#it has to be 12 hours in one go without quitting

[feather-flavored-melancholy]

So apparently if you play Voices of the Void continuously for an excessive amount of time (I think something like a 12 hours continuous, nonstop session), a door spawns in and starts chasing you. It has no collision and can go through any obstacle, and upon touching the player model, it immediately crashes the game.

The dev forcefully evicts you from the game so you can take a damn break.

Funniest shit I've ever seen.

[inkskinned]

the car broke down by the denny's where you used to work and therefore could never return to. i am trying to pick out the satisfying parts of my life, one-by-one, like i am 12 and in a frog dissection. everything in my life all viscera and formaldehyde. if i can sort the good things from the bad things, i will have a nice clean pile.

i call you and make it sound like i am happy and hangin' in there! when really i am kicking a rock and i am outside without a jacket and i am so in love with you it makes the little bones in my ear shake. someone called my tinnitus an angel choir. i like that it means i carry the echo of every concert.

this isn't the right setting for love. this is a roadside, and a denny's, and i am nauseous and ashamed i never escaped the town where i grew up. the clouds here are this strange yellow, like spilled sour milk. "someone once told me that the orange coating on the teeth of a beaver is due to the particularly high rate of iron in their enamel," i tell you. "the beaver is the largest rodent native to north america."

your voice is crackly on the other end. i'm going into a garage soon, i might lose you.

what i should be doing is calling the tow truck and explaining that my brother's car (that i'm borrowing) (that i broke now, i guess) needs to be lifted by another, bigger, stronger car (which is love too, i guess).

i shouldn't say so much. i should wait, and let you ask about my mom, and ask if i ever got over that cold, or how it's going at work. i should let you lead the conversation, for once, so the love doesn't leak out of me into the gravel. i open my mouth anyway. "if you had to choose between being a beaver with very few trees or being a tree around a bunch of beavers, which would it be?"

i don't know. your voice always has this warm cast to it when you talk to me, but maybe i am just imagining that - i am a poet, though, so i imagine things sort of chronically. through the static, you sound like you're laughing. are you the beaver?

i know, like, logically, not to fall in love with a girl-that-is-your-best-friend. like, who would i even call if we broke up? you're my best friend, you're the person i'd want to speak to. so what if these last few months we keep sleeping over at each other's houses, calling each other for hours, sending each other poems. so what if you keep wrapping your fingers into mine. no best friends. that is the first rule. what you are supposed to do in that situation is leave the situation.

but my car broke down, so. where exactly am i going to go? the car is a very-old chevvy and also where i almost-but-not-quite kissed you after you'd raised one shoulder and looked up at me and said i don't know, i think i'm straight, but for the right person - i'd try anything. the music had been good and it had been raining and your thick eyelashes had made me feel god crawling up my throat like a spider. and i didn't kiss you, because i am a coward.

anyway on the chevy the whole exhaust pipe fell out, and is now scraping on the ground like one silver finger stroking the back of the highway. recently we were watching netflix in my bed and you pushed my hair back from my face like you were making the slowest, most desperate prayer, and then your boyfriend called. i remember us both jumping. i couldn't look at you in the eyes for like a week after. i kept feeling the heat of your fingerprint; computer science, you'd unlocked something dark in me.

google says the closest tow (joe's pick up) is 50 minutes away and also closed permanently. so that's not great. you live in another state and i should be calling my insurance company. i should be calling anybody else. this is not helping. i need an uber. i need to get moving. instead i say: "i need three words for a poem."

yesterday i said love you, goodnight after our 2 hour call like always and then you just, like. paused. all i could hear was your breathing. and then you'd said what a pretty three-word poem. i love you too, sweet thing. the words made my tinnitus act up again, and i must have some kind of synesthesia, because the sound travelled into my mind until it became the shape wedding rings.

orange, you say. the static is now chewing through most of your words and i only catch - borrowing the chevy -

the call dies. i have 12% battery. i never get the 3rd word, but i know you're still going to get a poem from me. actually this rest stop is kind of pretty, and so is the exhaust pipe, and so is joe's pick up, and so are the clouds. the light here is the color of a glue trap. before you worked at the denny's, we used to get milkshakes every wednesday and called it a friend date. you said you'd wanted to work there because it reminded you of me.

the sign's gone dim. the letters now spell out deny. and isn't that something.

[moonlight-records]

Because I Liked A Boy | LN4 (PSDE)

pairing: reader x LN4

summary: You were known as the one who tamed Mr. Playboy of the paddock and for a moment, you thought you had. Then everything goes sideways and suddenly you regret what you've done all because you liked a boy.

warning: angst. so much angst. break-up, player!lando, OOC Oscar?? it's based off the song, sorry not sorry

a/n: welcome to the playlist series, deluxe edition! i put my stim playlist on shuffle and picked the first 12 songs that was played (last two songs are bonus songs!). yes the titles are the songs, whoops

wc: 1.9K

song 1 out 12: because i liked a boy by Sabrina Carpenter

You and Lando had “broken up” right before Baku. Aka, Lando had dumped you right before Singapore which was horrible because he had given you tickets to the race. He let you keep the tickets, thank god, but you would’ve easily sold them if your flight was refundable but the asshole had done it quite literally 24 hours after they hit the non-refundable mark so you decided to go.

That was the first mistake you made. The news broke right after qualifiers when Lando was spotted with another girl at a club.Then the rumors spread that night about how Lando and this girl were a thing first. That you were nothing more but a psycho. Obsessed. A “proud mistress.” A homewrecker. A slut. You decided that it wasn’t worth the energy because you knew the truth and that things would blow over within a week or two.

That was mistake number two because by the second week (and the first week into summer break),  you were still getting hate and death threats directed at you or about you and it was too late to attempt to clear your name. You were thankful for the handful of fans who defended you and found it really odd Lando decided to just let himself be seen with another girl instead of announcing his split beforehand since clearly this girl came after you but there was nothing to do now to change the public’s view of you.

Clearly, it showed that Lando really did not care for you as much as you thought so you decided to do yourself the favor and just disappear. You deactivated all your socials and only told your close friends you were going on a social media detox. Your family were going on a mini vacation when in reality you found yourself waltzing into

Plopping down on the couch, you run your fingers through your hair before letting your head hang. Your fingernails dig into your scalp and suddenly your sweats are wet from the tears falling onto them before dragging your hands down and silently crying into a mix of  your hands and hair. You tried to figure out what had happened.

What has gone wrong?

You swore that you and Lando were happy. Sure, the long distance at times was rough and the time zones felt killer but you had held strong. You were convinced that you two could make it to the postseason and the few month or two that you two had together would help immensely. Still, you had been warned to keep him at a distance. That Lando was nothing more but a player and a heartthrob that moved on when he was bored but you swore that you were the one and for a bit, you were fooled into believing it along with everyone else.

It was almost a year. A fucking year basically you spent with Lando before he decided to dump you. A year of fucked up sleep schedules and sleepless nights. A year of traveling to go see these races. A year of meeting his friends and slowly being integrated into his world just for it to come crashing down. God, how stupid were you? You had poured so much energy into this boy just to be the one that got hurt in the end. What you would’ve give to punch him in his stupid fa—

“Here.”

You look up to be greeted with a carton of ice cream. You take the carton without a second thought, top flung off, and spoon diving in. You grunts slightly as you struggle but you manage to be victorious as you get a spoonful. The couch shifts next to you and tears immediately swell again when there’s a gentle comforting hand rubbing soothing circles on your back.

“…I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you mumble while shaking your head before shoving another mouthful of ice-cream into your mouth, “you tried to warn me. I didn’t listen. This is the consequence of my action.” You laugh bitterly, “God maybe I really am nothing more than a naive hopeless romantic who can’t pick a good guy to save my own life.”

“Don’t say that, y/n.” You can hear the frown as you look over, “you aren’t naive. You see the good in everyone and I admire that about you greatly. You saw the best in him,” gently brushing some hair out of your face. “But he’s never going to change unless he wants to. Sadly, he doesn’t and you got burned in the end because he’s too busy being a player.”

Wrapping his arm around your shoulder, he pulls you into his side. “You’re too good for him.” Pressing a gentle kiss to your temple, “Now. Do you want a trashy movie or trashy TV?”

“Trashy TV. Maybe that new mom documentary about those Mormon moms from tiktok?”

You snicker slightly at the . “The what documentary?”

“Do you seriously not keep up with these things?”

“No.”

“We really have to change that.”

Summer break had come and gone. You had done a lot of crying and snacking but you had also done a lot of healing. You think you’ve done a lot of healing anyway but today would be the deciding factor.

Your stomach twisted and turned as you watched the destination time get lower and lower the closer you arrived to the Austin track. You glance out the window anxious before looking back at your phone. When you arrive, you thank the driver as you climb out, holding your purse just a bit tighter before making your way to one of the back entrances you knew existed. Nobody in the media knew about it so you got into the paddock undetected from the media as you started your journey to a certain garage.

You’re so close to your destination before you’re finally spotted. “Y/N?”

You freeze hearing the familiar British accent behind you. His voice sounded surprised. You should just keep walking, you’re so close to your destination but your body betrays you as you turn. You study those stormy green eyes that seem to grow a bit colder seeing you here. You ball your hands into fists, nails digging into your pal to keep from crying. He didn’t deserve that from you.

You silently stare at Lando, who was in his cream sweatshirt from his new academic merch drop and some joggers along with that stupidly beautiful mullet. God, you swore that Aphrodite herself had hand sculptured Lando which would explain why you could not find it in you to hate his looks. Instead, you clear your throat, “can I help you?”

Lando decides to save both of you the trouble and cuts right through the bullshit. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to support my friend.”

“Friend? Seriously?” Lando looks around then back at you, “last time I checked we weren’t even acquaintances. Hell, are we talking again?”

Anger simmered in your stomach but you kept it at bay, “Why would you think I was talking about you?”

Lando seemed a bit surprised by that, “Well, you aren’t really close with anyone else here,” he let out a small chuckle. “The boys might’ve liked you but I’ve known them longer.”

“Well, maybe some of them weren’t happy with how you let things end. I mean, with your new fling starting rumors about me being a homewrecker and such even though when all that went down we’d already broke up. Yet you didn’t have the balls to say that to the media, did you?”

Lando grits his teeth, “I never told her to—”

“Doesn’t matter,” you cut in. “You let the rumors spread. You let the fire grow. You never denied the rumors or told her it was wrong. You didn’t even tell the media we broke up before that night. Now I’m just the homewrecking slut when she came into the picture after me. Seemed like she was doing a lot of projecting and yet, here we are.”

You cross your arms over your chest staring the Brit down. Silence falls upon the two of you and you’re ready to leave before an arm is slung over your shoulder startling you and Lando. “There you are.”

“Oscar!” You exclaim and smile, “hey.”

“What the fuck are you doing?” Lando interjects.

“Excuse me?” Oscar asks, “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Spare me, Oscar. Why the hell are you inviting Y/N knowing damn well we broke up just a little over a month ago.”

You can feel your heart twist as Lando speaks. His words were like a knife that would stop at nothing until you were nothing more than a shell of yourself wallowing in pain occasionally through the numbness.

“Well, Y/N and I are friends and I invited her as my guest this weekend so…” he lets his words trail off for a moment.

“When did you and Y/N become friends?”

“When you decided to treat her like trash and tossed her to the side for some random girl probably after you just for your fame and money.”

The silence that followed Oscar’s comment was suffocating. Your jaw was opened a little while you stared at the Aussie in pure awe while Lando’s jaw had dropped to the floor. He quickly regained some of his composure, still unsure how to respond to his teammate and friend (maybe?) remark but Oscar wasn’t done.

“I mean, come on. Y/N is great. Everyone loves her. Everyone looked forward to seeing her. She stayed up countless nights for you. Rearranged her schedules to visit. Hell, she didn’t know anything about F1 until you and worked her ass off to learn your profession. What’s the thank you gave her for almost a year of your life? Some random girl at the club? Seriously?” Oscar shakes his head, “Mate, I love you but I’m not gonna side with you. You fucked up. You picked a girl who’s known to be a celebrity hopper over someone who gave you everything and you want me to side with you and the celebrity hopper? Who has to slander other girls and put them down so nobody focuses on how fast she moves on?? No thanks.”

You stare up at Oscar in awe for coming to your defense. You feel tears starting to swell because this has probably been the worst month in your life and here was Oscar, reminding you first hand that there were people in your corner. That there were people who saw you for you. Who knew the kind hearted person you were. The one who gave it their all until they couldn’t give anymore. The one who saw the good in everyone and loved way too much and never got the same energy in return. You avert your eyes quickly when Oscar’s gaze meets your and you clear your throat. “You should head back to your garage before they look for you. I’ll meet you there.”

“You sure?” Oscar asks.

“Yeah!”

Oscar nods, “Okay,” he glances at Lando but doesn’t bother saying goodbye. They’d see each other soon enough.

You watch Oscar leave before turning to look at Lando, unsure what to say. It seems he was in the same boat as you both stood there awkwardly.

“Well.” You start finally.

“I didn’t mean—”

“Save it.” You hold a hand up, looking away from him, “please. I don’t. The damage has been done, Lando. It’s over. You’ve already told me who I am from your actions. Just…have a good weekend,” You turn and head to Oscar’s garage without a second glance back at the man who was once your everything.

[starrycassi]

Fluff jayvik hcs because why the fuck not.

Jayce is the in-universe equivalent to Latino. This is not a headcanon I'm Chris Lane himself.

Outside of their hex work, Viktor is quite fond of biology. He appreciates learning about evolution and how many different life forms deal with the same problems but face it in different ways. He is that one bug lover in every campus. Particularly fond of butterflies. He's got a few pinned down on his wall. Jayce finds it sort of creepy but keeps quiet.

Jayce is a geology nerd. He started getting into it while searching for a mineral that could resemble the first "stone" given to him by the mage when he was about 12. This was his very first theory: the arcane is actually stored in rocks and can be extracted like gold or such. It was clearly wrong but left him with a vast knowledge of just rocks. He has a million little chips around his bedroom. He fears the day he has to move because they're all heavy as fuck when combined.

Jayce is actually really athletic. But, like, for health benefits. He does appreciate his own body and WILL flex it if given the opportunity, but it's not the main reason why he exercises/works out (yes I know the forge bla bla I'm talking when he finally becomes a scientist guys). He wants to live a long life to take care of his mom, and knows that a good physique would make that easier.

Jayce ends up annoying Viktor into agreeing to do some low-impact stretches with him when they spend more than 24 hours just sitting around in the lab. And I'm talking VERY low impact. Wrist stretches, shoulder openers, some neck looseners. He's actually really patient and caring when they do this, and Viktor has definitely fallen a little bit more in love with each muscle movement.

Expanding on that: after 48 hours of work he Will Get The Zoomies. This ends up in Viktor, sitting peacefully, counting down the pushup reps Jayce is doing. He needs to get rid of all that energy and Viktor is more than happy to help. Especially when Jayce eventually starts taking out his shirt to do his little routines.

Jayce likes psychology and general health. He is really in tune with his own emotions in the show, okay? This man is reading self help books in his spare time. A lot of time the theory doesn't actually make it to his heart but at least he understands it. Viktor finds the chemistry side of psychology interesting, but is not that interested in the rest of it. Basically psychology vs psychiatrist ig.

They're both dinosaur nerds. Jayce is a big fan of their diets/possible mating rituals while Viktor is obsessed with fossils and evolution. Jayce likes flying specimens more, while Viktor is partial to the marine ones.

Viktor's one and only loved physical activity is swimming. Takes the weight off his leg and spine for a second. One of the few "luxuries" he owns is a decently sized bathtub with all the proper accommodations to get in and out without help.

Viktor is a snake person. They're easy to care for (if you just follow the right steps), easy to transport, don't require that much physical effort, will not wreck his house while he's gone, et cetera. Of course he doesn't have a twelve feet venomous one. Probably more of a cornsnake/Rosy boa guy. Which also means that the first time Jayce visits his apartment, the man almost dies in five consecutive heart attacks.

Jayce would definitely love a golden retriever I'm sorry he truly is the living bisexual boy stereotype. Physical affection, a good excuse to go outside for a run, force him to keep a routine. I actually think he would never own one on his own because he knows his schedule is way too fucked up for a pet, but Ximena does have one to keep her company and he loves it. I can only see this man with either a cat that comes to his balcony every night or some obscure brand of bird.

Jayce is amazing at cooking, but incredibly messy and takes his sweet time with it. He had time to learn from his mom and sees cooking as an act of love that should be appreciated. Viktor is really fast and efficient, but can end up with tasteless stuff. Grew up with hastily stolen ingredients and half a bottle of kitchen oil in Zaun. Food is fuel kind of mentality.

The only person who Viktor accepts constant help from is Jayce, and this is because he knows that Jayce is Just Like That. There was one or two big fights about it at first, but, with times, he's learned that Jayce is doing this out of the wish to show love and not out of pity or concern. Jayce is well aware that Viktor can adjust his own brace and has no problem with fixing his own tie, but he loves loves loves being useful.

This evolves in Viktor trying to reciprocate the gestures. Keeping Jayce's foundation on his bag (there is no way Mr. Charisma doesn't cover his eye bags every time they need to be in public) and learning how to properly apply makeup for him. He keeps an extra pair of earphones after finding out that Jayce is actually just as easily overstimulated as him. Remembers his coffee order, straightens out his collar, refills his stapler and clip drawer.

They are PARTNERS okay? I need the little domestic signals. No big "I love you's" but daily "I got you that cinnamon latte monstrosity you call a beverage" or "You forgot them? Don't worry. I have emergency pain pills in my wallet. Yes, the ones you take. No, it's technically not stalking if you leave the receipts laying around."

They both really enjoy videogames. Viktor likes noir/detective ones and Jayce is a fan of anything that includes racing. They seldom play the same game at the same time, more often just keeping the other company while doing their own thing.

They can both sew. Pretty similar to the cooking one. Jayce learnt for pleasure, Viktor out of necessity.

Have seen the other sob silently over failed equations and burnt metals so many times that they both have perfected the routine by now. Viktor likes to be given space and Jayce needs someone to come calm him down. Which is hell, because Jayce hates leaving Viktor alone. He feels useless. And Viktor heats having to do the whole consolation thing. He feels inadequate. But that's what the other needs, so they try.

When really stressed, Jayce has been known for having psychosomatic thermal issues. Viktor has had to throw blanket after blanker over him because he will Not Move if his body gets too cold, which in return makes him panic, which makes him even colder.

Both fuckin hate winter. It always finds them with So Many Extra Sweaters in the lab. Viktor carries an extra scarf around. Just in case. Jayce's PTSD gets triggered, while Viktor's body just reacts horribly to the cold. Some days they just wrap themselves up against one another and try to guard off the cold.

Viktor has some auditory hallucinations. Very rarely. Mostly of Rio. He doesn't want to talk about it. So he doesn't. Jayce notices, but knows better than to go poke and prode at Viktor's feelings. It doesn't usually end well.

Are both amazing at chess. Have threatened to kill each other over it. Had to take out the board from the lab after the sixth consecutive tie.

(Mel is actually the only other person in the building who can easily, quickly and steadily beat them, including when they work together. Even Heimerdinger gets thrown a few curves here and there)

Jayce Can Not stand it when Viktor is disrespected, but never steps in. He knows Viktor will defend himself and will only get in the middle of it if it gets physical. The one time he tried Viktor's cane met his shins about five times in a row. It was a "small warning about limits."

Jayce avoids ordering junk food when they work for hours, for both of their health. He also doesn't want to sacrifice taste, so he buys from two/three exclusive places that can meet their nutritional + palatial needs. Viktor can, will and has eaten only pizza for about three days straight.

Had he never been... well, the man of progress, Jayce would've turned into either a bioengineer or surgeon. I have no idea on how to explain this but I need u to believe me please (I'm just a healthcare student with severe delusions)

Jayce's mom makes a big deal of his birthday. Viktor denies being jealous. It doesn't work. Next year, Ximena also makes a big deal of his special day.

Viktor is currently unaware of his exact date of birth. He picked one based on analysis and what his mother could recount but has never known the exact number

They get married and live happily ever after idc idc

Addition 1: Both are Well Aware of the law (Jayce's little sister is a cop + Viktor just like reading everything). Can both hold their own in a legal conversation. They just choose to ignore it. Have a vast knowledge of legal technicalities and use them only to bend said laws. The more they learn, the worse they get. Basically those guys who read the rulebook only to find loopholes on it.

[quicklikelight]

Saw a post just now that was like, how do you work full time and still have time for hobbies? And I think that's a great question to ask, as people navigating a world where increasingly our labor is entirely for the benefit of some faceless (or worse, incredibly public) billionaire and no one else.

I'm a person who takes my labor seriously, and I have had the pleasure and privilege of only working for non-profit or not-for-profit organizations throughout my adult career. I worked part-time for a regular corporation once for six months before I quit out of disgust, and I've worked for a couple of family-owned small businesses during college, but the overwhelming majority of my 12+ year career so far has been in a profit void, which does help.

Even still, I have colleagues at my big shiny non-profit who say, "Anne you have so many hobbies! How on earth do you have time for them?" And the key is,

If I don't make time for my personal passions, I'll die.

I'm not being dramatic. It isn't a joke. An intrinsic and necessary part of me -- the part that labors for love, that labors for the desire of it, for the enjoyment -- will die if I do not create time and space to do that labor. And without that love, that passionate hobby investment, the part of me that is left will not then decide, hey I should labor more for money! It will not decide, hey I should invest in my relationships! It will not decide, hey I should invest in myself as a human being! In my environment! In my community! In the world!

It will decide, if there is no time for joy in the world, I will not be in the world. I will doomscroll endlessly on my phone. I will watch re-runs of a beloved sitcom for 3 hours, exhausted on my sofa, and go to bed. I will show up to work still groggy from the day before, and I will be angry in meetings, and I will be exhausted from customer interactions, and I will either want to cry or I will have zero feelings at all as I enter yet another figure into another cell of the universal spreadsheet. I will not be my best self anywhere, for any reason, because my best self is dead.

People say things like, "I don't dream of labor," and I respect that. But a lot of labor is very good. It's work, to knit a sweater. It's work, to write a book. It's work, to raise a garden, or a goat, or a child. It's work to bake bread, and to sew pants, and to rebuild small engines. It's work to create, and that is--in my humble opinion--what we're here for. To spend all day idly eating grapes would drive a lot of us to the brink. The problem isn't labor--it's capital.

To make time for your hobbies means working intentionally to identify those passion projects as a necessary part of your reason for being on the earth. My job on this earth is not to assign training. My job on this earth is to create beauty, and write stories, and make clothes, and connect from my heart. When that truth is accepted, and you put in the effort to rebirth the part of you that died to capitalism, then it becomes very obvious that the relevant question isn't "how do I make time for hobbies."

The question is, "How do I ensure that my job does not take up all the mental and physical energy I have so that I can re-invest that energy into myself?"

A good place to start is to plan your days / weeks / months with an understanding of your mental/physical boundaries and just do that. There are ways to do this most effectively (collective bargaining, creating a schedule that honors the need for focus vs collaboration, bringing your hobbies to work and being open about how they make your work better) but the most important thing, in my opinion, is for you to understand that your full time job isn't you. It's not what makes you special or important in this world, and it's not what people will remember about you when you're gone, and it's not going to feed you if you stop showing up. So give it as little as you can comfortably get by with, preserve that precious energy, and put it into something that sets your soul alight.

When you invest in the labor that loves you back, that provides for you, that keeps you alive... you'll stop accepting a world in which you cannot dream of labor for fear of losing yourself.

And maybe, at the end, you'll have a sweater. :)

[imaginespazzi]

Part 6: To Trying Again

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14

I don't wanna mess this thing up (I don't wanna push too far)

(In which an "evil" writer might surprise you guys just a little bit with this part)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Fluff and Angst

Words: 5.6K

TW: Swearing (I think that's it?)

A/N: Happy Monday lovelies! This is sort of a filler-ish short chapter though I do think it's important to both plot and character development. I'd like to preface this by saying I've never been to Minsk or Park Pieramohi so I'm very much going off of pictures. Editing and I remain on very, very bad terms so pretty please let me know of typos so I can fix them. As always, let me know what you liked, what you disliked and what you'd like to see going forward. Have a lovely rest of your week my loves <3

July 2018 

“You’re being too loud,” Azzi whisper-screams at the blonde girl in front of her as she closes the door to her room behind her with a little too much force. 

Paige turns her head back every-so-slightly with a pronounced eye roll, “will you please relax.”

“I would if you’d just be a little more careful,” Azzi glares, taking cautious steps as if the sound of her sneakers across the carpeted floor could potentially wake up any of the coaches. 

“Azzi,” Paige says exasperatedly, “the coaches are all the way on the other end of the hallway. Besides, they're probably all sleeping.”

And despite her stubbornness, Azzi can concede that Paige has a point there. It’s nearly midnight and the game against Spain earlier in the day might have had a final score that made it seem like the USA U17 women's basketball team had won handily, but the game itself had been draining to say the least. The post-victory dinner had featured a bunch of worn out teenagers gobbling their food without much conversation and a cohort of coaches who seemed like they needed an hour of drinking followed by good night’s sleep. But even the exhaustion of the day hadn’t been enough to prevent Paige Bueckers and her diabolical mind from coming up with the idea to sneak out into the city of Minsk. 

“No,” Azzi had said immediately even before the words had been spoken, that shimmering glint in Paige’s eyes a dead giveaway as she sidled up to Azzi at the salad bar. 

“You don’t even know what I’m going to say,” Paige had pouted. 

“You never say anything good.”

“That’s crazy. You’re so mean to me.”

“So mean,” Azzi had nodded in agreement, “so how about you go and bother someone else.”

“Azzi please. We haven’t had just Paige and Azzi time in ages. Don’t want someone else. Just want you.”

And after that well, there wasn’t really any chance of saying no. Azzi’s only fifteen and she doesn’t know that much about love, but sometimes when Paige looks at her with those earnest blue eyes and a smile that promises i’ll always be here, she thinks the way her heart starts to flutter erratically to a beat of and i wouldn’t want anyone else to stay, might just be the start of her finding out. 

“See,” Paige grins triumphantly as the two girls find their way out of their hotel and onto the street, “told you we wouldn’t get caught. Shit’s just too damn easy.”

Azzi rolls her eyes at the attitude, “don’t tempt fate.”

“Fate’s got nothing in front of Paige Bueckers. I make my own fate,” Paige winks as she links her arms through Azzi. 

It’s a mundane amount of contact, absolutely nothing special to it, but Azzi feels herself shiver in spite of the humidity that’s circling around them. She doesn’t quite know how it happened. One moment she was staring across the court, judging the skinny blonde practicing free throws and coming to the conclusion that she’d be no threat; the next moment said girl was next to her on the plane back from Argentina and Azzi, a self-admitted introvert, found herself rattling off about everything and nothing with this girl who seemed to have discovered the keys to all of Azzi’s locks. Hours of talking had bled into days and days had bled into months and despite the fact that facetime had taken the place of in-person conversations, the word friendship had seemed too cavalier a word to describe the relationship Paige and Azzi were building. 

Paige had whittled away all of Azzi’s carefully constructed armor until she was buried deep underneath her skin and Azzi’s sure there’s no knife in the world sharp enough to carve the blonde out from where she lives underneath Azzi’s ribcage. Azzi doesn’t want anyone to try and dig her out. She  thinks she might bleed out if they do. 

“Az,” Paige whines, waving her free hand in the younger girl’s face, “are you even paying attention to me?”

“That depends,” Azzi hums, “are you saying anything interesting?”

“I’m always saying something interesting.”

“You’re always saying something. The interesting is subjective,” Azzi teases, laughing when Paige pouts. 

“I sneak you out to give you an adventure and this is how you repay me? With insults?” Paige puts a dramatic hand to her heart.

“Walking boring streets is not an adventure. Virginia has streets too.”

“It’s not about the streets, it’s about where the streets lead to,” Paige says with grave seriousness. 

Azzi raises an eyebrow, “are you entering your philosopher Paige era?”

“I’d make a good philosopher,” Paige waggles her own eyebrows as they two girls find themselves entering park Pieramohi. 

“Virginia has parks too, you know Paige?” Azzi says skeptically. 

Paige lets out a dramatic sigh, “will you just keep walking, woman. Sometimes I wonder if you even like me?”

It’s said like a joke but there’s a hint of insecurity beaded into it that buzzes in Azzi’s ears as she wraps a careful hand around Paige’s wrist, stopping the two of them where they are. 

“Hey,” she whispers softly, nudging the older girl, “you don’t ever have to wonder with me. I’m always gonna like you Paige. Even if you’re a pain in my ass half the time.”

“Had to ruin it with the last part, didn't you?” Paige complains but her eyes twinkle at the reassurance, “Just so you know I’m gonna be a pain in your ass forever.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that,” Azzi promises as they continue strolling through the park. 

The silence is peaceful and the breeze that flows around them is like a comforting hug. And Azzi thinks that she’d be okay if there wasn’t a destination for them to get to, as long as the journey came with Paige by her side. 

“We’re almost there,” Paige says slowly, a slightly nervous edge to her voice. 

“You sure you’re not just getting us lost-” the teasing quip dies on Azzi’s tongue as she stares at the scenery in front of her. They’re standing on the edge of a bridge overlooking a lake and it looks like something out of a disney fairytale; the picturesque image of green trees silhouetted against a magically starry night is captured perfectly on the still surface of the water that’s flowing beneath. As Azzi peers across the railing, Paige right next to her, she feels her breath hitch at the reflection that peers up at her. Because the view in front of them is beautiful but Paige’s eyes are on Azzi and she’s staring at her as if the view is nothing in comparison. 

“C’mon,” the blonde says softly, lacing her fingers through Azzi’s as she tugs her along, “I have a plan.”

“There’s more?” Azzi asks in awe as Paige guides her to the gazebo in the middle of the bridge. 

“Just a little bit,” Paige says and oh- that shy smile is different. Azzi doesn’t think she’s seen that one yet and she makes a mental note to herself, to memorize it and store it along with all of Paige’s other smiles that make Azzi’s insides swoop like a rollercoaster. 

She watches intently as Paige begins to peruse through the purple rucksack she’d been carrying. The first thing out of it is a picnic blanket and then a horde of different snacks, all of Azzi’s favorites. Two plastic champagne glasses are next and then a sheepish grin as Paige pulls out a bottle of soda. 

“Couldn’t quite risk trying to get alcohol,” Paige scratches at her neck. 

“Next time maybe,” Azzi shrugs as she helps Paige set up the arrangement and she feels herself fluttering at the thought of doing this again and again and again. 

“How’d you even find this place?” she asks as Paige begins to pour out the soda. 

“You ever heard of googling?”

Azzi rolls her eyes at Paige’s teasing smirk, “how’d you even have time to do this?”

Paige is quiet for a second as she passes Azzi her glass, “wanted to do something special for us,” she says quietly, keeping her eyes intently on what she’s doing as she pours out a drink for herself, “wasn’t hard to find time for you.”

“You could be a poet, Paige Bueckers,” Azzi whispers and she knows it’s unfair of her but she thinks it anyway. As long as all your poems are about me. 

“The poets are lucky I chose a ball instead of a pen. They’d be out of a job otherwise,” Paige says, trying to ease back into the more familiar arrogance. 

“Always so humble,” Azzi says, rolling her eyes as she holds up her glass, “alright what are toasting to?”

“I came up with this whole thing. You can come up with a toast,” Paige scrunches her nose and Azzi shakes her head at it. 

She thinks for a second before smiling brightly at the girl in front of her, “let’s just keep it simple and toast to us.”

“How original,” Paige teases but she clinks her glass against Azzi’s anyways, “here’s to us.”

“Here’s to us,” Azzi repeats as they both take sips of soda. 

They melt into a comfortable silence, relishing in this rare moment where there isn’t a screen separating them from each other. Facetimes is a wonderful creation but a blurry screen, Azzi decides, doesn’t nearly do justice to just how damn pretty Paige is. Her hair is golden as it basks in the glow of the moon and Azzi wonders if the stars are jealous of how brilliantly the blonde’s blue eyes twinkle.

It’s Paige who speaks first, her voice hesitant, “you uh- you never asked me how my date went a couple of weeks ago.”

Azzi feels her whole body go rigid. She’d almost forgotten about Paige’s wretched date. The blonde had told her about it a couple of days before the actual event and Azzi had played the dutiful role of a best friend, teasing Paige with a light-heartedness she didn’t feel and congratulating her with an excitement that came from anywhere but from the heart. She’d purposely avoided Paige’s calls the day of the date and then two days after, coming up with some sorry excuse she no longer remembers. On the third day, when the hollow ache of i miss her voice in her chest had become too hard to ignore, Azzi had finally picked up the phone and diverted the conversation straight to a different topic. She hadn’t thought of the date since. 

“Guess it slipped my mind,” she says airily, fingers gripping the edge of the picnic blanket. 

“I could tell you about it now,” Paige says slowly. 

I’d rather you didn’t, Azzi thinks but that’s a thought that veers a little too out of the sphere of best-friend-isms and so she simply nods her head, “y-yeah tell me about it. How was it?”

“It was nice,” Paige begins and there’s something hidden in her tone that Azzi can't quite place but she’s a little too busy sulking at the idea of Paige with anybody else to try and decipher it, “dinner was good. Took her to a movie after. That was good too.”

“That’s cool P. I’m glad- I’m glad you had fun,” Azzi says nonchalantly, gripping the glass in her hands just a little too tight. 

“I didn’t.”

“What?”

“I didn’t really have that much fun,” Paige clarifies and Azzi gawks at her in confusion as the older girl fidgets with the frayed edges of the picnic blankets, “just didn’t- didn’t feel right. Don’t think she had much fun either. She never texted me after.”

“What a bitch,” Azzi bites out, suddenly irrationally angry at a girl she’d never met because how could anyone possibly not have fun with Paige, “I’m sorry P. You deserve-”

“I didn’t care that she didn’t text back-”

“Still. It’s just the decent thing to do,” Azzi rants. 

“Maybe,” Paige shrugs, “but I didn’t have time to care about that. I had other things on my mind. Like the fact that you weren’t talking to me.”

Azzi flinches at the accusation, rushing out her previous defense, “I was busy.”

“Bullshit,” Paige sneers. 

“Paige-”

“But I get it,” the older girl says softly as she reaches for Azzi’s hand, tugging the brunette closer to her and Azzi feels something inside her erupt at how close their faces are, “I probably wouldn’t have talked to you for two days either if you went on a date with someone else.”

“Oh,” Azzi breathes out and there’s probably something more eloquent she should say but there’s this realization of maybe you feel it too that’s beginning to creep up her spine, rendering her speechless as Paige continues to stare at her like she’s mapping out all the tiniest details of Azzi’s face. 

“The whole date, I kept thinking how you wouldn’t order what she ordered off the menu or that you would probably hit my hand if I tried to steal something off your plate but then give it to me anyway. And that the movie would never have been so quiet with you and we’d probably get yelled at for giggling too much and I-” Paige pauses, dragging in a deep breath, “I definitely would’ve kissed you at the end.”

A sigh of relief escapes Azzi’s lips, “you didn’t kiss her.”

“No,” Paige confirms as she drops her forehead against Azzi’s, “but I-,” the blonde gulps nervously and Azzi can’t help the way her hand reaches up to caress the blush forming on Paige’s cheeks. 

“Ask me,” she whispers.

“I really want to kiss you,” Paige confesses, voice shaking slightly, “can I kiss you?”

Azzi doesn’t say anything, choosing to reply instead by pressing her lips softly against Paige’s. They move slowly at first, testing each other’s boundaries and savoring their first taste of each other. Azzi pulls the older girl onto her lap, hands firmly on Paige’s hips as the other girl clasps her own hands around Azzi’s neck.  It’s a little messy and uncoordinated and Azzi thinks they might need to practice a little more to really get it right but still, it’s everything.

And Azzi just knows

She knows it then just the way she knew Tim was meant to be her dad. The way she knew Jon and José were meant to be her brothers. The way she knew she was meant to play basketball. Azzi knows that she’s meant to fall hopelessly in love with Paige Bueckers. 

March 2033

There are three things Azzi should do. 

Push Paige away 

Tell her this a bad idea 

Run the fuck away

She does none of the above.

Instead Azzi kisses Paige back. 

And it’s still everything. Like the sun and moon are colliding and creating something so insanely powerful; something that feels so eternal. 

There’s nothing soft or slow about it as Paige presses every inch of herself into Azzi until she can feel Paige’s heartbeat as strongly as she can feel her own. It might be impossible but she swears their hearts are talking to each other, tapping out rhythms against each other’s chests that confess all the things their owners are too scared to say. And Azzi wants nothing more than to lose herself completely in the moment because Paige’s lips feel like a drug and Azzi thinks she might just be an addict in relapse. 

Except to relapse, you need to have recovered. And Azzi doesn’t think she ever fully recovered from Paige. 

It isn’t until she feels her back hit the edge of a desk and the sound of something crashing onto the floor infiltrates her ears, that Azzi finally comes to her senses. She tears her lips away from Paige as the older woman groans in protest, arms tightening their hold on Azzi’s waist so she can still have some semblance of control over the situation. And really Azzi knows she’s strong enough to escape Paige’s grip, could easily fight it if she wanted to. But well, she doesn’t want to. And Azzi’s tired of doing things she doesn’t want to do. 

“Paige-”

“If the next words out of your mouth are ‘we can’t do this’, Azzi I swear to god I’m going to kill you,” Paige threatens, pressing her forehead against Azzi’s. 

Azzi laughs softly and she can feel Paige’s whole body relax at the sound of it and like clockwork, she feels the tension beginning to release from her own muscles, “if you kill me then we definitely can’t do this.”

“I’ll revive you after or something,” Paige says with a half-smirk. 

“Or something,” Azzi rolls her eyes, “but we can’t-”

“Azzi,” Paige groans. 

“We can’t do this right now and definitely not here,” Azzi amends, alluding to the fact that they’re still in Steph’s office. 

Paige raises an eyebrow, cocking her head slightly, “but we can do this later? Somewhere else?”

The question lingers between them as Azzi bites her lip. She knows what this is, knows that it’s Paige putting the ball in her court. A ‘no’ would likely be the end of things and that scares her more than she’s willing to admit but she’s not quite ready to commit to a ‘yes’ yet, even if that flame of desire inside of her, the one that can only be lit by Paige, is blazing hot through her veins. 

“I don’t know,” Azzi says carefully, shivering at the way Paige’s thumb is rubbing circles against her waist, the flimsy material of her shirt doing nothing to prevent the goosebumps forming on her skin, “TBD.”

“That’s not a no,” Paige says carefully, hope blossoming freely on her face. 

“That’s not a yes either,” Azzi warns half-heartedly. 

“But it’s not a no,” Paige presses. 

“No,” Azzi admits, playing with the neckline of Paige’s shirt, “it’s not a no.”

And Azzi’s so scared of the future, scared that if she lets herself burn, she’ll incinerate everyone around her but there’s something in the way Paige smiles at her words. Something that feels a lot like a promise of i’ll be the rain that washes out the fire before you can turn us to ashes. 

“I can work with that,” Paige says softly, tilting Azzi’s chin up. 

“So desperate to get back into my pants Bueckers,” Azzi teases and she expects a witty remark in return but instead she’s met with nothing but sincerity. 

“So desperate to get back into your life,” Paige whispers, voice cracking on the last two words. 

Tears prickle against Azzi’s waterline as she stares in awe at the girl in front of her. Sometimes she thinks Paige doesn’t even know that there’s a halo of goodness sitting above her head, doesn't even know just how beautiful her soul is. Paige is stunning on the outside; it’s something no one can deny. But it’s nothing compared to how gorgeous she is on the inside, nothing compared to how kind, how humble, how forgiving Paige is. 

“Why?” Azzi asks, her tone rife with heaviness. 

“Why what?” 

“After everything, after all this time, why would you still want to be in my life?” the tears fall harder as Azzi struggles to breathe, “I- I broke your heart. I broke us. How could you possibly want that again. How could you possibly want me again?”

Paige's eyes soften as she cups Azzi’s cheeks, thumbs brushing away at the drops of water running down them, “because you’re Azzi. My Azzi. And I get it- I get that you’re not ready to be all in on this with me yet and if I’m being honest with myself, I’m not completely ready either. But we can work on it right? Take it slow and see where it goes and maybe we’ll- maybe we’ll be even better this time.”

“You think so?”

“I believe so.”

Azzi presses her lips delicately against Paige’s, reveling in the way it makes Paige’s breath hitch. She pulls away faster than she would like herself and Paige chases her lips, eyes still closed. 

“What was that for,” the blonde asks, slightly dazed. 

“For being my Paige.”

***

Azzi taps her foot impatiently against her wooden patio as she glances at her phone clock for the umpteenth time. Paige is almost twenty minutes late to pick her and Stephie up to go to dinner at her parent’s house. The invites had technically been separate but Paige had insisted that they needed to go together because Paige didn’t want to walk into the house alone. Azzi’s not sure why Paige is nervous to see her dad and brothers again, not when she’s pretty sure they’re bursting with excitement to see the blonde whose pictures still have a permanent place on the family photo wall, but if Paige wants Azzi by her side, well she’s not going to say no. Not anymore. 

 It’s been a week since they’d agreed to take things slow and Azzi’s still not quite sure what exactly that means, but she thinks she likes it. She likes being able to call Paige and not having to come up with a lame excuse for why. She likes that she and Paige can take Stephie out for ice cream after Curry Camp and they don’t have to pretend they’re only tolerating each other’s presence for the little girl’s sake. She likes that they can brush their pinkies while walking and instead of jolting away, they simply just link them together. There’s boundaries of course. No sleepovers at either of their houses. No doing anything more than kissing. No kissing in front of anyone else and definitely no kissing in front of Stephie. No doing anything in front of Stephie really. And there’s still so much mountain left to climb but as long as they’re pushing up it together, Azzi doesn’t think there’s any incline steep enough to stop her from continuing up this path.

“Miss Buecks,” Stephie squeals as Paige’s car rounds the corner into Azzi’s driveway. 

Paige steps out of the car, arms wide open and ready to catch Stephie as the little girl goes tumbling down the front porch, aiming straight for the blonde. Azzi’s not an artist by any means but if she was, she thinks she could paint a thousand pictures of Stephie and her Miss Buecks. It terrifies Azzi a little bit, just how perfectly Stephie fits into Paige’s side but it calms her too because there’s a part of her that’s in love with how much they love each other.

“You’re late Bueckers,” Azzi chides as she follows her daughter’s path down the patio stairs. 

Paige grins, shifting Stephie on her lap as she opens the side door to her car to pull out two bouquets of flowers

“Will these make up for it?” she asks slyly as she hands the larger one, an assortment of pink flowers, to Azzi and a slightly smaller bouquet of purple hydrangeas to Stephie. 

“These are so pretty Miss Buecks,” Stephie gushes before pressing a kiss to Paige’s cheek left cheek and Paige beams at the compliment, “thank you Miss Buecks.”

“You took that long to get flowers?” Azzi asks with a raised eyebrow. 

“Mama,” Stephie chides immediately, “you’re supposed to thank someone when they give you a gift.”

“Yeah Azzi,” Paige’s eyes glimmer with mirth, “thank me like Stephie thanked me. Don’t you think Mama owes me a kiss on the cheek Steph?”

Azzi narrows her eyes at the scheming pair in front of her as Stephie nods animatedly at Paige’s question, “yeah Mama you owe Miss Buecks a kiss on the cheek.”

Shaking her head, Azzi walks over to Paige taking deliberately steady steps. Slowly Azzi leans in, puckering her lips. Paige closes her eyes and Azzi winks at Stephie who’s eyes widen. 

“I’m waiting,” Paige sing-songs, a self-satisfied smirk taking over her features. 

And instead of the promised kiss, Azzi licks a sloppy strip down Paige’s cheek and the blonde shrieks as both Azzi and Stephie burst into laughter.

“EW AZZI GROSS,” Paige whines, hurriedly rubbing her shirt against her cheek, “is this what you’re teaching your daughter?”

“I’m teaching my daughter not to let anyone manipulate her,” Azzi says, giving Paige a careful look, “now why were you late?”

Paige grins sheepishly as she opens the door to the backseat of the door. A lavender car seat is placed on the left side of the car and Azzi feels her heart lurch with no one’s ever cared like this. 

“It’s pu-ple,” Stephie claps excitedly, “is it for me?”

“Of course it is,” Paige confirms, booping Stephie’s nose before looking at Azzi, “it’s just- we uh- we always have to take your car cause it has the car seat and moving it between cars is such a hassle. So I just thought- you know- I just thought it’d be cool- useful- practical- if I had one too? And this way if you ever need me to take Stephie off you then I uh- then you don’t have to worry about me driving. I don’t- I don’t really knows much about car seats but I looked it up online before and the person at the store agreed that this is definitely the best one- like I swear it’s safe-”

She’s cut off by the feel of Azzi’s lips pressed to her cheeks. 

“Thank you Paige.”

***

Just as Azzi expected, Paige merges herself back into the Fudd family with the same ease she’d first had when she’d carved out a place for herself almost a decade and a half ago. It’s a little emotional at first when Tim opens the door, a smile almost as big as him decorating his face as he pulls Paige into a hug even before she can say a word. 

“Welcome home kid,” he whispers into her blonde hair and Azzi doesn’t have to see Paige’s face to know that her best friend is blinking away tears. 

Guilt surges in Azzi’s stomach and she tries to swallow away the lump of i took this from her that’s blocking her throat. It had been so simple at 15 to give Paige a part of her world; Azzi hadn’t thought twice about it. And then with the snap of her fingers, she’d taken that world away. She knows her parents had never cut Paige out; hell they’d been at her wedding to some other woman -and Azzi had pushed them to go knowing Paige would need it- but it was a far cry from what they’d been. A far cry from when Paige’s schedule was a key factor while planning Fudd family summers. 

“Hey,” Stephie pouts, tiny hands crossed over her small body “I thought you always gave me the first hug Pops.”

“We’ll make an exception today,” Tim says with a wink before letting Paige walk into Katie’s arms and spinning his granddaughter around, “but you’re always gonna be my favorite.”

“I better be,” Stephie threatens and the adults around her laugh. 

And finally it’s Azzi's turn to be pulled into one of her dad’s patent bear hugs. She goes willingly, always at her most warmest in the arms of the man whose blood might not run through her veins, but whose love had always protected her from the cruelties of the world. 

“You look really happy today sweetheart,” Tim says softly. 

Azzi’s eyes flitter over her father’s shoulder to where Jon and José are embroiling Paige in a group hug with Stephie in the middle of it, screaming about finally having their “white sister” back, as Katie and José’s fiancé Tallulah roll their eyes at the group of them, and she can’t help but smile into her dad’s shirt, “I feel pretty happy today.”

*** 

“You cheated,” Jon yells. 

“Miss Buecks does not cheat,” Stephie yells back loyally. 

“Don’t get into this Stephie. You don’t know her like we do,” José glares at Paige who narrows her eyes at him, “she’s been stealing from the bank.”

“Miss Buecks does not  steal,” Stephie defends again, wrapping her arms around Paige’s neck from behind as the blonde presses a quick kiss against Stephie’s temple. 

“It’s okay Stephie,” Paige reassures, gently swinging the little girl into her lap, “some people are just sore losers.”

“Can’t be a sore loser because I didn’t lose-” José coughs and Jon corrects himself immediately, “because we didn’t lose.”

“Y’all let it go,” Tallulah groans, leaning her head back against the sofa, “it’s literally just monopoly. Please, I'm so tired.”

“Just monopoly? JUST MONOPOLY?” José guffaws dramatically, “I can’t believe I’m marrying someone who doesn’t understand that it isn’t just monopoly Tallulah. It’s about liars and cheats and honor-”

“Miss Buecks has plenty of honor,” Stephie says stubbornly, leaning her head back against Paige’s chest.

Jon rounds on Azzi, who’s been silently watching the situation, “did you help her cheat?”

“Excuse me?” Azzi asks, glaring at her brother from where she’s been comfortable reclining on the sofa. She’d opted to be the banker instead of playing, content just handing out money to the rest of them while watching the game unfold. But really she hadn’t been paying much attention to anyone else but her daughter and Paige. Stephie didn’t quite understand the rules yet and so she was always on someone’s team. It had been a given tonight, that of course she would be with Paige. And Azzi had watched, trying not to be too obvious, with a foolish grin on her face, as her two favorite people whispered to each other, Paige listening intently to all of Stephie’s ideas whether they were good or bad. 

“Oh good point,” José turns to look at Azzi too, “you’re the banker, did you help Paige cheat?”

“Mama would never cheat,” Stephie argues defiantly as Azzi pushes herself up from the sofa to send a menacing look to both of her brothers. 

“I’m not going to dignify that accusation with a justification,” Azzi says, standing so she’s towering over her two brothers who are still sitting on the floor, “now clean up the game. It’s almost Stephie’s bedtime.”

 They might be well into their twenties and José might be taller than her now, but they’re still not quite  immune to Azzi’s wrath. Tallulah and Paige snicker as the two men, sulking at each other, obey their older sister's command without another word. 

“You’ve gotta teach me how you do that,” Tallulah says, hi-fiving Azzi who smirks in response. 

“Miss Buecks,” Stephie whispers, “what does dig-ni-fy mean?”

“Mean she’s not gonna entertain your uncles being dumba-”

“Paige!”

“Being dumbapples,” Paige corrects and both Azzi and Stephie give her an odd look at her ridiculous attempt at saving the bad word from leaving her lips. 

“Alright Stephie-bean,” Azzi says, pulling her daughter off of Paige’s lap, “it’s late enough. Off to brush your teeth you go.”

Stephie looks hesitantly between the staircase leading up to the guest bedroom -where she and Azzi normally stayed- and Paige. 

“Can Miss Buecks stay with us tonight?” she asks softly, one hand bunching in Paige’s shirt as she stares up at her mother with large doe eyes, “please Mama.”

“Stephie I don’t think-” Paige begins, ready to stick to the boundaries they’d laid out for themselves and really Azzi should let her; should follow her lead really.  

Except the words are tumbling out of her mouth before she can stop them, “yeah she can- she can stay.”

“YAYY,” Stephie squeals, jumping into Azzi’s arms as Paige stares up at her in surprise, “thank you, thank you, thank you Mama. I’m so happy,” she swings from Azzi to Tallulah, “aunty Tully did you hear? Miss Buecks is gonna stay with us and you can make her your famous pancakes in the morning.”

“I can, can I?” Tallulah asks with a raised eyebrow as she lets Stephie and her excited chatter lead her towards the bathroom. With Jon and José both having already started towards their own rooms and Azzi’s parents fast asleep, it leaves just Paige and Azzi in the living room. 

“You’re okay with me staying?” Paige asks softly, finally lifting herself from the floor and onto her feet. 

Azzi scratches the back of her neck, “if- if you want to. You don’t have to. I can- I’ll explain to Stephie-”

“I want to,” Paige says, taking a cautious step towards Azzi, “but the rules?”

“This doesn’t count,” Azzi justifies and Paige smirks, taking another step towards the brunette. 

“It doesn’t?”

“We said no sleeping over at each other’s places. This is my parent’s house. So technically it doesn’t count,” Azzi shrugs, trying to keep her face from breaking into a grin as Paige moves one more step closer. 

“And where exactly am I sleeping?” Paige asks with a knowing grin as she loops an arm around Azzi’s waist, briefly checking to make sure no one’s around. 

Azzi tilts her head, letting the grin break through, “I think Stephie would like it if you slept with us.”

“Ah well if that’s what Stephie would like,” Paige says, nodding commiseratingly. 

“For Stephie’s sake,” Azzi repeats as she wraps her arm around Paige’s neck, pressing her forehead against the older girl’s and letting herself just breathe in the peace that comes with being all consumed by Paige. 

“Azzi,” Paige’s voice is laced with uncharacteristic vulnerability as she speaks again, “you won’t- you won’t run away again tomorrow morning will you?”

“No,” Azzi promises, gently brushing her lips against Paige’s, “I won’t run away again.”

[ssa-dado]

12 - Goodbyes & Partners

Aaron Hotchner x bau!fem!reader Genre: uuum you tell me Summary: The BAU team discovers that Hotch had a former partner, a brilliant female profiler who left the unit abruptly. Gideon reveals you were one of the best, sparking curiosity among the team. As they dig deeper, they uncover your impressive credentials, speculation grows about your close relationship with Hotch, with theories ranging from unspoken feelings to complicated personal dynamics. Warnings: none - or at least that's what I think - who would have thought. Word Count: 7.1k Dado's Corner: OKKKKK let's gooo! First time meeting Aaron's children the team, who's excited?! Peter canonically the most hated character of this fic. This chapter, like many others in this fic, has a sister chapter coming up in exactly 7 hours. After leaving you with your mouth dry yesterday, I figured it’s only fair to keep the anticipation going! Let me know what you think of the team! Also if you have ideas for this particular fic, my inbox is opened, feel free to leave as many suggestions as you would like!

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No one at the BAU was ever good with goodbyes.

It was a team built on unspoken bonds and shared burdens, a group of people who had seen the darkest parts of the world and each other. For all the skills they had in reading human behavior, they were never quite able to express what it felt like to lose one of their own. Words often felt inadequate, insufficient to capture the weight of what they’d been through together: the late nights, the close calls, the quiet moments that held more significance than any case file.

Goodbyes were messy, uncomfortable, and often avoided altogether.

Rossi had been the first to leave, and even though Hotch knew he had been restless for months, it still came as a shock. One day, Rossi was there, with his dry humor and his endless stories, and the next, his office was empty, the walls bare, as if he had never really been there at all, if it weren’t for Gideon’s call, he would have never reached out. Only later he left behind a brief note, neatly folded on Hotch’s desk, with a few lines about “needing a change” and “time to start the next chapter.” It was classic Rossi: vague, detached, like he didn’t want to make a fuss. Hotch had read the note a multitude of times, hoping to find some hidden message, but there was nothing. No explanation, no real goodbye. Just Rossi, slipping away on his own terms, halfway to his next adventure before anyone had a chance to ask him to stay.

Then the most recent was Gideon’s. After Boston, after the case that had broken him in ways none of them had fully understood, Gideon’s silence was deafening. Hotch remembered the last time he’d seen him, sitting alone in his office, staring blankly at the case files scattered across his desk. Gideon hadn’t said a word, hadn’t offered any explanation or farewell. He just looked up, his eyes hollow and distant, and Hotch knew that whatever had been holding him together had finally snapped. By the next morning, Gideon was gone, his desk cleared out, his badge left behind like a discarded shell of who he once was. There were no letters, no phone calls, just the ghost of a man who had once been a legend in the field but was now too broken to even say goodbye.

Both of those men had left him with new responsibilities: Rossi’s departure had made him a lead profiler, and Gideon’s exit had eventually thrust him into the role of Unit Chief. Though Hotch had always been an ambitious person, the way he’d earned his promotions often felt like a double-edged sword, each step up tinged with a sense of loss. It was as if there was an unspoken rule that he could never fully enjoy his achievements without bearing the weight of the absences that had made them possible, leaving him to wonder if success always had to come at such a cost.

Hotch had never mastered the art of letting people go. The departures always felt like tearing pages out of a story that had been written together, each blank space a reminder of what had been lost.

But you, you were different.

You were the only one who was extraordinary at goodbyes.

It had been a few months after his wedding when you made your announcement. The BAU had just wrapped up a grueling case, the kind that left everyone drained and hollowed out, and Hotch had retreated to his desk, hoping for a moment of peace. You had come in, hesitant at first, fiddling with the bracelet on your wrist - a nervous habit he’d come to recognize over the years. You took a breath before speaking, your voice laced with the kind of excitement that only comes when you’re standing on the edge of something new and terrifying.

“I got an offer,” you said, your words tumbling out in a rush. “To teach. It’s a position I never even dreamed of. The first-ever Behavioral Sciences courses, all across Europe. They want me to lead them.”

Hotch remembered the way his heart sank when you first told him, though he tried his best to keep his expression neutral, hiding the ache beneath a composed facade. He had always known you were destined for more; your talent, insight, and your relentless passion for sharing knowledge had set you apart from the very beginning. You were the team’s quiet genius, not just in profiling but in connecting dots others couldn’t see, blending psychology, philosophy, and the art of communication into something extraordinary.

You laid out all the details with an excitement that was hard to contain: Rome, London, Paris - places you had only glimpsed on rare vacations now calling on you to bring your expertise to their prestigious institutions. It was a perfect fit, a job seemingly tailored just for you. Your fluency in multiple languages, from Italian and French to German and Swedish, made you uniquely qualified to teach across Europe, bridging cultural gaps with the ease of someone who had spent their life immersed in the subtleties of language and human behavior.

It was everything you had worked for, and everything you deserved. Hotch knew that it was fate, really - that someone with your knowledge, your intellect, and your gift for teaching would eventually end up in front of a classroom, shaping the next generation of minds. But knowing that didn’t make it any easier to swallow. You were finally getting the recognition you deserved, but for Hotch, it felt like the beginning of the end of something he hadn’t been ready to let go of.

Hotch had listened intently, though the tightness in his chest made it hard to breathe. He could see the flicker of conflict in your eyes, the way you glanced at him, searching for something: approval, reassurance, maybe even permission to take this leap.

You had always been strong, but this decision was monumental, and Hotch could sense your need for his support. As you spoke, your words came out in a rush, filled with excitement yet underlined with an uncertainty that made his heart ache. When you finally paused, breathless and hopeful, he forced a smile, pushing back the knot of emotions building inside him.

“You always told me I should find my happiness,” he said softly, echoing the words that had once helped pull him through some of his darkest times. “Maybe it’s time you did the same.”

He watched as your expression softened, the tension in your shoulders easing just a little. Hotch could feel you on the verge of saying something more, something that lingered just beneath the surface. But instead, you nodded, your smile bittersweet, tinged with an understanding that broke his heart just a little more.

“Thank you, Aaron,” you whispered, your voice so quiet, yet so full of sincerity it nearly undid him. “I needed to hear that.”

And he knew, in that instant, that his words had given you what you needed. But the cost of that comfort weighed heavily on him. This was it - this was the moment he had been dreading. The goodbye that followed was simple, yet it carried a depth of emotion that neither of you dared to fully express. There were no tears, no grand declarations, just the two of you standing in the bullpen, surrounded by the echoes of shared memories and silent understanding.

When you moved to hug him, Hotch felt the familiar warmth of your presence wrap around him. For a second, he held on tighter than he should have, his hands lingering at your back, memorizing the way you felt against him. He wasn’t sure how long he held you there, but it wasn’t long enough. It would never be long enough. The realization hit him hard, this might be the last time he’d feel the steady comfort of you by his side, the last time he could call you his partner in the same way.

“I’m going to miss you,” you said, your voice thick with the emotions you’d worked so hard to keep at bay. And though Hotch tried to respond, his throat tightened, and all he could do was nod, hoping that somehow you’d understand all the things he couldn’t find the words for.

“Don’t forget to write,” you had said, pulling back with a small, teasing smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. It was a half-joke, half-promise, but Hotch had clung to it.

When you finally pulled away, it felt like something inside him had shifted, like a piece of him had gone with you. He watched as you gave him one last, lingering look before walking out of the building, the door closing softly behind you. The silence that followed was suffocating. Hotch stood there for a long time, staring at the space where you had been, already feeling the weight of your absence settle deep in his bones.

You both knew phone calls wouldn’t work - the time zones were unforgiving, and your schedules were a mess of lectures, seminars, cases and travel. Trying to coordinate would only lead to missed calls and voicemails, the kind of slow drift that ends in silence. But letters, letters were something else. They were tangible, personal, a way of staying connected even when the rest of the world pulled you in different directions.

Your first letter arrived a few weeks after you left. Hotch had found it waiting on his desk one morning, nestled between case files and memos, and just seeing your name scrawled across the envelope made something in his chest tighten.

For Hotch, the idea of writing to you felt right. It reminded him of the hours you had spent together in the bullpen, sitting across from each other as you filed endless reports and bantered over cases. Your handwriting, always in blue ink - never black, because you said it felt too clinical - was something he had come to cherish. He still remembered the way you had teased him, claiming that black ink was for lawyers and pessimists, and he had laughed, knowing you were right.

He opened it carefully, unfolding the pages with the same kind of reverence he might have shown an old photograph. The letter was filled with details of your new life abroad: how strange it was to be teaching in a classroom instead of chasing down criminals, how the students were eager but occasionally overwhelmed by the intensity of your lessons. You wrote about your tiny apartment in Rome, the cobblestone streets that twisted like a labyrinth, and the late nights spent sipping espresso as you prepared your lectures.

But it wasn’t just the big moments you shared; it was the little things, too. The frustration of dealing with Italian bureaucracy, the odd comfort of hearing a student quote something you’d said in class, and the quiet evenings when you missed the familiar hum of the BAU. Every word was laced with your personality: your humor, your insight, the way you saw the world with a blend of sharp intellect and boundless curiosity. Hotch read that first letter at least a dozen times, absorbing every detail, and when he finally put it down, he felt closer to you than he had in weeks.

Writing back to you became a ritual for Hotch, a quiet refuge at the end of his long, exhausting days. Once the cases were filed, the team had gone home, and the dim glow of his office lamp was the only light left in the bullpen, he would settle at his desk, the silence his only company. The act of writing to you felt both familiar and soothing, a tether to a time when you sat just across from him, lost in your own thoughts yet always attuned to his.

Hotch’s letters were a blend of work updates, personal reflections, and glimpses into the ever-changing dynamics of the team. He would tell you about the latest cases they were working on, the challenges that kept him up at night, and the way the BAU had evolved in your absence. You were always keen to know how the team was adjusting, and Hotch made sure to keep you in the loop, filling you in on the new agents who had joined and the unique personalities that now made up the BAU.

He told you about Derek Morgan, the first agent to join after you left. A former Chicago police officer with years of experience in the bomb squad, Morgan brought a fierce determination and a protective instinct that quickly made him an invaluable asset. But there was also a softer side to Morgan, one that emerged when he talked about his past or reached out to support his teammates. In many ways, his drive and unwavering loyalty reminded Hotch of you, and he knew you would have liked him.

Next came Penelope Garcia, the flamboyant technical analyst whose quirky style and unmatched brilliance with computers brought a new energy to the team. She was a ray of light in the otherwise dark world of profiling, and Hotch often found himself amused by her unique way of looking at the world. Despite her unconventional approach, Garcia was a genius with technology, hacking into systems with ease and always finding the crucial piece of information that made the difference. Hotch thought of how you would have loved her spirit, her warmth, and her unfiltered way of connecting with others.

Then there was Jennifer “JJ” Jareau, the new media liaison who had quickly proven herself to be on of the most important resources in the team. JJ was calm under pressure, compassionate, and fiercely dedicated to the team’s mission. She was a bridge between the BAU and the outside world, handling the delicate task of managing public perception and dealing with victims’ families with grace and empathy. Hotch admired her poise and her quiet strength, qualities he often found himself describing to you, knowing you’d appreciate how she balanced the team’s intense work with her soft-spoken resilience.

And then there was Dr. Spencer Reid, a young genius with an IQ of 187. Gideon had brought him in, recognizing his potential - just as he did with you back then - even though Reid was still so green, fresh out of the academy with a mind that worked on an entirely different level. Hotch wrote about Reid’s unique brilliance, the way he could recite obscure facts at lightning speed, and notice patterns no one else could see. But he also told you about Reid’s vulnerabilities, when his intellect clashed with his emotional sensitivity. Reid’s innocence and earnestness were tempered by the heavy weight of the cases, and Hotch often found himself mentoring him.

Lastly, Hotch wrote about Emily Prentiss, the newest addition to the team, an experienced agent with a knack for languages and a drive that matched his own. Prentiss was smart, resourceful, and relentless in her pursuit of justice, and her multilingual skills often put her in the center of complex international cases. She was bold, unafraid to speak her mind, and determined to prove herself, even when the odds were against her. Hotch appreciated her dedication and saw echoes of your tenacity in her work ethic, her unyielding desire to understand every angle of a case.

As Hotch became Unit Chief, he had worked hard to build a cohesive team, one that felt more like a family than just a group of agents. He made it a priority to cultivate an environment where each member’s strengths could shine, creating an expanded, stable unit where everyone had their own area of expertise: Morgan with tactical support, Garcia with technical prowess, JJ with media relations, Reid with his unparalleled intellect, Prentiss with her international insight and Gideon – just being Gideon.

It was a dynamic mix, and though the team had grown and evolved, Hotch never stopped missing your presence among them. You were the missing piece, the partner who had helped lay the foundation for what the BAU had become.

But his letters were not just filled with work updates; they were laced with personal moments, too. Hotch shared glimpses of his life outside the office, the small joys that kept him grounded. He wrote about his son Jack, who was growing up faster than Hotch could keep up with. He also wrote about Haley, who had found solace in gardening, transforming their backyard into a small oasis of color and life.

The lines between work and personal life blurred in his letters, just as they always had with you. You were more than just a partner at work, you were the person who had been there through the highs and lows, his best friend who understood the burdens he carried without him having to say a word. And though you were an ocean away, your presence lingered in every word exchanged, each letter a lifeline that kept you connected despite the distance.

You never just sent letters, though. There were always little extras tucked inside: clippings from newspapers, photos of the places you were exploring, and, most often - to still honour your long lived tradition - books.

You had a way of choosing the perfect titles, each one reflecting the country you were living in or the experiences you were having. When you were teaching in Italy, you had sent him a cookbook called “Pizza, Pane e Focacce,” a whimsical collection of traditional recipes that made Hotch laugh out loud. He had imagined you in the tiniest Roman kitchen, trying your hand at kneading dough, and the thought was so charmingly incongruous that he couldn’t resist teasing you about it in his next letter.

“Italian pizza and philosophy, a natural combination,” he had written, the playful tone feeling both familiar and distant. “Let me know when you’re ready to challenge Rossi to a cook-off. I’ll bring the wine.”

But the most meaningful gift had come when Hotch had told you about Haley’s pregnancy. It was a vulnerable confession, written in the quiet hours of the night when he felt the weight of impending fatherhood pressing down on him.

He hadn’t expected anything in return, but a few weeks later, a package arrived, a book titled “Guide for New Dads.” It was in Swedish, a nod to one of the first books he’d ever given you about coin collecting, and this time to prove him you had long mastered that language, every page was carefully translated into English with sticky notes in your familiar blue ink.

You had filled the margins with little jokes and notes of encouragement, turning a practical guide into something deeply personal.

“This one’s actually useful, Hotch,” you had joked.

“I promise, the Scandinavians know their thing.” Or

“It’s not the easiest language,” you had written on one of the notes, “but then again, neither is parenthood. You’ve got this, partner.”

Those two words - “you’ve got this” - had stayed with him, becoming a quiet mantra in the moments when doubt threatened to creep in. You always seemed to know exactly what he needed, even from halfway across the world.

Today, Hotch was sending you something in return. After years of toying with the idea, he had finally co-written a book on crisis negotiation, a project that had taken countless late nights and long hours of reflection. It was something he was proud of, a culmination of his years in the field, and it felt only right that you should be one of the first to see it. He carefully packed the book, adding a handwritten note on the first page, a Hegel quote about partnership that he knew you would appreciate.

"Partnership, like friendship, is an expression of freedom that arises from the recognition of others as individuals, bound by a common ethical life." - (Philosophy of Right, unfortunately, not Hegel for Dummies)

“Hopefully, you’ll like this one in particular,” he had added in a playful scrawl, imagining the way you would roll your eyes at his attempt at humor. It was a small gesture, but it felt like a continuation of the conversation you had been having for years, the dialogue that never really ended.

Six years had passed, but some things never changed. You were still his partner, the person who understood him in ways no one else ever could. But now, your life had taken a different turn - you were engaged to Peter, your best friend since you were fifteen. Hotch knew Peter well, how he had been there when you needed a shoulder to cry on, when you were too stubborn to ask for help, and how, despite winning that date with you back at his welcome back party, you’d never really given him a fair chance.

Peter had always been that steady presence, always willing to wait, always there in the background, a constant in your life when everything else felt uncertain. And though you had resisted his quiet, unwavering affection for years, something in you had shifted: a desire for something safe, something dependable, something that felt like home.

In your letters, Hotch could feel the warmth and affection you had for Peter radiate from every line. You described him with such tenderness: the way he would surprise you with breakfast on mornings when you were buried in work as your usual, how he would wait up for you when your classes ran late, and how he would listen, truly listen, to every word you said, even when his own responsibilities at Interpol were just as demanding. There were little moments, too: the way his eyes would light up when he saw you walk into a room, and the quiet nights spent talking about everything and nothing.

Hotch could tell Peter cherished you in a way you deserved: patiently, deeply, without reservations. He could see that Peter was the one who was there to hold you through your doubts, the one who made you feel understood when the rest of the world seemed incomprehensible.

He remembered the letter you had sent announcing your engagement, how you described Peter’s proposal on a quiet evening in Vienna, the two of you standing on a bridge overlooking the Danube. You wrote about the gentle way he had asked, how it felt so natural, so right, that you hadn’t even needed to think twice before saying yes.

You were building something beautiful, and he was happy for you. Truly, he was. But there were moments, in the quiet solitude of his office or in the late hours of the night, when he couldn’t help but feel the weight of your absence like an old, familiar scar.

He sealed the package with the book and his note inside, pausing to add a small card with a few lines scribbled in his neat handwriting:

“To my partner, the only person who could ever make a philosopher out of an FBI agent. I hope this book finds you well. I’m proud of you, always. Don’t forget to write.”

He had kept your latest letter on his desk, re-reading it whenever the weight of the day became too much. You wrote about the small joys of your new life - the café near your apartment in Paris, where you and Peter would go on Sundays, the excitement of teaching your students about behavioral analysis, and the bittersweet feeling of missing the team. It was the kind of letter that made Hotch smile, filled with all the small details that made him feel like you were still just a phone call away.

But life at the BAU had moved on. Hotch was Unit Chief now, a position he had worked years to attain, and the team was evolving with new faces and new dynamics. Haley and Jack were thriving, and Hotch found solace in their little routines, the stability of home life that had once seemed impossible. But no matter how full his days were, there was always that quiet moment when he would think of you: wondering where you were, what you were doing, and if you ever missed him the way he missed you.

He hadn’t seen you in six years, hadn’t heard your voice except for in memories, and yet you were still so present, woven into the fabric of his everyday life in ways he hadn’t fully understood until you were gone.

.

Back in the bullpen, Emily Prentiss, still trying to find her rhythm with the BAU team, leaned against her desk, her eyes trailing toward Hotch’s office. She had been with the team for a few months now, and while she was learning the ropes and getting comfortable, Hotch remained somewhat of a mystery to her.

He was always calm, collected, and focused - a leader who kept a firm grip on everything around him. But when it came to his personal life, he was a locked vault. It intrigued her, in a way that felt almost frustrating. With a sly smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, she tossed out the question she’d been wondering for weeks. “Does Hotch even have friends? I mean, besides his endless pile of case files?”

The bullpen, which had been filled with the familiar hum of typing and low conversations, quieted as everyone processed the question. Morgan, sitting across from Prentiss, was the first to break the silence with a low snicker. He leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head, flashing his trademark grin. “Hotch? Friends? Nah, that man’s married to the job. Friends would require, you know - fun - and I don’t think he’s ever met the word.”

JJ, who had been sorting through a stack of papers at her desk, laughed softly. “Yeah, he definitely seems more like the ‘spend Saturday night in the office instead of watching a game with buddies’ type. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t even have time for friends.”

Prentiss grinned at that, shaking her head in agreement. "Or maybe he has a secret club of workaholics where they get together and solve cold cases for fun."

Garcia, standing behind Morgan’s chair and draping her arms around his shoulders, gasped dramatically, her eyes widening with an over-the-top look of mock horror. She placed a hand theatrically over her heart, shaking her head in disbelief. “Oh, can you imagine Hotch at a dinner party?” she exclaimed, her voice dropping into a stiff, deadpan impression of him. “‘So, how do you feel about the rising murder rates in the Midwest?’”

She shivered dramatically, clutching Morgan a little tighter for effect. “Honestly, the worst small talk ever,” she declared, rolling her eyes with a playful shudder that sent the team into laughter.

Laughter rippled through the group, the shared image of Hotch awkwardly navigating social situations becoming a source of amusement. But as the laughter died down, Reid - who had been quietly sifting through old case files - looked up, his expression thoughtful, as if he had been contemplating the question more seriously than the rest.

“I don’t think it’s that he doesn’t want friends,” Reid mused, his tone thoughtful as he leaned back in his chair. He absentmindedly flipped through a stack of old case files in front of him, though it was clear his mind was elsewhere. “It’s more that he doesn’t *prioritize* them. His work-life balance is… well, skewed. I think he probably sees relationships outside of work as distractions. They pull him away from his responsibilities, and that’s something he can’t afford.”

Prentiss nodded slowly, taking in Reid’s assessment with a soft hum of agreement. She crossed her arms over her chest and shifted her weight, her gaze flicking toward Hotch’s office, where the blinds were half-drawn and the lights were on. “Yeah,” she said, drawing out the word, “I can see that. But still… doesn’t everyone need someone to talk to? I mean, even Hotch?”

Morgan, leaning back in his chair with a casual grin, was about to drop a classic sarcastic retort when something stopped him in his tracks. He noticed the subtle shift in the room - a presence just behind them, commanding yet silent. The playful banter faded as everyone instinctively glanced up.

There, standing quietly at the edge of their conversation, was Jason Gideon.

His mere presence had a way of quieting a room. Unlike Hotch, whose authority was overt and rooted in his leadership, Gideon’s was understated, more psychological. He didn’t need to bark orders at them; he simply had to be there, and everyone would fall silent. He looked between them, his eyes calm but sharp, assessing the scene with a quiet understanding.

Gideon had clearly overheard enough of the conversation to know what they were discussing. His expression was thoughtful, as though he was deciding just how much he wanted to reveal. Finally, in his familiar, measured voice, he broke the silence. “Yes, he does have friends.”

The simplicity of his statement landed like a bombshell in the middle of the room. All eyes snapped to Gideon, the weight of his words sending shockwaves through the group. The notion that Aaron Hotchner - stoic, ever-serious Hotch - had a social life outside the walls of the BAU was almost laughable.

Morgan was the first to react, leaning back with an incredulous grin as he raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?” He let out a disbelieving chuckle. “You’re telling me Hotch has friends? Like, real, actual friends? Not just old case files and unsolved murders?”

JJ, sitting a few desks away, blinked in surprise and lowered her papers, clearly caught off guard by the idea. “Friends?” she echoed. “I mean, I know Hotch is close to his team, but I didn’t think he really had time for anyone outside of work.”

Prentiss, her curiosity instantly piqued, leaned forward, her arms now resting on the back of a chair. “Wait, hold on. Hotch has a friend? Who?”

Gideon’s gaze swept the room, and the corners of his mouth tugged upward in a subtle smile, enjoying the ripple of disbelief he’d caused. He took a step closer, his hands casually tucked into his pockets. “She used to work here,” he said, his voice calm and deliberate, almost as if the information he was dropping wasn’t about to throw the entire team into a frenzy. “One of the best profilers we’ve ever had, Hotch and her were partners.”

The weight of that revelation hung in the air like a thick cloud of mystery, and the group fell silent again, processing what had just been said. A female profiler? Someone close to Hotch? Who had left the team without a single mention in all these years? The idea felt like a puzzle, one they couldn’t help but start piecing together.

Garcia, always the quickest to act when it came to uncovering mysteries, perked up immediately. Her fingers hovered eagerly over her keyboard, itching to dive into the archives. “Wait, wait, wait,” she said, her voice bubbling with excitement. “She? A female profiler? Who worked here? And Hotch’s partner?” Her eyes sparkled mischievously. “We need details, Gideon.”

JJ, her brow furrowing in confusion, leaned against her desk and glanced at the others. “Why didn’t Hotch ever mention her? I mean, if she was one of the best profilers we’ve had, wouldn’t we know about her?”

Morgan scoffed lightly, shaking his head in disbelief. “This has got to be a joke, right? Hotch had a female partner, one of the best profilers, and he never said a word? Not even in passing?”

Prentiss, now fully engrossed in the mystery, added, “And why did she leave? People that good don’t just walk away. Something had to have happened.”

But Gideon, ever enigmatic, simply shrugged as if he were tossing breadcrumbs to a group of hungry detectives. “She moved on to bigger things,” he said, almost wistfully. “She’s in Europe now. Teaching. Brilliant mind.” And just like that, before anyone could ask more questions, he gave a small nod of finality and turned to walk back to his office. He left the group standing there in stunned silence, their collective curiosity now burning hotter than ever.

JJ blinked rapidly, still trying to process what had just been revealed. “That’s… cryptic, even for Gideon.”

Morgan, arms crossed over his chest, glanced back at Hotch’s office, his brow furrowing deeper. The blinds were half-drawn, but he could still make out the familiar figure hunched over case files, as usual. “Hotch had a partner like that and never mentioned her once? Not even a hint? That’s not just weird, it’s suspicious.”

Prentiss raised an eyebrow, a sly smile playing on her lips as she shook her head. “If she was that good, why isn’t she still here? There has to be more to the story than Hotch is letting on. You know how he is with secrets.”

Garcia’s eyes were immediately already glowing with excitement. “Well, my darlings,” she said, leaning forward with an exaggerated conspiratorial whisper, “it seems we have ourselves a delightful little mystery to solve. And you know there’s nothing I love more than a good digital dig into the archives.” She clapped her hands together. “To the Batcave!”

Morgan chuckled, standing up and stretching. “Alright, alright, lead the way, baby girl. Let’s see what you’ve got on this mystery woman.”

With an excited flourish, Garcia waved them all into her colorful sanctuary, the tech-laden, light-filled Batcave that was her pride and joy. Stepping inside, it was like entering another universe, a world of colorful bobbleheads, blinking lights, and eclectic posters that shouted Garcia's unique personality. Her desk was lit up with the glow of multiple monitors, all showing scrolling lines of code and flashing icons.

She wiggled her fingers theatrically over the keyboard before diving into the search. “Prepare to be dazzled, my friends. You’re about to witness hacking magic.”

Prentiss leaned against the edge of Garcia’s desk, smirking. “Do we get popcorn for this?”

Garcia flashed her a grin. “Popcorn comes later, my dear. Right now, we’re after intel.”

The rest of the team gathered around Garcia’s chair, their curiosity piqued. Morgan leaned over her shoulder, watching as she quickly navigated through various secure databases, her fingers flying over the keyboard in rapid succession. The sound of keystrokes filled the air, the tension rising with each tap. After a few moments, Garcia’s face lit up, her fingers pausing as she let out a theatrical gasp. “Oh. Oh my God.” She spun around dramatically in her chair, eyes wide. “Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you… her.”

The monitors flickered, and suddenly, the screen filled with your personnel file. A younger version of you stared back at them from the photograph - a sharp, focused gaze beneath determined brows, your expression serious yet full of life. There was something magnetic in the way you carried yourself, even in a still image.

Morgan leaned in closer, his eyes narrowing as he studied the picture. “Well, damn,” he muttered under his breath, letting out a low whistle. “She’s exactly my type.”

Prentiss nudged him playfully, raising an eyebrow. “You say that about every woman who’s both breathing and talented, Morgan.”

Morgan grinned, flashing her a playful wink. “Yeah, but this one’s different. Hotch kept her under wraps. That’s like a glowing recommendation.”

Garcia, enjoying the banter, rolled her eyes affectionately. “Easy there, tiger,” she teased, spinning back to her computer. “I’ll share her with you, but only because I love you. Remember, I’ve called dibs.”

The team erupted in laughter, Garcia’s infectious energy cutting through the room. Even Reid, who had been quietly studying your file, let out a small smile, though his focus remained intensely on the details unfolding before them.

“She was hired here at 21,” Garcia read aloud, her voice laced with a mixture of awe and disbelief. “Straight out of university with degrees in philosophy, psychology, and linguistics. And - oh, my God - she spoke 16 languages fluently when she joined.” She paused dramatically. “Now they’re up to twenty-six, tewnty-six.”

Reid’s head snapped up, his eyes wide with shock. “Twenty-one? She was recruited younger than I was?” He blinked, his mind racing as he processed the information. “That’s… incredible.”

Morgan grinned and elbowed Reid playfully. “Looks like someone beat you to the genius profiler title, pretty Ricky.”

Reid shot Morgan a mock glare but couldn’t hide his amazement. “Twenty-six languages?” His voice was filled with admiration as he scrolled through your file. “I’ve read her work. She pioneered an entirely new method of geographical profiling, 3D models that incorporate topography. Elevation, terrain changes, natural barriers… it completely changed how we understand unsub movement patterns.” He leaned forward, growing more animated. “Traditional geographical profiling looks at a flat map, but she recognized that criminals don’t move across flat landscapes. She factored in hills, rivers, even forests,anything that could affect the unsub’s route or escape. She mapped out the terrain as the unsub would see it, considering how natural barriers influence decisions.”

Prentiss nodded, intrigued. “So, she wasn’t just tracking where they went, but how they moved through the landscape?”

“Exactly!” Reid’s excitement built. “She created a ‘criminal terrain map,’ layering traditional geographic data with topographical maps. She used it to predict choke points, places where terrain forces an unsub to make specific choices. She even factored in the psychological impact, organized offenders would avoid risky terrain, while disorganized ones might take dangerous paths without thinking. She didn’t just consider where they were going, she understood why they made those decisions, based on both the landscape and their psychology.”

Prentiss raised her eyebrows, clearly impressed. “So, basically, she was a legend?”

Garcia continued scrolling through your file, her fingers moving methodically as she scanned more of your achievements. “And she didn’t just stop there,” she said, excitement building in her voice. “After leaving the BAU, she went on to teach behavioral science and criminology all over Europe: Italy, France, Spain, Greece, Sweden – you name it – even Iceland. Lecturing in multiple languages, of course. She’s giving a guest lecture at Quantico today.”

Morgan let out a low whistle, leaning in closer as though he could learn more about you just by studying your photo. “Hotch’s friend is an international superstar. That’s why he didn’t tell us about her. He didn’t want us feeling inferior.”

JJ chuckled from the other side of the room, still processing the idea of Hotch keeping someone like you under wraps. “Of course, Hotch would keep someone like that close to the vest. It’s so like him to have a secret weapon tucked away.”

Prentiss, crossing her arms, seemed to grow more curious by the second. “If she’s this brilliant, why did she leave? And why didn’t he ever mention her?” She scanned the faces of her colleagues, clearly unsatisfied with the pieces of the puzzle they had so far. “There’s something else going on here. Hotch doesn’t just let people disappear.”

Morgan scratched his chin thoughtfully, glancing back toward Hotch’s office, which seemed to be shrouded in even more mystery now. “Yeah, something’s not adding up. She was that good, and then she just… vanished from the BAU? I bet there’s a whole story we’re missing. The question is, why did she leave?”

Garcia, never one to miss out on a juicy bit of gossip, spun around in her chair with a conspiratorial grin. “You know, now that I’m thinking about it… she left just a few months after Hotch’s wedding.” She wiggled her eyebrows dramatically, enjoying the shocked looks from the others. “Coincidence? Or was there something more going on?”

JJ’s eyes widened, and she laughed softly, shaking her head. “You think she and Hotch were… what? Secretly involved? No way. Hotch is way too straight-laced for that.”

Morgan leaned against Garcia’s desk, crossing his arms. “I don’t know… maybe. She leaves right after his wedding? That’s a pretty big red flag. Maybe she had feelings for him, and when he married Haley, it was too much. She couldn’t handle being around him anymore.”

Prentiss raised an eyebrow, half-amused but also intrigued by the theory. “Or… maybe Hotch had feelings for her, and she left to avoid a messy situation. I mean, Hotch isn’t exactly one to wear his heart on his sleeve. Maybe it was all too complicated.”

Reid, who had been silently absorbing the conversation, finally spoke up, ever the voice of reason. “Or,” he said, “it could just be a coincidence. People leave jobs all the time for personal reasons. She was clearly brilliant; maybe she just wanted to pursue teaching or research.”

Garcia grinned at him, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Come on, genius. Even you can’t deny that the timing is suspicious. She leaves only months after Hotch gets married? There’s gotta be more to that story.”

Morgan nodded, his expression serious but playful. “Yeah, kid, you don’t leave the BAU, the best profiling team in the country, unless something major goes down.”

Prentiss tilted her head, her curiosity still running wild. “What if they had some kind of falling out? Maybe they were super close, and after the wedding, things got awkward between them.”

JJ leaned against the wall, looking thoughtful. “It’s possible. People don’t usually leave a close partnership like that without a good reason. Especially someone like Hotch, he doesn’t form bonds easily, but when he does… it runs deep.”

Morgan grinned. “Whatever it is, I can’t wait to find out. If we’re lucky, we might get some answers when we meet her. Maybe she’ll drop some hints about what really went down.”

Garcia, her fingers flying across the keys again, pulled up more details about your guest lecture. “Well, lucky for us, she’s not going to be a mystery for much longer. Her lecture is in just a couple of hours at the Academy. How convenient for us to take a little field trip.”

Reid, his eyes lighting up, nodded eagerly. “I’d love to hear her lecture. I’ve read so much of her work - it would be fascinating to see how she applies her theories in person. Maybe we’ll even get some insight into her departure.”

Prentiss smirked, clearly enjoying the intrigue. “And I wouldn’t mind getting a sense of what she’s like. She sounds like a force to be reckoned with. Plus, if she was that close to Hotch, there’s gotta be some interesting history.”

Garcia swiveled around to face them, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Well, what are we waiting for? Field trip, anyone?”

JJ pushed away from the wall, smiling as she glanced around the room. “I’m in. Let’s go meet the legend.”

The team exchanged eager glances, the sense of excitement in the air palpable. There was more to this than just a lecture, they were about to meet someone who had not only shaped the field of profiling but had also left a deep, unspoken mark on their unit chief, Aaron Hotchner. They couldn’t help but feel like they were about to uncover a part of the team’s history that for some reason had been hidden for far too long.

[crguang]

wasted with longing, part 2

You have never been so bothered in your life. Why? You refuse to admit it to yourself yet.

friends with benefits, afab!reader, gp!kafka, smut, mutual masturbation, facetime/video call sex, 6k words

A/N: after two whole months… we’re so back (im sorry). i giggled a lot writing this because the simple concept of fuckboy kafka is so ridiculous but i swear there’s a plot somewhere

part one part three

The bright light of your laptop screen starts to burn your retinas, and you blink quickly to chase away the fatigue building up under your eyelids. The words on the page stopped mattering over an hour ago yet you’re in no position to throw your work to the wind; you’ve already made it this far and this presentation is due in exactly 12 hours and 33 minutes. You’re at a stage where you blame everything and everyone that has ever contributed in leading you to where you sit against your bed’s headboard, lights dimmed low as your fingers brush over the keyboard in clicking sounds you’re deafened to. Your anxiety is the only thing keeping you awake, and if you cared about your job just a little less, you would have quit right then. You thought you’d left all-nighters in the past with boring college classes and tiny dorm rooms but life has an irritating way of repeating itself. 

You let out the hundredth sigh of the hour and take a moment to breathe in slowly through your nose, head tilted to the ceiling and eyes screwed shut, before exhaling loudly. You steel yourself for what you know is at least another hour of bullshitting statistics that you will do your best to present confidently this afternoon, but you can’t even pretend to like what you do anymore. Working in research has never been the most exciting career despite the occasional interesting discoveries you’ve been a part of. Still, you needed a job that would allow you to afford to live on your own in a city far away from your nagging parents and you were getting good at denying the fact that it is sucking the soul out of you. Your days are mundane, your routine unsatisfying, and you long for something more like most adults your age. You can’t quit until you find a better alternative that will pay you the same or more, so you bite back another exasperated groan and go back to your slides.

You wouldn’t be in this position eight days ago. You’ve had a week to come up with this presentation and instead of working on it like the diligent employee you usually are, most of your time was spent with your head in the clouds, preoccupied by someone who isn’t thinking about you. It makes you sick how bothered you are. It’s not like anything changed between the last time you talked and the one before that, and you were never as distracted by the lack of response as you have been this past week. You ignored your responsibilities, went out with friends four days in a row to convince yourself of your fake nonchalance just to find yourself in trouble that could have easily been avoided, anxious over the career you’ve worked so hard to earn.

Nothing good comes out of allowing that woman a bigger place in your thoughts than the three square feet corner she deserves, you know that. What frustrates you the most is that you don’t understand where this sudden concern for her lack of honesty comes from. Lies flow out of her like she was born with them on her lips; again, you know that. Then, what is the issue? Without identifying the root of the problem, you’re left a snowball of jumbled thoughts and insecurity steadily getting bigger as it nears the foot of the mountain until it inevitably crashes into a tree and falls apart completely. Why say things she doesn’t mean? Are you disposable? You hate her. Does she hate you? You should block her number. Why do you care? Screw her. 

…You wish you could.

Your laptop screen turns dark and snatches you back to reality. You got lost in thought again. You run a hand over your face, using two fingers to rub the inner corner of your eyes. You’re pathetic. Even now with this feeling of impending doom looming over you, your mind drifts to her and attempts to find reason behind her actions when there is likely none. Your work is important to you, she is not. Yet, you’re incapable of focusing on the PowerPoint in front of you. You start to wonder if you should lie down, rest your eyes for a few hours and finish the presentation when you wake up, right before you get ready to leave for the office. It would be cutting it extremely close, but you can’t think clearly anymore and the stress gets more paralyzing as the minutes go by. Another tired sigh escapes you. Maybe you simply need to relax a little, perhaps with some scalding tea. 

You push your laptop aside and stretch your body on the covers, arms over your head like a lazy cat. You’ll prepare a cup of tea to soothe your muscles then you’ll finish your work and go to bed. If you lie to yourself enough times, you believe you can make it. You straighten up and smooth down your hair. You’re about to stand up when a familiar ping! near you announces a new text message. You reach for your phone on your nightstand, thinking perhaps one of your friends got drunk again and needed a ride home, and tap the screen to open your notification center. 

You stare at the screen until it turns black, tap it so it lights up again and repeat the process a couple more times as your mind processes what your eyes are seeing and the implications behind it. You almost can’t believe the message you just got and have to click the notification to open up the private conversation; there, at 2:29 AM, Kafka sent you a video. You can’t make out much from the blurry cover, though the lighting seems low like it was filmed during the late evening. Your thumb hovers over it for a moment, wondering if she even meant to send that to you since she hasn’t texted or called since the last time you hooked up. In hindsight her behaviour is not so unusual, you thought you were used to her elusive ways but if the past week has taught you anything, it’s that you obviously expect something from her. Honesty, basic human decency— to not leave you feeling like a wet towel discarded in the laundry bin after she’s used it.

“…Fuck it.”

Your curiosity gets the better of you despite your self-pity at the prospect of always making yourself available for her no matter the time. It’s a coincidence, you tell yourself. The two of you have many of those. You press the play icon on the video and it expands to the full screen. The camera shakes a little, then steadies to show half of Kafka’s body from an inclined angle and part of her face, peach lips on display. She’s wearing a strapless dress, the kind only worn to impress, with a pearl necklace over her collarbone; it’s your first time seeing her in something other than casual clothes. You have to admit that you wish you could’ve seen the whole outfit, if only to… You don’t know. 

Kafka is sitting on a bed judging by the white sheets you can spot, and you blink several times at the unmistakable outline of her cock and hard nipples through the material of her dress. You watch in disbelief as she pulls the fabric up to her waist, revealing the garter belt around one of her thighs. Her hand slithers between her breasts and down her stomach to finally disappear under her clothes, but the way she begins stroking herself is purposely obvious. The head of her cock creates a tent meant to remind you of how big she is, and she pumps her shaft steadily, her lips parting slightly to let out low hums of pleasure. You stare, unmoving, unaware of your pulse’s quicker pace as Kafka jerks off on video, the erotic tone of her long moans filling your bedroom, and you don’t register turning up the volume a bit more. Her hand speeds up a touch, you think she must have already been hard before recording because she clearly won’t last much longer, but instead of rolling your eyes at the absurdity of it all, you find yourself hoping she’ll take off that dress and give you a real show. Kafka’s breathing becomes heavier, her moans less controlled, and from this angle, you notice the movement of her hips eager to meet each stroke along her cock. Her thumb swipes over her sensitive tip and her bottom lip is pulled between her teeth at the pleasant sensation. Not a single word is uttered, you can’t hear anything in the background either— not that you were listening for it— it’s just the sinful sounds of her throaty hums and her fingers around her dick. Half a minute passes before her breath hitches in a sharp gasp, and you know she’s going to come right before she does. Your thighs squeeze together at the breathy moan that spills from her mouth, her hand still gently stroking herself. Her lips stretch into that teasing smile you can picture with your eyes closed, and the video ends. 

You’re harshly pulled from the daze you were in, staring at your phone. You don’t know what to think, she ignores you for a week then sends you a video of her masturbating at two in the morning with nothing else attached. You can’t deny that it had the desired effect on you; your body feels hotter under your sleeping clothes and your thighs are still pressed together to ignore the throb between them, but once again you attempt to figure out the reasoning behind what she does and come up empty. There’s no use in trying to pry open a steel safe that is sealed shut, so why do you try over and over like you have nothing better to do? Why show up with blowtorches and lock picks when your presence is unwanted inside?

Kafka uses you for pleasure, and you use her the same. That is the nature of your relationship. So, you decide to take that video at face value and press replay. Leaning back against the headboard, you bite your cheek as Kafka’s hand travels up and down her veiled cock while your own restlessly traces shapes into the skin of your thigh. It wanders up your body to cup one breast under your shirt, thumb softly circling a stiffening nipple. You pinch it between two fingers at the same time Kafka lets out a pretty moan and you feel arousal dampening your underwear at the various stimuli. The video ends before you can move on to your thighs and you have to replay it again, and again, to properly build up your orgasm before you’re needy enough to slip a hand under your sticky panties. Your middle finger applies pressure on your puffy clit in tight little circles, jolts of pleasure shooting through you and tightening your stomach.

Eyes half-lidded, you forget all about your work to prioritize the need in your cunt, unconsciously matching Kafka’s pace and wishing she was there to take care of you the way only she knows how. Your hips move with the fingers that rub between your wet folds in a messy pattern. You breathe in sharply through your mouth when one of them finds your clit again and firmly toys with it. You’re so aroused, so wet and needy, but watching Kafka’s playful performance through a phone screen with only half of her body shown and her cock hidden from sight isn’t enough. Desperation builds within your lower belly as you inch a finger past your entrance, barely biting back a breathy moan at the feeling. It sinks in effortlessly, so you add another after adjusting to the slight stretch of it rubbing your inner walls. Your other hand holds the phone closer to your face like that will make Kafka seem more tangible. You pump two digits into your pussy, coating them in your arousal, and it feels so good, has your thighs spreading further apart, but it’s not enough. 

A frustrated sigh leaves you. You don’t think before exiting the video and pressing the video call button. The line rings once, twice, and your fingers slip out of you as you wait to see if it’ll connect. After a few more seconds, you choose to save face and go to hang up just as it connects with the other line and Kafka’s smirking face comes into view. You blame the stutter of your chest on your arousal. She blows smoke through her mouth and faces away from the camera for a moment to put out the cigarette you caught her smoking. She’s in casual clothes once again, and by the lighting, you infer that it’s likely afternoon wherever she is. That video she sent must have been filmed earlier than the time it was received, it might also be an older one from before you met. You mistake your disappointment for annoyance. 

“What is wrong with you?” Your stern voice has a shaky edge to it that Kafka definitely notices. Her smile widens an inch. 

“You look a little… flushed. Saw something you like?”

“Fuck you. It’s almost three in the morning.”

“Is that how late it is there? Mmm, it slipped my mind.”

“Like I’m supposed to believe that,” you put down the phone for an instant, pulling your pyjamas down your legs to toss them onto the bed. You bring the device back up and recline on the pillows, holding it high enough for Kafka to have a view of your torso and the stiff nipples poking through your half-ridden shirt. 

Kafka’s lowered gaze unapologetically trails down your upper body. You cup your breast, softly kneading the soft mound between your fingers, and watch her eyes darken with desire.

“I can’t come over.”

You roll your eyes. “I didn’t ask you to. Just need to hear you.”

“Cute. What if I’m not alone?” Her tone is teasing but she does look up from the screen as if someone could walk by and catch you touching yourself. 

“Figure it out.”

“Bossy… And so aroused, aren’t you? From a simple video, no less.”

You let the confident drawl of her words wash over you, ignoring her attempts at riling you up further to focus on the familiar pitch of her voice. It’s rough, intentionally slowed to keep people’s attention solely on what she has to say and control the pace of the conversation, dripping like syrup. You relax into the mattress and let your hand wander down the valley of your breasts, caressing the curves of your stomach. You’re already turned on and aching for release, each brush of your fingertips against your skin requires restraint not to slip a hand between your thighs and circle your clit. Your little show seems to give Kafka a taste of her own medicine, she observes you for a while, her gaze piercing through the veil of lust over her irises. 

“Enjoying yourself?”

“I would if you talked me through it,” you reply, expectant, lips parting as your hand teasingly disappears below the camera to massage the flesh of your inner thigh. 

Kafka hums, amused and intrigued. You’re sure she can tell how worked up you are and is debating helping you or leaving you wanting. Then she moves, the camera following her every step, and walks somewhere you hope is a secluded room. You don’t recognize her surroundings, she seems to be inside a building but the phone is too close to her face to show anything else properly.

“Did I wake you?” She asks on the way, barely looking away from the screen to watch where she’s going and instead focusing on how your hand travels back up your abdomen, lifting your shirt and revealing more of your chest as it goes. 

“No, but it was a welcomed distraction. Walk faster.”

Kafka laughs at your impatience, the sound lighter than her usual arrogant or mocking chuckles and betraying her genuine amusement. There’s a fluttering sensation behind the walls of your heart like the wings of a panicked bird. 

“Why? You in a hurry?”

“Yes.”

Kafka enters a room drowning in sunlight, brighter than wherever she was before. You hear the sound of the door closing, then a lock turning before she walks further into the room to sit at what you presume is a desk. The phone is placed far enough from her frame to allow you a full view of her upper body over the wooden surface and the twin-sized bed behind her. The covers are unruffled, the walls barren and white, and you think she might be in a simple hotel room. She leans back in the chair, crossing one leg over the other and resting her cheek against the back of her hand. The index finger of her free hand absentmindedly taps the desk’s surface, mirroring her steady heartbeat. She gazes at you like you’re the most interesting sight she’s seen in days. 

“You look so needy… desperate for my touch.” Kafka drinks in the image of you sprawled on your bed, the lower half of your left breast exposed to her hungry eyes. Her mind conjures up many ways she would touch you if she were there, feeling your stumbling breaths in the crook of her neck. “What’s the matter? Can’t come without me anymore?”

Irritation swirls in your gut, mixing with the arousal pooling in your belly at her nonchalant arrogance. Her self-assurance infuriates you mostly because it’s not entirely unfounded; you do wish she was present in person to fuck your worries away but she could be on the other side of the planet for all you know, doing Aeons know what. You don’t have a retort, and you’re in no mood to be teased any more than you felt watching that short video of Kafka stroking herself. 

“It goes faster this way,” you lie.

“Mmm… Show me how you touch yourself when I’m not there.”

Her words make your pussy throb. You bite your lip, adjusting your hold on the phone and lowering the camera so she can’t see past your mouth but has a better view of your body. From this angle, the waistband of your underwear is visible just under your stomach. Your fingers dig into your pliable breast, kneading the mound like she usually does to you, occasionally toying with the nipple for the pleasant sensation that ripples through you and causes your thighs to twitch. Kafka’s intense gaze, deeply pleased at your immediate compliance, excites you like nothing else. You know she’s not as unaffected by the sight as she seems to be, her finger drums on the desk a tad faster when you twist your nipple and part your lips to exhale audibly. Your hand leaves your chest and you lower your phone further to follow its path across your torso until it reaches the band of your already slick panties. You sneak a finger under the thin material and Kafka speaks up again.

“Take them off. Let me see you.”

Hesitation takes hold of you for a second, and then you obey her sultry command, shifting to pull the underwear past your hips and down to your ankles. You angle the phone to provide her with a clear view of your wet cunt, breath hitching as Kafka unconsciously wets her lips and the drumming noise stops completely. She’s a statue of desire on the other side of the screen, her heavy stare locked on your fingers spreading your lower lips apart, puffy clit on display. You don’t wait for any other instructions, your need is too great to go unchecked a minute longer; you use your index to circle the bud in quick, desperate motions. Your body’s temperature rises a few degrees and a short, involuntary moan spills past your lips. Your eyes are tempted to close under such stimulation but you want to see Kafka’s every microexpression, every twitch of her mouth and fall of her chest, the flex of her hand against her cheek and the movement of her irises following your ministrations.

“Are you picturing me? My hands on your body, touching you just how you like it?”

You suck your bottom lip into your mouth to seal another soft moan. “Yeah…” 

Kafka’s fingers are skilled and precise, stimulating the most sensitive parts of you, some of which didn’t exist before she touched you. She’s learned you by heart as one does a music sheet and makes you sing in a way impossible to replicate alone, an artist missing their accompaniment. You imagine her palms brushing across your chest, teasingly squeezing one breast while her lips ghost over the skin of your jaw, trailing wet kisses up to your cheek. You imagine her slender fingers sinking into your inner thighs to keep them spread before her, drinking in the erotic sight you create under her. You swipe at your clit, each breath heavier than the one before, and observe her body language; how she uncrosses her legs and her hand on the desk disappears beneath the surface, how she tucks away a stray strand of hair so it doesn’t obstruct her vision, the apparent lust in her eyes almost turning their color a shade closer to magenta. Her attention feels like the many cocktails you drank this last week, smoldering down your throat and intoxicating your every nerve. It tightens your lower belly and makes you throb, entrance gushing even when she’s likely thousands of miles away. Your orgasm builds and builds, pleasure steadily mounting and promising salvation the closer you get to the edge. 

If her camera was positioned better, you would have seen her pointer and middle fingers drawing circles on her thighs not unlike how you’re stimulating your aching clit, slowly inching higher until they softly stroke the prominent swell over her shorts. You would have been privy to them slipping under her clothes, past her boxers, to caress along her cock from tip to base and draw a sharp intake of breath from her. You’re too lost in the pleasure to notice her next swallow as she wraps a hand around herself and masturbates in tandem with your heavy exhales. Just as you did, she pictures your wandering hands, your warm tongue licking broad stripes up her cock and the quiver of your brow when you struggle to take her into your mouth. You look up at her prettily through wet eyelashes, eager to please, and you suck her dry as she paints your throat white. 

Your camera trembles, you struggle to keep it still while you work to make yourself come, digits stuttering on your clit with quiet moans on the tip of your tongue. You’re so close that you barely compute what Kafka is saying.

“You look about ready to come. Are you going to come just from the sight of me?”

She sounds way too pleased for your liking but you can’t bother to care at this moment, all that matters is your impending release. You nod quickly.

“Yeah? Let me hear you.”

“Fuck…” you manage to breathe out, hips desperately bucking into your hand, chasing relief from the pressure building in your belly. 

You don’t contain your pitiful sounds of pleasure at Kafka’s request and a soft cry rips from your throat as you finally burst. You come hard, thighs closing together and trapping your hand between them, jolts of pleasure running down your body like a thousand little shivers until you’re a shaking mess on the bed. Eyes screwed shut with the intensity of your orgasm, you miss Kafka’s parted lips and unyielding stare roaming over your arching form, her thumb applying mind-dizzying pressure on her leaking tip under her shorts to tease herself. You take a minute to calm yourself, she takes in the movement of your breasts rising and falling with your chest, imagining wetting them with her tongue so they glitter stunningly in the light when she pulls away. She strokes herself faster and the sound of her satisfied hum helps you realize what she’s doing.

“Hah… This is what you wanted, huh?” You bring your phone higher, circling your areola with two cum-coated fingertips and relishing in the way her eyelids droop. “Sending me that little video to tease me so I’d call and help you jerk off?” 

Kafka’s low chuckle turns into a pleased sigh at the end as she touches herself just right, smearing pre-cum all over her throbbing cock. 

“I wanna see.”

She picks up the camera and angles it so you have a view of her cock straining against her clothes. The silk of her glove is heaven along her skin, and with the microphone closer to her face you can hear the shallow breaths she releases on her journey to relief. No doubt the friction is dulling her mind, reducing her to her urgent need to come. Your tongue flicks over your upper lip and Kafka almost groans, still watching you intently like she’s making up scenarios of you on your knees with your head bobbing up and down her thick cock. The next time she takes you is already planned out in detail, you’ll be so utterly ruined that you won’t be able to beg her for more.

“I’d get you there quicker if you were here.”

“Mmh… Soon.”

You refrain from rolling her eyes at her obvious lie. Spoken words out of her lips mean nothing, especially with pleasure fogging her mind. Kafka’s following sharp gasp lets you know she’s close to falling apart; you lift your sticky fingers to your mouth, making a show of licking them clean how you would her shaft, and this time she doesn’t suppress the throaty, blissful noise that was sitting on her tongue. She sears your performance in the back of her eyelids and pumps her cock with purpose, orgasm imminent. Her hips jerk upward as her release crashes into her in toe-curling waves of pleasure, hand stuttering around her length and cum staining her underwear and glove. She moans unashamedly, knowing what it does to you, and her eyes flutter shut only for the instant it takes to compose herself afterwards. Her hand leaves her shorts, she brings her wet fingers to the light and smiles up at you. 

“Thanks.” Without any underlying cockiness, there’s nothing but appreciation when she addresses you. 

You don’t meet her gaze, averting your eyes while you sit up and smooth down your hair. Now that the tension in your muscles has dissipated, you’re reminded of why you were up this late in the first place and the work that still needs to be completed before work some hours later. You sigh tiredly, but your mind is clearer and you feel a spike of energy to finish your presentation, invigorated from your previous orgasm. Maybe you should be the one thanking her.

“What’s wrong?” 

You look back at Kafka. “I hate my job.”

“You should quit, then.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Isn’t it?”

“…And do what?” You ask flatly.

“Whatever you want.”

You stare at her momentarily, wondering what kind of reality she must live in where everything is available for the taking. Your studies were largely influenced by the constant pressure your parents put on you to get a sustainable income, and you were too preoccupied with your grades to ponder the what-ifs. They sacrificed quite a bit to have you enroll in one of the Intelligentsia Guild’s schools, your academic success was the least you could do to settle that debt somehow. You don’t care for mechanics but it was a relatively easy subject to study, so you picked it. You’re good at what you do, despite this job not being what you dreamed of doing for the rest of your life. Now, you’re not sure if you even have dreams. You have some skills, sure, but what do you want?

Kafka’s looking at you like she’s figuring you out. You don’t know what she aims to find but a childish part of you hope she likes it. You shake your head as if the thoughts would evaporate with the movement and stand from the bed.

“I should finish my work,” you say on the way to the bathroom, flicking the light open. 

“I need to go too.” Kafka pauses, seemingly considering something, then continues, “Do you have plans on Thursday?”

The question is unexpected, it takes you a few seconds to come up with an answer. “Apart from work, I don’t think so. Why?”

“You should stay home. Skip work.”

“Why would I do that…?”

“Do you trust me?”

“No.” The reply leaves you before you can think about it, but it’s the truth. Kafka has never given you any reason to trust her up till now, you don’t even believe half of the things she says. Trusting her for anything would be incredibly foolish.

Her eyes narrow a bit, though that small smile stays on her lips. Your confusion must show on your face, and you have the impression that her demeanor has gotten more serious. 

“Trust me now. I have to leave, but I hope you take my advice. If not… Well, I’ll see you soon.”

“Wh—?”

The video call disconnects. Did she just hang up on you?!

After a quick shower and a change of sheets, you end up completing your assignment in around 40 minutes and getting a few hours of sleep before you have to leave for work. The day is long, and your anxiety intensifies with each passing hour but you present your project idea with little to no problem. The rest of the week passes quickly with no further messages from Kafka, but you stop expecting her to hit you up for anything other than sex so you get better at hiding your disappointment, enough that you’re able to focus on your job like the development of the past two weeks never happened. On Thursday, you wake up for work and sit on the edge of your bed, staring at your phone open on the private conversation between you and Kafka, debating with yourself whether you should ask her to clarify her last words to you. You try to recall her expression when she said them. Reading her is hard, her behavior is too well-rehearsed to be peeled to pieces by anybody— and you guess that is what you are; anybody. You feel like an idiot as you dial your office to call off work. 

With nowhere to go, you spend the day at home watching shitty TV until the sky begins its descent in the sky, catching up on shows you previously had no time for. You do go out for groceries in the afternoon to cook something nice for yourself once dinner comes around, but your day is mostly boring and uneventful. You’re lying on the couch, half-lidded eyes barely focusing on the bright TV screen as it plays the same sitcom you’ve been watching for almost two hours when your phone rings. The noise wakes you, you blink rapidly and reach for the device, accepting the call without looking at the contact ID. 

“Hello?”

“Hey!” Himeko’s musical voice sounds from the other line. 

“Hime?”

“Were you expecting someone else?”

You rub your eyes with a hand and sit up to pause your show. “No, not really. How’s trailblazing going?”

“It was kinda tough the last few weeks but nothing we couldn’t handle. What about you? Last time we talked you were pretty busy too.”

“I’m good, work has been a bit demanding lately because of this secret project thing I can’t really talk about, but nothing eventful has happened, except…” You cut yourself off. 

“What is it?”

“You won’t like it.”

“Oh? Now I definitely want to know. Let me guess… It’s that lady again.”

“Lady?” You repeat with a laugh, “There is nothing ladylike about the way she f—”

“Ew. I get it.” You hear shuffling on the other side, like Himeko is walking from one place to another. “You were complaining about her last time, what happened now?”

“More complaints.”

“I can’t understand why you won’t end things if all you’re going to do is get annoyed every time you see each other. Learn to walk away from unnecessary grievances, they only pollute your thoughts.”

You stand from the couch and walk towards the kitchen, opening the fridge to pull out the stuff you’ll need for dinner. “The sex is really good. Like, great. Like, mind-blowing. Toe-curling, even.” You can almost hear Himeko’s eye roll. “Don’t roll your eyes at me, I don’t know why she has to be so infuriating. It’s obviously a case of big ego, but there’s something more in there. She just won’t let me see it.”

“You’re practically strangers. No wonder.”

“She’s been inside me. I wouldn’t call us strangers.”

“Do you know anything about her apart from her name?”

You pause with one hand around a carton of heavy cream. A door slides shut on the phone. You don’t have to think long to know the answer to that question, but you’re a little ashamed of it. Ashamed and disappointed, because it’s not by lack of trying; Kafka treats every attempt at getting to know her beyond the bounds of your relationship like a battlefield where she has to lie to survive. There’s a constant distance between you no matter how physically close she gets and it’s beginning to drive you mad. It was hot at first, the air of mystery around her is what drew you to her in that clothing store. Months later, it’s simply an obstacle you can’t jump over.

“Fine,” you reply with a sigh, closing the fridge and putting the carton on the counter, “you have a point. But it’s not like I haven’t tried, she just…”

“Doesn’t value you for anything other than sex?”

You don’t respond, mouth curving in a frown. That hurt your feelings, even though you know Himeko is only being honest because she hates this situation for you. She disapproved from the start, said you weren’t the type to have no strings attached, and she was right. You didn’t listen; Kafka is a splash of excitement in an otherwise pretty boring life, unraveling her takes skill and effort, and it is much more gratifying than a research well done. However… perhaps it’s time you do.

“Was that too far?” Himeko asks, voice soft. “I’m sorry. You deserve better than someone who brushes you off constantly unless they want something from you.”

“I know…” 

There’s a sudden knock at your door and you furrow your brows as you look at the time on your phone. You’re not expecting anyone and you’re not a fan of people showing up unannounced in general, still, you start making your way out of the kitchen to the front door. 

“We had an agreement, though,” you continue, “so it’s not like she owes me anything. I’m the one asking for too much.”

“You want to make connections with people and that is a beautiful thing. If she can’t see that, then she isn’t worth your time.”

You reach the front door, unlock it and turn the handle. “You’re probably r—”

The rest of your sentence dies on your tongue. In the hallway of your apartment building stands a panting Kafka, coat in one hand while the other is pressed hard against her bloodstained shoulder. Her white shirt is tainted with the seeping liquid which turns her glove a deep violet color, blood spatter over her torso and some spread onto her cheek as if she attempted to wipe it off. She’s hunched forward instead of her usual straight posture and the sunglasses over her tussled hair are cracked. You’re frozen where you are, a dozen thoughts buzz inside your head like restless bees and keep you from uttering a word; dread, worry, confusion, you can’t name them all. You have trouble computing what you’re looking at. Kafka looks up at you with the small smile she wears like armor. Even now, her nonchalance annoys you.

“Hey.”

The sound of Himeko calling your name over the phone and asking you if everything’s alright shakes you from your stupor. Your movements are slow, delayed, as you turn your head towards the device close to your ear and speak, “I’ll call you back.”

You hang up without hearing the response. 

[onlyjaeyun]

[ 12:45pm ] 𝙨𝙞𝙢 𝙟𝙖𝙚𝙮𝙪𝙣 𝙭 𝙛𝙚𝙢!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧, 𝙥𝙪𝙨𝙨𝙮 𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙝𝙪𝙨𝙞𝙖𝙨𝙩!𝙮𝙪𝙣𝙞𝙚, 𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙞𝙣𝙨𝙚𝙘𝙪𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙮, 𝙛𝙖𝙘𝙚 𝙧𝙞𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜

"your nose is so pretty."

you find yourself mumbling at your boyfriend before your brain can even overthink those words and yet you're glad you didn't hesitate.

there's absolutely no reaction from jaeyun for a whole minute as you absentmindedly trace his sharp features with your fingers, not quite able to handle just how handsome he is.

you've been observing his side profile for a while now and every time your eyes found their way to his nose, you couldn't help but bite your bottom lip at the mental image of its tip nudging against your clit whenever he's got his face buried in your cunt.

jaeyun's been playing his video game for about an hour now and despite wanting to give him some space, you simply couldn't resist the craving of being close to him.

it's not like he minds your presence at all; jaeyun loves having your legs in his lap and your hand in his hair, playing with the soft strands as he enjoys his daily screen time away from all of his responsibilities.

usually you're quick to fall asleep, yet this time you seem to focused on him to even let the actual thought of sleep cross your mind.

you know it's because you can't stop thinking about your boyfriends plump lips, his hot tongue and his perfect nose, your head full of thoughts about how good he makes you cum over and over again once he's gotten a taste.

whereas jaeyun remains absolutely clueless. he's also a little too focused to pay complete attention to your words but he does appreciate your conpliment a lot. growing up it's always been a little difficult for him to like his nose since it's on the bigger side and not quite what people necessarily find attractive, until the two of you started dating and you've made it your mission to let him know just how perfect he is.

jaeyun places a quick kiss of gratitude into your palm before he pushes his lips into a thoughtful pout and focuses on his game again, not realising how much you've been pressing your thighs together in hopes of releasing some of the pressure on your needy cunt.

there's just something about the way he scratches the sides of his nose whenever he's slowly getting excited, poking the inside of his cheeks with his tongue and nibbling on his lip like he's purposely trying to torture you.

"yunie", you mumble and reach for his hand, grateful he's quick to play into your neediness as he grabs your inner thigh and gently strokes your skin, "i wanna ride your face, please."

usually you're not one to be this bold with your requests but after watching him for the past hour it's been incredibly hard for you to maintain your composure and even your patience has limits.

jake is absolutely stunned at your words. for a second he's not sure if he even heard you right, giving you a double take just to realise your current state.

eyes glossy, lips pushed into the cutest pout, thigh firmly pressed together and your cute nipples poking through the fabric of your pyjama shirt to the point where not a single thought is left to imagination.

just out of curiosity jaeyun lets his hand wander in between your legs, gulping harshly at the way they fall apart like you've been waiting to be relieved and once his fingers graze your soaked panties, he knows exactly why you're reacting the way you do.

without even missing another beat, jake throws his controller as well as his headset to the side, turning his game off and almost instantly laying on his side of the bed.

"i'm sorry for not realising sooner, baby", he whispers as you shakily make your way to straddle his handsome face, his cheeks and lips tinted in the sweetest shade of pink, "there you go, good girl."

his praise elicits a soft whimper from your throat, your hole clenching in absolute despair and the second the tip of his nose grazes your flesh, you throw your head back with a loud moan of relief.

"fuck, baby", jake grunts against your cunt, his tongue lapping up your sweet juices and if it wasn't for his tight grip on your waist, you would have thought he passed out, "you're so wet for me, angel girl, so perfect."

all you can do is whimper in response, grabbing a fistful of his dark hair and grinding yourself against his tongue, whining every time his nose nudges your hardened clit.

"that's why you love my nose so much, hm?", jake smiles and pushes his tongue inside of your clenching hole, groaning and moaning against your wet flesh like a man gone mad.

"mhm, y-yes", you whisper and feel the sweet sensation of your release climbing up your spine in the sweetest way possible, "love sitting on it."

and for a moment jake's movements stop, as he appreciates your sweet compliment, head cloudy from all the arousal floading his brain and his cheeks burning from excitement.

"that's my good girl", he grunts and finally wraps his lips around your sensitive clit before he pushes the tip of his tongue against the nub and applies just the right amount of pressure, making sure to have you cum all over his face to make you feel as lover and appreciated as he does.

[daydreams-after-dark]

What's your fanfic fantasy? part 1

↳ tag list: open

Chapter Contents.

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8 // Part 9 // Part 10 // Part 11 // Part 12 // Part 13 // Part 14 //

Pairing: fem reader + Chan + Jisung

This is an AU story about Chan bringing your fantasies to life... but what happens when boyfriends Chan and Han fall in love with you?

Chapter Summary: You're enjoying a drink with Chan until he starts asking about the smut you read.

Warnings: This first installment has no sex (but the next is fully sex including a threesome!) but talks about sexually explicit content, fantasies, references to sex and masturbation, explicit language, eventual threesome in next installment.

You sit on the leather lounge really confused about how the conversation ended up here.

“So… “ Chan starts, “do you enjoy reading them?” he smirks as he asks this.

He is such a cheeky bastard.

He isn't talking about stories in the media, or news articles, or interviews. Nope. He is talking about erotic fan fiction. Smut. About him. About him and his rock band SKZ. And that you've been reading it.

You have known Chan for a long time. Years now. You'd met on a creative project. You're musicians, and have often worked creatively together on and off for a few years. You were so excited when Chan invited you to his holiday/work retreat to work on a new project with him and a few of the guys from the band for a couple of weeks.

You're staying in a beautiful holiday home, more like a mansion really, on the coast overlooking the ocean. It’s a sight to die for.

Chan loved to work. He worked all day. He worked well into the night. He worked all the time actually. A workaholic. You wonder if you would get to let your hair down, and just hang out, which usually ends up with you bantering and laughing together for hours.

You didn’t have to wonder for long. It's your first day here, and it hasn’t taken long before you've hit “banter territory”. In fact it has now moved beyond “banter territory” and into some unknown, and quite frankly scary, uncharted territory, and you don’t have a map for this particular terrain.

Even though nothing has ever happened between you and Chan, and likely never will, you often seem to end up flirting. Hinting at things in a fun, non serious way. But never taking it further (although your mind has drifted much further than you'd ever admit).

Chan’s a safe flirt. Which means he makes you feel safe enough to push the envelope without a sense of awkwardness or feeling a need to take action or follow through. You seem to just prick tease really.

It’s just fun and games right? Right? It was always… cheeky and lighthearted and absolutely never serious.

Until now.

You feel flustered and a little sweaty. You try to shift in your seat to get more comfortable and to ease the sense of your legs feeling like your circulation has been cut off, but the leather couch is sticking to your legs. You shouldn’t have worn a mini skirt. A uneasiness builds up inside of you.

You pick up your sparkling water from the leather upholstered chaise-slash-coffee table and take a big sip, biding your time before you answer.

You're sitting in one of the living areas that that has a big floor to ceiling window that takes advantage of the ocean view. It’s getting dark out there now.

Chan sits on a second leather coach to your right where he is waiting for you to speak. You bring your attention back to his question “do you enjoy reading them?”

You'd been talking about the fandom and some of the thirst tweets and naughty edits that are out there about his rock band SKZ, and somehow the conversation escalated into how you had read some of the fan made fiction about the group.

You wish you hadn’t even mentioned that you read smut. Why did you do that? You were only going to tease him about the situations, positions and activities that he and his band members have been involved in, fictitiously of course.

Unfortunately for you the teasing hasn’t had the desired effect, and the tables have been turned on you. Instead of making him go red, or teasing him about it, and having a giggle - in the safe zone of “banter territory” - you were the one blushing while his expression had turned dark and devious.

You look him in the eyes to see if you can read his thoughts.

He is still waiting for your answer.

He is still smirking at you. Fuck. This is so awkward.

“Well …?” he raises an eyebow. “do you enjoy reading them?” he repeats himself. You actually have to answer him then? What the fuck do you say?

You're not quite sure whether to give a lighthearted response and shift the conversation to something more… vanilla, or match him with the dark, sinister vibe. Or, you could just be honest and nonchalant, and act like it’s no big deal. Yeah you might go with that. You're an adult after all.

“Well, yeah I do actually.” you say matter-of-factly, completely disregarding the dark look in his eyes. You think you've come off calm and unaffected by his energy, but on the inside you're burning up with embarrassment, or is it shame? Or something else?

You want to hide. You realise you're holding your breath and you do your best to exhale gently and calmly.

Chan puts his drink down, a simple coke, on the coffee table-chaise and sits back on the leather couch. His skinny ripped jeans are so very tight and his legs are parted a little bit too wide for polite chit chat. How fucking rude! He’s playing games with you.

It surprises you when you a feel dull ache in your core. You want to be pissed off at his confidence, not turned on. Why does this dark energy seem so alluring? This isn’t the Chan you're used to, and you have a feeling this situation is going to become less polite by the minute. You're not sure how it’s going to pan out, but you're terrified. Or are you? You can’t quite tell if this is terror or anticipation, or - arousal?

He brings a hand to his chin as though deep in thought, rubbing his fingers against his lips, and not taking his eyes off you for even a second. Then he nods his head as if he has just made a decision with himself. Is he is having as much inner dialogue as you are right now?

“Tell me more?” He coaxes, his voice is low and deep.

Tell him more? Shit. What are you supposed to say? That you lay in bed reading about how he and his best friends suck each other off and rail each other in the ass? And then you touch yourself over it as you imagine you're there actually watching it? Or that you imagine each of them inside of you while the others watch?

Is that what he wants to hear?

You cross your legs hoping the tension will go away, but all it does is intensify the feeling.

No, absolutely not. This is too far. You can’t tell him more. You won’t tell him. It’d be too… vulnerable. Intimate. You shake your head.

“No,” you start. “I don’t think we should keep talking about this.” You sigh and look at him pleadingly. But the look in his eyes tell you he isn’t going to let this slide. And part of you doesn’t want him to either. If you're honest, you're scared, embarrassed and want to run and hide, but part of you does want to tell him, to confess to him, see his reaction. What would he say? What would he do? You wanted to know. You needed to know.

Despite your resolve to say nothing, you open your mouth ready to blurt it all out anyway.

“You’re right.” Chan cuts you off, and some of that darkness shifts from his eyes. He grins his cheeky fucking grin at you and you feel that sense of kindness and friendliness he has return just a little bit.

But..

Your heart sinks. Why do you feel disappointed?

“It’s none of my business what you enjoy reading”. He chuckles filling his glass up with more coke. “I didn’t mean to make you feel awkward. We can change the subject.” Chan leans forward to peer closer to you, the room has gotten so dark and only a few lamp lights are illuminating the room in a soft glow.

“I’m sorry.” he says with pleading eyes. “I was just curious, you know?” He leans back again. “This is kind of an area that I don’t know anything about you in”.

“Chan,” you exasperate, “It’s normal for people to not know other people’s fantasies!”

You clasp your hand over your mouth. You've said too much.

“Fantasies? No one mentioned fantasies.” He’s caught you out. Chan’s devious eyes are back but it’s coupled with a devious grin too. Doubly dangerous. “Hmm..” he pretends to ponder “so let me get this straight. You read the dirty fiction and then fantasize about it happening to you? Or,” he takes a sip of his drink. “you make up your own little scenarios of my boys filling you up and fucking you senseless?”

“Chan!” You're shocked at how accurate his accusation actually is. And equally shocked how your body is responding. You're thankful it’s dark because you're pretty sure your nipples are rock hard. You're also thankful he is hasn’t outrightly asked if you fantasize about him.

So much for changing the subject.

“Do you?” he knows he almost has you admitting everything to him.

You tip your head back and let out a sigh.

“Fine. I’ll tell you more. Then you can fucking stop being so pushy and move on.”

Chan claps his hands together excitedly. “Right then”, he says and excitedly shuffles over a little closer to you. You feel like you should get him some god damned popcorn.

“You’re right. I read the stories, I touch myself, and I imagine my own scenarios.” You flail your hand around in some weird gesture and try to keep the explanation as minimal as possible, surely he doesn’t need to know actual details.

Chan waits for you to elaborate. Apparently he does need to know more details.

You roll your eyes. “And yes, I imagine them filling me up and fucking me senseless." you finish.

He looks satisfied that you've admitted it, and proud too, like his boys had actually had sex with you and that it was somehow thanks to him. “Except..” you start. What are you doing?

Chan looks at you curiously. “Except? Except what?”

You hesitate but decide to continue. “Except, even though he is so fucking hot and he’s the best drummer I’ve seen, and so very sexy, and his lips are just delicious, no matter how hard I try, and even though I want to so badly, I can’t seem to envision Jisung inside of me!” you confess.

Oh my god, what did you just say?

You look to Chan to see what his reaction is. He looks amused but mildly distracted. His gaze keeps shifting over your shoulder ever so slightly even though his attention and words are directed at you.

“So what you are saying is,” he focuses his eyes back on you. “that you can’t picture Jisung fucking you?” He smirks and leans back against the back of the couch resuming the confident lazy posture he had earlier.

You swear he’s hard, his pants seem a little too tight and you can see a bulge protruding, fighting against his pants. But it’s too dark to really tell, and perhaps your imagination is getting the better of you. You wonder what it would feel like to straddle his lap and grind against him, to make him harder and to relieve this tension building up in your body.

“Do you want to?” Chan jolts you back to reality, his attention is one hundred percent back on you, but something feels off.

“Huh?” You stare blankly, taking your eyes off the bulge in his pants.

“Do you want to be able to imagine Jisung fucking you?” he repeats casually, but dead serious.

Do you want to imagine Jisung fucking you? You consider what might be the thing getting in the way of you being able to picture it. Is it that he seems so young and fun that you can’t see him taking charge and being aggressive, and maybe that’s what you're into? You can’t really put your finger on it. All you know is you do want to imagine Jisung inside of you, fucking you. Well yeah, of course. Who wouldn’t? How was admitting it to Chan going to help?

“Yes,” you declare anyway. Really! What are you doing?  “and it’s so fucking annoying.” you add. Your throat is so dry, but elsewhere you're beginning to feel a little wet.

Amusement washes over Chan’s face and his eyes dart over your shoulder again.

You swallow hard even though your throat feels like a hard lump, but before you can do or say anything, Chan leans in close to your ear. His breath is hot against your neck and cheek. Fuck he’s close. Fuck he smells good.

You hold your breath waiting for Chan to speak. He lingers for what feels like forever.

“Jisung thinks that’s so fucking annoying too.” It was barely a whisper. He pulls away from your ear and gestures behind you. “Don’t you, Jisung?”

Your heart suddenly pounds so hard you think it’s going to fling out of your chest. Your jaw drops and dread begins to take over you. You feel hot and dizzy. You snap your head in the direction of Chan’s gaze only to be met with Jisung standing in the doorway. The dread intensifies and you're filled with shame. You want to hide.

Fuck.

↳ tag list: open

@rylea08 @channieandhisgoonsquad @noellllslut @itsseohannbin @weareapackofstrays @kangnina @3rachasdomesticbanana @palindrome969 @xxkissesforchanniexx @chuuchuu1224 @fun-fanfics @wolfennracha @rhonnie23 @jisunglyricist @strayywayy @rixenluv sorry if you’ve been tagged again, I am having issues to tagging again.

[jeongintwenty3]

warmth

pairing: bangchan x gn!reader

genre: slight angst, fluff

warnings: reader calls chris stupid (lovingly)

summary: bangchan, being the clingy boyfriend he is, needs your warmth in order for him to sleep; he’ll do anything, to get that.

author’s note: hiii!! i just had to pour my thoughts into a fic and it just hit me how chan’s probably the type of boyfriend that has to hug you to sleep. pardon my mispellings and improper grammar, happy reading loves <3

————————————————————————

arguements are normal happenings in any relationship. whether it be different opinions or a typical debate, these type of mishaps are expected to occur. and that’s exactly what happened tonight.

the clock struck 12, indicating it’s been two hours since their fallout. it may’ve been the lack of sleep or the stress, the two of you got into a heated arguement and spewed things that quite hurt each other. chris lied beside you, with his front facing your back. knowing how stubborn the both of you were when things like this happened, both agreed to talk it out in the morning.

you left the living room first, heading straight to the bathroom to do your night routine and dove head first into your bed, sleep quickly finding you.

chris on the other hand, had a hard time sleeping due to the lack of body warmth from his one and only. yes, he loved sleeping without his shirt on, but he hated the thought of the two of you not cuddling into dreamland.

the lightbulb in his head turned on, aiming for the air conditioner’s remote. decreasing the temperature so it’ll be extremely uncomfortable for one to sleep without someone hugging them, he smiled slightly at the idea. was it mean? he doesn’t really care, he just wants to hug his beloved to sleep.

stirring awake from the cold, you realized how chilly the room was. your thick pajamas did nothing to help you get back to sleep, so in your half-awake state, you subconciously reached out for you boyfriend who’s actually freezing; that’s what he gets for not putting a shirt on even after lowering the temperature drastically.

something inside snapped you conscious, halting your actions. remembering the arguement the both of you had earlier, you pulled away; opting to stand up and find the remote control.

the c in chris stands for clever, he hid the remote prior to your abrupt awakening.

“gimme the remote,” you said softly while putting out your hand, not fully out of your dozed state.

shaking his head playfully, he made grabby hands at you. if you weren’t pissed at him, you’d give in already; but the pride in you didn’t let you do so.

“’m sleeping outside then,” you replied, unamused with his behavior.

quick to stop your actions, he gripped your wrist and literally dragged you into bed. ignoring your tantrum, he tucked the duvet up to both of your chins. caressing your head and enjoying the warmth you’re giving him, he noticed your movements; wanting him to let go.

“i’m sorry baby, i really am,” the man hugging you whispered, “we’ll talk in the morning, for now, let’s stay like this.”

looking into his eyes with your sleepy state, you knew he was genuine. he was always sincere regarding apologies.

having little to zero energy left to fight back, you let out an incoherent okay and almost instantly, you nuzzled up againt his chest, breathing him in. smiling in response, chris placed his head right on top of yours; not forgetting to kiss your temple. letting the warmth of his hands and the duvet engulf you; drowziness swallowing you once again.

feeling both of his arms tightening its grip on you, you managed to let out, “if you wanted to hug me, just say so. no need to lower the temperature into ice age, stupid—”

cutting off your ramble with a peck that took you aback, he giggled seeing your furrowed brows and slightly puckered lips.

“sleep, you need it baby,” the man you loved said, wanting you to get the most of tonight’s rest. “good night, i love you,” he whispered while stroking your hair gently.

“mmm, i love you too, stupid.”

[melgolbach]

SHE’S MINE. [Sam Golbach x Reader x Colby Brock]

warnings: possessive!samuel, jealous!samuel, mad!samuel, reader does get attacked sadly in this one-shot 😔 so be careful reading this! (SA— if you don’t know what that means it means sexuality assaulted),

((Part ONE))

It was another night in a different suburban neighborhood, your hands were tightened around a red solo cup. Your best friend, Ava, decided to throw a party in honor of you getting a promotion at your job (yet people just went just to get fucked up). You were supposed to go with your boyfriend Sam, but he and his best friend got caught up with something an hour before the party started.

You were probably on your third cup of whatever alcohol you were having, not even tipsy. Whoever brought this alcohol was definitely a light weight and have no good taste in real drinks, you were a bit sad about it, but at least you’ll still be sober when your boyfriend comes in.

“Wooo!” Your friend yelled, taking a shot and flipping it over and going to the next one on the white table. There was lots of shots on said table, one for your friend, one for the person she was competing with to get to the end of the table without getting fucked up. As soon as your friend finished, she had to do five spinning circles at the end and land with two feet standing up. She was so close, until she fell on one of the guys that came to the party.

“Woah there!” The guy said laughing, she laughed along with him. You walk your way over to the two, greeting the guy and having conversation. The conversation got heated with Ava and the said guy; so you went over to the kitchen to let them have their own thing going on. You were happy for her, only because she never has any guys coming into her life.

You were about to get your fourth or fifth drink of alcohol, you weren’t sure, when all of a sudden a tall blonde came up to you. It was definitely not your boyfriend, and definitely a guy you’d try to ignore. “Hey there cutie,” he started.

You gave him a look, “I have a boyfriend.” You flat out spoke. “I can’t call you cute?” He scoffed with a smile, his arm resting on the fridge and leaning towards you. “No, because I do not know you.” You said. “Well, my name is Dylan. What’s your name?” He gave you his hand to shake, and you didn’t do it in return.

You ignored him once again, trying to get out of the kitchen when only he blocked your path. Your eyes widened, “Will you please move? I’m trying to get back to my friend.” You huffed out. “Oh come on, I know you want a piece of me.” His words slurred, and he attached himself onto you.

You yelped, slapping his shoulder as his head dived into your neck. You cried out, but because of the music being so loud nobody could really hear you. You felt his lips attach your neck and that’s when you really started to scream, kick, and yell out for help.

“Shut up, quit being a pick me girl. You know you like this,” you felt his voice vibrate off of yours. You scoff at his words, unable to speak with the tears coming down your cheeks. You keep yelling, trying to push him off as his hands started to roam your body.

Sam finally made his way to the party. He greeted his friends that were already there, Colby walking off to who knows where. He headed inside, hearing the familiar song he was just playing in his car.

He smiled at the people around him, greeting, and then seeing the host of the party. “Ava!!” He yelled, hugging her tightly. “What’s up Sammmmeeeyyy?” She yelled, rocking back and fourth with the music. He laughed, and then his eyes wandered. His eyebrows furrowed. Where were you?

“Hey, where’s (y/n)?” He yelled over the music, “I dunno… I think she went to the kitchen!” She yelled, he nodded and walked that way. He felt his smile growing, he hasn’t seen his girlfriend since 1 and it’s barely getting to 12 am. It’s been a long, stressful day and all he wanted to do was be with his loving girlfriend and relax at a party that was made for her.

Sam’s smile dropped when he heard his girlfriend. He knew that scream, he knew that crying. He ran quicker to the kitchen, and he immediately saw red.

He screamed, “get the fuck off of my girlfriend!” As loud as he could, people around stopped talking and watched from afar, seeing the smaller blonde tear the random guy off of the poor girl who was crying and struggling for the past ten minutes.

The music suddenly stopped playing, everyone was gathering around the kitchen as soon as they heard the sound of a slap. Ooo’s and aah’s could be heard from across the room, as Sam punched the ever living soul out of the guy that was sexually assaulting you.

You backed up into the corner, a hand on your mouth as you sobbed. Ava, now sober as ever, ran to your side and hugged you tightly. The only ever time you saw Sam like this, was at the 10 million subs party and it wasn’t as bad as this was.

Corey and Colby came rushing in from the back, shoving people as they reached the scene. “Oh shit…” Corey whispered, Colby wasted no time to grab ahold of Sam and wrap his arms around his best friend’s waist. “What the hell happened dude?” Colby asked. “This— this- this— this guy was—was touching her!” Sam yelled angrily, his cheeks were stained with tears already going down his face. Colby’s eyes darkened to the guy who laid lifeless on the checkered floor. Sam did a number on him, but Colby didn’t.

Corey grabbed ahold of Sam as his best friend shoved him that way, Colby got the guy’s bloodied white shirt with his fist, and punched him right in the nose. He shook his knuckles, then dropped the guy he was holding. His best friend gave him a look, and Corey gave him a big approving smile.

“Who the fuck is this guy?” Ava spoke up. “Don’t know, but can we call the cops?” Corey asked. “Erm, after I just demolished him? And we’re having a party with loads of strangers?” Sam spoke sheepishly. “Ooo you’re right brother.” Corey hummed. Sam looked over at the corner, who Ava was hugging and covering.

“Hey, hey,” Sam thanked Ava, and hushed you quietly and cradled you in his arms. “You wanna go home?” He whispered, you nodded with hiccups. “Take me home,” your voice was horse and he winced. He nodded, “thanks for the party Ava.” He gave her a hug, you stayed put to his side. “Wanna come home with us Colby?” His best friend nodded, and the two waved goodbye to Ava and Corey once again.

You sat in Sam’s passenger seat, or as he likes to call it “passengers princess seat”. Colby sat in the middle of the car. The light from the mirror was on, tears were still rolling down your cheeks, Sam’s hand on your thigh as Colby’s was placed on your shoulder.

You were looking at yourself in the mirror, more specifically your neck. You choked back a sob when you see multiple bruises, instantly disgusted with it. “Shh, hey it’s okay it’s okay.” Sam rubbed his hand on your thigh, up and down, “you’ll be okay. You’ll have us, we will do whatever you tell us to do princess.” Colby’s voice can be heard from behind you and you sniffled. “I just wanna go home,” your voice scratched.

You could hear Colby look for something in the back as Sam spoke sweet nothings towards you, his hands squeezing your thigh every once in a while. Colby finally got what he wanted, and pushed it up to the front. You looked to your left, to see a water bottle. “Thank you,” you murmur. You took a sip and felt relieved. “Can we all have a sleep over?” You asked, looking at your boyfriend then towards Colby. Colby looked over at Sam for permission. “Of course, whatever you want Babes.”

The three of you finally got home, and you instantly walked towards Sam and your’s shared room, taking your clothes off and turning on the shower. Sam looked over at Colby, he shrugged. “Could you get the living room all ready for us? Im gonna go take care of her.” Colby nodded and walked off, Sam went up the stairs to you. “Baby?” He yelled, taking his clothes off and walking to the shower. He knocked on the wall, just to make sure it was okay to come in with you.” “Hey love,” he smiled at you. His eyes wandered your body as he stepped in, his arms wrapping around your naked waste.

The two of you stayed like that before doing your shower routine, then getting out and doing your nightly routine. You went to grab the concealer, Sam stopped you. “I know you don’t like what’s on your neck right now,” he whispered, his hands slightly touching your face then running down your neck gently. “But if you cover that up it won’t really get better, so let’s search something up to get rid of bruises better okay? I’ll search it up for you. You don’t gotta worry about a thing,” he kissed your cheek, then kissed your forehead.

“Go downstairs, I’m pretty sure Colby’s waiting for us. Let me get comfy,” he still had his towel just hanging on his waist. You nodded, hugging him tightly then walking down stairs. “Colby,” your voice croaked. He looked over to you and smiled. “Hows my favorite princess?” He asked with a brighter smile, scooting over to the end of the mattress he brought down from who knows where. “Better,” you climbed ontop, sitting next to him “where’s Sam?” He asked.

The two of you heard footsteps coming from above, “here!” He yelled, then threw two pillows down and both of them plopped right in front of you. “Oh, pillows are important.” You whispered, Colby chuckled at your comment. Sam cleaned his feet, then got ontop of the mattress the three of you would be sharing. You smiled, getting comfortable as you grabbed both of Sam and Colby’s arm to get close to create warmth. Colby’s arm wrapped lower onto your waist, his hand resting on your thigh as your boyfriend’s wrapped just tightly around your stomach. “My favorite boys,” you whispered.

[spideyhexx]

12 am thoughts with kit;

sfw; billy bonney

A deep voice calls out from a few paces behind you.

"You good up there?"

You stretch out your limbs on the grass, the heat burning down on your skin. The grass tickles your ankles, but it's nothing more than a friendly embrace to you.

"Mighty good," you reply, leaning up against your elbows and tilting your head to see the culprit of the voice. One mister Billy Bonney, outlaw extraordinaire as you liked to call him.

"I never find you in civilization," he says, his drawl sounds somehow thicker than you remembered it to be. He plops into the grass next to you and places his hat on the ground, arms resting over his knees.

"You don't know me as well you think you do if you're searching for me in town."

Billy chuckles at that and shakes his head, glancing down at you. His eyes squinty and his forehead a little wet from the heat.

It's probably been about three weeks since you last saw him. He stopped around and begged for some bread, which you gave him. If only he'd get a wasp's nest down from a tree near your home. Billy did it, no questions asked.

"How've you been?" He asks, and he's watching you intently. His gaze doesn't look out over the valley ahead, or at the sky where you're looking. Billy is watching you.

"Same old," you start, "Heard of you less."

It's true. He had rumors about his name going left and right for quite some time, but he's laid low enough for now that you've barely heard a peep.

"Tryin' to go straight," he tells you. And that's when his eyes look elsewhere, almost like he's embarrassed to admit it.

You lay back fully down, eyes at the sky, fingers absentmindedly digging into the earth. "I think ya could," you say, glancing at him, noting the curls at the nape of his neck that stick to his hot skin.

"Maybe I gotta be like you. Out in the middle of fuckin' nowhere," he chuckles again, a sound you could get used to. Without thinking, he grabs your hand, the one that's closest to him.

Billy's brow furrows, wiping away the dirt you willingly let hold your hand. It flashes you back to when you first ever met Billy almost a year ago, half of him was as dirty as a pig sty and you were scrubbing your tub for hours after he used it.

"There's dirt in your fingernails," he mumbles, mostly focusing on your hand, but he can't help but try to get the dirt from your nails too.

You let him.

"And you smell like you haven't showered in days."

Billy flashes you a small smile and then gently sets your hand back in the grass, giving it a pat before his hand return to himself, tapping to his thigh. He's jittery.

"'S a little hard to when you can't stay in one place long. I like it though," he says, inhaling, then letting out a deep breath, shifting to lay down fully next to you.

"Going to different places?"

He nods. "I don't know how you can stay here. In one place, I mean," then he adds, "how anyone could." Billy's hand rakes through his hair and he looks at you.

You return his gaze, and prop yourself on your arm to see him better.

Trailing your fingertips on the blades of grass in front of him, you find the right one, the one yearning for you, then pluck it, showing it to him, "all of the grass is the same on a first sight, yes? But this is still an individual blade. There is always something important about every part of the land. Something new to learn, to think about, all when you're not able to travel. Gotta use this..."

You knock your knuckles on his head to indicate his brain.

"And why can you not travel?" He asks out of curiosity. If anything, you would be a person who would want to travel all the time. See nature you've never encountered, discover everything new the way he has. That seemed exactly like something you would want.

"I think the trees here would miss me," you tell him, giving a little shrug. You expect him to laugh. To pry more. To question why that was your train of thought. But he doesn't.

Billy just nods, his expression focused as he replies, "I missed you when I left, so I think I can understand the trees' feelins'."

You should not let yourself smile as much as you do at his words, but it's hopeless. Billy reciprocates it.

"Missed me? You probably missed my jam," you say, deflecting his kind words.

He rolls his eyes dramatically, bringing one of his knees up and knocking his knuckles on it. Still jittery.

"I did miss your jam, you're right."

You place the blade of grass in his hair, then you turn onto your back again.

"Think I could stick around for a bit?"

Billy says it quieter, he might be unsure. Or nervous. His jitters don't tell you anything because Billy's hands were restless all the time, even when he was calm. You can usually tell with him, but you're not looking into his eyes. They always told you everything.

"I could use a ranch-hand," you mumble, pretending to mull it over.

The sun continues to beat down on the two of you, the clouds in the sky doing nothing to stop the effervescent power of the ball of light.

And when he nudges you with his elbow, waiting for your answer, you feel that ball of light accumulating inside the pit of your stomach. You will it away, gripping the earth at your side to push yourself more to the ground.

"I 'spose you could. Company would...," you glance at him and he's already grinning, "be nice."

[bansheeoftheforest]

Still refusing to reread PJO/TKC but it is still infesting my brain so woe crossover au be upon yall

Au where Anubis casually gets assigned to be Bianca's and Nico's older brother, anyone?

(messy points below, mostly from Anubis' pov coz he is my pookie, and keep an eye out in the reblogs section for add-ons/updates!)

Like, once the other Egyptian gods start dropping like flies because the magicians are imprisoning them, assuming they may also go after Anubis, he turns to Hades as a very very very last resort because, well, he would like to not be imprisoned for all eternity, thank you very much. Hades agrees on the condition that Anubis looks after his demigods, since he otherwise really isn't to any use of him, which Anubis accepts. So, Anubis is basically the Hades/Pluto demigods' divine babysitter in exchange for some protection from the magicians who may or may not also want to imprison him.

I shall say that this either works bc A) Hades kids radiate enough death so that he can be around them without a host or B) it is all just bureaucracy so when the rest of the Egyptian gods are gone those rules simply do not really apply.

Anyways, once the Big Three ProphecyTM rolls around and Maria Di Angelo kicks the bucket, Anubis is left in charge of making sure the Di Angelo siblings survive, taking them to and staying with them at the Lotus Casino and the different schools that Hades moves them around to, either as their "older brother"/guardian or as their pet dog that the authorities simply don't bat an eye at.

The siblings, with their memories absolutely fucked up, simply accepts that they either have a brother, a dog, an older brother who is occasionally a dog, or a dog that only conveniently shows up when their brother isn't there and vice versa.

And since I haven't read any RR books since I was 12 and I never read the HOO series, I can't really talk much about the logistics from here on out but. I have some thoughts in general.

Anubis makes sure that he takes the majority of the responsibilities, so that Bianca can be a little more happy and a little less stressed than she would have been if she was alone looking after her little brother.

He also happily distracts Nico when Bianca needs a break, he can genuinely listen to Nico ramble about whatever for hours, remembers it quite well and can return the conversation, which Bianca rarely has energy for.

(He was the exact same when he was young and wants to make sure Nico has someone that listens to him)

Genuinely cannot rest until he makes sure the siblings are fine and safe, which becomes a bit of a problem when Bianca goes on her first and last quest, and even more of a problem when he is more stuck in the Brooklyn House and he has to keep contacting Nico before he allows himself or Walt to rest as a result of that.

He is so so so so SO protective of the siblings. He is absolutely ready to die or kill for them. He is not a fighter, more often than not a pacifist, but when it comes to them he is the first to throw hands.

Also him absolutely being ready to kill the demigods that find the siblings at the military school coz he is so used to the "any demigod or magician is here to kill one of us and I have to protect them at all costs" mode that he has been kinda stuck in for the last 70 or so years, minimum.

He is merely an older sibling running on the equivalent of 3 hours of sleep and 2 strong coffees, which really doesn't help the situation once shit starts going down in Brooklyn/the Egyptian pantheon.

Speaking of the Brooklyn House. After being a Divine BabysitterTM for like 2000 years he genuinely cannot get rid of those base instincts, which ends up with him fussing over the Kanes/Walt/Zia and the rest of the initiates because those are CHILDREN and they need to REST and be SAFE and EAT PROPERLY and TAKE YOUR DAMN VITAMINES, WALT.

Because of those 2000 years of babysitting, Anubis is genuinely amazing with kids. You'd think they'd be scared by him, but no. He is the first one they run to when they scraped their knee and need a band aid and a hug.

He also 100% stares right into Percy's and Will's souls the moment he finds out Nico has/had crushes on them. Despite being raised in an entirely different time he definitely is a "no dating until you are at least 25 otherwise I might have a heart attack" sibling and he is not letting some random demigod break his lil brother's heart. He accepts Will well enough though coz he makes Nico laugh which in the end is the most important thing.

Will might actually be more intimidated by Anubis than Hades but that doesn't stop him. Nico is his babygirl and he knows Anubis is (probably) more bark than bite (most of the time).

No matter if Hades allows him to like. stop being a babysitter once the gods are restored and Ma'at is balanced and all, Anubis still sticks around and checks in on Nico (and eventually Hazel). He gets antsy if he hasn't heard from them at least once a day.

He probably has a good base relationship with Jason and Reyna (bc both are protective older siblings when it comes to Nico) but he keeps Percy at a distance ever since Bianca's death (not that he blames him). But he isn't particularly close to any of them, as his priorities lay with Nico, Hazel, and the Brooklyn House.

Assuming Anubis doesn't like. Introduce himself to the greeks as "Anubis" and instead says he is someone else, I have absolutely no idea when or if he would ever tell any of the greek demigods what he truly is. But I suppose Nico would eventually find out that his older brother actually isn't related to him at all, or even from the greek pantheon, and instead only happened to become his older brother as a favour to Hades. Depending on how he finds out he definitely could get upset but I like to believe he sorta figures eventually, and is just happy Anubis genuinely cares for him.

I also like to think that the greek gods they meet when the demigods take the siblings from the school to camp half-blood, just gives Anubis A LookTM. Either they are fully aware he is protecting the Hades kids or they think an Egyptian god is just casually hanging out with some random demigods. Which must certainly be a sight to behold.

Can yall for a moment imagine being the Kane siblings, trying to get the feather of truth from the god of death to avoid the impending apocalypse, who then says "sorry I am mostly on babysitting duty so I can't really help yall more than this, good luck tho."

Walt who meets Nico and is so conflicted because in one way he is slightly weirded out by this tiny depressed gremlin, but in another way the Anubis PartTM of him is just going "protect protect protect protect", which is a weird first impression.

One of the Kane siblings would be interested in Mythomagic, I just know it. Either Sadie coz it is funky or Carter bc it is nerdy. Either way, Nico has at least one Kane to bond with bc of it.

Nico just has the ultimate diplomatic immunity because he can go between Camp Half-blood, Camp Jupiter, and the Brooklyn House basically as he pleases.

On a completely different topic, the majority of Nico's wardrobe is just shit he has stolen from Anubis, he just lets it happen, in part because it is not like he as a god has a limited wardrobe, and in part bc Nico is absolutely adorable when he drowns in Anubis' jackets bc they are too big for him.

Also, Anubis helping Nico train his death magic, and teaching him the easiest ways to build endurance while using it.

Frankly the thought of the rest of the gods being banished, imprisoned, in exile or attempting to free themselves while Anubis is playing babysitter is very funny to me in general. Imagine being Isis or Osiris and attempting to ask your nephew/son what he did during the 2000 years yall were imprisoned and he goes "I took a side job as a babysitter to pay the bills".

Honestly I might reblog this with more thoughts eventually. They are all just so pookie.

[1moreff-creator]

Corrigendum - Literature Girl Insane Analysis

Updates After CH2 PT2

More than a year ago, the entire DRDT fandom was thrown on its head when the Literature Girl Insane David MV dropped. And with the help of DRDT Tumblr for mystery finding and interpretations, about a year ago I made “A Full Vivisection of the David MV,” a two and a half hour video going over everything I could. While I still think the video mostly holds up even after CH2 PT2, there’s quite a few things that require an update. Let’s go over them, shall we?

(Is this a correct use of the word "corrigendum"? I don't know, but it's close enough for me to use given the connection to the book theme we got going on :v)

As a warning, though, this post will more or less assume that you’ve watched Vivisection, as some sections might be complete gibberish without the context of my previous interpretations of this thing.

Spoilers up to CH2. CW: Suicide, murder, hanging, CH2 execution, gun violence, blood

I’ll go through the recontextualizations in order of appearance in the MV, though first: 

Footnote 14 Solution, Tally 5 Correction

So these two things aren’t related to Part 2, but instead codes already in LGI. Since Vivisection came out, the footnote 14/Roman numeral I code got solved, and I’ve been informed that the solution for tally 5 I hinted at in the video was, while not wrong in the sense that you could arrive at the code using it, not the actually intended solution. Basically I said to pay attention to line breaks, when you’re actually supposed to ignore them, and that meant that one character had to be ignored when in reality the real solution works perfectly fine without ignoring it. Sorry, the line break thing was just commonly repeated advice given on Tumblr at the time and I don’t know why I never double checked how accurate it was :v

The proper solutions can be found in my Secrets Masterpost, so I won’t repeat them here. The Roman numeral I code, attached to Xander via crosswords, returned “I have always looked up to you,” which is perfectly in line with both the things David states in 2-12 and the conclusions drawn about how he feels towards Xander from the MV. As for tally 5, that will be addressed later. 

Yoidore Shirazu Lyrics

Another thing that happened was the release of the Elliot MV, Yoidore Shirazu. While the MV itself is not particularly for our purposes, I'm bringing it up to double check a thing with the lyrics.

You might remember that a big chunk of Vivisection was informed by "Language Theory," the idea that some lyrics' translations were specifically changed to fit better with David. This was supported by footnote 5, "As the translation has been intentionally botched in many parts, it should not be considered accurate," as well as the fact that Coleena Wu was listed in the credits, meaning her translation was used as a base for the David MV even though there were many differences between the David MV's lyrics and her version.

Thus, when I saw that Yoidore Shirazu credited Magenetra for the English lyrics, I figured I'd check if it happened again. And yes, there are a few lines here and there where the Elliot version is slightly different from the original translation. While I won't get into all of them in this post, a particularly notable change is "my muddy, obstructed and broken vision of the future, it's not half bad" in the original changing to "my muddy, obstructed, broken future, it's not half bad" in the Elliot MV, for example.

What does this tell us about the David MV? Well, I would argue that if dev decided to change a few lyrics in an MV where word placement isn't as important as in LGI, presumably just to make them fit better with Elliot or because dev just prefers certain wording (I don't see any other reasons the translation would be different), then it's very possible that they also consciously changed a few LGI lines to fit better with David. Maybe. In other words, I believe this is an extra argument to the validity of Language Theory, though I could also see it as an argument against ("maybe dev just doesn't care about sticking so close to the translations they use") :v

Now let’s actually go from the start of the MV to the end, shall we?

Color Connection Theory: Orange

In Vivisection, I said (words more words less) that while in a vacuum orange would probably go to Ace, the context of some of the lines seemed to fit Xander better, with the argument that the trailer for the series assigns orange as the color of the first letter of Xander’s name in a hypothetical class trial. The main argument was that Orange “that guy” appeared next to Green “this guy” (Hu/Teruko, leaning Hu) and Black “you” (possibly Mai), and lumping Ace in with characters who seemed much more important than him at the time seemed… strange.

Since then, Ace has gained a notable amount of importance to this particular part of the story, given the whole blackened thing. As a result, I would argue his inclusion as Orange is now more likely than Xander’s. Take a look at the start of the first chorus, for example, and you’ll see that putting Xander as red (which would be redundant if he’s also orange) makes for a nice, neat reading in the context of this trial.

[Literature Girl Insane] Even if you cry, make noise, shout, go mad the world won’t change!

Arei: “Even if you cry about hurting Eden, you’ll still always be a horrible person.”

Hu: “Even if you make noise to make yourself useful, you’re still the same hopeless child who attempted suicide three times.”

Ace: “Even if you shout, you’ll always be a coward.”

Xander: “Even if you go mad, you’ll always be a good person at heart.”

“No matter what, you people (the world) won’t change.”

What a lovely worldview David has! 

There’s also this instance, "let's play!":

[Literature Girl Insane] With anonymous hopes let's play!

Which makes sense given Ace is “playing the killing game” by… killing in the game. Foreshadowing or am I insane? These are not mutually exclusive. 

Hand Holding

dev why /affectionate

So, yeah. Arei holds David’s hand the same way Ideal Country Woman does. At least we’ve got near 100% confirmation that the weird line of white pixels is not a glove or anything, but rather a bend of the wrist as expected. 

Now we have to ask what Arei’s connection to this mess is. Thankfully, I can at least draw a connection between Arei and the surrounding context of the scene, so we’re not going in completely blind. As a reminder, here’s the interpretation I arrived at for the “tunnel scene” that directly precedes Miss Hand Holding’s appearance.

[Extract from Vivisection] David gives Xander the order to "escape the tunnel," so open himself up to love others. However, "but," loving David is a bad idea, because he's a monster who's better off dead. His opinion, right? So he asks himself, where should Xander escape? "Where to?" In other words, who should Xander like and be friends with?

The connection to Arei should be more or less clear, provided you replace Xander's name with her. There’s two ways to take it. Arei opened herself up to David, “escaped the tunnel on his direction” per say. And given what happened directly after, you could say it led to a “disastrous scene.” Alternatively, if David genuinely wanted to accept Arei’s proposal to be “less shitty together,” if he “escaped the tunnel in Arei’s direction,” that too could be considered a “disastrous scene” because Arei died. That one’s admittedly a pretty big if, butconsidering some of the stuff David says…

David [2-10]: Unless, of course, you were Arei. That girl wanted desperately to prove herself as a "friend" to Eden. And yet she completely lacked any experience with what "friends" were actually like. [...] What could she know about "friendship," after all? Someone like her, who had not once experienced kindness in her entire life up until now? [...] [Breaking down] It's... It's so... Ahaha. It's just so foolish. For someone to take advantage of Arei like that... It's absolutely unforgivable. All she wanted was to change. What a reprehensible person this killer is. I look forward to seeing their painful execution.

Yeah he might have cared. 

So, okay, Arei can be connected to the surrounding context so this isn’t completely out of left field, but we still have the possibility of a further connection to the Mystery Girl. As you might recall, this girl is either Diana Chiem (based on certain similarities with David and because revealing Ms Naegi like this would be weird) or Ms Naegi (because Diana isn’t in the Cast List, while Naegi is). I don’t see any immediate connections to Naegi, so we’re left with Diana, who also has little connection.

Of course, the number one takeaway is that Arei reminds David of Diana (or Ms Naegi) in some way, so we can infer Mystery Girl might have supported David despite knowing about his manipulative nature, especially possible since she's positioned in the MV in a way where she's the "(so-called) ideal country." I'm about to ramble a whole lot more about other possibilities, but this is probably what we're meant to get from this.

If we’re allowing a small amount of unhingedness, another connection that could be drawn is between Arei’s family situation and David’s. Arei also had sisters, but they treated her horribly until Arei ruined their lives. Translated to Diana, this could mean that David treated her badly, that she did something to harm him, or both. If their relationship turned bad during Hope’s Peak time, it could explain why Footnote David, presumed to be David before losing his memories, claims she doesn’t exist, when Killing Game David speaks about her openly. Did he try to cut ties with her or something, and tries to pretend she doesn’t exist? Again, unhinged and probably not what the takeaway is meant to be, but we know less than zero about Diana, so it's not impossible.

Alternatively, though, it's worth noting that Mystery Girl and Arei tilt their heads in opposite directions, which could symbolize they're opposites in a way. Taken with the previous interpretations, this could mean either Mystery Girl supported David without knowing about his motive secret (opposite of interpretation 1), or that Arei's family situation is opposite Diana's, aka David had a good relationship with his sister (opposite of interpretation 2).

But speaking of insane, would you believe me if I told you that this visual similarity could, alternatively, be evidence for literally the most unhinged theory in the entire Vivisection? That is, the ridiculous deduction which is arrived at by analyzing the objects in the “suspicious gaps” attached to footnote 11, “I admit to lying. There is no one named OOOOO OOOOO. I am, and always have been, an only child," as well as the Catch-22 quote that comes directly after. Full explanation in Vivisection, but here’s the theory. 

[Extract from Vivisection]  So, first, I think the footnote is a double lie. David's lying about lying. He does actually have a sister but, for some reason, he's trying to deny it. He's pulling an Arturo: something happened with his sister, and he's trying to distance himself from it. That's where the snake with the blood and the safe come in, with the rope possibly implying a suicide. Remember the family history of depression? [...] So, it's possible Diana died. [...] It's also possible that whatever happened to Diana would have been hinted at in David's motive video. [...] Yeah, that's my explanation for the TV. But, why would this bad thing which happened to Diana be in David's motive video? That would imply David doesn't remember it. That's what the Snowden line could mean. [...]

Yeah remember that insane thing? Well, Arei died by hanging, so it’s possible Diana also died by hanging, aka suicide. This connection doesn’t make the theory any less unhinged, but it’s there. 

I hate the things I love, and I love the things I hate

As a refresher, this screen is about Xander, indicated mainly by the references to electrocution literally framing the scene. Nothing’s actually changed here, mind you, I just wanted to point out that it’s interesting that so far, we’ve only seen David talk about Xander with love, and we haven’t really seen the whole “I hate” part yet. Curious to see how that will develop later.

suspicious gaps

Still zero clue, I’m just putting it here because it’s still killing me.

V. Right now, why do you go insane? [Ace's numeral]

We should’ve known, guys… Ace’s numeral is literally right next to Arei’s (IV), not just in song position, but numerically. Incidentally, that means both killers so far have been in multiples of five (Min with X, Ace with V), so, uh, Whit (XV), anything you wanna tell us about CH3?

(I don’t think he’ll be the CH3 killer I’m just being silly :p)

Anyways, the big update here is related to the background text, “a cat has 9 additional lives.” This was already pointed out by treescanfly, and that is that Thanatophobia, Ace’s execution, featured 9 different execution methods (scythe - illness - fire - falling - murder - drowning - lightning - firing squad (execution)). Looks like horseboy really was a catboy all along!

XIII. or [not to be?] [Teruko's numeral]

The interpretation of the quote itself, that it’s a reference to Teruko’s suicidal tendencies, hasn’t changed. It’s only gotten more explicit.

Teruko [2-16]: Killed? I doubt it. As if something so kind could happen to me.

:(

Not much else here, though it seems Teruko might start rejecting the suffering associated with being the Omelas child given her talk with DefaultTV, so that’s fun.

Footnote 6, “[Prayer]”

So what I’m about to say is technically a connection that existed since LGI’s realease, but was just a bit too insane for me to even think about back then. 

Basically, you know how Mai is referred to as a “God” in this video, because of her numeral and the arrow? Well… what if that’s connected to this footnote? And, I don’t know, Min is praying to Mai?

Again, unhinged even for my standards, but with the confirmation that XF-Ture Tech is in some form behind the killing game… anything that puts Min in a weirdly plot relevant position (such as inexplicably having a Mai connection beyond what we saw in Bonus Episode 1) should be at least written down for posterity, if nothing else. 

That's my way of saying- Please write about Min, guys. I miss her :(

Footnote 12

“Majority rule” is known to be the fairest method of making decisions for a group. That's why murderers never complained when we voted for them to die.

In Vivisection, I primarily argued the meaning of this footnote through the lens that David may have genuinely believed he had driven Arei to suicide, and thus believed he was the blackened. This turned out to be horribly wrong, so we course correct. 

Instead, this simply seems to be what David was hoping would happen when he pulled out the magical girl transformation, albeit stylized with an impossible 16 people vote. The screen that flashes after just seems to reflect what David thinks would actually happen if a blackened won, or just what will happen by the end of the killing game no matter what: “Everyone will be executed.” That’s based on this line:

David [2-12]: 15 lives. Some of them are very dear to you. And your own life as well. Is there anything at all that could be more important to you than those 16 human lives?

Where David talks about sacrificing the full 16 lives of the participants, seemingly without taking into account that the blackened wouldn’t actually die in his plan. Because of that, it’s inferred that David doesn’t actually think the blackened would survive even if they won the trial. 

Other than that, the footnote seems to just be a direct reference to what Teruko says in the trial:

Teruko [2-15]: We determine who lives and who dies by a majority vote. In other words, the opinion of everyone who *isn't* you.

Which, uh... makes things easier, so I'm not gonna read into it much further :v

“What is the most important thing?” / Mistaken alphabet

Still no idea what these two things are about, that’s why I’m bringing them up :v

Original

[Extract from Vivisection] So, what I think is the best idea is that all the characters [referring to Color Theory] got the word. [...] I think it makes more sense to relate them to the meaning of "original style" under my interpretation, where "original style" means a change of heart.

The interpretation from Vivisection seems to hold strong, as MonoTV did actually have a “change of heart” of sorts, albeit brief. Hey we take the Ws where we can get them >:D

Two Eyed Xander

The theory discussed in Vivisection that David might hold memories from Hope’s Peak times was seemingly debunked by a tweet from the dev, even if the thread referenced in the link was later deleted. I did say in Vivisection that I didn’t believe the theory even if it was cool, so… we’re chilling. 

Of course, though, we did get confirmation that David knew about Xander before Hope's Peak, so the appearance of Xander with two eyes was meaningful! Cool!

Correct/Incorrect (Tally 5)

This is going to discuss the unlisted video linked in the footnotes of Vivisection, which I am well aware most of you probably didn’t watch given the view count. In any case, the thing I said there, which I also said in my Mai post, was that tally 5 could imply David had been involved in the weird revolution against Hope’s Peak that Xander and Mai had going on. While this is still certainly possible, given what was said in 2-12, it seems more plausible that tally 5 actually references David taking on Xander’s dream during the killing game.

David [2-12]: I don't care how low I'll sink, or how despicable I'll have to become. I'll do anything to carry on Xander's ideals by ending this killing game, even if it means I have to dirty my hands.

Yeah, the dream of killing everyone, that one. I say this not only because we know David “threw away his humanity” for it, but also because the image itself shows David holding Xander’s jacket, which would imply this is being said after Xander’s death. Thus, during the killing game. 

Numeral IX - Look, aside from that, give me the usual medicine [Levi's numeral]

Well, he sure needs medicine alright! Yeah that’s the best answer I currently have about what in the hell this numeral means, so we’re going with this. 

That said, points to Vivisection me, because the “Levi is Jupiter protecting Earth from asteroids” interpretation ended up being pretty solid. 

Clock Fork

You know, the theory that Eden was the one to rip out Xander’s eye based on the clock in LGI existed before I made Vivisection, I just… didn’t invlude it. The one unhinged theory I don’t mention ends up being true, huh? Well, there’s that. Not much else to say, if you're deep into DRDT lore you already know the implications of a bloody fork.

-

And… that’s about that! Although I had quite a few comments to make and things to add, actual corrections were few and far between, which I’m happy about! Mind you, there's probably a few Vivisection statements here and there I'm forgetting about, but still. Hope you enjoyed this little corrigendum, and if you made it this far, you deserve your own Jupiter-Levi to defend you in your time of need! See you later!

[hanyjar]

do stars return?

itoshi sae x reader

summary: your childhood friend leaves, and you question if he’ll ever come back.

notes: [1.2k words.] i like to think this man has super angst potential but that won’t be unearthed today LOL no beta we die like men <3

disclaimers: childhood friends trope, angst (if u squint) to fluff, making out for a lil bit, poetic dialogue, forgiveness theme.

masterlist.

Itoshi Sae shines.

It's a truth you've come to realise at the budding age of seven. He, with his tepid stature and equally cold attitude, is destined for greatness.

A star, you whisper, once upon a time. A time where he lived without a million eyes watching his every move. You will become a star, I just know it. 

And back in the day, it wasn't just you who believed it. Everyone did. From his teachers to his classmates, to his parents and his brother. It was an indisputable fact that the boy who dedicated himself wholly to soccer, a prodigy who made the sport look like an art form, had his future set out for stardom.

So it is no surprise to anyone when your naive declaration comes into fruition.

His face is plastered on every billboard - as far as the eye can see. Japan's pride, he is known as. The Ice Prince; he who dominates the field; a force to be reckoned with.

Itoshi Sae: the star.

You are proud. No doubt. Though, it’s false to say that you aren’t envious. Sae is a trailblazer: one that surpasses all of his enemies with a nonchalant stare, and transcends into the sky with the other geniuses. He is a part of the lucky few who are destined to be gazed upon with awe. Everything and anything you have achieved pales in comparison.

(You’d surely hear reprimands if you voice those thoughts out loud, though. In your time, you have made a name for yourself. An expert in your passion at the mere age of seventeen; a trailblazer in your own right.

…It’ll just never compare to the name Sae built for himself, you think with finality.)

But above the awe and envy you feel whenever Sae’s name comes up, is love.

Love: a trap that is inevitable for a childhood friend of his. A pitfall that you have fell into. Your love for him is a bittersweet fact, one which tugs at your heartstrings whenever his face shows up on your phone. Sweet, because childhood love is a beautiful, rare thing - you’re glad that it has happened, in all honesty - though bitter all the same, because he is a star.

And stars shoot past. They never go back.

(He, will never go back.)

So for the years that Sae is gone, you float by on that knowledge. Merely acknowledging him as the one who crashed into your life, and left as turbulently as he came. You work diligently to mute the love that festered in your heart, knowing it will never be. 

You wholeheartedly believe that your life will continue in this fashion.

Then, the impossible happens.

The star returns, seven years later. On your doorstep, nonetheless.

"Itoshi?" 

Somehow, even in the ungodly hour of 12:56AM, Sae manages to look as beautiful as the day he left. It's unfair. Unfair for him to show up at your doorstep unannounced; unfair for him to have grown into his boyish looks as gracefully as he did.

It’s unfair for him to still make your heart race, even after all this time.

"Who else would it be?" He scoffs, the bite of his words not quite reaching his eyes. "And, Itoshi, seriously?"

His voice makes your heart leap. It's like you are ten again. "Well… You haven't been Sae for a while now," you say. "Not since you ghosted me, anyways."

Sae's eyes flicker with an emotion you thought he is incapable of feeling. "I didn't mean to." Regret. The Ice Prince is feeling regret, all for you. And if you were ten again, maybe that alone would shake you. But you aren't. You are several years wiser. You know better.

"It's fine if you want to be the best in the world. I don't blame you for that - not at all. But you can be number one and not neglect the ones that love you, y'know?" You slowly retreat back into the comfort of your apartment, hand creeping onto the back of the door. "Goodnight, Itoshi. You should go home; it's late."

You push the door, preparing to end the conversation then and there.

It’s not supposed to be like this, you realise. He, your first love, is supposed to stay in the past. Itoshi Sae should not be at your doorstep past midnight, suitcase in tow, as if he came straight from the airport to your house. The feelings you hold for him should be locked up within the depths of your heart - not surging in full force from just the sight of him.

But alas, fate plays its mischievous tricks once again. And Sae is not the type of person who lets blunders get away scot-free.

"…You love me?” He says, barely above a whisper, foot wedged between the door and the entrance. An impenetrable silence follows from your end. 

Seven years older, but still a fool in the face of love, it seems.

“I did,” I still do, your mind yells. “But you’re a star now, Sae. Just like I said you would be.” Your breath hitches, nails forming crescent-shaped indents within your palm. “…And stars don’t fall in love with the big, black sea of nothingness, do they?”

A beat of silence ensues from his end. You cringe at your own word choice. Maybe he left, you think. Great. Itoshi Sae was at your door, and you scared him away with your stupid love and even stupider confession. How stupid can you even get—

The door hinge creaks as you topple over, shattering your inner turmoil. Sae announces his intrusion with a loud sigh.

“Hey! What are you?— This is considered trespassing—“ You begin. Sae shuts you up with a forceful kiss, pinning you against the door that you were hiding behind minutes before. It’s messy, tantalising, addicting. The smell of his aquatic cologne fills your senses, and he cups your face in between his hands. He feels so warm. He feels like home.

Sae’s whole body screams of need. The need for you; the need to make up for the lost time. 

You hate how you are so weak for him. 

“Idiot.” He deadpans as the two of you part. “If you’re going to get all poetic on me, fine. Stars don’t fall in love with the galaxy.” 

You remove yourself from his arms, eyes scrunching in offence. Bold thing for him to say, especially after he just kissed your lips raw. “So… You’re not in love with me?”

“Let me finish.” Sae is quick to pull you back into his embrace, voice impossibly soft for the otherwise stone-faced boy. “Stars don’t fall in love with the sky. They live in it; I live with you.”

Sae hopes that the implication is clear.

You, alone, are his hope; you are the reason he sparkles as much as he does. Even while you were miles apart, his childhood friend was the sole thing on his mind. A star cannot shine without its galaxy, after all.

“You’re not off the hook, by the way.” You breathe lightly, laying your head against his chest. “Seven years is still a long time. I don’t think you can cuddle your way out of this one, Itoshi.”

A small smile elicits from his face, “I can try, can’t I?”

…And this star is willing to wait for his galaxy to forgive him, no matter how long it takes.