing other terrible blight things). It chased the elves from the Deep Roads, even as they sealed them.

They begged the other elvhen to forget this place. "Hidden from mortal eyes, death lies within."

The blight.

This was terrifying (pun almost intended) for the fleeing elvhen. So much so that they left a parting message by the door to the temple.

An inscription taken at the temple doors in the Forbidden Oasis, followed by a translation. The writing is shaky and uneven, as though the writer labored to complete the task: Emma solas him var din'an. Tel garas solasan. Melana en athim las enaste. Arrogance became our end. Come not to a prideful place. Now let humility grant favor.

Let's re-examine that elven language.

Emma solas him var din'an. Within [Solas or arrogance] becomes our end.

Remember "that same pride became (corrupted or altered) within him?" Does him mean Solas, or does him mean the Forgotten One from whence Solas came?

Regardless, I am beginning to understand the legend, the horror: one last person from one of Mythal's lyrium coffins, and Terror begins to consume Solasan. Elves, fleeing desperately, hands shaking as they carve warnings into the doorway.

The markings are crude and simplistic, but their meaning can be understood: "They did not ask questions and so I was away. I keep my head low and work like the rest. The circle will not hunt this far. At first I regretted the choice, but they all feel the dread at the door. I do not stand out. Only a brother or sister would know these words. If you found your way here as I have, then you are not alone. If you would have allies when this contract ends, then find me." For a moment, the pounding of footsteps can be heard, as if someone is running. Then it fades.

I saw this on my way back to Solasan—I had not seen it before, clearly. I looked, and I wept. I'll admit that.

Because I saw, "the dread at the door," and I knew. The dread locked inside Solasan. The Terror, barred within and forgotten.

And from that Dread? Only one pulled from a lyrium coffin. Mythal's last da'durgen'lin, rushed out of Solasan. I hope that she asked him to take a body to help him escape Terror. I hope that she asked him to take a body to somehow calm Terror, if the Stone truly rejected Solas.

I hope she did not mean for Solas's creation to cause Terror.

Regardless of the motive behind Solas's true and horrific origin, the effect is the same: a parallel to the Inquisitor, Solas's rise to fame and power began when he survived something he should not have.

Dread.

The Dread Wolf: Inspiring Hope in Friends, and Fear in Enemies

If you're like me, you've wondered why these seem to be everywhere. Outside of Dalish camps, sure (even though Fen'Harel is their villain, they still entrust that he'll protect them, uh huh)... but also in the temples and holy places of other Evanuris, not just Mythal. Also out in the middle of the wild.

Now we know. We know because we know the meaning of the Dread Wolf. Wolves, in ancient elvhenan, were warriors, generals, second-in-commands. We can intuit this based on their continued use in Dalish culture with its Arcane Warriors/Knight Enchanters. Solas was one such "wolf" — but he had a quality that no other did.

He had been marked, somehow, by his survival of Dread. I don't know enough today to confirm whether that means Solas is blighted, immune to the blight, or something else entirely, and I only have 1.5 more days until Veilguard launches (and maybe proves all of this wrong). I can only guess at this connection.

Whatever it was, that became his resonance in the culture of Arlathan.

"I was Solas first. Fen'Harel came later... an insult I took as a badge of pride. The Dread Wolf inspired hope in my friends and fear in my enemies... Not unlike "Inquisitor," I suppose."

The insult, presumably, was that he was the one "wolf" for whom it had all gone wrong. Rejected by the Stone; product of a turned Titan fighting back with new blight. But to inspire hope in his friends, and fear in his enemies? We must consider what those friends and enemies would want, and what they would consider hopeful/fear-inducing.

Solas's friends, we know from the agents we see in his rebellion, also want an end to the Blight. His enemies, the other Evanuris, want the blight to cover Thedas.

Therefore: to inspire hope in his friends and fear in his enemies, the Dread Wolf would have to possess some innate anti-blight quality. Therefore, I posit that Solas's title, the Dread Wolf, is meant to refer to how the blight did not kill him when it was unleashed by Terror.

This quality—and the threat that the blight would soon pose to all of Ancient Elvhenan and the entire ancient world—would give way to... well, we all know.

Rebellion.

Stay tuned.

----

Also: I am essentially FULLY OFFLINE to try and avoid game spoilers! As these reviews have just gone live yesterday (10/28), I am not reading my notifications/replies, and am appearing here only to continue posting my theories. I have heard that the embargo has been broken at least once already and I refuse to risk it, so I will respond to messages and notifications once I have played Veilguard for a bit.

(Mutuals, if you need me, you may DM me, as long as you do not mention the reviews in any capacity.)

[brabblesblog]

𝕽𝖊𝖒𝖊𝖒𝖇𝖊𝖗 𝖞𝖊 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘.

Ch 8: A ship does not sail with yesterday's wind

A sequel to Whither is thy beloved gone? (AO3)

After the events of ‘Whither is thy beloved gone?’ Lord Astarion Ancuńin and his consort wife navigate their relationship anew. The ghosts of the past - his, hers, and theirs - threaten to unravel everything they’ve worked for.

A boat ride in an old camp brings back memories and reignites new flames.

Professionally edited and collaborated on by my dearest friend <3 @editing-by-night

Read on AO3.

Masterlist

Art by @dafna-winchester <3

The dinghy looked a tad unsafe, Ban thought, casting a sideways glance at her husband as he hopped into it; he stood there for a moment as it wobbled, then steadied. Grinning, he offered her a hand.

She frowned, taking the proffered hand, stepping into the boat. It swayed under their combined weight and she felt herself shifting off-balance; before anything could go wrong his arms wrapped around her, steadying her.

“Thanks.” She sat, adjusting her skirt, regretting choosing this dress. Astarion had said it would be a nice, wonderful evening, and to wear her best, because he wanted to go somewhere special.

It was special, she conceded, but he should have told her just how inconvenient her chosen outfit would be. His too, for that matter - he was in a crisp white ensemble, which had led her to believe they would be going somewhere… well. Not here.

“So,” she looked around, “special means a boat in the middle of nowhere, hm?”

In the tiny docks of the ruins they’d camped at in Rivington, more than a year ago, now.

The moon had always been beautiful here, she remembered, watching it bathe the landscape in its silvery glow. In front of her, Astarion tilted his head, his smile still in place. He untied the boat, but didn’t bother rowing out, allowing the current to take them away from shore. Ban supposed he was expecting they’d either mist form home or turn into bats if the current took them too far. Probably even if it didn’t; he’d been all too keen to provide opportunities for her to practice, much to her annoyance. Not that she hadn’t gotten better - flying around as a bat was much easier and more consistent, though mist form still eluded her, somehow - but she still found it tiresome.

“Well I daresay it is, wouldn’t you agree? The last place we had nothing but fond memories,” he said, the lightness in his voice sounding a tad forced. “I remember pitching our tent in that corner by Gale’s, and-”

“And yes,” she laughed, “he hated hearing us every damn night.”

And oh, how Astarion had loved it. Those last days before they’d moved into the Elfsong were special indeed; the tension around facing Cazador and the Netherbrain had yet to come to a head. Those final nights, when Astarion had finally been ready to let her touch him, give him pleasure and love him - they were glorious.

She watched him as he chuckled at her words, then took her hand in both of his. “I recall vividly,” he said, thumbs kneading her knuckles, massaging gently.

“You could have at least told me to dress down, however,” she grumbled.

He shook his head. “No. This is special, and our attire matches the occasion.”

Occasion? She quirked an eyebrow at him, and he shrugged. “Not an occasion occasion, mind. I thought we should revisit this place; you’ve been rather… bothered… by the prospect of your family visiting on the morrow, and this was a small distraction that was easy to do. There is also the matter of your continued lessons, of course,” and he smirked when she scowled. “You do need practice, darling; a fair amount of it, if I am to be completely honest.”

Ban rolled her eyes. “Yes, well. It takes time, just like you did when you first ascended.” But she was all too aware that it’d been a year and that her lack of interest in the matter is no longer excusable by their fraught relationship and her complicated feelings about her true nature.

Astarion seemed to humor her, eyes crinkling at her response. He pressed a quick, soft kiss on the back of her hand. “I would have endless ways to refute that should I choose to, but I won’t for your sake.” Instead he looked past her to the inky darkness of the water below, to the other boats further down the river, and finally turned to look at the moon.

“I know you find it… challenging, to think about Roderich and your family,” he began, keeping his eyes skyward. “I merely hoped being here would help somewhat in easing your concerns and bring you some measure of comfort. The palace is our home, but I am aware it may not have as many fond memories as this place does.”

She considered this for a moment. “You’re not wrong,” she conceded, “however, this place also reminds me that this was the last time we were ever truly alright.”

The hands massaging hers tightened for a moment, the motion stilling abruptly. He turned to face her, expression carefully schooled into neutrality. “Even now, love? Even after all the work I.. we’ve done?”

“I mean - Astarion,” she said quickly, realizing her mistake. “We are alright now, yes. I suppose what I mean is that was the last time things were… simpler.”

“For you, perhaps,” he replied, a note of anger creeping into his tone; the rest of his words spilled out in a rush. “I, on the other hand, had everything to worry about, in case you’ve forgotten. Tell me - is the choice of opening up so easy for you, so effortless, that you’ve been remiss in remembering just how difficult it has always been for me to do so - not only the first time, but every single time, especially after you left me?”

She gasped quietly, horror blooming in her chest, realizing that this was probably what all those small moments of resentment had been about.

“Ban…” Astarion gritted out before she could say anything. He took a steadying breath, obviously trying not to let the situation escalate. “Don’t.” His eyes bore into her; there’s a hint of anger there but it’s overshadowed by desperation, a plea for her to not do what she always does when cornered.

The hand holding hers didn’t tighten further - instead it unfurled. He swallowed, shoulders stiffening and expression hardening.

“I wasn’t going to close off.” She kept her hand in his, adding the other to clasp both of his in her own. “I know…” she finally murmured. “It’s not fair, is it? That you had to give me everything, all of your past, all of yourself, so early on, just so I’d bring you into the group, protect you on the road, feed you, help you with Cazador… and then I never did the same. I still haven’t.”

“Well,” Astarion said bitterly, “there was little reason for you to do so. You could have kept your past to yourself for the rest of eternity, and there would have been no consequences. In fact,” he took a sharp, pained breath, “you can continue keeping parts of yourself hidden away from me - can continue punishing me forever. There will be no consequences for that, either.”

“Except your displeasure, your unhappiness,” Ban corrected.

“I’m not-”

“And your pain,” Ban interjected before he could continue. “That’s the more important part. The worst part.”

Silence from her husband; he fixed her with an unreadable expression, shoulders still held in that hard, regal pose. Unsure, her mind offered, of what you’re trying to do here, and shielding himself from the blow, a blow so expected as to be considered inevitable.

A soft sigh escaped her and she squeezed his hands, pressing them together. “I’m sorry. That it took this long, that I never offered to… to give as I took, to make it a more equal exchange. Not just in regards to my past, but… also in our relationship.” He’d always been on the back foot, she realized. First seeking her protection, then her help in freeing himself, and then in winning her back, in keeping her happy, hiding his own fear and resentment, all so she wouldn’t leave again. The thought caused a crushing wave of guilt.

“Equal exchange,” he laughed out. “It’s never been that, darling, and I don’t delude myself into thinking it will ever be.” The crimson of his eyes stood out in the moonlight as he stared at her, defensive and resigned. “I don’t hold you responsible; circumstances dictated that I share my predicament with you and with everyone we traveled with, were I to receive any aid. After that, well,” he shifted, the first break in his nonchalant charade, “I suppose I hid myself so deeply that the only recompense for everything I did was to offer all of my heart to you, without holding back.”

“And you didn’t mind if I said or did anything hurtful, regardless of your feelings? Your needs?”

“No,” he hissed. “I so wish you’d give as much in return, naturally. I would die to have all of you, with nothing held back. To see, to know, to love the entirety of you. I have longed for that every moment since the rite. There was and is, however, little reason for you to do so, and I don’t begrudge you that.” Astarion looked away. “I can’t ever begrudge you anything, Ban, as much as I want to; not for very long, anyways - you know all too well why.”

His eyes moved back to hers, although he looked lost, as if living in memories. “I love you.”

Astarion glanced toward the ruins in the distance and thought there was where he should have said those words first; when he’d finally wrested his mind and body out of the clutches of his past and been able to let her touch him, when he’d been able to lose himself in her touch and her love without any expectation of anything in return other than what he wanted to give. When every night in their tent was filled with nothing but happiness.

The first time he’d actually said it had been in their quiet, private suite in the Elfsong, when he’d offered her eternal life by his side. The words had rolled off his tongue effortlessly. It hadn’t been a lie, not really - but it also hadn’t quite been the truth, either. He’d weaved his fanciful words around her, voice lowering in pitch, the seduction and feigned earnestness flowing from him easily. Spinning the web to ensure her assent, he’d told himself.

I’d never want to control you. I love you.

The next sentence, however, had slipped out unbidden. The moment it was out he’d known he’d fucked up. He had known she’d read between those incredibly thin lines, would see that he wasn’t truly sincere, that it was mainly a calculated move to keep her there with him forever and ever until the sun burns out and maybe even longer than that.

That’s what you’ve been waiting to hear, isn’t it? That’s what you want?

He hadn’t seemed to be able to go without saying it, without hinting that love wasn’t all it was. Some small part of him had wanted her to know and to run, to leave him, to not debase herself, bring herself down to his level. He’d seen, mere hours ago, what she thought of him. A monster, to have condemned so many souls to the fires of damnation - wretched, heartless, without a care in the world other than for power.

Power. Of course he’d craved it - what else was there? What else, after the ritual, after that look on her face, on all their faces? Had he not deserved to carve into Cazador’s flesh, repayment for two centuries of pain? Had he not at least earned the right to relish that moment? Hypocrites. They had all been there, and yet when he’d stepped onto the dais their eyes had refused to meet his, had refused to acknowledge him - except for her.

Hers had judged him.

That’s what you want, isn’t it? To be mine? Forever?

It’d been easier to phrase it that way; that she’d wanted it, not he. Easier to pretend that he’d been manipulating her easily, that she’d bought into every word he’d said. Her brows had furrowed at his words, evidently unconvinced - that too, he’d refused to acknowledge.

Before the rite they had talked about forever. He’d promised to find her a way to join him in immortality, just as she had promised to find a way for him to walk in the sun. They’d had some fanciful ideas; finding another vampire lord to turn her, and then murdering said lord had been one of them. She’d often laughed at that idea, shoved him playfully, but they’d both known there was an underlying seriousness in those conversations. She was human, and he was… well. He would inevitably outlive her.

In the moments after his ascendance, then, it had made sense to want to make her immortal, ensuring they were both spared the agony of being parted by death, whether it be by age or anything they’d face in the coming years. Giving her the words he’d known she’d longed to hear, so that she’d agree to take the gift of immortality… It had been easy to offer, and she had said yes after some convincing; what wasn’t to like?

What wasn’t to like was what you did after, he reminded himself.

Ban smiled at his words, looking down at their hands; his were warm and soft, so unlike her own calloused ones. She lifted one up, placing it on her cheek. “I love you too. Even when things were tainted, I still wanted you. Loved you.”

Astarion nodded. He was aware; recent events had gone a long way in reassuring him of this. All the same, he mused a little on her words, his hand on her face, then did what he used to - a light shove to her cheek, although this time there was no derision in it.

“Even then?” he challenged, as she stared at him in shock. “I used to do that, telling myself you liked it, that you wanted me to shame you, because that was what we did behind closed doors. I thought what is a little more, when you clearly considered yourself so… denigrated by staying with me. I thought that you’d willingly be my spawn and just take it.” He bit his lip. “You saw me as a monster and so I gave you exactly that, out of spite, out of…” he trailed off. Of pain.

He’d known she’d enjoyed the roughness of it all, the interplay of dominance and control, in bed. It had become too easy in the aftermath of the rite to take it further. He’d known she’d resented it; the ever-present look of distance on her face and her emotional absence had said as much. But those little moments of emotion, whether lust or wrath, had been all he’d had left of her. Sure, there’d been moments when she’d been tender, when love would break through, but it had been sparse at best. Those flashes of arousal mixed with anger had been more reliable, more consistent, a sign that she’d still felt something for him; something that he could reasonably expect to elicit by doing certain things, even if that feeling was predominantly resentment.

Thinking back on it, he felt some guilt, but also curiosity. They’d never really discussed this at length, and now that they’d brought this dynamic back into their bedroom, it felt like it was high time they did so. Where he expected to feel anxiety and fear, instead there’s a burgeoning confidence in their bond, a renewal of faith that felt astonishingly peaceful. Like the first droplets of rain after a drought, soaking into the parched landscape; a benediction, promising new life.

She looked down at his words, staring at their joined hands, thoughtful. She gave a comforting squeeze. “I allowed it because I love you. We said forever, so forever it was. It wasn’t always pleasant, wasn’t always wanted, and I didn’t muster the strength to leave until a lot later, but I didn’t expect how… far you would take it at times.” She huffed, a small, dejected noise. “I gave you permission, thought it would help rebuild our trust in some way, that I would reach you again, and… instead the Ascendant ran away with it.”

“I would definitely agree that it went too far,” he affirmed quietly, hands slipping away from hers to hold onto the boat, “even though you expressly allowed it.”

He leaned back, reaching out to her mind. There were no words there, merely the entwining of souls, each assuring the other that this was merely a conversation; nothing bad would come of it.

“Anger and desire were all I could have of you, and my pride allowed me no room to consider any other alternative.” He looked up at the stars; that confession had not been easy. To his surprise he felt the boat shift as Ban moved. There was a gentle push against his legs, he parted them to make room for her to sit between them, her back to him. She set a hand on his thigh, closing her eyes. For a moment they sat in companionable silence, Astarion rubbing circles on the back of her neck.

“You’re going to ruin your clothes that way, love,” he murmured, and she snorted, the silence broken. A second or two passed, and he felt her take a deep breath as she began to speak.

“At times, it did go too far,” she agreed. “It would have been fine had we been in a better state then. Had we actually talked.” He squeezed her shoulder comfortingly.

“You could always have said no; the faintest whisper of ‘Sussur’ would have ended it all,” Astarion remarked. There was also the fact that Ban could have physically stopped him at any time; he wasn’t so delusional as to think her incapable of it. She was the hero of Baldur’s Gate, after all; powerful and strong in her own right.

From the corner of his eye, he could see her move as she shrugged. “Most of the time it was wanted. Most of the time it felt good, other than small moments when it would be overwhelming. Afterward I’d realize it went too far, and I’d tell myself I’d say it the next time it happened, but… For one, you know we barely talked then. And, well.” She cleared her throat awkwardly. He could sense her trepidation and leaned down to place a small kiss on the top of her head.

“You thought bringing it up might be what would finally cause me to compel you.” Not a surprise; he’d guessed it before, when he’d wondered why she’d taken everything without much complaint back then. Oh, there were arguments of course, but she’d usually backed down, despite the looks of absolute rancor in her gaze.

She shrugged again, unwilling to say it, but her mind sent a tendril of assent. Astarion let out a rough exhale. “We both know, Ban; there’s little point in refusing to articulate the truth with words. You offered me your submission in and out of our bed in the hopes of reigniting what we’d had in the days before the rite - your vulnerability in exchange for my heart.”

It had failed, of course. “I gave nothing back, save anger and aggression; the feeling of you pulling away was so painful it served as cause to hide myself even further away. I thought I would spare myself heartache, but it merely caused you to put even more distance between us.” He laughed humorlessly. “Ironic, isn’t it? I’d worsened the very trait I’d wished to banish.”

Small threads of apprehension began to weave through him, despite his earlier confidence. Might he have pushed too far again? His heart began to race in his chest and he frantically searched for something to say - anything, really, just to mitigate any damage because it can’t happen again-

It’s alright. Her presence in his mind, wrapping her thoughts around his; there was nothing there but affection and slight concern, a gentle press of love that urged him to slow down his breathing and his frantic heart.

“Irony or not, it no longer matters. None of it does. We’re here now, and last time… I enjoyed it,” she reassured. “More than you’ll ever know.” Her mind searched for the memories, opening them up like roses in bloom, allowing him to bask in them, in her desire for him, heavy with renewed trust and faith. Love, deep and seemingly infinite, a font without end.

Astarion rubbed her shoulder absently; his heart soaring, recognizing what she was truly offering: not just a thing to explore during sex, but trust. “I suppose you did. In fact, you seemed to rather take a lot of pleasure in being stubborn as well,” he reminded. “Which, if we are to progress further… at your pace, of course,” the hand on her shoulder tightened a fraction as the sheer relief bolsters his confidence, “we’ll have to do something about that, won’t we?”

She smiled at this, head still tilted back. “Sure, we could. We will negotiate and renegotiate as needed. But right now…” and that smile became a grin, “don’t waste the view; kiss me.”

He laughed at that, more relief than anything else, then pulled her close, fingers closing around her exposed throat teasingly. “It would be my pleasure, darling,” he purred, leaning down to do her bidding.

Her lips were cool and soft against his own. The grip on his shoulder however, was strong, fingers digging into his jacket - a good reminder, he thought. She could choose to pull away at any moment; she would be strong enough to wrest away from him. He’d let her go in a fraction of a second if she pulled away, of course, but he hoped she found comfort in her own strength.

But she gave in to him again, giving him her faith and vulnerability and love, and his heart had never felt more full.

The soft heat of his breaths met her cooler ones, a pleasant mix that Astarion moaned into as she put a palm over his cock. He rolled his hips against the touch, and the boat shifted a little in response, eliciting a quiet huff of amusement.

“Going to be a slight challenge,” he breathed, “if you really want to do this in this dinghy.”

Turning between his legs, she faced him with a smirk tugging her lips. “You’ll just have to let me have my way with you, and stay very still.” Her hand tugged his shirt free from his trousers, splaying a hand on his abdomen.

Astarion swallowed. “If you’re doing this as a defense or as a way to divert my attention, Ban, know that you needn’t. I don’t require you to- ahh,” he groaned; the hand on his belly had slipped lower, playfully tracing the outline of his hipbone as it skated downwards.

“Fine,” he hissed, hands flying to his trousers to undo the laces and tug them down; a quick lift of his hips and they’re down around his ankles. “If you- fine; on one condition: you’ll have to take me in your mouth when I come. I won’t have this jacket or this shirt ruined.”

The hand drew ever closer to his cock, its movement painfully slow and teasing.

“Gods. Look - everything is white. We can just have it laundered. Or you could take them off…” She rolled her eyes at him. “But go ahead, give another condition if you really want to pretend you’re still in control of all this.” The smirk on her face merely intensified his want; fingers touched his cockhead and he jerked violently, the boat swaying again.

A smile grew on his face, all teeth and just a little bit mischievous. “Anything? You’ll regret that, you know.”

“I’m eager to prove you wrong.” Ban replied without missing a beat, helping him kick off his shoes and trousers. She positioned herself on the floor, movements slow so as to not jostle the boat, sitting even further between his legs. She quickly removed his jacket and shirt, tossing them onto the pile before wrapping a hand around him, the first strokes gentle and soft. Astarion couldn’t help but watch her hand, fighting the urge to rut.

I’m eager to prove you wrong. How was he supposed to counter that, when she was touching him like that, and oh what in the hells-

He looked down to see her other hand cupping his balls, kneading gently, an intensely wonderful feeling that ended all too soon as her hand moved beyond them. He started to object, before he realized she was moving her hand behind, and a finger touched him there; his heart fluttered deliciously in anticipation.

“Fuck, Ban,” he managed to groan as the pad of her finger gently traced circles around his entrance; he instantly tilted his hips to provide better access. “You utterly depraved minx. I ought to punish you for this.”

“Then do so,” she said, not bothering to look him in the eye or even pause. “Please.”

Scrambling for something, he uttered the first thing that came to mind. “Fine. You can’t touch me for a tenday, since you seem so unable to control yourself.” The moment he said it he cursed himself; that would mean he’d suffer too. “I will touch you as much as I please, but you-” he grinned, “you will not lay so much as a finger on me for the entire time,” he tacked on hurriedly.

Ban stilled then looked at him, thinking. “Did you not want me to?” There was concern in that gaze, and Astarion vehemently shook his head.

“No. No. Just… the first thing that came to mind,” he admitted. “You’ve always seemed to derive such pleasure from touching me, from making me feel-“ a soft moan, as her hands resumed moving, his cock was stroked slightly faster and the finger tested his entrance, “-that.”

“It’s nice, bringing you the pleasure you’ve always deserved,” she replied. “Bringing you bliss that you need not reciprocate. Showing you that you are valued. Loved.” She purred the last word, knowing exactly what it would do to him.

Astarion sighed contentedly, hands settling on the boat, holding on for dear life and rapidly losing the fight to keep still; his hips twitched involuntarily here and there, muscles spasming. “The concern is appreciated, but I do enjoy reciprocating.” She swiped a thumb over his slit, causing him to squirm.

“Let’s make it fair,” Ban suggested. “You can’t touch yourself, either. Nor can you touch me.”

Astarion laughed, haughty and unconcerned. “No, my love. This is a punishment. Your punishment. Fair does not enter into it, nor are you in any position to dictate the terms of this little game. I will not seek my own release, nor will you yours, but I shall touch you whenever I want.” Ban snorted, and he shot her a dark and incredulous look, one that wasn’t very effective considering their current situation.

What she’d just said about showing him he’s loved doesn’t go unnoticed, either: he’d realized what she’d been doing, had suspected it before, and was greatly appreciative. But this was a fun game, and he reasoned one of them would give in well before the tenday is out. Probably himself, he figured.

“We are agreed,” Ban nodded. “You better come hard then, because you won’t be getting anything for a while.”

“Easier than you think,” he rasped; her finger had slowly begun pushing inside him, the all-too-pleasant feeling only adding to the rising pressure in his core. He looked back up at the night sky, reminded of their nights here, in the camp. How she had taken so much joy in finally being allowed to touch him, to learn how his body responded to her, to bring him the pleasure she insisted he so deserved and to show him how much she cared for him.

The knuckles gripping the boat were white, his feet planted firmly to keep himself steady. His hips rolled once, and again the boat bobbed. He exhaled, frustrated. He had to stay still even as her hand stroked his cock, from base to hot, swollen tip, fingers dragging deliciously and squeezing at the head, gods he wasn’t going to last between this and her finger.

“Tell me what you’ll do after the tenday has passed,” Ban urged.

A low groan, and he opened his mouth, babbling. “I’ll pin you against the wall, spread your legs, shove myself in you, deep inside you - carry you to bed, fold you in fucking half, Ban, bury myself to the hilt in you again and again, just the way you like it. I’ll make you feel so good you’ll cry, you’ll beg, you’ll pray, but there will be no gods, there will be only me, only us, and I’ll show you just how much I’ll have missed your- ngh.”

The hand on his cock had sped up; Astarion gave up, his hips now undulated in time with Ban’s hand, the boat swaying merrily in the still water. His ass lifted off the seat with each upward thrust then sank down onto her finger. Close, so very close, the world coalescing into just her finger and the hand squeezing him and touching him where no other ever will, where only love is allowed to tread now-

His cry broke the silence; Astarion looked down in time to see himself come. His seed decorated his stomach and chest as Ban stroked out every drop; a little missed him entirely and landed on the seat. He didn’t even care, riding the feeling, his grip on the boat finally falling slack as he sank down. Ban removed her finger as he did, fondling his balls one last time; she stroked him through the remnants of his release and then let go, returning briefly to clean his skin with a handkerchief.

He tugged her up to him for a rough, quick kiss. He slipped his tongue between her parted lips, exploring and tasting her. She moved to deepen the kiss; he allowed it for a fraction of a second, then pulled away after one last nip on her bottom lip. A tenday, he thought, intending to win this little game of theirs. Ban sighed in contentment and leaned against his chest. “Beautiful view indeed,” she mused.

“Thank you,” she murmured, smiling up at him. “I didn’t expect you to bring me here of all places, but… it is lovely.”

He was surprised and delighted; he gently placed a hand on her side, the fabric of her dress smooth against his palm. The boat had since come to a standstill, barely moving across the surface of the water, still and dark as though made of glass. He peered over and saw his own visage, something he hadn’t been able to do for so long and yet already felt so mundane.

“I didn’t bring us here expecting a conversation about all that; we’ve come here to take your mind off your family, which I am certain we have accomplished with a certain… panache,” he teased; this earned a quick smack to his knee, “and, well. Your mist form does need some practice.”

She let out a small pfft of feigned irritation, but wrapped her arms around him, pressing close and nuzzling against him; the boat shifted yet again at the movement. Astarion held her in turn, resting his head atop hers.

“Mm.” A kiss was placed over his breast, over his heart. She peered up at him, and he found her eyes so wonderfully soft and warm. “Again. Thank you, love. This… this was wonderful. Magical.”

He snorted. “If you want magical, darling, go ask Gale; I’m sure he would be more than happy to accommodate- Ban!” She shoved him and he held her tighter in response, a snicker escaping him.

“I fall, you fall,” he hissed, nipping at her neck, fangs grazing the skin.

“Isn’t it always just so,” Ban remarked, playfully mimicking his cadence, grasping Astarion’s nape, fingers stroking the errant curls on the base of his neck.

He leaned back into her touch, a soft shudder running through him. “I know I just came, but…”

“Not even a full hour and you’re admitting defeat?” Ban teased; her hand deliberately moved to touch the tip of one still-flushed ear.

“Of course not. Merely stating facts. Ah-ah,” he pulled the hand away, “no teasing. We’ll stick to kissing and… well. Cuddles,” he winced internally at the word, “would be acceptable too. At least until we begin the game in earnest.” Astarion tried for haughty but it came out tender; he sighed, frustrated.

“In hindsight, we ought to push it back until after everything’s over,” he suggested, a little cautiously. It wouldn’t do well to have this happening at the same time as Ban’s family’s visit; it was sure to dredge up a lot of unpleasant memories, and he intended to be there for her in every possible way. This would merely be a hindrance.

She was silent for a second, the mirth slipping away at the reminder. Then, she nodded. She offered him a small smile and mouthed Thank you. He returned it with a smile of his own, tender, his heart filled with an intense need to keep her smiling that way, no matter what.

Smitten, he thought to himself. There was no other word for it.

It may not be on the morrow, but he found himself rather excited for when they begin their little game.

It would be a long tenday.

Note: As part of the edits @editing-by-night and I are making on Whither, we have decided to shift into the past tense. Next week's chapter will be in that tense, and we shall be changing the tenses on the other chapters of Remember as well. No other edits will be made to Remember.

Bonus Song Rec for this chapter!

If you would like to see more of these two and their story, consider reading my other entries in the series "If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there: if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there."

I am happy to announce that 'Whither is thy beloved gone?' is getting professionally edited as well. I shall keep everyone abreast of when these changes go live. Thank you!

Taglist: @tavamarie @ayselluna @enterthedreams @coltaire @qiific3 @misscrissfemmefatale @vixstarria @eatyourheartoutmylove @linllewellyn @battisonsgf @micropoe10 @thegoodwitchs-blog @akirahime @velcyrptr @i-cant-get-into-my-other-account @babblebrain-blog @asterordinary @last-but-not-the-least @artist4theworld @gracemisconduct @decedentcoffeewizard @rootin-tootin-n-kind @pursuitseternal @youngtacobanana @krispeenuggiez @girlygmer-blog @cheezits4lyfe @vinegarjello @the0ldmann @wisteriaofthegraves @midnight-musings-of-nyx @toni-winchester @icybluepenguin @beepersteeper @hereliesblackdragon @generalstephkenobi

[marshmallowprotection]

Jihyun's new birthday CG is out! I am surprised that it doesn't fulfill the theme that we have used thus far, the theme of the characters being children. However, I'm going to comment on something that I don't think anybody is going to talk about since this is V, after all.

First of all, you guys should be jumping up and down at the moment because this is the first time he's ever had a kiss picture. I am so sorry it took this long for you guys to get a sweet kiss with your very tragic artist, but this is your lucky day. I never thought he was going to get kiss contents so I am pleasantly surprised in the best way. 

Second of all, as I saw this picture last night, the first thing that came to mind was that whatever painting was going to be on his easel, was going to be something significant in my head no matter what.

This is just my conclusion, and it's something that I'm going to continue to keep in my brain no matter what since it can't be proven one way or the other, but I do believe this painting is a recreation of the one he ripped to shreds after that final argument with his mother. 

Here's the crucial detail, he's not trying to recreate a one-for-one copy of what he created. I believe he is revisiting it because what is a better homage to his childhood than going back to the very thing that caused the Catalyst event in his life in the first place? He denied himself the ability to be the painter he wanted to be when he was young, and he said awful things to his mother that he could never take back. 

Revisiting something he tore to shreds would allow him the opportunity to have something substantial to look at, to say to himself, “I am no longer denying my creative process, and as I remake this painting that my mother loved, I want nothing more than to be able to feel that same liberating feeling I felt and tried to crush because I was too insecure to live my dream.” 

Even the event is him learning how to be a better partner who communicates with you. That's something he has to do in his good ending, and that's where this takes place. I want nothing more than for him to finally have some peace in his heart about what happened to his mother, and now that he's come full circle and learned that her sacrifice wasn't a sentiment he needed to take to heart as a lesson to never abandon people, even if those people hurt you. 

That wasn't why his mother sacrificed her life for him. She did that because she loved him and that was her only child. She was his mother and she loved him no matter what. The horrible words he said out of insecurity were never something she was upset about, she was saddened, more than anything.

She wanted her son to follow his dreams, even if one day he couldn't continue those dreams.

Much like how she had to stop her passionate career as a violinist because she wasn't sure how to continue playing after losing much of her hearing. But she still got to spend so many years of her life following her passion, and even if she couldn't continue it, she still had the chance to do it. She didn't want her son to snuff out his own passion well before he even tried. So, by revisiting that painting, doing it again, and putting back in what he's learned over the years, it's the opportunity of a lifetime to make peace with himself. 

He's living as himself and I think that's a nice way to tie in the childhood theme without actually having him be a child. It's not like we haven't had a photo of him as a child on the title screen before, actually, one of his last birthdays gave us a photo of him and his mother. 

[robo-milky]

What Could Have Been…

Art block struck but I wanted to be productive anyways, so I decided to revisit my very first concept of Cloche! I had some fun drawing this for myself, and it brought a lot of nostalgia to me. It was cool to try to translate old art into how I draw now, and comparing what changed.

[Notes]

- Honestly, I have NO idea what I was even going for with the fit- At the time the cat maid theme was integral to my persona but I also didn’t commit completely?? I still really like the short blazer but gosh the shorts and black leggings underneath- I think it’s a nice style but feels out of place as an altered school uniform. Gosh younger me was edgy (still am- but tbf, I’m sure at that time, I was focused on having fun since I was dipping my toes into TWST without having thoughts of commitment to the game or caring that much). The first thoughts I had in mind seeing this design again was like “ringleader? dominatrix? beast tamer?”. In a way, I still got some butler vibes from this. Could you tell I was fresh out of my JJBA era with this?

- “Silver Tongue” was meant to be this persona’s UM if she were an NRC student. You can bet it was OP 💀 From what I remember, if “Cloche” casts her UM and tells a lie, she’ll seamlessly be transported to an alternate universe where that lie comes true. She can continue to build up on her lies until they start to contradict, in that case, she’d be transported back to the original universe. This is why she keeps a notebook on her at all times, to keep track of each lie she tells.

- Since this was more of a persona, she definitely does not have the same personality the current Cloche does. I think I went for more of a manipulator route with this thing

- This was made before the cat maid curse idea, so she actually wears the cat ears and tail for funsies 💀 I thought it was a funny gag for people to think she’s a beastman until the headband slips off-

- Something off with the skin? No moles? That’s right! A certain area’s beauty standards were still ingrained heavily within me at the time 😔 Funnily enough, for Cloche, I did give her more features similar to me than this persona 💀 Seeing Cloche paler with a cooler skin undertone will always jump scare me in my old art.

- This design will always have a special place in my heart tbh, might actually revamp and reuse this— who knows

[nayru-s-clay-tablet]

Comic Retrospective: How They Met

What is it about?

"How They Met" is the 16 page comic of how Link and Navi met -- right after Link's uncle was killed.

It begins with Navi being convicted for theft by the Fairy Queen herself. Her punishment? She must go on a quest to help the current hero (aka Link) defeat the Sorceress. Basically as community service.

Ganondorf doesn't appear, so Navi is basically taking his place. All three of those goals discussed in earlier posts in this series are being met:

Exploring an aspect of their personalities

Looking at something new about them

Playing with their weird dynamic

A recipe for success... mostly.

Where did the idea come from?

These two have such a weird relationship, and I knew that they met each other under really insane circumstances. So, this comic has always been an idea in the back of my mind.

Navi is severely under-prepared for her role as guide and mentor -- however, even though Link is going through a lot, he's pretty easy to please. She just has to be sufficiently nice, give some direction, and appear confident.

In contrast, she had rather high expectations for him:

^ This dream was very short lived.

Favorite things about it?

First, the unusual color palette. It was based off of the different colors that fairies came in OoT and MM, as well as the Great Fairies and Fairy Queen in WW.

Also... Fairy Court.

The fact that it exists, the fact that it is called Fairy Court, which is probably the silliest name it could have... It vibes with me.

Would I make it again?

Yes, though I think I'd revisit a few of the jokes. Most of them are fine, but I was doing this very soon after Ghost Stories and the Christmas special in 2021. That was a lot! I needed to take a bit of a break in order to give the script a little more time.

But is this story canon?

Yes, and not only that, but there are a couple important details in the comic that will be in the final story arc of the main comic. If you can read or re-read this comic as the final storyline approaches, it'll pay off!

As a final note... while this comic had its up and downs, I am glad that the final panels are also some of my favorites:

[lifeonthemurdersim]

"Who kisses the other awake in the morning?"

"Neither. You wake up and he's staring at you."

Oh my god... Could you profundize this? I can't stop reading this, it's so... I am enthrilled. So, so enthrilled.

Thank you so much for this ask! To clarify for those reading, I gave the above answer when answering ship questions for Lawrence x Violet/Reader.

I started explaining further but then I recalled this was actually one of my unused ideas for my GoreKinktober series so I decided to revisit it as a short piece! I hope this gives the elaboration you were looking for! 😊

My Ecosystem Fandom/Universe: Boyfriend To Death Characters/Pairing: Lawrence Oleander x Reader (his POV) AO3 Link(full tags, warnings etc here) Word count: 1,203 words Synopsis: You're used to waking up to Lawrence watching you by now. What you're not so aware of, is why. Author's Note: This prompt is for the 24th but I'm posting on the 1st of November. More about Gorekinktober on my pinned post! Kinktober prompt(s) used: Somnophilia Goretober prompt used: N/A

Lawrence still isn't used to being this close to a living, breathing human for such a prolonged amount of time. It's a heady mix of overwhelming, being that there's just so much of you to take in, and so, so fascinating. A whole little ecosystem, in his bed, in his arms, that he wakes up to every evening.

He can see the vast expanse of beautiful skin cocooning you, enshrouding all those intriguing little organs; all buzzing away carrying out their functions as they're supposed to. Whatever encounter you once had with the river, it was obviously brief enough to leave you wonderfully untouched. You're not rotting like him, you're fresh, you're perfect.

Imagine if all that's inside of there was visible on the outside. It might not last for very long, but for that brief moment, where everything was still ticking but the whole of you was inside out, it would be glorious. He knew you better than anyone else he had ever encountered, so you wouldn't be another art piece discarded in a random stack nor hung clinically in an empty hall. He had passion for you, he loved you, if Lawrence made you art, you would be his masterpiece.

Although he supposed some part of him would like to see the inner workings of your mind, he'd have a little more time to see you functioning if he left your brain untouched. Actually, he thinks he would leave your face intact, too. He likes it exactly as it is, the shape, the features, especially soft when you're sleeping. Even a master artist couldn't improve upon it. Yes, he'd likely leave your entire head be, it's simply too pretty.

The rest though, he'd deconstruct with searing crimson lines, the first hint of the internal you emerging to the external. It would leave him in need of more. You'd need to be opened up all the way so you could be appreciated in every sense. He would slice deeper into your limbs, folding the muscle and sinew open neatly so see more of you, a larger surface area, but also the things that hadn't been seen before.

Then his focus would be your torso, he'd have to cut slowly so each organ was revealed bit by bit, he needed to savour every inch of you, every second of unwrapping you. The excessive length of your intestines would snake around your waist, forming elegant arcs swinging back and forth behind you like wings of an angel.

The liver has a nice texture when you cut into it, soft but with a little pushback. He could carve out slivers and hold them; they'd be like little brown slugs but ones that could never hurt his plants. He could rest them on your slumped shoulders like art. He could carve a firm L into it, a jagged O. His art needs a signature somewhere. The liver almost re-forms around the letters though. Maybe he would have to carve his initials into a few places on you, just to be sure.

The veins and arteries, though, he'd keep attached to your heart, only cutting where he had to. He'd arrange them like spokes, like a sunburst coming out from your chest, measuring the intervals carefully. If he presses a thumb to your wrist, he can feel them, throbbing gently with every beat of your heart. He brushes his hand up your arm slowly, gently, grazing your shoulder.

You shift slightly. Lawrence freezes up. But you don't stir, so he presses a hand to your chest. There it is. Pulsing under your shell. Imagine if those ribs could be cracked open, releasing the softly trilling little bird from its cage. How much firmer and louder would that beat be without those confines alone?

Better still, what if he could reach out and wrap his hand around it, really feel it? Would it be the slow steady beat it sits at while you dream away, or would the actions taken to lead him there render it to a dizzying pace? Would it become too much, too overwhelming? Would he have to squeeze it hard to get it to stop?

Or...

Would it already have fallen silent before he even got that far?

Never to be heard again.

Not just your heartbeat, either. Your soft assurances when he was spiralling. The pitter-patter of your footsteps as you tended to his plants. Your soft moans and whimpers when he was pleasuring you. The charming little rhythm of your laugh. Your loving words. Your voice in general.

Yes, at times just having another person around him was a lot for Lawrence. But having to live without this one specific person he'd become so attached to would be downright unbearable.

The silence would be overwhelming.

You were the only one who'd seen the river, the only one who really understood. This world wasn't real, but he was forced to exist in it until he allowed his body to decay entirely. But having you around made it bearable. More than bearable.

Good.

He absolutely wanted to do it. He wanted you to be his work of art, his best work. But there was too much to risk, so he couldn't. He wouldn't. But sometimes, he really really wants to. He leans a little closer to you, hoping that will stave off the urge, only for your eyes to blink open. You both jump a little. The thumping of your heart under his hand quickens.

"L-Lawrence!" you stutter out, then exhale to try to calm, he feels it in your chest. "I... never get used to you doing that..."

"Oh..." he replies. "...sorry?" He's not sure if he is sorry, but it feels like maybe he's worried you, so he's supposed to say it.

"It's... OK I guess..." you tell him, softening into the hand at your chest a little. You raise both brows at him. "Did watching me sleep... turn you on?" you ask, looking him up and down.

Lawrence looks at you with confusion at first, but then he allows himself to step out of his detached thoughts and actually feel his body. His cheeks are warm; blushing most likely, all his skin is heated and prickling. His heart is racing faster just like yours, but it's not just from you making each other jump, his breathing is deeper than usual. Probably the most evident part to you, there's a very evident bulge in his sweatpants. While he was busy disassociating into fantasies of tearing you open, his body was flooding with arousal.

"Yeah..." he admits a little breathily. "I... guess it did." A slight smile graces your lips. You come closer, the kind that verges on overwhelming, but right now he wants it, your proximity, your touch. You roll him softly onto his back, straddling him.

"It's a good job I woke up then, isn't it?" you ask suggestively as you push his hair back, smiling down at him.

Lawrence thinks of his imagined you, lying bleeding and wide open and lifeless in his mind. Then he looks at the real you, flushed and adoring and very much alive on top of him.

"Yes." he agrees, smiling back. "It really is..."

[dbmars]

NOW ON A03...

The H-Files, Episode 1 Part 1

Relive everything you loved about the pilot of the X-Files but better now that it's Hannibal as Scully and Will as Mulder... "Spooky Graham"...!

The aliens may be responsible for Will's empathy powers, and Mischa was abducted...

If I get a decent response/support I'll finish the episode and maybe write some more!

No time like the present. I make my way back through the violent crime section, and downstairs, revisiting the secretary. She directs me to an elevator that sinks me down to the first sub-basement level. The doors open and I move through the cinder block hallway that smells of industrial floor cleaner and wet ceiling tiles. At the end of the hallway, past shelves of case file boxes, is an office door cracked open. The placard reads GRAHAM. I can hear shuffling within, the movement of a chair. My nose wrinkles against cheap aftershave and stale coffee.

        I knock. I knock again. “Sorry, nobody down here but the FBI’s most unwanted,” comes a wry voice. 

        I push the door open, revealing a small, windowless room packed with filing cabinets and shelves of still more files and paperwork. Despite what must be the vast amount of material crammed into the space, it is remarkably tidy, stacks neatly organized, lines clean. The bulletin board above the desk, however, is a mess of photos and handwritten notes. My eye is immediately drawn to a large poster of a science-fiction style flying disc, emblazoned with the phrase “I WANT TO BELIEVE.” 

        They don’t look like inverted bowls. More like saucers, thin and fragile, somehow meant to support an even more fragile teacup. 

        Against my will, my mind shows me the images that have haunted me most of my life – my mother’s teacup shattering against the floor, the white light filling every window of our hunting lodge, my sister’s screams, the whining, mechanical hum of the silver beast that descended from the heavens. My mother’s terrified shrieking as I raced out to save my sister, only to be rendered weightless, floating in searing blindness, and borne away. 

        I slam that door in the memory palace and attach another lock to it. They seem to rust and break at the most inopportune times.

         Agent Will Graham is bent over a light box, examining a series of slides. He, too, seems to forego the typical FBI uniform of dark suits and white shirts with uninteresting ties. He looks more like a rumpled professor or domesticated outdoorsman in brown pants and a green collared shirt that could just as easily be worn for yard work. His hair is curly, untidy in places, and he wears a layer of scattered stubble. When he turns to me, Will Graham lowers his tortoiseshell glasses down from his head. Fascinating. Nearsighted? 

        I give him my best introduction smile, oozing friendliness and ease. “Agent Graham. My name is Hannibal Lecter.” I approach and offer a hand. He shakes it very briefly, and a shadow flickers over his expression as I hold on just a little too long for his comfort. “I’ve been assigned to work with you.” 

         He glances at my eyes for a fraction of a second before turning his head, putting the frames of his glasses between us as a barrier. “Nice to, ah, suddenly be so highly regarded,” he says, all barbed irony. Rude. He turns in his seat and fiddles with the slides, deliberately disengaging. Ruder still. “So, who’d you piss off to get stuck with this detail, Lecter?” 

    He knows full well why I am here, it seems. Rather, why I’ve been sent. But they could have sent anyone. I was not chosen at random. There are multiple chess pieces moving at the same time on a three-dimensional board, and I have control of the queens. I am here because I seek truth. Because I cannot trust my memories – they might be nothing but a traumatized child’s nightmares, a wounded brain trying to explain what happened the night the world went away. Will Graham may very well be the lantern to light my way.

         “As it happens, I’ve heard a lot about you,” I say pleasantly as he gets up from his desk chair and opens a tidy file cabinet drawer, thumbing through the immaculate plastic tabs. I wonder if his drawers at home are kept just as meticulously. “I’m looking forward to working with you.”

         “Really? I was, ah, under the impression you were sent here… to spy on me.” He opens the file and glances through a few typewritten pages before returning it to its proper place. I let my eyes wander over him as he stands in profile. I’d jump at the chance to spy on him. Voyeurism is one of my favorite parts of my process - to see without being seen. To stalk. I imagine him moving through his assuredly modest home, stretching, scratching his head, sleepy. Ready for bed in, oh, a pair of dull boxer shorts. I think of him illuminated by the light of his refrigerator as he searches for a little something before bed, uplit by its unholy glow as I watch him through the window.

            Interesting. My body is responding sexually to the image. I wipe it away as though I’d drawn it in steam on a mirror. “Agent Graham, if you have any doubts about my credentials or qualifications-”

            “-you’re a medical doctor and you’re teaching at the academy.” He interrupts me. Rude. Instead of imagining my knife piercing his skin, I picture him on his knees, waiting to make it up to me. Again, I force the image to dissolve. “You did your undergraduate degree in physics, while, ah, concurrently double majoring in psychology and art history with a focus on Renaissance Italy.” He selects another file from the cabinet and slides the drawer shut. “I dunno about your artsy stuff, but your senior thesis was ‘Einstein’s Twin Paradox: A New Interpretation’. Now, there’s a credential: rewriting Einstein.” 

            I successfully mask my surprise that he’s so familiar with my work. “Did you happen to read it?”

            He returns to his desk chair and compares something in the file to a slide. I glance over at his computer screen as he bends over to retrieve a dropped report from the file. I make out the words force, abduction, and light before he rights himself. “Yeah. I liked it,” he says, still not looking at me directly, the rims of his glasses in the way. “It’s just that in, ah… in my line of work – the laws of physics rarely seem to apply.” He adjusts another slide, then turns on the projector, flashing a washed-out image on the blank bit of cinder block wall kept clear, it seems, for this purpose. He has a curve to his lips on one side that strikes me as impudent. I want to wipe it off his face, one way or another.

            “Not fond of eye contact, are you?” I say, an attempt to derail and destabilize. 

            Now he swivels in his chair and looks directly at me. His eyes are like the ocean between islands in Greece. “Eyes are distracting. You see too much. You don’t see enough. And it’s hard to focus when you’re thinking those whites are really white, or they must have hepatitis, or is that a burst vein?”

            I can’t help but smile, returning his gaze steadily. 

            “So… yeah. I try to avoid eyes whenever possible. It’s even easier in the dark.” Agent Graham steps behind me and switches off the lights. The windowless cell is lit now only by the projected image – a young woman, lifeless on the ground. Ah. I had wondered when we’d discuss murder. While Will Graham is apparently very aware of my career and accomplishments, he doesn’t know of my finest work as the Chesapeake Ripper. Perhaps, someday, he will. 

            Will leans his hips against his desk, crossing his arms over his midsection. It catches the loose fabric of his shirt, drawing it against the bow of his back. Distracted again. I refocus on the image he’s elected to show me. “Maybe you can give your medical opinion, though,” he says. “Oregon female. Age twenty-one. No explainable cause of death. Nothing in the autopsy.” He switches slides, showing me a close-up shot of the young woman’s lower back, marred by two livid red welts. According to the ruler nearby for scale, they are roughly the size of an American dime. “Two distinct marks, however, are found on her lower back. Can you ID these marks… Dr. Lecter?”

            I move closer to the projected image. Despite not liking eye contact, I can feel him watching me. Perhaps he has some voyeuristic tendencies as well. “Needle punctures, perhaps. An animal bite. Electrocution is a possibility.” 

            When he switches slides again, I hide my surprise. It is not the body from another angle, but a diagram showing a chemical compound. 

            “How’s your chemistry? This is the substance found in the surrounding tissue.”

            I study the image, my brain humming steadily. I do love a challenge, and I find them so rarely. “It’s inorganic. Perhaps a synthetic protein.”

            “Hell if I know,” Agent Graham says. 

            “That’s surprising. You must have had your fair share of chemistry studying entomology. Your monograph on determining time of death based on insect activity required a high level of understanding to compose, I’m sure.” 

            “By all means, be sure,” he snarks, but the subtle pink staining his cheekbones tells me he’s pleased I’m familiar with his work as well. “I’ve never seen it, either. But here it’s found again, in Sturgis, South Dakota.” He switches slides, this one depicting a large man in a motorcycle club vest with the same two raised welts on his back. He switches again, showing me another male body with the same marks in the same place, spanning the thoracolumbar fascia and the internal oblique muscles. “And again, in Shamrock, Texas.”

            A true mystery. This is delightful. I haven’t had an afternoon so pleasant since I murdered the man sent to evaluate me by my life insurance agency and stretched his corpse across two rows of bus seats. “Do you have a theory?” 

            “I have, ah… plenty of theories,” he dismisses, joining me in front of the projected image, the dead man’s outline juxtaposed over him, throwing the kind of light that both obscures and reveals. His forehead bears a gentle shimmer of perspiration, and I can smell more of him now, the scent beneath the cheap aftershave – dogs, fresh splits of pine, machine oil, and something sweet I’d need more time and a closer proximity to identify. He doesn’t look at me, turning his head to the side a few degrees to let the slide’s light catch on the lenses of his glasses instead. “What has me stumped is why Bureau policy is to label these cases as unexplained phenomena and ignore them.” 

            I can sense the rumble of anger beneath his sardonic tone, taut with frustration. 

            “So, Dr. Lecter, do you believe in the existence of… extraterrestrials?” He says it with a wry twist that might be a kind of bitter smile. I tilt my head. “As a scientist,” he prompts, leaving me to lean against the edge of his desk again. 

            “Logically, I’d have to say no.” I do strive to tell the truth in my own way. Logically, I shouldn’t. But I am here because I need his help with the illogical – to determine, once and for all, if something happened to me, or I happened. “Given the distances needed to travel from the far reaches of space, the energy requirements would exceed–”

            He interrupts, shaking his head. “Conventional wisdom. That girl in Oregon – she’s the fourth member of her graduating class to die under mysterious circumstances. When convention and-and science offer no answers, might we not consider the, ah, the fantastic as a plausibility?” 

            He tested me at first, showing me the chemical compound and the crime scene photos. Now, he wants to make the boundaries clear. Impudent. Wants to get a rise out of me, surely, to define the methods of interaction. 

            My answer is mild, clinical, the kind of voice I’d use if I’d chosen to become a psychiatrist. “The girl is dead. Death occurs for a reason.” Sometimes, I am that reason. “If it was natural causes, then it’s plausible something was missed in the postmortem. If she was murdered, it’s plausible there was a sloppy investigation. What I find fantastic is your willingness to sidestep human error and search for answers beyond the realm of science. The answers are there, I’m sure. You just have to know where to look.” I raise an eyebrow to add in the sentence I won’t let my mouth say. Apparently, you don’t know where to look. Or you want me to think you don’t know where to look. 

            Agent Graham looks at me now, a brief glance up through his side-lit lenses. His left eye is illuminated as well, making it unearthly blue and leaving the other subdued, its subtle green and brown tones shimmering through the dominant color. He smiles, the most genuine expression I’ve seen yet, and I’m momentarily distracted by his beauty. It’s like visiting the Louvre, making one’s way quickly to see a great work before a crowd forms, and catching sight of an exquisite but uncelebrated painting in a forgotten side gallery that makes one lose all sense of purpose, the internal compass spinning and spinning. 

            “And that’s why they put the I in FBI.” He breaks away and sinks back into his desk chair, rolling over to the glowing blue screen of his computer monitor. “See you bright and early then, Dr. Lecter. We leave for the, ah, the very plausible state of Oregon at 8 am.” 

            I can’t help but smile back, a beam of pleasure, as he turns away from me and begins clacking at the keys. “Until then, Will.”

            I’ve taken a risk, demanding a first name basis. He makes no comment, waves a hand over his shoulder.

            I take my leave and hurry home to pack. 

[stargazer-sims]

In The City of Love

Belle: Excuse me!

Belle: Hello, parents! Is that necessary?

Davian: As a matter of fact, it was.

Félix: We are in the City of Love, after all.

Belle: Yeah, City of Love, not city of lust.

Davian: Hey! How do you know what lust is?

Belle: You and Félix are my parents. Do you think you really need to ask that?

Davian: No, seriously.

Belle: I'm ten years old and I know how to read at a university level. I find out stuff. Plus, you should visit the trailer park sometime. You can learn a lot, hanging out with Dylan and Nadim.

Davian: No thanks. I had enough of the Willow Creek trailer park when I was a kid. And now I'm not sure I want you visiting Junior any more when he's over there with Dylan and his boy toy.

Belle: *giggling* Boy toy.

Félix: We can discuss all of this when we're back at home.

Davian: Right. This trip is supposed to be all about fun.

Belle: And minimal embarrassing public displays of affection.

Félix: Belle, the last time Davian and I were here was when we were expecting you. We have a lot of nostalgia for this place. We'll try to restrain ourselves, but a few public displays of affection may be inevitable.

Belle: I thought you went to Tartosa while you were expecting me.

Davian: We did, at Christmas, but we came here in February. I got a contract offer that I couldn’t turn down, and Félix didn’t want me to leave him, so…

Belle: But, my birthday is in March. You must've been like, super pregnant or... whatever it's called when you have a science baby. It couldn't have been much fun to be here.

Félix: I had a few good days, although I'll admit it would've been more fun if I hadn't been so tired and uncomfortable. I'd say 'super pregnant' is an accurate description.

Davian: So much so, he actually needed a note from a doctor to say it was okay for him to travel.

Belle: Really?

Félix: We were here during the week of Valentine's Day, and you weren't supposed to be born until the eighteenth of March. We thought there'd be plenty of time between our trip and the date my surgery was scheduled for.

Davian: Except there wasn't. We were home for... what? Maybe less than a week before you started having problems?

Félix: Which were entirely my own fault, in retrospect.

Davian: You weren't going wild at the love hotel by yourself, you know, and we weren't exactly taking it easy when we got home either. I'd say it was partly my fault too.

Belle: Eww! Love hotel!

Félix: The important thing is, we got home safely and it all worked out in the end. We may have had you a little earlier than we anticipated, Belle, but I promise nobody was complaining.

Davian: The moment I saw you, I said to myself 'that is a princess'.

Félix: He did, honestly. The first words out of his mouth when he saw you were, 'our princess is here'.

Belle: I'd rather be an archaeologist than a princess.

Félix: We know, but you'll always be a princess to us. Besides, princess and archaeologist aren't mutually exclusive.

Davian: We're going to make this trip as much about you as it is about us, okay? We want you to have a fun time and learn a lot. Félix and I have some memories to revisit here, but we want to make a bunch of new ones with you, too.

Belle: I don't mind if you want to revisit old memories or whatever, but can you promise me one thing?

Davian: What is it?

Belle: No going to the love hotel, okay?

Davian: And leave you alone at our rental? I promise that's totally not going to happen. You don't have to worry.

Belle: Good.

Félix: Speaking of the rental, we should check the address and see if we can find it before dark. If it's not too far, I think it'd be nice to walk there.

Davian: Sounds good, and if it is far away, maybe we can hail one of those pink taxis.

Belle: Ooh pink taxis? Even if we can walk to the rental, we have to ride in a pink taxi at least once before we go home.

____________

BONUS: Here is their rental house!

[storiesbyjes2g]

3.134 Parenting

Once Desiree was satisfied, I placed her in the bassinet, snapped a picture to send to everyone, and called Mama. Naturally, she thought I was still at the hospital, so I told her our heroic tale of home birth. It upset her at first because anyone in their right mind would have been concerned about giving birth unassisted. But in the end, she said she was proud of me. Dad was still over there, so she told him of his new granddaughter, and he came over immediately. Sophia was supposed to be resting, but was much too excited to sleep and eager to spend time with Desi. I mean, she was probably the best baby ever born, so I didn't kick back too much when she appeared at the door when Dad arrived. She promised to go to bed as soon as he left.

"She's beautiful, son. I'm really happy for you both."

"Thanks, Dad."

Knowing Sophia couldn't sleep because she wanted to hold our daughter, I probably should have given Desi up, but I couldn't part with her. At least not yet. I asked if Dad wanted to hold her because it was the right thing to do, but I was glad he declined. He, like me, was skittish about holding her, even after having two children of his own. The more I held her, the more comfortable I became. At that rate, I'd be a professional newborn handler in no time.

"When you were a toddler," he began, "I was still afraid of you. Of course, you were bigger and less fragile then, but I had never really been around children before and didn't know what to do with you."

Looking back, I saw evidence of that all the way through our childhood. He was naturally a laid-back guy, but his parenting style was also very hands off. He basically let us do whatever we wanted, only stepping in when it was critical or we came to him. Mama was kind of passive too, but she checked in with us from time to time to see how things were going and how she could help. What kind of parent did I aspire to be? I certainly couldn't see myself as a helicopter, but I think I'd like to be less be passive. Only time would tell what I'd become.

"I learned quickly how fickle children are at that age and was deathly afraid of you having a tantrum, so I tried to talk to you nicely when it was time for a bath or whatever I needed you to do. You thought it was funny and would mock me."

"Really?? I did that?"

"Sure did."

"I bet you were so adorable," Sophia said.

"He was. They both were. And now you both have your own. I wish I had more time to see them grow up, but I'm happy just knowing they exist."

"Don't talk like that, Dad."

"I'm old, Luca. I won't be around forever."

Sad doggie whimpers saved me from that conversation. It's not that I didn't realize my parents had gotten on in age, but I didn't want to discuss it yet. I was still high from becoming a parent for the first time. He could burst my bubble after my birthday, and he better not die before then.

"What's the matter, Rosie? Did you hear the baby? You have a little sister now. Come here. Let's get you introduced."

I put down Des, picked up Rosie, and brought her to the bassinet.

"This is Desiree. She's gonna be your new playmate soon, and I'm gonna get you and Kooper some treats so you can play with her for a really long time."

She licked my face, so I guess she forgave me. I hadn't completely neglected them, but she and Kooper definitely got lost in the shuffle.

"We still love you and Koop. You were our first babies! But this baby is gonna need a lot of help, so don't think I don't love you if we don't go jogging every day, okay?"

"You're such a good daddy," Sophia said.

I think I detected a hint of flirt in there, but I kept that thought to myself. Maybe when she wasn't struggling to keep her eyes opened I'd revisit, heh. She excused herself to go to bed a few minutes later. Desiree began fussing again, but I didn't have to guess what she needed that time; I could smell it. Dad had gone downstairs, probably to see what he could do around the house to help, so it was on me to get Little Miss Lady cleaned up. It was surprisingly not that hard. At least I hope I did it right.