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verricherri · 2 days ago

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spencer with ballerina!reader getting turned on while she warms up/ stretches... i'll let you take this wherever you want <3

En Pointe for You (NSFW///MDNI)

A/N: i was thinking of post-prison spencer and his fingers while writing this, nothing else. Warnings: spencer reid that rearranges your insides, intense eye contact - dont say i didn't warn ya Masterlist Feedback and reposts are appreciated ☀️

The tiny bell above the studio door chimed just as you were waving off the last of your students. A cluster of tiny ballet shoes and sparkly leotards disappeared out the front, giggling, their voices still echoing faintly against the wooden floor and mirrored walls.

You turned, expecting one of the moms had forgotten a water bottle.

But it wasn’t a mom.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” Spencer said softly, fingers laced in front of him, standing awkwardly just inside the doorway like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to exist here. “Dr. Reid,” you smiled, eyebrows raised as you tucked a flyaway strand of hair back into your messy bun. “You stalking me now?”

His mouth opened — then closed — then opened again. “No! I mean. Not intentionally. I was in the neighborhood. Sort of.” You dropped to the floor to unlace your slippers, deliberately slow. “Sure you were.” Spencer cleared his throat. “I wanted to see where you danced.” “And you picked after-hours for that?” “I didn’t think there would be small children. Not that I mind them. I just—" He cut himself off, eyes skating over the studio. “I didn’t know you taught.” You stretched your legs out, leaning into a deep forward fold. “You never asked.”

Spencer stepped further in, the door clicking shut behind him. He stood there for a moment like he didn’t know where to put himself. Eventually, he settled on leaning against the mirror near the barre, arms crossed.

“You’re very… in your element here,” he murmured, watching as your back curved gracefully and your palms pressed flat against the wood floor. “I could say the same about you when you’re spitting out ten facts a second,” you said, glancing up at him with a teasing smile. His ears went a little pink. “Right. Yes. Well.” He gestured vaguely. “This feels more like your… natural element.” You sat up and rolled your shoulders, breath still even from the cool-down. “You don’t have to hover, you know. There’s a chair in the corner.”

He didn’t move. Just watched you with that impossible gaze of his, the one that saw too much.

“I like the view here,” he said quietly. You blinked. “Excuse me?” Spencer stiffened. “I just meant—objectively. Scientifically. From a spatial standpoint. You can see the lines of the room more clearly when you’re not seated and—” You laughed, stretching your arms above your head and arching your back into a cat-cow motion. “You’re so bad at lying.” He flushed deeper. “I’m not lying. I’m—circumlocuting.” “Oh, big word. That mean you’re distracted?” “It means I’m trying to respect your space,” he said, a little too fast. “And your… athleticism.” You tilted your head. “Athleticism?” “Flexibility,” he corrected, then immediately regretted it. “I mean. Not like—” His voice cracked slightly. “Not in a sexual context. Not that—well, not that it wouldn’t be considered that by some people. But—” You stood slowly, letting your body unfurl one vertebra at a time, your shadow stretching long in the evening light. “Spencer.”

He looked at you like a deer caught in headlights.

You smiled. “Relax.” “I am relaxed.” “Sure,” you drawled, walking past him toward the stereo, hitting a button to shut off the soft classical music still humming low in the background. “You look so relaxed you’re practically vibrating.”

Spencer didn’t respond. But when you turned around, he was still watching. Still standing in the same spot. Still not blinking.

“You’re not really here to talk about floorplans or music theory, are you?” you asked, walking back toward him, each step deliberate, the click of your heel against the floor echoing. “No,” he said, voice rougher now.

You stopped in front of him, close enough to see the way his pupils had dilated, the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed.

“Good,” you whispered. “Because I’ve still got a few stretches left.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe, maybe. Just stared — jaw tight, lips parted, like he was trying to commit every line of you to memory. You turned from him slowly and padded across the floor again, the click of your heels replaced by the soft pad of your bare feet.

“I usually take twenty minutes to wind down,” you said over your shoulder, letting your voice stay airy. “You can go if you’re in a rush.” “I’m not,” Spencer replied, too quickly. You smirked. “Didn’t think so.”

You stepped into a deep lunge and twisted, spine curling in a way that left your chest open to the ceiling, fingertips brushing the floor behind you. Breath slow. Controlled.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him shift. Not away — just slightly. Like his equilibrium was off.

You lifted into a split, legs extending in opposite directions, toes pointed. Spencer made a sound. It was quiet. Almost nothing. But you heard it.

“You okay over there, Doctor?” you asked, not looking at him. “…Fine,” he managed. “I’ve seen you get shot at with less tension in your voice.” “That’s… different.”

You held the pose a second longer before slowly rising, your thighs flexing with the movement. When you straightened and looked at him, Spencer was definitely no longer pretending to read the titles on the wall.

“Want to join me?” you asked, already stepping toward the barre. “I can help you stretch. Loosen up. You’re a little—” you waved your hand vaguely at his posture, “—tense.” His hands clenched at his sides. “That’s not a good idea.” “Why not?” Spencer licked his lips. “Because I’ve imagined this before.”

You stilled.

He looked instantly mortified. “I didn’t mean—” “No,” you said gently, voice quiet. “Say it.” He took a breath. “I’ve imagined… this. You. Dancing. Stretching. Looking like that. Saying my name like you did earlier.” You tilted your head. “And what happens after that?”

Spencer didn’t speak. He didn’t have to — the flush on his neck was already halfway to his jaw.

You stepped closer. “Let me guess. I do something like this—” you raised your leg and planted your foot on the barre, bending forward slowly over it, deliberately giving him a full view of your ass, your back, the curve of your body. “And then you forget every statistical fact you’ve ever learned?” His breath left him in one sharp exhale. “You’re evil.” “I’m flexible,” you corrected, turning your head just enough to meet his eyes. “You just didn’t know how much.” “I knew,” he said, and his voice had changed. It was lower now. Hungrier. “I’ve always known.” You dropped your leg and turned to face him, stepping closer, chest rising and falling just a little faster now. “Then come here and do something about it.”

Spencer didn’t hesitate this time.

One step. Two.

Then his hand was cupping your face, and he kissed you like the oxygen had finally run out of the room.

—

Spencer kissed like he solved crimes — intense, focused, and utterly consuming.

Your hands fisted the front of his sweater, pulling him closer, while his fingers trembled against your jaw like he couldn’t decide whether to worship you or ruin you. His mouth slanted over yours again, slower this time, but deeper. Hungrier. Like he hadn’t just imagined this — like he’d memorized it.

“God,” he whispered, pulling back just an inch, breath shaking. “You’re going to kill me.” You grinned against his mouth. “I haven’t even started.”

You reached for his hands and tugged him with you — backward, step by step — until your spine brushed the mirror. The cool glass kissed your shoulder blades, and Spencer’s chest hovered just inches away. He didn’t touch you again until you guided his palms to your waist.

His fingers flexed.

You tilted your head, teasing. “You always this slow, or just with me?” Spencer’s laugh was soft, dangerous. “You think I haven’t wanted to touch you? You think I haven’t stayed up nights imagining how you’d sound if I did this—”

His hands slid down, curved over your hips, gripped tight.

You inhaled sharply, thigh pressing forward between his. “Do it again.”

He did.

And then his mouth was at your neck, tracing every breath you gave him like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. One hand slid behind your thigh, lifted it — and your leg hooked around his hip like instinct.

“You were watching me stretch,” you murmured, rolling your hips against him. “You liked it.” Spencer groaned, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “I liked it too much.” Your laugh was pure sin. “Good.”

You unwrapped your leg and turned — facing the mirror now. You met your own gaze, flushed and wild, then looked at his reflection behind you.

“Want to see something you’ll like even more?” Spencer’s pupils blew wide. “Yes.”

You placed your hands on the barre, leaned forward, and lifted your leg in a smooth, practiced motion — one perfect arabesque, your toes pointed and high, the line of your back arching seductively.

Behind you, Spencer made an unholy sound.

“You’re killing me,” he whispered again, stepping in closer. “You said that already.” “This time I mean it.” You wiggled your hips slightly, playful. “Show me.”

He didn’t need a third invitation.

Spencer’s hands gripped your waist, tugging you back against him — you felt how hard he was, thick and hot through his slacks. He rutted once, just to feel the way you molded against him, and you gasped when his teeth grazed the shell of your ear.

“You stretch like this for your students?” he rasped. “Fuck no.” “Just me?” “Only you.”

His fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your shorts, slow and reverent. When they finally dipped down, he hissed.

“God, you’re wet.” You smirked into the mirror. “I was stretching.”

He swore softly and slid one finger through your folds — teasing, learning you with every stroke. You clenched around nothing, grinding back shamelessly.

Then, with a grip like velvet and steel, he pressed in — one finger first, then another, curling deep, and your hips bucked against him.

“Say my name,” he whispered. “Spencer—”

Again.

“Spencer—fuck, don’t stop—”

He kissed the back of your neck, the line of your spine, even as his fingers worked you open. Then he stepped back just long enough to yank your shorts down and undo his belt, breath jagged. You braced yourself on the barre, legs spread, eyes locked on the mirror in front of you.

And when he pushed in — slow, thick, overwhelming — you both let out matching gasps.

You saw it happen in the glass — how his mouth fell open, how his eyes fluttered shut, how his hands gripped your hips like you were slipping through his fingers.

“Look at you,” he breathed, bottoming out. “Perfect.”

He moved slowly at first, each thrust a study in control. But that didn’t last. Not with how tight you felt. Not with the way you moaned his name like it meant something.

“Just like that,” he panted. “So good—fuck—you feel like heaven—”

The mirror fogged.

The barre creaked.

You broke first — shuddering around him, eyes half-closed, fingers gripping the rail so hard your knuckles turned white.

But he wasn’t done.

Spencer pressed deeper, voice wrecked. “Can I… inside? Please?”

You nodded, barely able to form words.

Spencer’s thrusts grew sloppy, rhythm stuttering as your walls clenched around him, your name tumbling from his lips like a prayer — desperate, reverent, a little broken.

He pulled back just enough to angle deeper, hands sliding to your stomach, drawing your back flush to his chest. His fingers splayed wide across your belly, holding you there while he rutted into you in short, dizzying strokes that made your knees go weak.

You whimpered, eyes fluttering half-shut.

“Okay?” he rasped. “Perfect,” you gasped. “Spencer—please—” He groaned, pressing his forehead to the curve of your neck, breathing hard. “I don’t— I’m not gonna last.” “I don’t want you to,” you whispered.

His breath hitched.

“I want you to lose it,” you murmured, hips pushing back to meet his every thrust. “Right here. Right inside me. Please.”

He cursed under his breath, one hand flying up to the mirror, palm flat, bracing himself above your shoulder. The other dragged down your thigh, grip tight, trembling.

“Can I…?” he choked out. “Can I cum inside you?”

You turned your head just enough to catch his eyes in the glass — wild and dark and hungry.

“Yes,” you breathed. “Please, Spencer. I want to feel you.”

That was it.

He drove into you once, twice — hips stuttering — and then with a low, guttural moan, he buried himself deep and came.

Hard.

Hot pulses spilled into you as he shook against your back, his breath ragged and broken, hips still twitching like he didn’t want to stop. Like he couldn’t. Like he needed you to keep him grounded.

He didn’t move right away.

Just stayed there, wrapped around you, one arm tight at your waist, the other still trembling against the mirror. You could feel his heart hammering through his chest, pressed against your spine.

You reached up, covering his hand with yours on the barre.

He let out a soft, shaky laugh — just one.

Then, in the most wrecked, reverent voice you’d ever heard:

“You make me want to believe in God.”

—

He stayed buried in you long after the shaking stopped.

Neither of you spoke — just shared air. You could feel the sweat slicking your skin, the rise and fall of his chest against your back, the way his hand tightened slightly around your waist every time your body clenched around the aftershocks.

Your fingers stayed curled around the barre, but your legs were barely holding. Spencer must’ve felt it, because with one last gentle breath against your neck, he shifted.

“Let me…” he murmured, slowly pulling out, catching your hips as you stumbled a little. “Hey—easy. I’ve got you.”

You let him guide you down to the floor, the polished wood cool against your thighs. He knelt beside you like a worshipper, hands hovering, unsure where to touch first.

You laughed quietly. “You can relax, you know. I’m not made of glass.” “You’re definitely not glass,” he muttered. “You’re… titanium. Wrapped in silk.”

You smiled, settling onto your side, hair messily falling from its bun. Spencer sat next to you cross-legged, his hand resting lightly on your knee, his other arm propped behind him. His cheeks were still flushed, curls damp at the edges, lips kiss-swollen and dazed.

You watched him watching you.

“You okay?” you asked, softly.

He looked at you like you were still spinning pirouettes in front of him.

“I think you ruined every ballet performance I’ve ever seen.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“In a good way,” he rushed to clarify. “Like. Nothing will ever compare. That was…” He exhaled. “That was art.” You rolled onto your back with a grin, staring up at the ceiling. “Pretty sure barre sex isn’t in the curriculum.” “Then the curriculum is severely lacking.” You snorted. “You gonna file a complaint?” Spencer leaned over you, arm bracing beside your head. His voice dropped low again — less flustered this time. More sure. “Only if it gets me an encore.” You bit your lip. “You trying to make me a habit, Doctor?”

He bent down and kissed you — slow, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world.

“I think I already did,” he whispered against your mouth. You smiled into the kiss. “That so?” “I’ll be thinking about this the next time you say plié in front of me.” “You always look like you’re thinking.” “Not like this.”

He kissed you again, hand tracing the length of your thigh now, fingers ghosting over the slight tremble there.

“You’re still shaking,” he murmured. “You did that,” you reminded him. His eyes flicked up. “Proud of it.”

He shifted to lie beside you, pulling your leg over his hip, keeping you close. You cuddled in easily, your head resting against his chest.

“You meant it?” you asked quietly. “When you said you imagined this?” Spencer nodded. “More than I care to admit.” You smiled into his skin. “Next time,” you whispered, “don’t wait so long to kiss me.” He groaned, slapping a hand over his eyes. “Please. Let me preserve some of my moral high ground.” You giggled, then leaned up just enough to murmur near his ear: “Studio’s always unlocked after dark, Doctor.”

His breath caught. You felt him grin

You giggled.

But then he turned, serious again — brushing a strand of hair from your cheek, looking at you like you were the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen.

“You’re breathtaking,” he said softly.

You blinked.

He kissed your forehead.

“You move like poetry. Like muscle memory and emotion fused into something… divine.”

You stared at him.

“I’m literally still dripping with your cum and you’re out here writing sonnets?” Spencer shrugged, flushed but unashamed. “I’m a man of many talents.”

You laughed — full, warm, glowing.

“I know,” you said. “Trust me. I know.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #verricherriask🍒

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keferon · 38 minutes ago

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PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE EXPLAIN EARTHSPARK MEGS I BEG

OKAY SO BASICALLY. I WENT TO SEE THE LEAKED MATERIALS AND FOUND THE PRODUCTION BIBLE

I’ll hide everything under the cut just in case. But like. They have such juicy stuff in there~

————————————

First of all - everything below is kind of my personal theory based on the stuff I found.

SECOND. THE LINK TO THE BIBLE So you can see it for yourself

It has a lot of interesting stuff in it. But mostly. It shows what was the original plan for the show. Of course plans change, they change all the time. But just. LOOK. LOOK WHAT WAS THEIR ORIGINAL PLAN FOR MEGATRON.

THIS PART⬇️

THAT. Bro pulled Knockout. He saw that he is about to lose the war and??fucking??just joined the winning side???

That doesn’t mean he didn’t have any revelations like “oh no I think I was wrong”. I believe he did. But the main motivation never was about realising how evil he was. He just didn’t want to lose.

Remember how all the Decepticons react to him? Remember how they ALL see him as a traitor? Remember how Soundwave told him that “it’s personal” in season 1? Remember how Starscream said that Megatron left them all behind and now plays great good noble hero?? THIS IS IT! THIS MUST BE IT!

Megatron was the captain and he fucking ran away when he saw that his ship was sinking.

And this?⬇️

Playing a long game HUH. Always have plans in motion H UH.

AND THIS

He was supposed to betray Autobots. That would explain perfectly why there was so little explanation about his evil past in the show. They intended to make him a TWIST VILLAIN! THAT is why he is so cutesy nice and fluffy. That is why he still has those little evil hints here and there that all characters just ignore.

Everything I was talking about earlier. Every moment of him insisting that he is a good guy now but then acting very villainous the moment someone makes him look bad. Him being all good and reformed but then trying to kill Starscream without hesitation? Yeah very good very reformed good job.

My personal conclusion - it was never about morals. At least it was never entirely about morals. It was definitely never about doing the right thing. For Megatron it was always about gaining power. He gained power over Decepticons using fear and intimidation. And then when the whole thing didn’t work out in his favour? He turned to Autobots. And those are mushy fluffy good guys so in order to have power over them you need to be their friend. Someone they respect. Someone who they trust or look up for.

I think THIS is why he has this suspiciously good level of friendship with literally everyone. He made conscious effort to fit in. He made himself pleasing to everyone. So now he can walk around and give orders and despite the fact that he is their former enemy they all listen to him.

Now. It’s important to understand that this Bible isn’t 100% confirmed canon. Studios make changes aaaall the time and there’s a good chance they just decided to get rid of that plotline. It might be that they cut the betrayal part out so now Megsy just stuck forever in his state of being kinda good but suspicious. It is also very much possible that the studio decided to just move his betrayal to later seasons. It would be really cool to see I think.

If you ask me? The twist villain role fits almost too perfectly. It slides in place like a precise puzzle piece. Megatron is shady as fuck and was written to eventually betray Autobots.

Anyway. The Bible also has the early concepts for Terrans and I just wanted to add them here as well. Because HOLY SHIT LOOK AT NIGHTSHADE AND HASHTAG I FEEL ROBBED

#maccadam #transformers #es megatron #tf es #tf earthspark #I THINK #I CRACKED THE CASE #AHAHAHAHAH

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kandyscorner · 2 days ago

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Do I Know You? Part 29

Synopsis: You chat with Wally and Darla. Jason comes back.

Additional Note: I had a family reunion at the beginning half of this week, so I did not have as much time to write(I’m still behind). This chapters a little shorter and it’s made of a few different scenes rather than one continuous. I mentioned to some people that while I am adding some backstory for now it will be kind of vague. For now enjoy!!

Masterlist

Wally had been, unsurprisingly, not helpful. You didn’t share what you knew, that Dick Grayson was Nightwing, or what you assumed you knew. You did ask him if you had a strong theory about a hero’s identity and they were a friend of a friend, should you confront them about?

He was sketchy about it and battered you about which hero in Gotham you knew the secret identity of.

“Why does it matter?” you had questioned.

“It would change whether or not you should confront them or not.” He sounded like he was lying, like he just wanted to know what you knew.

“Let’s hypothetically say it was Red Hood,” you said because that had been what was on your mind for some reason.

“If its Red Hood, you should leave it alone. He hasn’t always been a hero you know.”

“So I’ve heard,” especially recently. People were really up in arms over his sudden aggression, “what about the others?”

“I would just leave it alone, kiddo. You could be entirely wrong and that would just be embarrassing for you,” his snicker echoed across the phone, “or maybe you should do it just make sure there’s a recording so I can see your face when your inevitable wrong.”

“You’re totally lame, Wallace. I was right about you and Barry.”

“That’s only because you were totally infatuated with me, my little shadow.” He teased and you rolled your eyes.

“I was 12. Can’t you let it go already?”

“Never.”

Before he could continue to tease you, you ask him about Linda, about the kids, Iris and Barry and everything about Central City and Keystone you may have missed since you last talked to him nearly a year ago. It was the longest you had talked to him since the accident, and you realized how much you missed Wally.

Eventually duties called. He promised he’d come and visit you in Gotham if you promised you’d be home for Christmas. He mentioned having some other friends he could visit while he was there too. It was only after you hung up that you realized he probably knew all of the bats and if you told him what you knew he probably could’ve confirmed it.

****

A week later, you started to get antsy. You hadn’t realized what a constant Jason was in your life until he wasn’t there. You were starting to feel like you did something wrong too. At first you thought you could just fill your time with work and hanging out with Cass and Steph but that quickly went down the drain.

Every time you called or texted them to see if they wanted to hang out, they were always busy with something. They wouldn’t be free until you were at work again. You couldn’t understand what you had done.

You assumed it was when you were drunk. You still couldn’t remember anything, and it bothered you because it seemed to have chased everyone away.

Beyond that you were worried. Weeks prior you had told Darla that your apartment was safe from Penguin and his men because Jason was there almost all the time.

Now he wasn’t. It made you jumpy, even at work. Enough so for Darla to notice. It was a slow morning when she asked you about it.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asked flatly, and you jumped at the suddenness of her voice having thought she was in the restroom. You nearly drop the drink you were refilling.

“Nothing’s wrongs,” you reply setting the cup down trying to stabilize the shake in your hand.

“You look like you haven’t slept in days, and you’ve been walking home alone all week. Did you and your boyfriend get into a fight?” she was right, you hadn’t gotten a full night’s sleep since Jason left, plagued by nightmares and the sudden what if’s of being a woman living alone haunted you.

“He’s not- I don’t know,” you feel weepy suddenly, no doubt from the lack of sleep.

“Hey, hey. What happened, baby doll?” she curls an arm around your shoulder as you bury your face in your hands.

“I don’t know,” Your voice cracks, “I can’t remember.”

She draws you into a hug and you bury your face into her shoulder and cry.

Jason left you alone and evidently nobody in his family wanted to be around you. You didn’t know why but you can only assume it has something to do with the brunch. Something you’d said or done. You just wish they would tell you.

“What do you mean you can’t remember?” she asks as she rubs at your back.

“I was drunk.”

Her hand pauses, “but I thought you didn’t drink, not after happened to your sister, right?” she asks slowly, pulling back from the hug slightly. You nod and wipe at the tears on your cheeks.

“I didn’t know mimosas had alcohol in them.” You admit to her. Her face hardens slightly.

“This was at the Wayne brunch thing, wasn’t it? I knew those rich people were no good. You only do that much good for Gotham if you feel guilty about something. You should stay far away from them, do you-“

“Darla, it was an accident. They didn’t know and I should’ve paid more attention to what I was drinking.” You cut her off because you were not in the mood to listen to Darla’s politics.

“Sorry, sweet thing.” A guilty look flashes across her features, “alright so blackout drunk and your boyfriend, what, ditched you?”

“He said he had to go out of town for work and I just, I feel so alone, Darla.” You sigh and scrub your face with your hands again. She tugs at your wrist and makes you look at her.

“You’re not alone. Listen, you can come home with me today if you want. I’m watching Claire tonight. She’s started babbling. You could hold her and try to translate her nonsense for me.” You laugh wetly at her offer. You suck in a breath to calm yourself down. The offer sounded nice, but you just want to sleep as much as you can before your mind tries to terrorize you instead.

“That sounds lovely,” you tell her.

“But your just tired,” she finishes your sentence for you. You nod and she pulls you in for another hug, “Okay but the minute you feel something is wrong, you call me. I’ll load up the little girl in the car and we’ll come and get you together. Understand?”

You hug Darla back, a sudden ache for physical affection thrumming through your veins. It made you think of Jason, and you tried to stamp it down.

“Thank you, Darla. Really.” You pull back and wipe your cheeks a final time.

“No need, baby doll. I gotta take care of the only sweet girl I work with,” she rubs at your shoulder, “and you should take care of Jonny Bravo over there. He looks like he’s gonna have a stroke if he doesn’t get his refill.”

You laugh at her words and get back to work and make the refill. You feel a tad lighter. You still miss Jason and still worry. But now you knew you had someone in your corner.

****

Darla drove you home that night. She didn’t want you to walk home if your knight in shining armor wasn’t going to be there at the drop of a hat. It was sweet of her and made you feel less lonely.

Once you had made it to your apartment, you collapsed on your couch. You were exhausted. Your apartment was a mess, and you needed to shower. You pulled out your phone instead. You hadn’t talked to Jason since he left. No texting, no calls. You had hoped that it was all in your head, that he would reach out to you after his workday at some point. But you still had no notifications from him.

You opened up your messages with him. Mostly nonsense. You sent stuff to each other so you would remember. Movies you wanted to watch with him, the book he wanted to rant to you about, a motorcycle on the street that made you think of him. It was hardly a coherent conversation. You start typing.

Hope work is okay. I miss you.

Was that too much? Too needy? You weren’t dating but you had become accustomed to seeing each other nearly every day. Surely that meant something to him. At least you hoped.

There was no use in stressing over it, especially if he was going to ignore you. It was a simple statement. You hit send and set your phone down. You sent it, now you need to forget about it. That shower suddenly sounded really good.

You took a long warm shower, trying to drown at your thoughts but also trying to grasp the fragments of your mind from the brunch. It had been a week, and you still weren’t close to gathering what happened.

After your shower, you didn’t even eat dinner, just crashed into your bed. The sun was still up but the trickling light made it easier to fall asleep, no darkness for make believe monsters to hide in.

****

It was the middle of the night again. You weren’t entirely shocked that you were awake, but you were surprised that it wasn’t a nightmare what woke you. You didn’t know what woke you up. You lay there with your eyes closed, trying to will yourself back to sleep.

A moment later you hear what woke you up. A knock that you can just barely hear in your bedroom. You finally open your eyes to check what time it was. 2:48 am. You slept a lot longer than you thought you would have. You hear the knocking again and finally bring yourself to stand up.

You had taken to leaving the taser Jason had gifted you on the nightstand while you slept for some peace of mind, that and the locket around your neck. You grab the taser and hold the locket in your other hand. You poke your head out of your bedroom and listen. There is another knock, a little bit louder this time and you urge yourself to move out into the living room.

The knocks come from your front door, and you think maybe you should relax. If someone was trying to hurt you, wouldn’t they have broken in? You don’t relax though. It could be a trap. You look through the peep hole and spot black hair. The person moves and you find the green eyes you have been missing so much.

You rush to set the taser on the kitchen counter and unlock the door. You open it wide and stare at him, suddenly and oddly unsure of yourself. He looks as exhausted as you feel and he was hurt, a cut along his temple held together with butterfly band aids, his lip split.

“Jason?” you ask in concern cause you’ve never seen him beat up. You knew he was hurt sometimes. Watched him wince when he did things that wouldn’t have hurt him prior. But every adult has their random aches and pains. His face was different.

“Hi, Sweetheart,” he tries to grin at you, but it comes out as more of a grimace, like it hurt to smile, “heard you might be missing me?”

You flush at his words but mostly your heart warms. It was the middle of the night and Jason had been working somewhere else and saw that you missed him and came home. He couldn’t have been that upset with you then.

You take a step forward and he meets you halfway, dragging you into a hug that makes you exhale in relief. The tension in your body mellows when you feel him relaxing against you too. You take a step back and he follows, never breaking the hug. You manage to get the door shut and locked with Jason like a koala attached to you. You wonder if he missed you more than you missed him.

Door locked, your hands creep up to his neck and in the hair at the nap of his neck. You stroke your thumb lovingly under his ear. You try to pull back enough to see his face, but he just buries his face into your neck instead, like he needed to be as close as possible.

“Can we go to bed?” you ask softly, petting gently at his neck. He scoops you up, an arm under your knees and back. Your arms reflexively tighten around his neck, startled by the movement. He carries you quietly to your bedroom and you finally have a chance to look closer at his face. You let your hand trace from the cut on his temple to his cheek. He watches you from the corner of his eye.

He gently sets you down on the bed and presses a kiss on your forehead. He finally meets your eye and your heart jumps to your throat with the way he’s looking at you.

“I missed you too, sweetheart.” He tells you and presses another kiss to your cheek, “Far more than I probably should.” He murmurs against your skin, and you don’t know how to respond. The suddenness of Jason’s presence after nothing for a week was giving a shock to your system. It didn’t matter though. His affection was like a balm on cracked skin.

He scoots you across the bed to your designated spot and moves to climb in. You stop him with a hand on his arm and for the first time since he’s arrived at your door, he seems hesitant. He edges back off the bed like he’s done something wrong. Your hand on his arm turns from a press to a grip, willing him to not run away.

“You should change your clothes. Want you to be comfortable, Jay.” you explain quietly, and his shoulders relax. Once again you can’t help but wonder what’s happened. With Jason here maybe you can get some answers for the gaps your memory.

You lay down on your side when he moves for the dresser. You watch him in the dark lighting of the room, barely making out the form of him as your eyes adjust. As he pulls his shirt from his body, you think you see a dark bruise along his rib. It makes you want to worry but he pulls a new shirt on before you can decide whether or not it was a trick of the eye.

It doesn’t take long for him to be completely changed. He comes to stand at the edge of the bed, and you can feel him staring down at you. You open your arms wide.

“Well come here, I need my cuddles.” You whisper to him despite being the only two people in the room. He settles on top of you then, head to your chest and your hands slide through his hair as he curls his arms under you.

It’s quiet and dark. The way you had been this past week it would have had every nerve stuck in overdrive. But with the weight of Jason, the feel of his hands pressed against you, your nerves practically lose all their sense aside from his touch. You��re nearly asleep, mind drifting between the line of conscious and unconscious, when you feel a wetness seeping into your shirt where Jason lays.

It wakes you back up. Jason wasn’t one to drool and if he did it was usually light, definitely not enough for you to feel it through your shirt. You move one of your hands to press into his back. Jason takes a stuttered breath then you hear sniffling. Your entire body freezes.

Jason was crying, albeit quietly. It throws a shock through your body. You’d never seen Jason cry. He’d seen you time and time again but he’d never broken down like this. You didn’t know what to do because you didn’t know why he was crying.

“Jason?” you say his name quietly and slide your other hand in his hair to his cheek, gently cradling it and wiping at the wetness under his eye with your thumb. You feel the flutter of his lashes against the tip of your finger. He makes a gargled noise, and you think he’s trying to clear his throat.

“It’s nothing sweetheart,” he murmurs sounding just a little broken and it makes your heart ache. You tip your head slightly and kiss at the crown of his head.

“You can talk to me, Jay,” you mumble against his hair, “please.”

He holds you tighter, his breath evening out, “later,” he presses a kiss to your sternum where he lays, and it makes your heart jump. You beat yourself up for the feeling when Jason’s being vulnerable, “I’m tired, baby. Just want to sleep here with you.”

He settles back down but your mind hypes up at the three second interaction. Jason hadn’t called you ‘baby’ since the willow tree. It made you feel a lot of things that you would keep deep in your mind. The way he said it, the way he kissed at your chest…

Had you told Jason you liked him? Was that why he had run away? Because you pushed your feelings onto him in a drunken state?

He came back; a quiet voice tells you. If you had told him that you liked him a lot more than a friend, he left you and came back. He was here and he was holding you.

You wouldn’t ask what happened then. You were content with this, with Jason choosing to come back to you. If he wanted to talk to you about it, that worked too. You would want to know what his thoughts on the matter were, but you wouldn’t pry. You’d let him bring his feelings to you.

Additional note: Denial and avoidance are terrible and definitely not how you should live in a relationship. That will not stop these two though. The next chapter is chapter 30!!! That’s so crazy! Considering this was supposed to be a one and done short blurb. I’m so grateful to everyone that reads and comments. I think I might want to do something special but I’m not totally sure what. If you have any ideas let me know! <3<3

Tag List: @little-miss-naill, @nikilolo787, @joonunivrs, @uzxotic, @qardasngan, @stormz369, @g4bbi3xx, @iwatobiswimbros, @the-lonely-flute, @elz-xo, @gone-batty-fics, @princessesgarden, @notfckincreative, @love-theangel, @feyres-fireheart, @penguimlover23, @herodedicatedblog, @dearghostling, @automaticplant, @alma-ru3, @13fresh, @anuttellaa, @nekotaetae, @redsakura101, @sleepy-head1, @aejabba, @asteria33, @princessbl0ss0m, @sinnamon-bunn

#jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #do i know you?#kandyscorner #kandywrites

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bleghcourse · 2 days ago

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Hi, no, you're both wrong.

Men's lib members, like liberal feminists, try to force what is essentially repackaged Marxism through a liberal filter, even though real feminists (re:radical feminists) would call them moids and gender traitors, respectively. "Intersectionality" is just a post hoc crowbaring of liberal values onto a rather illiberal worldview.

The driving core of feminist theory is that "men" (biological XY males) are the bourgeoisie and "women" (biological XX females) are the proletariat. That is not an exaggeration, it's literally how the penis illuminati "patriarchy" is defined.

Fundamentally, I do not think that your average rank and file liberal feminist either cares enough to nor wants to actively harm men. Women can get vindictive, as can men, but people are really just not that motivated by simple spite, not enough to invent an entire social movement. The problem is, and this is something that MRAs are also very guilty of, liberal feminists tend to approach equality as a zero-sum game. That's why they invented "intersectionality", it's a sort of "what's good for the goose is good for the gander" justification. The argument is that if you improve the lives of women, it'll naturally have a trickle-down effect and improve the lives of men.

And as we know, trickle-down effects always pan out, just look at Reaganomics.

Thal isn't incorrect when he says that liberal feminists have more political influence than MRAs. It's a fact. But to pretend there hasn't also been a backslide in the rights of women in the US is just as ridiculous as insisting that the sky is green. These two facts exist independently of one another. The political right is actively infringing on womens right to self-determination, and the political left is leaving men to languish in a system they did not build nor benefit from in any meaningful way but get blamed for even as it hurts them. It's not because the GOP gives a shit about the male suicide epidemic and want to punish feminists for their "crimes", they just think they're entitled to tell women what they can and can not do.

Now, to the term "transandrophobia". You're not going to win any friends here. It's transmisandry. It does no good to put that kind of distance between cisgender man and transgender men. No one uses androphobia or gynophobia outside of a psychological context. Just use misandry. It's okay. Words exist for a reason.

Unfortunately, that would require you to first acknowledge that issues affecting men deserve their own special attention, so you're going to continue to use transandrophobia and try to win brownie points with the people who hate your guts.

I'm begging everyone on this thread to look up what realistic conflict theory is. It's a much better explanation of human behavior.

ive seen a lot of people talk about the irony of calling trans men "TMRAs" as an insult because yeah, trans men need more rights, that's a good thing to advocate for, etc

but it ignores the fundamental issue with MRA politics. which is how they define the source of the issues men face.

MRAs as a group have successfully done step 1: they have identified situations that collectively hurt men... but they have SEVERELY fumbled step 2: identifying the source of their problems correctly.

this is the difference between MRAs and men's liberationists. both groups have correctly identified real systemic problems (NOT oppression. don't get it twisted) that men face, but MRAs went the reactionary anti-feminist route and claimed it's caused by "feminist women oppressing them," while men's liberationists went the intersectional feminist route and realized that the patriarchy's standards for masculinity is to blame.

and when it comes to trans men discussing transandrophobia theory, it only takes 5 fucking minutes of reading what we have to say to understand which route we consistently take.

#online politics

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notnights · 20 hours ago

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I didn't dive into my TADC ep4 thoughts too much because the interpretations and discussions and theories I built from it came from such a personal place and my own experiences so I didn't share them outwardly.

But with ep5 approaching and knowing it'll be Ragatha (and Jax) centric, I do want to tell one interpretation that I got out of ep4 that maybe might be relevant for the next episode. I immediately got it right at the beginning scene, but Gangle's talk with Pomni later solidified my thoughts on it.

In the beginning of the episode Jax, Ragatha and Gangle are playing baseball, and are seemingly getting along well enough, until the inevitability of Gangle's mask breaking, breaks, by the fault of (but even surprisingly to) Jax. He doesn't apologize he just defends he didn't mean it. Either or it doesn't matter, this sets off Ragatha. Jax is often the source of a lot of pain, why should she think this time is any different.

Gangle is left, crying on the ground, as Jax and Ragatha fight. Zooble approaches Gangle and leads her off, Gangle takes one hesitant look back. This small action on it's own spoke to me. She's wondering, thinking about them, should she let them know she's leaving? Should she decline Zooble's offer because Gangle was already playing with Jax and Ragatha? No. Play time is over. Ragatha, and Jax have already checked out. Fighting each other is preferable than hanging out with a crying Gangle.

Gangle does not directly reference this later when saying it's hard to tell how genuine Ragatha is being, but we can assume it's behavior under the same umbrella.

Ragatha screams at Jax first, then gives one check up on Gangle, "are you okay?" Gangle doesn't even say she's okay, Ragatha does not help her up, Ragatha immediately goes to attack what she thinks is the source of this issue instead. Even if Ragatha did believe this time was an accident, she says "why do you always gotta do this?" this isn't about just now this is about every time Jax does this sort of thing. But why NOW, why do this fight NOW? Well because they do it all the time. Fighting is easy for them. Easier than dealing with Gangle.

Who knows how often they do this with the others but right now just looking at it from Gangle's perspective you were seemingly having a decent time with the people you live with, but they check out AS SOON as something inconvenient happens. Which unfortunately often coincides with Gangle's mask breaking. Party's over, someone's crying now! And guess who's fault it is!

Gangle doesn't even get the chance to maybe try and keep playing with them even while crying because Ragatha already checks out. The fun time is over. Not directly because of Gangle's crying but it's a factor. And you have to imagine this from Gangle's perspective. "If I got hit with the baseball but my mask didn't break, the fight wouldn't have happened, maybe we would still have been playing together..."

From Gangles' perspective, Ragatha and Jax fighting each other is more preferable them than dealing with a crying Gangle.

And this is also confirmed with both Jax and Ragatha saying they prefer her when she's a meek crybaby. Jax was extra frustrated over everything this adventure, and Ragatha was high out of her mind, but both these statements came from real places for both of them.

Manager Gangle is happy, unbreakable, this is what you want right? This is what I want, right? There would be less fights if my mask didn't break as often, right? You wouldn't have to pretend as much if I just stayed like this more often, right? This will make things easier, better for all of us, right?

"I liked you better when you're sad."

"You're kind of annoying with your happy mask on."

Jax and Ragatha fighting each other is more preferable than Gangle.

If Zooble didn't step in how long would Gangle have sat on the floor, crying, until she finally picked herself up and left, with Jax and Ragatha not even noticing? How many times has that happened you think?

This is the part where I admit, in it's simplest terms, in writing it is just a good way to motivate the scene to change, and might not mean anything outside of funny fight gag. But what are we if not funny little fans who read into things.

#tadc musing #ragatha #gangle #jax #long text

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nobody-nexus · 23 hours ago

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Okay so now that we have like five different locations, and my shadow theory is out the fucking window at this point, I purpose a new probably not even close to correct theory for episode 5 before it releases

Okay so like basically what if the reason we don't know what the plot actually is is because they're... ALL correct. Basically Caine, wanting to make sure everyone is happy cause he's noticed people haven't been happy, tries to give everyone their own individual adventure

He bases it off of what he knows about them

So why are the others in their own adventures? Well, simple. The others in the adventure are NPCs created by Caine for maximum immersion

Jax would be the first to notice that the people he's with aren't real. That would explain the picture of him seemingly attacking Gangle and the line "I want you dead". He's exploding on these NPCs and showing frustration

Ragatha I think is super in denial that this is even happening, but does sense something is wrong. Perhaps Pomni smells something amiss but because she's not fully used to the people around her, she doesn't quite realize they're NPCs at first

But what goes wrong is when the game can't handle so many things at once and slowly breaks down. These fake characters fuck up and break down and tue environment gets worse for wear until it all just.... Collapses

Maybe Ragatha is the last to realize this as she gets tormented by the NPCs until they all merge into one location, and the REAL cast sees Ragatha at her absolute WORSE. Showing and expressing how she really feels. This could even lead to Jax and Ragatha arguing

I know I'm probably not gonna be fully right, but I do like this idea. So hope this gives y'all some food for thought or something inspiration ^^

#the amazing digital circus #amazing digital circus #the digital circus #digital circus #tadc #tadc episode 5 #theory #fan theory #tadc theory #I'm still house sitting so I wanted to entertain myself a lil with this

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davros-reboots-gallifrey · 1 day ago

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Understanding the 15th Doctor era after The Reality War thanks to great theories online - any thoughts?:

1. The destruction of Gallifrey also razed all the Looms. This equals species sterility 🔥

2. Reality changed during Wild Blue Yonder into the Mavity universe 🍎

3. Belinda therefore became a motherless nurse, as Poppy vanished after Wild Blue Yonder. Alternatively, Poppy was vanished away by the Rani and her Wish World. This would mean Poppy was a constant both in the pre-Mavity universe and the Mavity universe itself. Seems a moot point either way though - so maybe the fundamental story point is the Mavity reality change enabled the Rani to mess with reality via the Gods and make Wish World. This wouldn't have been possible prior to Wild Blue Yonder 🏥

3A. Belinda's home also vanished or she suddenly acquired flatmates and a nasty landlord, making it no longer hers in this reality 🏠

3B. The cat in the flat actually belongs to her and Poppy - but without Poppy, she doesn't understand why the robots call it "her cat" and so views it as her flatmate's cat. But subconsciously she knows it's Poppy's as she asks Mrs Flood to tell her flatmate - an adult - that the cat went to live on a farm, which only a child would believe. Read this to find other clues dotted in the season regarding Belinda being a mother. 🐈

4. Mrs Flood begins breaking the fourth wall after realising she's a Timelord - I've seen various theories but I like one suggesting she was testing out Conrad's storytelling role but on a smaller scale. If she was playing around with a Chameleon Arch - scientist as she is - she may have been narrating the story to her human 'disguise' in her mind's eye. I can imagine the human Mrs Flood watches a lot of telly and talks to herself a lot. 📺

5. In this weird new reality, the 14th Doctor bigenerates, The Doctor's soul as a whole splits in half (re: The Devils chord) and 14 settles down -- my theory he is told off-screen by 15 to double down on not getting involved in any events anywhere as 15 is worried by the timey wimey implications of this Ruby Sunday girl he has just met, needing to investigate her. Also, he doesn't want the Pantheon to hunt both himself and 14. One target is enough. 🎯

6. Sutekh is killed: off-screen 14 is given another warning to keep out of the universe's way in case his own personal TARDIS carries its own version of Sutekh 🐶

7. A time fracture emerged, leading to the events of The Robot Revolution.* Earth explodes, sending Belinda's star certificate into the stars alongside the frozen corpse of Rylan 🤖

8. When Belinda escaped the Wish World into the Time Hotel with Anita, she still wanted and recognised Poppy as her daughter - despite being the motherless variant, thanks to her attachment to Poppy during Wish World - and later gave her consent to the Doctor to leave Unit HQ and restore Poppy, reality and her status as a mother. 🐥

9. When the Rani was defeated, the Doctor thought he was fixing one reality but actually - thanks to 13's diagnostics suggestion - he luckily - and without knowing it - fixed everything back to the pre-Mavity universe as there were now two wrong versions of reality, one encased in the other. 🔧

10. Belinda returned to her rightful home - perhaps living with her parents - while her flatmates shifted home into the house that once belonged to Mrs Flood in a different reality. 🏡

9. My personal theory re: 15 talking to 13 plus going back to the Devil's Chord is that 15 regenerates and somewhere on Earth 14 vanishes into thin light as the regeneration ate 15's "entire soul." Goodbye, 14...💥

10. Poppy's face reappears after many generations as Space Baby..likewise Belinda with Mundy Flynn. 🌌

* on point 5 and Robot Revolution, it may also be possible that the robots changed time the moment they went through the fracture and abducted the Incel Dude, thus erasing Poppy from existence. Poor girl was at the whim of so many existential threats 😂

#nu who #new who #doctor who #dr who #dr who theory #doctor who theory #belinda chandra #reality war #the reality war #doctor who season 15 #the 15th doctor #doctor who series 2 #15th doctor #ncuti!doctor #fifteenth doctor #the fifteenth doctor #rtd2 era #rtd2

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kys02 · 12 hours ago

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Thoughts on Episode 5 (and where everyone might end up)

So I’ve been thinking a lot about Episode 5, and I think I might’ve figured something out about this glorious mess.

Not gonna lie, these theories are really hard to piece together this time. The glitches did a good job confusing us 🙂‍↕️

Right now, we’ve basically got three possible settings:

• The office life

• The savannah

• And the stadium games.

Let’s break it down based on what we’ve seen in the screenshots:

• In the stadium scene, everyone from the main cast is there - Jax, Ragatha, Gangle, Pomni, even Kinger. But Zooble, who’s just kinda… there, without any gear or outfit.

• In the savannah, it’s just Jax, with that ribbon that looks suspiciously like Gangle’s (from the Wacky Watch website).

• In the office, we see Ragatha, Pomni, and Kinger.

Now about Zooble… They don’t have any costume or even a hat this time. Like, in Episode 4 at least they had an uniform for work in catering, because they were actually doing something there. But now? Nothing. It kinda feels like they’re not part of any setting. And yeah, that’s a bit sad, they’re a cool character and I wish they had more involvement. But oh well. I doubt anyone would want to wear it.

Anyway, here’s the idea I had: What if they split up again like they did in Episode 3?

Back then, it was:

• Zooble in therapy

• Kinger and Pomni on one side of the adventure

• Gangle, Ragatha, and Jax on the other.

So maybe in Episode 5, they start off all together - like, at the stadium or something, but then things split.

Like: Jax gets bored, or Ragatha isn’t vibing with the energy, and they go off into separate directions.

My main theory is this:

Jax and Gangle end up in the savannah - because of the ribbon that looks like it belongs to her. I mean, maybe Jax just wants to mess with her. Sounds like him.

Ragatha, Pomni, and Kinger go into the office life setting. Ragatha is calm and thoughtful, and office life seems like it would suit her. Pomni’s with her, they kinda feel like friends. And Kinger is… well, Kinger.

As for Zooble? Still no clue. Maybe they end up with Kaine again, maybe not. I just don’t think we’re getting another therapy plot with them. There’s not enough to go on, especially since they’re not wearing anything that would hint at a role.

Also, about the idea that they’re thrown into adventures based on what they want… I mean, okay, I can kind of agree with that in Jax’s case - maybe. But is the one thing Jax truly desires in life really just… shooting animals in a savannah?

And with the others, like seriously, you really think that out of everything Pomni could want, it’s going back to a routine office job?

So yeah, I’ve got two competing theories:

1. They go where they want to go.

2. They go where they were in their previous life.

Both kinda fall apart when you look at them closely.

If it’s about a past life - sure, maybe Pomni did work in an office, that could track. But… are we seriously saying Jax used to be some kind of guy who just ran around shooting animals with a bow in the savannah? That doesn’t line up at all.

Honestly, I have my doubts. I even had a theory that Jax might have been some kind of farmer like Ragatha, and if that's true, what does savanna even mean?

So yeah. Let’s see what happens.

#tadc #the amazing digital circus #tadc theory #tadc jax #jax the rabbit #the amazing digital circus ragatha #tadc ragatha #tadc zooble

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yuta-nakamots · 3 hours ago

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Dive Into You - L.Haechan

Pairing - Boyfriend!Haechan x University!AFAB Reader

Genre(s) - Fluff, Smut, University!AU

Warning(s) - smut, unprotected sex, reader wears a bikini, slight public sex (more like just public indecency and really heavy petting), dry (wet?) humping, creampie, multiple orgasms, marriage, reader and haechan have a kid

Summary - After a whirlwind semester, Haechan sweeps you away on a surprise getaway after finals are over. Between salty kisses and soft-spoken promises, you both begin to realize that Fridays mark more than just the end of the week, they mark the beginning of something new.

Word Count - 7.5k

Author’s Note - I meant to get this out on his birthday but got caught up in life so I guess happy belated birthday to Haechan haha

Taglist - @k-vanity @cosyhomenet @neocity-net @k-films @cinneorolls @dinonuguaegi @tinyzen @fancypeacepersona (join my taglist!)

Written for the Resonance Beach Collab originally hosted by @loeycity. Part of the K-Films Summer Event 2025 hosted by @k-films. Also part of my NCT Dream: Seven Days Collection.

Now playing: Dive Into You - NCT Dream, Bahama - aespa

You first met Haechan in a music theory class halfway through the semester. You were taking it for your degree, as was he, though he hadn’t managed to show up to a class thus far because of his busy idol career. On his day off, he finally attended class for the first time, slipping into the back row of the lecture hall ten minutes late, wearing sunglasses indoors and a hoodie too big for the late-spring weather. Yet no one batted an eye. That’s the thing about university, you could be a celebrity or a sleep-deprived caffeine gremlin and still get away with everything as long as you looked miserable enough.

He sat beside you, even though the rest of the row was empty. “Your notes looked better than mine,” he remarked.

You raised an eyebrow. “Are you even enrolled in this class?”

He grinned, teeth flashing beneath the shadow of his hood. “Technically.”

“Technically,” you repeated, unimpressed, as you angled your notebook away from him.

“Come on,” he whined, nudging your elbow with his. “The midterm is next week, I haven’t studied, and my manager thinks I’m watching video lectures at home right now. Help a guy out?”

You sighed, already sliding your notes a little closer. “If I get caught helping you cheat, you better buy me lunch.”

“Deal,” he agreed, a little too quickly. “And maybe a song.”

“A song?” You questioned.

“You’ll see.”

Your friendship with Haechan started just like that. A few shared notes, a couple late-night study sessions in the campus café when he had time off in his schedule. He hummed next to you while you worked on your laptop, occasionally changing songs halfway through the phrase just to annoy you. You quickly learned that when he wasn’t on stage, he was a menace with too many inside jokes, an alarming stash of memes, and a knack for making your cheeks hurt from laughing.

The first time you let him into your apartment, he tripped over cables hooked up to music equipment. He made it up to you by immediately assisting in layering harmonies onto the half-finished chorus of a demo track you made. “This would sound so good with a weird falsetto ghost vocal,” he commented, already recording himself singing off your cheap microphone like it was a stadium stage.

Somehow, you didn’t mind because somehow, his chaos just fit with yours. You made music together, half as a joke, half because it felt right. You teased him about his idol life, and he teased you about your messy desktop and how seriously you took your plugins. He never stopped talking, but you never wanted him to. Somewhere between 3AM laughter, breathless studio nights, and his fingers brushing yours over a keyboard, you stopped writing love songs about people who didn’t exist.

One night, when your midterm projects were due and sleep felt like a forgotten luxury, he popped by your apartment with fast food and insisted on ‘helping’ you mix your final track. The ‘help’ amounted to him curling up on a chair next to you with a can of soda and randomly hitting keys on your MIDI keyboard while proclaiming it to be ‘art’.

You swatted his hand away from your laptop for what had to be the tenth time. “You’re going to make me fail.”

“I’m inspiring you,” he countered, leaning over your shoulder to peer at your project window. “See, this part? Needs more chaos.”

“You are chaos.”

He laughed, dropping his chin to your shoulder. “I’m glad you finally noticed.”

You turned to look at him, a comeback ready, but the look on his face made the words freeze in your throat. You didn’t realize until that moment just how badly you wanted to kiss him, his lips looking so full and soft mere inches from you. Your breath caugh,t and Haechan heard, but didn’t move away.

“If you keep looking at me like that,” he said quietly, the usual teasing in his voice softened by something more sincere, “I’m going to think you like me.”

Your eyes flickered to his. “What if I do?”

The words hung there, suspended in the space between your breath and his. You weren’t sure who leaned in first, but suddenly the distance didn’t exist. His lips met yours in a kiss that tasted like soda and secrets you didn’t want to keep anymore. It was gentle, slow, and careful, like neither of you wanted to break whatever this was turning into.

When Haechan pulled away, his eyes searched yours. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, his usual bravado stripped away.

You swallowed, heart thudding in your chest, and your brain fighting with every reason why this shouldn’t have happened. “Haechan,” you started hesitantly. “You’re…you. And I’m just me. This isn’t right.”

He tilted his head, a small smile playing on his lips. “Do you think I don’t know that?” You blinked. “I’ve thought about this, all the reasons it could go wrong. But then I think about how you save lecture notes for me, how you roll your eyes at me, but still tolerate me when I make a bad joke. I think about how I’ve never heard music the same since I first met you.” You looked down at your hands, the weight of reality pressing against the lightness you felt just seconds ago. “Hey.” He reached for your hand. “I can’t promise it’ll be perfect, but I can promise I’ll show up. For you, for this, for us.”

Your eyes meet his again. There was no cockiness there, just quiet determination and something you realized had been growing behind all his jokes and late-night harmonies. It was real, terrifying, beautiful affection. You nodded slowly, lips drawing up into a small smile. “Okay.”

“Okay?” He echoed, eyes widening.

“But if I end up in a dating scandal, you better write me a hit breakup song.”

He laughed, his fingers lacing through yours. “Deal. But I’m aiming for a love song first.” And somehow, it felt like the beginning of one.

Your relationship didn’t erupt like the drop of a chorus, it eased in like a warm synth line, subtle but impossible to ignore. Somewhere in the haze of long nights and low battery percentages, between split headphones and shared playlists, Haechan became the rhythm you moved to without even realizing it.

One night, long past midnight, you both sat sprawled on the floor of your apartment, surrounded by tangled cables, empty ramen bowls, and the fading echo of a demo track you’d been layering harmonies into. You lay back, arms spread out, gaze unfocused on the water-stained ceiling. “I want to do this forever,” you swooned. “Not the ramen-for-dinner part, I mean the music. Producing, composing, I want it to be my life.”

Haechan was quiet for a beat, then shifted to lie next to you, his shoulder brushing yours. “I think about that too,” he said. “I think about what I’ll do when the spotlight fades, if I’ll still be making music, if I’ll still be me without the stage.”

You turned to look at him. In the dim blue haze of your laptop screen, he looked less like an idol and more like just a boy who loved music too much to let it go. “I think you’ll still be you,” you murmured. “Just…a little less glitter and a little more sleep.”

He laughed at that. “You think I’ll sleep? I’ll be recording your songs. That’s what my future looks like. You, writing chaotic brilliance in your studio, and me, still trying to convince you to add in a nonsensical adlib.”

“I don’t pay you enough for this,” you joke.

“You don’t pay me at all.”

A grin spread across your face. “Exactly.” That night ended like most did these days, with your head on his chest, fingers tangled, some indie R&B track humming softly in the background.

But finals week and a new comeback changed the tempo. You barely saw him after that. He was swallowed by comeback promotions–early call times, live broadcasts, and late-night rehearsals. You, in turn, were drowning in projects, caffeine, and academic despair. The apartment was filled with the evidence of the struggle, empty energy drink cans, abandoned sheet music, and forgotten takeout containers strewn across the floor.

You missed Haechan in moments that didn’t make sense, like when your headphones didn’t sit quite right, when a melody sounded a bit lonely, when your mind wrote a joke only he would laugh at. So when your last exam ended on a bright Friday afternoon and you staggered out of the lecture hall blinking like a mole, you didn’t expect to find Haechan standing just outside the door.

He was wearing sunglasses indoors again, paired with an all too large hoodie, like it was the first day you met all over. But this time, he was holding two plane tickets. “Fridays are meant to be fun,” he said, grinning like he had a secret, “so I made one just for you.”

You stared at him, eyes going wide. “What?”

“Hope you have your passport, because we’re leaving like, now. Tropics. You, me, no deadlines.”

“Haechan.” You deadpanned. “Are you kidnapping me?”

He pulled down his sunglasses just enough for you to see him wink. “Only a little. You seem like you could go for some sleep and peace, and actual food for once.”

You huffed a breath, somewhere between laughter and disbelief. “You’re insane.”

“I’m you’re insane,” he corrected, curling a finger into the strap of your backpack to tug you closer. “This is me keeping my promise.” So you let him take your hand, let him lead you out of the building and into the very beginning of your own song. There’s no chorus yet, just an opening note that felt like freedom.

You were half-asleep by the time the plane took off. At some point during the flight, you woke up with Haechan’s hoodie draped over your lap and his hand curled loosely around yours, his thumb moving in slow, absentminded circles. You wanted to be annoyed, you really did. He hijacked your post-finals crash and turned it into a spontaneous getaway with little to no time for packing. Who does that? But as warm sunlight spilled through the plane window and Haechan softly hummed a tune you vaguely recognized as one of your demos, annoyance melted into something warmer.

By the time your feet hit the sand in the Bahamas, you’d accepted two things. One, you were exhausted, but you were here with Haechan. Two, you wouldn’t be getting any rest with Haechan looking at you like that.

The private villa he booked looked like it had been pulled straight from a honeymoon brochure with whitewashed walls, a hammock strung lazily between palm trees, and the sea glittering just beyond your doorstep. You barely had time to toss your bag onto the bed before Haechan grabbed your hand again, pulling you out to the beach with the urgency of someone racing daylight.

You squinted against the sun. “I can’t believe you kidnapped me.”

“You say kidnapped, I say rescued,” he replied smugly, already kicking his slides off, dragging you toward the shoreline. “You were on the verge of becoming a coffee-addicted music gremlin.”

“I think you missed the part where I already am one.”

Haechan gasped like you just confessed to a felony. “You admit it? Bold.”

You shot him a look. “You say that like you haven’t seen me crawling on the floor at 4AM trying to find a flash drive.”

He grinned. “I’ve also seen you fall asleep with a pencil in your mouth and four open Ableton projects on your screen, so yeah, it was time for an intervention.”

You barely had time to reply before a splash of water hit your shins. You gasped, stunned, looking down at your now-soaked pants. Haechan stood a few feet into the waves, a boyish and playful smile on his face as he cupped more water in his hands. You narrowed your eyes at him. “Did you just–” Before you could finish the sentence, he splashed you again. “Haechan!” you shrieked, stumbling backward as cold water hit your thighs.

You kicked off your shoes and chased him into the water, shrieking as the ocean soaked through your clothes. Haechan laughed wildly, arms flailing as he tried to evade you, which didn’t work out all that good for him when he tripped and nearly face planted into a wave. You pounced on him.

The two of you wrestled in the shallows, screaming and splashing like kids on summer break. At one point, he scooped you up bridal style only to dramatically dunk you, then immediately panicked when he thought you might actually be mad. You emerged like a sea monster, hair dripping and clinging to your cheeks, and tackled him right back into the water.

“Timeout!” he gasped between laughs, hands raised in surrender. “You’re actually kind of terrifying like this.”

“You deserve terrifying,” you shot back, breathless from laughing. “I’m still in my clothes, you maniac.”

He swam closer, catching your wrist under the surface. “Okay, but like, you’re also kind of hot when you’re angry.” You rolled your eyes, heart racing not just from the chase, but from the way Haechan was looking at you. His hair was plastered to his forehead, skin glistening with saltwater, and his thumb rubbed against your wrist like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. “Come on,” he said softly, tugging you toward the shore. “Let’s go change and swim for real. I want to see you in that bikini set I know you packed.”

You changed in the bathroom of the villa while Haechan took forever in the outdoor shower, emerging half-wet and humming something suspiciously romantic under his breath. When you finally stepped out in your bikini, adjusting the strap at your shoulder, you didn’t even get the chance to say anything.

Haechan stopped mid-hum, jaw slack. “...Okay,” he said after a beat. “I lied. You’re not terrifying, you’re going to ruin my life.”

You raised a brow, crossing your arms. “That’s a bit dramatic.”

“No, no, no,” he stepped closer, eyes never leaving you. “You’re not allowed to look like that and expect me to behave. I brought you here for relaxation. This is not relaxing.” You laughed, flushed and flattered, but his tone shifted as he got closer. His hand skimmed down your arm, deliberate now, no more teasing in his touch. His fingers slipped just under the curve of your waist. “Mine,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “Everyone else can look at the ocean while I look at you.”

You swallowed hard. “You brought me to paradise, and now you’re acting like you want to keep me locked in the villa.”

Haechan leaned in, mouth brushing just below your ear. “I absolutely want to keep you locked in the villa.” Your breath hitched, and the air between you shifted, lazy heat turning into something far more dangerous. His hands didn’t leave your skin. “But I promised a beach day,” his voice dipped, sounding like velvet and fire, “so you better walk ahead of me and give me something to look at.”

You smacked his chest, laughing. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re unreal,” he countered, grin crooked, pupils blown wide. “Let’s go swimming before I forget how to be decent in public.”

You hadn’t even made it ten steps outside before Haechan was at your side again, fingers laced with yours, palms tight against each other like he couldn’t stand even that much distance. The sand was warm underfoot, powder-soft between your toes, the ocean glittering like a postcard dream just a few yards away.

The water was perfect. Warm, clear, and so inviting, it almost made you forget the way Haechan’s eyes had darkened the second he saw you step out from the bathroom. He followed you into the ocean like a man possessed, hands already reaching before the waves even reached your hips. You squealed when he caught your waist from behind, spinning you in the water with a triumphant laugh.

“Don’t act surprised,” his lips brushing your exposed shoulder. “You came out here looking like that and expect me to behave? Please.” You rolled your eyes at his theatrics, but your pulse was a dead giveaway.

His hands were everywhere, drifting down your spine, splaying wide over your stomach, teasingly tugging at the strap on your shoulder like he was two seconds away from snapping it. When you waded deeper, Haechan followed like a shadow, grabbing your hips under the surface and pulling you flush against him, salt-slick skin on skin. You twisted in his arms, giggling, trying to push him away, but he only groaned low in your ear and held you tighter. “You think I’m playing,” he muttered, fingers trailing under the water, slipping between the thin stretch of your bikini top. You gasped as he cupped one breast, his thumb circling with infuriating slowness, masked by the motion of the waves.

“Haechan—” you whispered, scandalized and breathless.

He just smirked. “No one can see us. We’re underwater.” You weren’t sure if that was true or if he just didn’t care. Probably both. He kissed you then, salt and heat and something greedy in the way his tongue brushed yours. The kind of kiss that melted your knees even in the water, the kind of kiss that left you breathless and aching and already wishing you were somewhere more private.

His hands didn’t behave. One stayed low on your waist, the other sliding beneath the fabric again, bolder this time, palm warm and rough where it wasn’t supposed to be. He kissed you harder when you gasped again, like he wanted to devour every sound.

“Don’t you dare,” you scolded when he started to push a little further, slightly nudging the strap of your top to the edge of your shoulder.

“Don’t I dare what?” he asked, all innocence and sin. “Touch my girlfriend?” You splashed him in the face. He laughed, full-bodied and beautiful, but even then he didn’t let go. His arms circled your waist, drawing you against his chest like he couldn’t live without his skin on yours. “I love this swimsuit,” his lips moving against your cheek. “I love how it looks on you. I also love that I’m the one who gets to take it off later.”

You swatted at him again, face burning, but he caught your wrist and kissed your knuckles, then your inner wrist, then the inside of your elbow, making his way back up your arm like a man worshipping something divine. You hated how easily he made you fold.

Eventually, the two of you migrated back to shore, half-drunk on heat and horniness. The sun dipped low on the horizon, turning the sky into a watercolor gold and flame. You sank into the warm sand belly down, his thigh pressed against yours as he lay on his back, your fingers tangled together with his. You propped yourself up on your elbows, drawing shapes in the sand with your free hand.

“Mmm,” Haechan hummed, his eyes following your finger in the sand. “This is almost enough to distract me from the fact that I can see the curve of your ass through that bikini.”

You snorted and looked away from him. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m in pain, actually,” he said, reaching over and placing a palm on the back of your thigh, fingers sliding upward. “Real suffering is happening right now.”

“You’re the one who dragged me here. This is your fault.”

“And yet,” his eyes traced over your body like he was memorizing every sun-kissed inch, “I would do it again. A hundred times. Just to watch the way you move with barely anything on.” Your heart stuttered. Haechan pulled back to meet your gaze. “We should head back,” his voice rougher now, molten and thick. “Or else I will fuck you right here, right now.” You could tell he meant it.

There was nothing joking in his eyes now, only heat and hunger, tethered just barely by your hand in his. You stood slowly, tugging him up by the wrist. “Then let’s go,” you say confidently. “Before you really lose your mind.”

Haechan groaned like you’d just given him the best present of his life. “Race you to the villa,” he prompted, already grabbing your hand. But you didn’t run. You walked slowly, skin still tingling, Haechan’s hand never leaving yours, practically pulling you as the sky burned orange above.

You reached the edge of the villa’s patio just as the last sliver of sun kissed the horizon, casting everything in warm honey and soft firelight. Haechan tugged you toward the outdoor shower, barely glancing over his shoulder as he flicked the water on. “Get in,” his voice low and coaxing. “You’re all sandy.”

You looked him up and down. “So are you.”

“Guess we’ll just have to help each other out,” he said, eyes gleaming.

The water was lukewarm, cascading in soft rivulets over your sun-warmed skin. Haechan stepped in behind you, crowding your space like he had no concept of personal space, his hands sliding up your waist, over your stomach, until resting under the swell of your breasts. You shivered when his fingers slipped beneath your bikini again, cupping one breast with no hesitation, thumb brushing over your nipple until it peaked under his touch.

“Haechan,” you warned, breath catching.

“I know,” he practically growled, pressing closer, hips grinding slowly against your ass. “We’re technically at the villa…” His hips rolled, unhurried yet firm. You felt him, thick and hard beneath the wet cling of his swim trunks, grinding into you like he was seconds away from losing his sanity.

You gasped as he moved your bikini top aside completely, exposing your breasts to the air and the spray of the water. “Haechan–”

“No one’s out here,” he whined, mouth finding your shoulder, biting it lightly. “We’re still on our villa property.”

“There’s only trees, no fence,” you hissed. “Anyone could walk by–”

“Let them,” he muttered, grinding harder, one hand sliding down to palm at the softness of your thighs. “Let them see how pretty you are when you let me touch you.” You moaned at his words, reaching behind you to grab at him, palm sliding down his abdomen, fingers slipping beneath the band of his trunks.

He groaned through his teeth, thrusting forward involuntarily. “Fuck, baby,” he breathed. “I want you so bad I’m gonna die.”

“We can’t,” you insist, even as you arch into his hold on your breasts from how good his hands felt. “We can’t do it out here.”

“Why not?” he begged, kissing up your spine. “We’re dripping wet, you’re practically naked, I’m hard, just let me–”

“No,” your voice firm while grabbing one of the towels hanging by the knobs of the shower and moving your top back into place. “Inside. Now.” You barely managed to toss it around yourself before his hands found your waist again. You glared at him, and he growled in frustration, eyes dark and glassy, but the second you turned toward the villa, he was grabbing a towel and he was on you again, barely letting either of you dry off before he was hauling you through the door.

The door had barely clicked shut behind both of you when Haechan was already reaching for your towel, mouth crashing into yours like he’d been starved for days. But you pulled back before he could drag it off you entirely, palm firm against his chest.

“Hold on,” you command, eyeing the growing puddle surrounding the two of you. “You’re soaking wet. We’re dripping all over the floor.”

“I’ll clean it up later,” he muttered, stepping closer to kiss along your neck, but you pushed at him again.

“No, you’ll slip and die before we even make it to the bed,” you say playfully with a smirk, grabbing the towel he’d brought in with him. “Stand still.”

His brows furrowed, his hair wet and wild over his forehead. “Wait…what?”

You only smiled and tossed the towel over his head. “I said, stand still.”

Haechan stood frozen as you began to dry him off, starting at his head, rubbing the towel gently over his hair. Your fingers massaged his scalp as you worked, slow and soothing, watching his eyes flutter closed under your touch. Then you moved to his neck, the hollow of his throat, the slick curve of his shoulders. “You’re really gonna take your time with this, huh?” he asked, unamused.

“Uh-huh,” you respond, dragging the towel down his chest, deliberately slow, the plush fabric skimming over his nipples. He twitched slightly under your touch.

You made a show of dragging the towel over every inch of him, his stomach, the sharp cut of his hips, the waistband of his swim trunks. Then you dropped the towel lower, pressing your palm over his length through the fabric of the towel.

Haechan cursed under his breath, thighs tensing. “Baby–”

You rubbed slowly, palm flat, teasing pressure, feeling how hard he already was. His hands hovered like he didn’t know what to do with them, torn between grabbing you and obeying. “I thought you wanted to be dry,” you cooed, glancing up at him through your lashes.

“I do,” he groaned. “I do. But, fuck, you’re killing me.”

You squeezed his length softly, just enough to make him choke on air. “Is that better?”

He threw his head back, jaw clenched. “You’re evil. I’m gonna die. Actually die.”

You leaned in, kissing a droplet of water from his collarbone, your hand still moving against him through the towel. “Maybe. But at least you’ll die warm and dry.”

He whimpered, actually whimpered, hips rolling into your hand. “Please,” he begged, desperate now. “Let me touch you, let me taste you, anything. I need you.”

You let the towel slip from your grasp, the object of Haechan’s agony falling to the floor. “Then take me to bed.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. In a blur of motion, he had you pressed against the bed, your towel forgotten. You barely caught your breath before he was on you again, hot, hungry, and entirely yours.

Haechan’s hands found your waist again, pulling you flush against him as his hips began to grind with a desperate, jagged rhythm. You gasped at the friction, the slick heat of him pressing through the damp fabric of your bikini bottoms. His fingers tangled in your hair, his breath ragged as he nuzzled your neck. “You feel so good,” he murmured, voice rough and needy. His movements grew more frantic, less controlled, as if holding himself back was a losing battle.

Your hands roamed his chest, nails scraping lightly over his skin as he ground harder, hips rocking against you in a slow, scorching tease. You could feel the pressure building in him, thick, pulsing, utterly relentless. Haechan’s grinding slowed just enough for you to feel every inch of him pressed through the thin fabric, teasing and maddeningly close. His breath was ragged in your ear, words lost to the haze of want and heat. Your hands slid under the waistband of his damp shorts, fingers curling around the fabric as you tugged gently but firmly. Haechan froze for a second, chest rising a falling fast, then gave a breathy laugh.

“Can’t wait any longer, huh?” you teased, dragging the shorts down over his hips and thigh before he kicked them off.

He was fully naked above you now, his skin gleaming under the fading light of sunset, every muscle taut and trembling with need. His hardness pressed sharply against your stomach through the thin fabric of your bikini bottoms, twitching with each shallow breath. Haechan’s eyes were dark, glazed with want, and he didn’t hesitate to lean forward, mouth finding your collarbone as his hands roamed over your skin. His hips began to move again, slow and deliberate at first, pressing with a teasing persistence over you, every brush of skin against skin setting fire to your nerves.

Haechan’s hands slid up your sides, urgent but reverent, until they cupped your breasts over your bikini. His thumbs circled your peaked nipples through the damp fabric, coaxing a gasp from your lips. “So soft,” he muttered while kneading your breasts, voice wrecked like he was in a dream he couldn’t quite believe. “So perfect, all for me.”

You arched into his hands, breath catching, and he took that as permission to push the fabric aside once more. Your nipples were pebbled in the open air, and then his mouth was on you, hot and wet, tongue swirling, lips sucking, his teeth lightly scraping. His hips kept moving, grinding against your clit through the soaked barrier between you, the pressure maddeningly precise. “Haechan,” you breathed, your nails digging into his shoulders, your body thrumming with tension.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered between kisses to your chest, hips never stopping. “Gotta make you feel good. I need to–fuck, baby–need to feel you fall apart.”

Your hips lifted instinctively, chasing the drag of his cock against your clit, even through the layer of clothing. His cock twitched, leaking pre-cum that smeared slick against your skin and mixed with your own arousal, making the friction even worse. It was so good it was almost cruel. He rutted harder now, sweat and water making his glide even easier, messy and hot. “Oh my god,” Haechan groaned, hips stuttering. “Fuck…fuck, I’m–”

You felt it before you saw it, his cock jerking between your bodies as he came hard, hot ropes of cum spilling onto your stomach, dripping down your sides as his thrusts slowed, then faltered. He collapsed forward, breathless laughter bubbling against your chest.

“Are you proud of yourself?” he rasped, barely able to lift his head, still panting. “You wrecked me.”

You smiled, eyes fluttering shut. “A little.” But then you felt it, his cock, still hard, twitching again as he looked down at the mess he made. Haechan moaned low in his throat, eyes glassy as he licked a stripe of cum from your stomach, lips brushing your skin in an obscene way.

When he reached your navel, he looked up to you with something dark and hungry. “Inside this time,” he whispered. You didn’t say a word, you just nodded.

He surged up to kiss you, slow and deep, tongue sweeping into your mouth as he pressed his length against you again. The kiss was different now, less frantic, more deliberate, and you could taste remnants of his cum, tangy but slightly salty as it mixed with the lingering seawater on your skin. You reached between your bodies, tugging your bikini bottom to the side. He groaned as his cock slid through your slick folds, the head catching just below your clit before dragging down again. He did it twice, three times, coating himself in your arousal. Each pass made your thighs shake.

When he finally pressed in slow and steady, stretching you open, you gasped, grabbing his biceps. Haechan held your gaze, even as a tremor ran through his whole body. “You feel unreal,” he whispered. The thrusts were slow and deep at first, hips rolling, not just to chase pleasure, but to memorize how you felt around him. Every drag of his cock against your walls had you gasping, thighs locked around his waist.

Earlier, he had been desperate to lose himself in you. Now, he was desperate to stay in this moment. His forehead pressed to yours. “Let me see you cum,” he pleaded, one hand driving down to circle your clit, the pad of his finger working you in slow, steady circles while his cock filled you over and over.

The pressure built fast, your body was already primed from how he had bullied your clit with his cock earlier, the way he had made you ache from the rutting of his hips before he even got inside you. You cried out, clenching around him, your orgasm snapping sharp and intense as you clenched around his cock.

Haechan moaned as you pulsed around him, his rhythm faltering. “Fuck, baby, you’re squeezing me so tight, so good.”

You felt him tremble above you, like it took every ounce of willpower not to cum. His cock twitched inside you, but he held still, panting against your lips, eyes wide and shining. “Don’t move,” he said, more of a command to himself than to you. “I’m not done.”

Before you could reply, he pulled out slowly, his cock dragging slick and heavy against your walls. You whimpered at the loss, but he was already shifting, already flipping you onto your stomach, handling you like something precious but breakable. Your cheek pressed into the sheets, and you barely caught your breath before you felt his hands spreading you apart, his cock sliding between your soaked folds, grinding up against your entrance and ass, teasing and filthy.

“Shit,” he breathed, rutting forward, dragging the head of his cock through your folds before rocking it between the cheeks of your ass. “You’re so wet…you want it like this, huh?” His voice cracked on a moan as he rocked forward again, not quite slipping in, but close enough to make you ache.

“Please, Haechan,” you whined, writhing back into him, greedy for the weight of him inside you. “Put it back in. I need you.” That was all it took. He pressed into you again, entering you all too easily, your body welcoming him soft and hot and soaked with everything he’d pulled from you. His cock sank in deep, and he groaned loud against your ear, collapsing over you like he couldn’t hold himself up anymore.

“Fuck,” he cried, rutting shallowly, hips flush to your ass. “Fuck, you feel too good. I can’t–I can’t stop.” His arms slid beneath you, wrapping tightly around your chest. One hand curled over your breast, squeezing as he buried his face in the curve when your shoulder met your neck, teeth scraping gently at the skin there. The other traveled down, urgent and clumsy, until his fingers found your clit again. He rubbed you with no tempo, no restraint, just pure desperation. “Wanna feel you cum with me,” his voice was shaking. “Wanna feel you clench around me, while I’m inside, while I fill you up.”

The angle had him pushing in deeper, the stretch unbearable and perfect, your entire body wound up beneath his. You could feel it coming again, the pressure sharp and devastating, your moans helpless as he rutted harder against you, gasping every time you clenched around him. Then it hit, sudden and overwhelming, tearing through you as you sobbed his name into the sheets. Your walls fluttered around him, tight and wet and trembling.

Haechan cursed, cock throbbing deep inside you as he finally let go. He came with a broken cry, hips stuttering against your ass as he pressed as deep as he possibly could, like he never wanted to leave your body again. His cum spilled inside you, warm and thick, and he held you tight, still moving in tiny thrusts, dragging it out as long as he could. Afterward, he didn’t move, just breathed against your back, arms still wrapped around your chest like he was afraid you’d disappear.

You didn’t speak for a long time. Just the two of you, tangled together in the afterglow, his breath fanning hot against your shoulder, your heartbeat slowly syncing back to something steady. His arms stayed wrapped around you, even as his cock softened inside you and your bodies finally relaxed into the sheets. You could feel the sweat cooling on your skin, the dampness between your thighs, the faint ache in your hips, and still, you didn’t want to move.

Eventually, Haechan shifted just enough to slip out of you, making you whimper at the emptiness, but he hushed you with a kiss to your shoulder blade. He pulled away only long enough to grab the towel off the edge of the bed and gently cleaned between your thighs, mumbling quiet apologies when you flinched at the sensitivity. Then, he crawled right back into bed, curling himself around you like he belonged there.

Your legs tangled instinctively. His hand found your waist under the sheet, warm and steady, and he tugged you closer until your back was snug to his chest, your head nestled under his chin. “You good?” he asked softly, voice scratchy and slow.

You nodded, a faint smile playing on your lips. “Yeah. You?”

He hummed in response, then kissed the top of your head. His thumb rubbed idle circles into your hip bone. For a while, the only sound was the lull of waves outside, still crashing softly in the dark, echoing the pulse of your bodies slowly calming down. Then, so quiet you almost missed it, he said, “I want every Friday like this.” Your heart stuttered in your chest. “This one…” He hesitated, tightening his arms around you, like he needed to hold the thought together with his hands. “This one feels like the start of something.”

Your breath caught. You twisted just enough to look at him over your shoulder. His face was half-lit by the moonlight cutting across the room, but you could see the sincerity there. His eyes were warm and tender, never leaving yours. You reached up to brush his hair back from his forehead. “It does,” you whispered. “It really does.”

He smiled, slow and soft, and leaned in to kiss you again, gentle, no heat this time, just truth. Neither of you said anything else. You didn’t need to. Not when you were already wrapped up in what was starting, and not when Friday had never felt this good.

The next morning, the light changed everything. It slipped in slowly through gauzy curtains, bathing the villa in soft gold. The ocean beyond the villa was calm now, like it had worn itself out from singing you to sleep. The salt-heavy breeze drifted in and made the white linen curtains sway, lazy and warm.

You were still asleep when Haechan stirred. He didn’t move much, just shifted enough to lean up on one elbow, the sheet barely clinging to his hips. His gaze drifted to you, still curled beneath the covers, one hand tucked under your cheek, lips slightly parted. Your hair spilled across the pillow like something he could get lost in, and maybe he already had.

He reached out, touched your shoulder gently, tracing the faintest circles with his fingertip. Not enough to wake you, just enough to feel the shape of you, real and here. You made a sleepy noise in your throat, but didn’t open your eyes. He smiled to himself. “What would life look like with you?” he pondered quietly, not really expecting an answer, just letting the thought live in the morning light. His finger trailed down your spine, leisurely. “Would we have a house?” he mused, voice low and thoughtful. “Backyard? One of those little ones who tugs at your shirt after preschool and asks for snacks and cartoons?” He paused, the smile spreading wider, eyes fond. “A kid who likes Fridays.”

You shifted under the sheets, breath catching on a sleepy laugh. Your voice came muffled against the pillow. “We’ll find out,” you murmured, still half-asleep. “One Friday at a time.”

His heart pulled tight. God, he wanted that. Not just the house, not just the child, but this–this exact moment, you still drowsy in his bed, the sound of your voice soft from sleep, your warmth next to him, as natural as breathing. He leaned down and kissed the bar curve of your shoulder, lingering there like a promise. “I’d give you every one,” he whispered. “Every Friday I’ve got.”

When you finally opened your eyes and turned to look at him, sleepy and smiling, it felt like maybe you believed him. Because this one, this Friday, felt like the start of everything.

Years later, Fridays still hold meaning in your house. They always have, and probably always will. You hear them before you see them, your daughter’s giggles echoing down the hallway, pure and breathless, followed by the familiar thud of Haechan’s socked feet on the hardwood floor.

He’s carrying her on his hip, her backpack slung over his other shoulder, her tiny hand clinging to the collar of his shirt. She’s still wearing the glittery pink hair clip she insisted on this morning, slightly askew now from whatever adventure she had at preschool. Her cheeks are flushed from the walk home, smiling brightly as she talks excitedly about something that happened on the playground.

“She made a painting today,” Haechan calls out as he steps into the living room, his voice loud and proud. “It’s us. All three of us. And the sun has hearts in it because she said that’s what Friday feels like.”

You set your laptop aside, rising from the couch just as your daughter wriggles in your arms, reaching for you. “Mommy!” she squeals, arms flung wide as Haechan lowers her carefully into your embrace.

“She missed you,” Haechan murmurs, leaning in to press a kiss to your temple before dropping her backpack by the door. “And she may or may not have convinced me to stop for strawberry milk.”

Your daughter pulls back just enough to show you her pink-stained lips and a guilty smile, causing you to laugh. “I see that.”

Later, after dinner and bath time and a chaotic attempt at brushing her teeth, the house quiets again. The dishes are done, the toys are tucked away, and the soft glow of your living room lap spills across the floor as Haechan settles beside you on the couch, one arm thrown over the backrest, content. There’s something in the stillness that feels earned.

You glance at him, your body relaxing instinctively in his presence. Even now, with fewer stages and more studio days, he’s still unmistakably him. His voice still sells out records, his face still flashes in LED lights on billboards from time to time. Fans still recognize him in grocery stores, still send letters with inked hearts in the margins. But here, like this, barefoot with his daughter’s preschool painting in his lap, he’s just Haechan. Yours.

And somehow, you’re not just the girl who loves music anymore, you’re in it. You belong to the music world just as much as he does, not as a spectator, but as a contributor. Your name rolls across credits on streaming platforms, buried between synth programmers and vocal producers. Your beats pulse through earbuds across continents, your songs make it into playlists people fall in love to. You’d once dreamed of this life from behind classroom desks and secondhand headphones, back when it felt impossibly far away. Now, it’s home.

Haechan turns to you, brushing his hand gently across your knee like he can read your thoughts. “Didn’t think I’d end up with the label’s most in-demand producer,” he says, voice soft with admiration. “Kind of a dream for me.”

You smile, a little shy even after all these years. “Didn’t think I’d end up working for my husband.”

“Mmm,” he hums, leaning in with a teasing glint in his eyes. “Technically, I work for you. Have you seen the way everyone treats you in the studio now?” You laugh, shaking your head as he shifts to press a kiss to your cheek. “I’m serious,” he adds. “You walk in and it’s like ‘oh my god, it’s her.’ You earned that. Every bit of it.” You let the words settle in your chest, warm and solid. A breeze moves through the curtains, the night quiet and full.

You’re searching for a charger in the drawer of the side table next to the couch when your fingers graze against paper, thin, crips, and familiar. You pull it out and smile as the memories rush forward. Plane tickets, the villa, that first real Friday.

Haechan sees what you’re holding, and his expression shifts into something fond. “You kept those?”

“Of course I did,” you tell him, brushing your thumb over the dates.

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, eyes tracing the curve of the old boarding pass in your hand. “Best Friday of my life.”

You glance over at him, then nod toward the hallway where your daughter’s bedroom door is cracked open, the glow of her night light spilling out. “Until the next one,” you murmur.

That night, the three of you end up in the same bed. It wasn’t planned, just one of those nights where the world outside felt far away. Your daughter lay between you, her fingers curled around the edge of your shirt, breathing steadily and even. Haechan reaches for your hand in the dark and squeezes it when he finds it. You squeeze back. And you know, just as you did back on that villa in the morning light, that this is the start of everything, all over again.

Fridays are still yours. They always will be.

Autoplay: If you liked this, you may also like Some Kind Of Wonderful - L.Mark

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lunicxie · 6 hours ago

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୨९ 𝑩𝒆𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆, 𝑫𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈~

your husband Satoru brought you to a business event, and you decide to see if he'd get jealous easily

cw: ♡ nsfw / mdni ♡ blindfold kink ♡ praise ♡ possessive gojo ♡ teasing ♡ oral (f!receiving) ♡ spanking ♡ dirty talk ♡ releasing inside ♡ penetration (f!recieving) ♡ aftercare ♡

The night had been painfully long. Business deals, boring speeches, handshakes with people you’d never see again. As the CEO of his high-profile company, Satoru was charming, sharp, and intelligent. You loved him and he loved you. But you wanted to test that. So you stood a little too close to the Vice President, too close for Satoru's comfort. But he tried to ignore it. Then you crossed a line when you laughed at a joke with your hand on the man's shoulder. You could feel the way his jealous gaze slid over you. He leaned in close during one of the boring speeches, his mouth brushed your ear, and he whispered just loud enough for you to hear, “I see what you're trying to do. Jokes on you, I'd do it either way. You look absolutely stunning tonight in that dress, darling. Can’t wait to see it on the floor when we get home.”

Your breath caught in your throat. You’d been married for over 3 years now, and he still knows how to turn you on with just a few words. You tried to keep your composure, but you could feel your heart rate picking up. “I have it all planned out,” he continued, that playful, teasing edge to his voice. His hand slid subtly along your waist, and you could feel the heat of his palm through your dress. “You'd like that, right?” What a tease. But he was right. You'd love that.

By the time the event ended and you were finally alone in the back of the limo, Satoru didn’t waste a second. Satoru's lips crashed into yours, hot and demanding. His kiss was slow at first, teasing, before deepening as he pulled you flush against him. His hands slid down your back, tugging you closer. You melted into him, lips parting, tongues wrestling. He pulled back just enough to whisper, his voice low and filled with intent. "Just wait until we get back, baby," he murmured, before his lips were on yours again, more urgent this time.

You walked into your penthouse, and Satoru slammed the door shut with his foot. “Now, pretty girl...not going to sleep yet, are you?” Before you could even respond, his hands were on the blindfold, lifting it over his eyes and looking down at you with his feral blue eyes. "Y’know when you lose one sense, all the others get stronger?” he tugs the blindfold snugly over your eyes as he whispers against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “Let’s test that theory, hm?” He slipped the fabric over your eyes, tying it tight. Darkness fell instantly, and your breath hitched.

You gasped when he lifted you, and carried you across the open-plan kitchen like you weighed nothing, setting you down against the cool marble counter. “I saw the way they looked at you tonight,” he muttered, voice rough against your skin. “But they don’t get this. They don’t get you. No. You're mine. My gorgeous, amazing wife. Can't believe we're married, angel.”

His hands gripped the hem of your dress, tugging it up with no hesitation. You squirmed under his touch, heart racing as he took his time teasing, getting reactions like this from you like it was a game he never lost. “No panties, hm?”

He continued, his tone dropping lower. “Say it. Say who you belong to.” You whispered his name, breathless. “Louder,” he growled, palm sliding up your side.

“…You.”

His hand trailed lower, gripping your thigh just enough to make you gasp before he pulled you flush against him. “No, no, baby,” he muttered darkly, voice dripping with heat, “you know what I wanna hear.”

You hesitated, lips parted, chest heaving. Then—smack—his palm met the curve of your ass, sharp and fast, making you jolt with a yelp that turned into a moan. “Try again.”

“'Toru—” you breathed out. Another slap, this time harder. “Wrong one.”

“Satoru—!” you gasped, nearly collapsing against him from the mix of sting and pleasure burning through your skin. “Mmm, that’s better,” he purred. “I'm gonna flip you over and make you scream it. You’ve been acting like a spoiled little thing all night,” he said, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Clinging to his arm...that tight little dress...what were you trying to do, hm?”

Another slap, this time delivered on your pussy. You whined, hips twitching under his grip. And then his mouth was on you. Hot, slow, and maddening. He dragged it down your body, each kiss making your knees buckle a little more. You couldn’t see him, but you could feel every flick of his tongue, every teasing pause that made your stomach twist in pleasure.

You feel him moving forward, and his grip on your legs tightens. Then suddenly, his breath is hot against your sensitive skin, and you can't help but shiver. His lips brush against your heat, teasing with just the barest lightest kisses. You wrap your fingers in his hair, occasionally stroking his undercut, wanting more. His tongue laps at your folds, gathering all your juices and teasing your slit. "So wet for me, huh?" he mumbles and flicks your clit, your back arching, "Use your words, princess. What did you want?"

“I need you…”

After that, you felt…nothing? But you heard everything.

There was a subtle shift of weight as he stood as he let out a low sigh. Then, the soft rustle of fabric, slow and deliberate. You could even picture it. His dark tuxedo jacket sliding down those broad shoulders, followed by the clink of cufflinks being placed on the counter. A beat of silence. Then the gentle sound of buttons, one by one, undone with a quiet precision that made your breath catch. “Is that theory working?” You heard the soft scrape of leather sliding through loops, followed by the click of his belt buckle coming undone. The sound alone made your thighs tense. He chuckled under his breath. “That got your attention, huh?”

The slow zip of his pants followed, deliberate and unhurried, like he knew you were hanging on every sound. You could practically feel the heat of his gaze, even through the blindfold. “You’re so worked up already, and I haven’t even started.”

He went back to his attack on your clit, swirling his tongue around it in circles, sucking at it. “You want me in you? Yeah? Well, that’s what you’ll get, my beautiful girl deserves it, doesn’t she?”

He pulled away and carries you to the couch dropping you on it. He spreads your legs wide open and blows at your heat. “Want me to stuff you full? What my princess wants, she gets.”

He brought his cock up to your slit, sliding it up and down, spreading his pre-cum and making you shiver in pleasure. He slowly bullies his cock in, making you gasp and moan out. “God, yes, let me hear those slutty moans!” He grunts as he finally bottoms out. “So fucking tight! Take it…take it all!” With that said, he started thrusting into your tightness, relentless with each push.

“F-fuck! You feel so good! So good f’me…” he growls as he hits your g-spot, making your back arch. “A-ah!~ R-right there!” You babble out, your dripping cunt slurping in his cock, not willing to let go. “C-cum inside! P-please, ‘toru!” You moan out and claw at the air, trying to grab onto something— anything. You feel him take your hand and squeeze it. “My shoulder’s up here.” He chuckles, guiding your hand to his back, littered with scratches from previous nights. “I’m so c-close, f-fuck~ agh!” He groans, “Can I cum inside, Princess?” He questions, to which you nod.

“F-fill me up, do-don’t hold back, I can take it!” Your lewd moans bounced off the penthouse walls, echoing like music he never wanted to stop hearing. “Y’so pretty f’me.” You felt him twitch deep inside, and then his sudden, overwhelming release spilled into you. Thick, hot, and relentless, filling you up from the inside. His grip tightened on your waist as he buried himself deeper, holding still while his release pulsed inside you, making you whimper sweetly. You both stayed like that, bodies trembling, breathing heavy. "So pretty. You okay, Princess?” he whispers to you, as he presses a kiss to your shoulder. He slowly pushed the blindfold up from your eyes, and when your vision cleared, his bright blue eyes were already locked on you, gleaming like ice. He looked so...innocent? Not even close. He looked up at you like a man starved, like he’d do it all over again just to watch you fall apart.

You nodded, and he chuckled, already scooping you up bridal-style. “Shower, then cuddles,” he said with a wink. In the bathroom, his hands were nothing but gentle, washing your hair, kissing your forehead, “Did so good for me. Did I do good too?” he looked up at you with the sweetest eyes ever, as if he didn't just ruin you. “You always are,” you murmur, your voice low and affectionate. Once you were warm, clean, and in one of his t-shirts, he pulled you into bed and wrapped his arms tight around you, letting your head rest over his heartbeat.

“Glad you married me?” he whispered into your hair, catching a whiff of your expensive shampoo, the familiar scent making him smile. “I’m the luckiest man alive. Night, Princess.”

Divider credits (in the order they were used):

@purefantasia ノ @cursed-carmine

#𐔌 . lunicxie ! ୧ #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk smut #smut #mxf smut #lunicxie #gojo satoru #satoru gojo x reader #ao3 #writing

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tuneless · 2 days ago

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DELTARUNE CHAPTERS 3 & 4 THEORY!! (SPOILERS OBVIOUSLY)

Ok so this whole theory rides on Dess Knight being true.

Also this theory is split into two parts

Part 1:

Lost in the Knight

So Kris a Carol are, for some reason, working together. And presumably that means they are both working for Gaster.

But… why? He seems like his intentions are bad, even if they don’t seem initially.

Well we all remember that Dess is lost. Whether it be because her and Kris went into the Bunker or some other means, she is lost.

But…

She’s right there? Right?

Carol is stated to be a very strict, but loving mother. She doesn’t want anything to happen to her kids, and seems like she’d do anything to save them.

But presumably, both her and Kris know who the Knight is, as at the end of chapter 4, Kris will refuse to open the closet door at the back of the church.

One they note can “hold a large person inside”

So… why? Why would Carol put her own kid in danger for… some old scientist?

Well, she didn’t have a choice. When Dess was captured, Gaster used her both as his Knight, and his leverage.

Leverage to get the only human in the entire town on your side.

And that human is now willing to lend their body to the ANGEL. No matter the ANGEL’S will. May that be to find the end. Or to find the best end.

Because they want to save her. They just have to play along for a bit then they can have their daughter, and friend back.

Dess however, is most likely not the knight… exactly. Let me explain.

Those are both from the code of chapters 3 and 4. With the lost person talking to us from the dark.

That is probably Dess, unless someone else is also lost.

So if Dess is there… why does the knight look like her?

Well most likely, Gaster is using Dess’s body for his Knight.

He needs a being that has determination to act as his Knight, but he doesn’t need the mushy stuff along side that.

But that begs the question, why would he give up his Knight to Kris and Carol?

Well. He can just. Simply. Make. A. New. One.

Susie’s Knighting

Have any of you noticed how you get stronger whenever you close a Dark Fountain?

Did you notice how, when you beat the Knight in chapter 3, it’s Susie who chips off a bit of its blade?

Did you notice you… can beat the Knight in chapter 3? Sure it’s not down for long, but you can still beat it.

So… if we are strong enough to beat the knight before the end of chapter 3, when we seal another dark fountain… and then another… and another…

Who’s to say the Knight is even that strong anymore?

So why would Gaster be using a Knight that’s not that strong?

Simple. That’s not his final knight.

Dess was simply used as the knight because it was his only option. She very literally walked into his hands. And she offers leverage on top of that.

So… what if he could make a stronger Knight?

This whole time… all the fountains. They obviously had other purposes sure, but one of them is to make his Knight stronger.

Susie will be his Knight.

——————

Ok that’s all! Sorry I didn’t really articulate my thoughts well, but I really want to get this out!

And the first theory can work without the second one, just thought they went well together!

Sure it will probably be disproven with a single line of dialogue, but it’s still fun to theorize!

Anywho, feel free to add onto this!

And if for some reason I’m the first person to think of this, and it’s somehow right, credit pls :3

#spoilers deltarune #deltarune spoilers #deltarune theory #deltarune #deltarune chapter 3 #deltarune chapter 4 #just padding out this tag so you can’t see the rest and get spoiled! I’d hate it if you were to get spoiled… so ye!#dess deltarune #dess holiday #december holiday #dess knight #gaster deltarune #Gaster #roaring knight #deltarune knight #Dess theory #knight theory #susie deltarune #susie knight

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marauder-misprint · 2 days ago

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'I was trying to protect you'

Remus Lupin x fem!reader

3.8k words

cw: fluff, angst, no Y/N, no happy ending

Your friends were the ones who convinced you to seek out Remus for tutoring. Whenever they had trouble understanding a topic, they went to him and when they were done, they had a much firmer grasp. Somehow, you had never needed his assistance. Until now. Nonverbal spells were ruining you. And you had witnessed Remus successfully execute them multiple times in class.

You found him with Peter and James after dinner. Remus greeted you kindly while James and Peter didn’t appear to notice you walk up to them. You asked if he would help. You were genuinely surprised when he said he could meet you in one of the empty classrooms tomorrow after lessons ended. You thanked him and then disappeared to find your friends.

To say that you were nervous was an understatement. You weren’t really sure why. All of your friends assured you that Remus was incredibly friendly and polite, that he was a great help to them. Still you felt your heart pounding as you approached the agreed upon classroom. He was waiting for you. He leaned casually against a desk, flipping through his Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook. He looked completely at ease.

“Ah, there you are!” he said, looking up from the book.

“Hi, sorry, I’m late.” I didn’t want to come.

“Not late at all,” he replied with a smile. “I just got here early.”

Nodding, you walked up to him and put your bag on the desk he was leaning against.

“So, where do we start?”

Remus asked you some questions to get a grasp on your process with nonverbal spells for far. He reviewed some of the theory, correcting some bits you had wrong. He continued to review the technical aspects. Then it was time to attempt it again.

Remus was patient with you. He offered words of encouragement when you got hard on yourself. He cheered enthusiastically when you managed to make a book levitate without saying anything. It felt like he was more excited for your success than you were. He threw an arm around your shoulder and gave it an affectionate-feeling shake. Well, platonically affectionate-feeling.

After a few more successes, each with multiple failures in between, you were ready to call it. Your stomach was beginning to rumble. Remus didn’t give off an inclination that he was hungry or ready to be done. It was almost as if he was waiting for you to say that you were done, like he would work with you until 2 a.m. if you wanted him to.

“You’ve actually been a lot of help, Remus,” you said.

“Actually?” he chuckled, crossing his arms loosely with a lopsided grin on his scarred face. “Why’d you ask me if you didn’t think I’d be able to help?”

“You have excellent reviews,” you said. “But my sources may be biased.”

“How so?”

At this point, you’d both grabbed your bags from the desk and left the classroom to make your way to the Great Hall for dinner. You wanted to laugh at Remus’ question. You assumed he was being modest, because how could he not know?

“Kind and attractive bloke who’s offering any amount of help, real or not? You’re taking a piss, right?”

Remus’ lopsided grin returned, wider than before, and it was accompanied with a faint dusting of pink on his cheeks.

“Attractive, eh?”

“I don’t believe for one second that no one’s told you that before,” you said firmly.

“It’s not that… no one’s said it,” he said with an awkward chuckle. “Just not that brazenly.”

“Oh no, Mr. Casanova is reminded he’s pretty,” you mocked, waving your hands in front of you.

“Casanova,” he laughed. “Right, because that’s me.”

You laughed with him. Your joint laughter was enough to draw the eyes of a few passing students. You knew girls liked him. It was obvious why. What you didn’t know was that Remus hadn’t had any success in the department of girls. He could flirt – that much was easy enough with his charming personality. He just couldn’t get anywhere beyond that. The few kisses he’d had were the results of dares and ‘spin the bottle.’

“Anyways… if you need anything… Help with homework or, ah, someone to hang out with or whatever – I’d love to,” Remus said, adjusting the strap of his bag.

You smiled at Remus. “Yeah. Yeah, that’d be nice.”

“Fantastic. I’ll see you later,” Remus said, giving you a nod before heading to sit with his friends.

The next time you were alone with Remus, he was helping you revise for a Charms practical exam. Professor Flitwick had brought in nonverbal spells as well. Just your luck, right? As soon as he announced it, Remus made eye contact with you across the classroom. He knew. So now, you were in the empty classroom again. You had gotten slightly better at nonverbal spells. Slightly.

“You got this – you’ve got the wand work. You’ve got the skill. Your big, beautiful mind can do it!” he assured you.

A few seconds passed and then the cup in front of you turned from blue to pink.

“I told you you could!”

“Me and my big, beautiful mind,” you teased him. The compliment had caught you off-guard but you think it actually helped you.

It was increasingly clear that Remus had more faith in your abilities than you did.

The next time was after the Charms practical. You both did really well. Being with Remus was some kind of relaxation-celebration hybrid. It was just talking and sharing a few butterbeers. Simple stuff that friendship is built off of. Remus peppered in compliments here and there that left you blushing.

It took a few more study sessions and hanging out together before he asked you out. He nervously stumbled over his words, thin fingers fidgeting in between him wiping his palms on his pants.

“How could I say no to Mr. Casanova?” you asked playfully, earning a soft chuckle from Remus. “But actually, yes. I’d really like that.”

Dating Remus was as easy as becoming his friend. Your friends supported the relationship fully and it seemed like his did too, as you fit fairly well into their group. You studied with Remus regularly in the library, and worked on spells with him in that classroom. That classroom also happened to be where you had your first kiss with him. You had been struggling with a particularly difficult and precise Transfiguration spell, and after you finally succeeded, Remus hugged you tightly and kissed you.

Remus looked at you nervously when he pulled away. “Was that okay?”

“Yeah,” you breathed.

Remus swore he had never seen your eyes sparkle so brightly. He hugged you tighter and buried his face in your neck for a few seconds. It didn’t take long before the two of you started giggling like small children. You didn’t end up getting any more practice in that evening.

The closer you got, the more in love you felt. James had described the two of you as “insufferably adorable.” Your friends had said multiple times “We love you and Remus, but could you tone down the happiness?” Personally, you didn’t think it was possible.

At least until you started really learning all of Remus’ quirks and habits. The signs of nervousness, the pride of knowing the answer before a professor can even finish asking the question, slump in his posture when he was exhausted. Your favorites were the way his lips twitched when he was trying not to laugh at the ridiculousness of his friends and the way his pace picked up when he was walking toward you.

Another thing you picked up on? When he wasn’t being completely honest. There were differences in when he was straight out lying versus omitting parts of the truth. He didn’t do it often. It was when you started noticing injuries and exhaustion that went beyond what Madam Pomfrey could fix overnight that he paired with lies. They were excuses, his explanations for the injuries and his exhaustion, that didn’t make sense. There were inconsistencies with his stories. Something didn’t add up.

Remus was resting his head on his hand in the library while you worked on an essay across from him. He was also supposed to be working on the essay, but he was just so tired. Tomorrow night was the full moon. He was feeling completely miserable, but he couldn’t bring himself to cancel on studying again. His eyelids kept getting heavier and heavier, until he nodded off.

“Hey, Rem, do you know what the properties of boomslang venom are?” you asked, not looking up from your textbook as you flipped through the entry about the snake. “Rem?”

You glance up and frown. His hand was barely preventing his head from falling onto the table. You gently reached across the table to prod his arm.

“Remus, you alright?” Worry laced your voice.

He jerked awake. “Huh? Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Just a bit tired.”

“Remus,” you sighed. “If you’re not feeling well, why don’t you go to the infirmary? I’m sure Pomfrey has a stock of Pepperup you can raid.”

He shook his head. “Don’t need it. I’m fine.”

“You’re not. You’re falling asleep just sitting here. So either I’ve become insanely dull or you’re in need of medical attention. You’re not usually like this.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout me, love. I’m okay. I had a late night. Sirius’ idea, you know?”

Right, because Remus totally didn’t turn in early last night and Peter told you about it since James and Sirius had detention and he was bored. Even if Peter hadn’t told you, the signs that Remus was lying were there. The shifting, the flitting eyes, the cracking of his knuckles.

“If you insist,” you muttered, turning back to your essay.

You sounded unconvinced. Being asleep, he didn’t know that Peter had gone to you, but still, Remus knew you weren’t blind. You were worried for him. He just couldn’t tell you the truth about why he was exhausted and sick and getting injured monthly.

You dropped it for a few days, but your worry lingered. He missed class the day after the full moon, and when you saw him after that, he had his shirt unbuttoned. Normally, you would’ve taken in the sight with appreciation for your boyfriend. But there was a rather large gash across his chest that he was letting breathe. Your heart got caught in your throat. He kept insisting that he was fine. The gash was nothing to be worried about. He explained how he got it in the vaguest of terms. Not lying, but omitting the entire truth, skirting around any and all details.

“Sirius! Hey!” you called when you saw him walking in the opposite direction of the Hospital Wing. He had just been to visit Remus.

“What’s up?”

“How is he?” you asked after walking closer to him and then stopping to lean against the wall.

Sirius mimicked your stance. “Tired, but healing up. Should be good as new by tomorrow. You could go see him?”

“I saw him during lunch. What do you think of his story?”

“His story? What do you mean?”

“Of how he got that gash? It’s not from a tree in the forbidden forest. No way.”

“Can’t imagine how else he would’ve gotten it?” Sirius said with a shrug and peculiarly neutral expression. Sirius was an expressive person; a blank face was off-putting from him.

“Maybe he’s doing something illegal? He’d tell you if he was, right?”

“Nothing illegal,” he laughed. “Trust me. If he said he got it in the forest, he got it in the forest.”

You frowned. “Tell him I don’t care how he’s getting hurt. I just want the truth. Please?”

“It is the truth, but sure, I’ll pass that on.”

“Thanks.”

That conversation was unhelpful. Mostly. Sirius’ blank expression was another piece to the puzzle that wasn’t fitting together. You knew you should work on homework, but your mind was spinning as you tried to figure out what was going on with Remus. You wouldn’t be able to focus. You headed out onto the grounds to walk around. Maybe some fresh air will either clear your mind or settle it or make sense of everything. Maybe you’d see a bloody branch from a distance that could corroborate Remus’ story; you doubted that one, but you never know.

In the morning, you run into Peter on the way to breakfast.

“Remus back today?” you asked.

“That’s the plan, I think. Pomfrey kept him one more night just to be sure, but he was looking tons better,” Peter said with a smile. “He might be late to breakfast. You know how Pomfrey is with her morning check ups.”

You gave a soft laugh. “And her detailed discharge talks. I’ve been late to first period because of them.” You paused, debating if it was worth asking Peter about Remus’ excuse. It was. “Do you think he really fell on a branch?”

“Yeah. It’s what he said. Why would he lie about it?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe he’s doing something illegal?”

Peter wanted to laugh. Being a werewolf wasn’t illegal; it was being hated and dangerous, but not illegal.

“If it was illegal, he’d tell us. Or you. He trusts you,” Peter said with a solemn nod. “More likely he did something more embarrassing than falling on a branch and can’t bring himself to tell us,” he added as he cracked a grin.

“You teased him for weeks when his foot got stuck in the false step by Charms!”

“And we were all there to witness it! It was beautiful!”

“And no one was there to witness this branch incident…”

“Sadly. Otherwise, I’m sure we’d have a great story to bring up over butterbeers.”

You shook your head fondly as you walked into the Great Hall. Remus wasn’t there yet so you don’t bother sitting with the boys for breakfast. You went to sit with your friends instead.

“Your boy still bedridden?” one of your friends teased when you sat down.

You shook your head. “Peter says he should be out this morning, though he might miss breakfast.”

“He should get checked out by a muggle doctor,” another friend suggested. “Maybe he’s got one of those diseases that wizards refuse to acknowledge?”

“His mum’s a muggle. I think they would’ve taken him to one by now if it was a real issue,” you said with a shrug.

Remus did end up missing breakfast, but you saw him in Potions, which you had right away. You were more than happy to sit next to him and work on the assignment. He was still a tad exhausted, but it wasn’t as bad. He wasn’t actively falling asleep. It was an improvement. He even dropped a few smartass comments. You were surprised that Slughorn didn’t hear any of them, especially with how Sirius and Peter were laughing behind you.

Like always, Remus bounced back quickly and his brief stint in the infirmary was tucked in the back corner of your mind. It festered back there. It returned to the forefront at night, and when lessons were boring, and conversations boring. You didn’t believe his “forest” excuse. You couldn’t make it feel right.

So when you noticed Remus’ exhaustion spiking again a few weeks later, you started watching him extra closely. You marked your notebook when he came to class with a bandage running up his arm, which you only see because he rolled up his sleeves to duel in Defense. You cancelled studying with Remus after classes that day. You needed to do some research.

You’re not sure what makes you think to check, but you looked at your Astronomy moon cycle chart. A full moon? Last night. You bit your lip as you tried to remember the exact date of the “forest” incident. You stared at the lunar cycle. Then you compared it to the dates on homework over the past few months you knew you did alone because Remus was too tired.

Each solo assignment lined up with a full moon.

Surely this was all an unfortunate coincidence, right? There wouldn't be a werewolf at school. Right? That would be dangerous, for everyone here.

But so were some of the advanced potions you brewed. One wrong ingredient could incinerate your cauldron and blow a hole in the floor. So were some of the creatures students studied in Care of Magical Creatures. Professor Kettleburn was extremely professional and well-trained but accidents still happened. Quidditch wasn’t exactly the safest sport for wizards to play – bludgers alone should require parents to give permission for their child to play.

You kept your suspicion to yourself for a few days. It burned your heart every time you looked at Remus. His scars. His achy joints that flared up. The exhaustion that appeared to cycle with the moon. You kept it to yourself. You didn’t want to cause panic among the students if it truly was an unfortunate coincidence.

When the weekend came, you and Remus laid out by the Black Lake. You were watching the clouds drift by as you waited for the courage to ask Remus your question. He looked so peaceful and content reading his book and carding his fingers through your hair.

“Can I ask you something?”

His eyes flicked to yours, a soft smile pulling the corners of his lips upward. “Anything, love.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way…” you started slowly.

“Take what the-”

“Are you a werewolf?” The question spilled out of your mouth sounding rushed and slightly worried.

Remus felt the blood drain from his face. You saw it. You saw the worry fill his eyes. You felt the way his hand stilled, tangled in your hair.

“Oh my god,” you whispered.

You slowly sat up and scooted slightly away from Remus. Anxiety ran through both of you. He was a werewolf and you knew.

“You’re… oh my god,” you breathed, unable to bring your voice any louder.

You knew that it was likely. Coincidences just didn’t happen at Hogwarts. You had your suspicions, but knowing that it was true was so difficult to wrap your head around. You kept repeating quiet expressions of disbelief and never completely saying “You are a werewolf.” You couldn’t string the four words together.

Remus couldn’t say anything. His heart felt like it stopped beating. There was fear in your eyes as you looked at him, and he hated that. He didn’t want you to fear him. He knew he wasn’t anything to be feared when there wasn’t a full moon out. With you not knowing, he easily slipped into the night with his best mates and transformed in the privacy of the Shrieking Shack. You were always safe in the castle, far away from him when he was most dangerous.

A few painful minutes passed. You had pulled your knees into your chest and buried your face in them. Remus didn’t know if it was better or worse than seeing that fear in your eyes.

When you looked up, you took a shaky breath and asked, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I-I… It’s better if… I couldn’t?”

“Why not?” Your voice was shaking. Your hands were shaking. Frankly, your whole body was shaking, but you didn’t notice that as much as your hands.

“No one is supposed to know.”

“Does Dumbledore-”

“He knows. And McGonagall and Pomfrey.” He paused, looking away from you. “And James, Peter and Sirius.”

“But you… you couldn’t tell me? That you’re a… that you’re dangerous?”

His face scrunched. Eyes squeezed shut, lips pressed firmly together, jaw flexed. A beat passed.

“I was trying to protect you.”

You let out a dry laugh. “Because what I don’t know won’t hurt me.”

“I… I knew you wouldn’t go out during a full moon. To try to see… the wolf.”

“I’m not an idiot, Remus!” You shook your head firmly. “And I don’t need protection. I need honesty and you didn’t give that to me. You lied about how you got hurt. And why you were tired.”

“I didn’t want you to be scared of me. As long as I go far enough away, I’m no danger to anyone here. I’m not a danger to you.”

You stood up and took a step away from Remus. You shook your head again, more firmly. Remus looked up at you with pleading eyes as he saw yours glass over. If you cried, he knew he would too. If he lost you, he would cry.

“When were you going to tell me?” you asked, your voice cracking. Your gaze was fixed on the tree behind Remus. If you looked at him, your walls would fall and so would the tears.

“I… I don’t… know. When it felt right?”

You shook your head. Maybe you could shake reality away and his condition would disappear.

“That’s not an answer, Remus. I was falling in love with you and you were hiding something huge from me. It… it completely changes who you are.”

Was. Remus jumped up and tried to approach you, but you took a step back.

“Don’t,” you hissed.

“It doesn’t change who I am. I’m still Remus. I’m the same bloke who you came to when you needed help with nonverbals. I’m the same Remus you’ve watched quidditch with. The same one who sits next to you in Potions. The same.”

“Not to me. I thought that Remus was more honest with me. The biggest thing that Remus kept from me was him going over our agreed budget for Christmas presents. No. You… you’re different.”

“Please don’t say that,” he pleaded.

He took another step toward you, and again, you stepped back.

“You’re… you’re not who I was dating.” You pressed your lips togethers, closing your eyes and shaking your head once again. A tear slid down your cheek, leaving a mascara trail behind it. “We’re not dating.”

You walked back to the castle alone. Remus could barely stand as he watched you go, taking his heart with him. He turned back toward the lake once you disappeared from sight. His legs felt like jelly underneath him. It felt like his world was unraveling around him; you came to him with a question like the boys had years ago, but you had a much, much different reaction to the truth. He picked up a smooth stone from the shore and tossed it at the surface, angling it so that it skipped a few times before sinking. He repeated that action. And again. And again. Each time getting more aggressive until his arm was sore and he collapsed on the ground, feeling empty.

tags: @navs-bhat, @faceache111

#marauder-misprint #marauders #marauders fic #remus lupin fic #remus lupin angst #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin #remus lupin x you #remus lupin fluff

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kendrysaneela · 2 days ago

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I agree I think people were just calling it a fire exit because it’s the only exit that’s a door that we’ve seen. So it is sort of an unofficial fire exit. But yeah I don’t think they really care about the severed workers living or dying even their outies. They have their faces on mugs and funerals don’t normally happen when an innie just leaves only when they die (at least that’s my assumption from the conversations surrounding Irving’s funeral) which makes me think those are for if an innie actually does die on the floor. They probably have a contingency plan and an explanation for if an innie dies on the floor to explain the death of the outie to their loved ones. We’ve seen they don’t care about killing outies (Gemma and Peggy from the Lexington Letter) so if the whole place did indeed catch on fire or whatever and they were locked in they’d probably just come up with a story to tell. It’s not unheard of for companies to let their employees die the Triangle Shirtwaist Fire is a real life example of this. So I don’t think they really care about what if there’s a fire nor do they care about OSHA regulations. (Like they don’t have the workers rights posters anywhere with regulations that US workplaces are supposed to have depending on the state for example. Plus they couldn’t have those on the severed floor because that would innies have rights. Which they don’t seem to. The torture and all) They probably pay off any regulators or do something else with them. Like look at how they were lobbying congress about keeping Severance legal at the OTC event that Helena was at where there were senators and stuff.

Also to the point of the door. I don’t think it makes sense to keep it unlocked. Because yeah sure they could possibly count on innies getting tired or running through the door over and over again like Helly eventually did and giving up. But as we saw with Helena that made her anxious. It made her realize Helly didn’t wanna be in there even with Millchick lying to her about how it’s actually fine and she does want to be there Helly’s just inquisitive! Like I feel like even without a code detector leaving that door open leaves too much opportunity for the innies to fuck with the outies. They don’t have a note but they’ve messed with something on their body? Run through the door. They don’t have a note but they’ve messed throw themselves through the door so they land on the ground like Helena did when Helly did just that? They take the outies clothes off and keep throwing them inside? Also drawings. Peggy in the Lexington Letter was able to sneak drawings to her outie Peg and therefore was sneaking messages. She hid them in the elevator but if they have access to the door then they can find another workaround. Etc etc. Stuff like that the possibilities are endless for why leaving that door open is a bad idea. It gives the innies free access to their outies.

Also Millchick seems to suggest that the door is usually locked like the scene with Helena where he says they bring innies having trouble adjusting outside, or when Millchick says the door is open for them to leave whenever on that day after the OTC. The fact that he specifically mentions these things makes me think that that means the door being open is unusual.

Now as for why the door was open on that particular day, why Cobel said use that as an exit if it’s normally locked, who would’ve unlocked it possibilities are endless there too. Could’ve been Helena unlocking the door could’ve been something else. We’ll hopefully find out. But I think that door is normally locked. And for whatever reason. On that day. It wasn’t.

Elevators give them control over the innies they can stop them at any point before the switch over so it only affects the innies not the outies that’s why they’re open all the time. But the door? Leaving that open seems like a bad decision.

And on the note of code detectors @narsildur had an interesting theory of what if there is no such thing as code detectors. What if it’s something else? The reasoning being Millchick thought Dylan had that card with writing on it from O&D but how would he have stolen without it setting off the code detectors? I wonder how much of what they’ve told them about the security measures is true and how much is just scary enough to make them listen.

Ah ha! I posted about the fire exit the other day and, if the Lexington Letter & its introductory handbook are to be trusted as canon, there still are code detectors at the fire exit (until I reread s1 transcripts and find hard proof that there weren’t, lol). Why do they lock those doors! They shouldn’t have to!

#severance #severance apple tv #severance meta

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givemeanaccountalready · 1 year ago

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A Who-Swung-It Mystery: The Case of the Switch-Hitter (1/3)

1 / 2 / 3

Despite the humorous title, I want to be serious for a second. I am not a licensed psychologist/psychiatrist/licensed social worker/etc., and I am certainly not an expert on dissociative identity disorder (DID). My knowledge of this disorder comes from the research I have done to try and understand it. I am trying to be as respectful as possible towards the subject matter, and I sincerely apologize if I show a lack of understanding and will do my best to correct it. I want to focus on switching, since we don't really have much information on Mikoto's childhood that led to him developing this disorder and I do not want to speculate. I only say childhood and not adulthood because the literature I found suggests that it is rather rare for this already rare disorder to form past the age of ten. Mikoto could be one of those special cases, but we'll have to wait and see.

Now, before you begin violently shaking me over the length of this post, just know that I am sorry about it. I want to argue that Mikoto’s DID is a red herring. Despite his claims otherwise, John did not directly kill anyone, Mikoto did. Through the voice dramas and the music videos, we get to see both Mikoto and John's individual perspectives and personalities. From what we've seen in MeMe and Double and then heard during John Doe and Neoplasm, I think I figured out what happened the night of the murder.

Fun fact before the post cut: in Japanese, the kanji for baseball are combine the kanji for field and ball (野球) and is read as ‘Kakyu’. The number nine in Japanese is read as ‘kyu’ or ‘ku’ and our baseball-loving prisoner, Mikoto, is prisoner number nine.

Okay, now you can begin violently shaking me.

Milgram's Very Own Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde: Subverting the Evil Alter Trope

Robert Louis Stevenson's The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde is a tale that lives in infamy, and here in the West, it is synonymous with dual personalities. Published in 1886, the story is meant to be an allegory regarding good and evil. Pop culture osmosis usually has it right that Dr. Jekyll accidentally created Mr. Hyde in a lab accident, but here's the thing, it's more of a happy accident than a “Well, the risk I took was calculated but man, I’m bad at math,” one. Dr. Jekyll is a respectable, older gentleman who meant to erase his "shameful urges" (the story never explains what they are exactly, just that they go against the Victorian moral code) and accidentally created Mr. Hyde. As Mr. Hyde, Jekyll is a younger, shorter man whose only identifying feature is that everyone immediately hates him. That is not a joke. People who ran into Hyde can’t really describe him other than having the gut instinct to avoid him. But more importantly, I need you to know that Dr. Jekyll had spent most of the story voluntarily transforming himself into Mr. Hyde so he could give into those shameful urges and then used his wealth as Dr. Jekyll to sweep any trouble that arose back under the rug.

Besides being physically different, the main difference between Jekyll and Hyde is that Hyde lacks Jekyll's morals and inhibitions. Jekyll delights in the freedom he can experience as Hyde, until as Hyde, he beats a man to death with a cane. A few months before the murder, Jekyll had started to realize that he did not have as much control over Hyde as he previously thought and went two months without drinking the transformation tonic. As Jekyll puts it, in a moment of weakness, (yes, it reads like an allegory about substance abuse) Jekyll takes the tonic, transforms into Hyde, and since Hyde is pissed over being locked up for so long, he exercised his frustrations on a rich man's head.

Historically, the nineteenth century is when psychologists started arguing over the existence of multiple personalities, and the public back then was as fascinated with it as it is now. And I can't believe that we're nearing The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde's 150th anniversary, and the evil alternate personality trope is still going strong! I swear to you, it seems like DID is only ever brought up in conjunction with stories involving a murder(s), and the resolution is always, the evil alter committed it. I only know one example (Primal Fear (1996)) where the evil alter didn't do it, but that was because of the twist ending!

Besides wanting the novelty of the core having killed someone rather than the 'evil' alter, I think it would fit in with Milgram's dedication to emphasizing that each prisoner is an individual with their good points and bad. No one is 100% good, or bad, or anything else (Jackalope is 100% chaotic neutral, but he is a mythical creature, not a human, so shh). They have dominant traits that may influence their actions, but as in reality, things aren't black and white. It would make sense for Mikoto and John to reflect this. Mikoto is not 100% good and John is not 100% evil. They both have good and bad traits.

I think that the first trial shows it much better than the second, but Mikoto's main problem is how he constantly denies that anything is troubling him. Es calls him out on it explicitly during Neoplasm. Mikoto’s response is, “Usually, if you just laugh and pretend, things work out in the end,” explaining that the pretending helps him cope. It may not be the healthiest coping mechanism, but it is what he does. The most recent example of this not actually helping anyone is during Mikoto’s 2023 birthday timeline conversation. Mikoto questions himself to see if John really does exist and then he angrily blames John, only for John to front long enough to yell that he did it to save them. John disappears and Mikoto tells himself that that was useless, and that he’s tired and should stop thinking so hard about it. John has repeated quite a few times during Neoplasm and in that timeline conversation that he did it because Mikoto couldn’t handle it. The implication is that it is referring to the stress that built up and led to the murder. I agree with John that Mikoto’s decision to continue putting his head in the sand and to bottle up all his stress would have led to a breakdown. Everyone has a limit, and it is clear that Mikoto was rapidly approaching his. I don't disagree with that at all. What I disagree with is John's claim that he is solely responsible for the murder, because his existence does not make him purely evil and Mikoto's purely good. To think so is to play right into the black-and-white dichotomy of morality and play directly into Yamanaka's hands.

Despite his more sadistic tendencies, John does have some positive traits. We know he cares deeply for Mikoto and wants to protect him, even if his actions aren't acceptable. In Neoplasm, we’ve even heard John express some pride over being a college graduate, something Mikoto has previously downplayed when asked questions by Amane. We’ve seen in timeline conversations that Mikoto is capable of expressing annoyance and exasperation (with Fuuta) as well as anger (at John in the above timeline conversation). John can be cruel and aggressive, but he is active in asserting himself. Meanwhile, Mikoto is considerate to others to the point of his own detriment and is rather passive when it comes to conflict. Just because Mikoto seems to have more desirable character traits than John doesn’t make Mikoto incapable of committing a violent act.

Now, onto the murder, what could lead to Mikoto killing somebody?

"Communism was just a red herring." - Clue (1985)

I firmly believe that John is full of shit. Despite the number of destroyed mannequins, there is only one murder victim: the blond fellow we see at the beginning of MeMe. And just like in the cult classic, Clue (1985), I think the motive was blackmail.

Remember Mikoto's glitched line from the second voice trailer? "DESTROY EVERYTHING! EVERYTHING! EVERYTHING!" I don't know if this is just an accepted fan theory or if it had been confirmed, but it is believed that the lines from the second voice trailer happen before the murder takes place. If it had taken place after the murder occurred, then everything would most likely reference the evidence of the murder. But this takes place before the murder happened. Sure, it could be John's need for one of those rage rooms, but if I'm being honest, I think it was blackmail that could have gotten Mikoto fired from his job. Despite the amount of stress his current job causes him, Mikoto has stated over and over again that he worked very hard to get into the best company in the advertising business, and in his Trial Two interrogation questions, he has stated that he will not leave his current job because he believes that his efforts will eventually be rewarded. Mikoto is fine with being uncomfortable if he believes it will lead to future benefit (AKA, no pain, no gain).

From what I understand about Japan's work culture, getting fired puts a black stain on your record and makes it extremely difficult to find a new job. Getting fired by a top-tier advertising agency isn't just losing his dream job, but possibly destroying any chance of Mikoto gaining any opportunity or prestige for the rest of his career. All his hard work will be for naught. There are plenty of real-world instances where someone lost their job or lost their college acceptance because of poor behavior on the individual's part. If the blond victim had evidence of Mikoto acting badly, regardless of whether it was Mikoto or John fronting, Mikoto's boss could fire him, ruining his chances of ever being rewarded for his hard work. People have certainly killed for less in the real world.

Personally, I lean towards the blackmail being something John did, although this comes from Mikoto's line from Undercover: "Don't lie about me / what did I do?" If Mikoto cannot remember anything from when John fronts and he is aware of his forgetful spells, then not only would Mikoto question whether the blackmail had been doctored but also he'd wonder if there is a hint of truth to it. Remember Mikoto's words to Fuuta, "You're a uni student, right? You can't act like that once you start working properly," as if the angry behavior from Fuuta is only normal until a certain age. Perhaps Mikoto took part in some bad behavior in the past. More likely than not, it’s John in the blackmail. T1Q11 answer states, "Yes, I am [someone who takes others into consideration]. I'm a working adult. Communicating makes work easier." It's almost ironic how his boss constantly texting him and inconsideration causes Mikoto problems, and because he is the new guy and subordinate, Mikoto can't exactly tell his boss to fuck off.

His T1Q10 answer better lays out his beef with Fuuta's behavior: "I don't think I've ever gotten angry before. Isn't it kind of disgraceful to get angry?" Now, Mikoto is a very go-along-to-get-along kind of guy and Fuuta is not. He could be telling the truth that he has never gone into a blind rage (that Mikoto remembers), but to say he has never felt anger is most likely a lie.

Here is how I think the murder went down. At the beginning of MeMe, we see Mikoto waiting in a dark, secluded area near the train tracks. His hair is mostly covered by the beanie and we cannot make out his expression whatsoever, so there is no clue to tell us who is fronting between Mikoto and John. Mikoto does not appear to have a bat on his person or around him, and it seems like he is holding his phone. The blond victim could have just been a stranger walking by, but I think that he was an old friend of Mikoto's from high school or college and was supposed to meet with him. As peers who are supposed to be working adults, Mikoto is under the impression that whatever this is, they can just talk it out. This is all just one big misunderstanding.

Maybe the blond victim even brought the bat for an intimidation factor. Maybe Mikoto brought it just in case. I lean towards the former because you would notice misplacing your own baseball bat (they can get really expensive) is hard to not notice, and the whole thing is easier to deny if you don't even own the murder weapon in the first place. Whatever the case, the blond reveals his blackmail and demands payment or else it's getting sent to Mikoto's boss. Mikoto sees nothing but red, screams at his old friend to destroy all of the blackmail, take the bat, and then swings. The first blow hits the victim's lower back, just like how it hit Es in Undercover, and it is enough to render the victim's legs useless, forcing him to try and crawl away rather than run. Mikoto raises the bat well over his head and brings it down again, killing the victim.

With no one around but his now deceased victim, the red haze lifts and Mikoto realizes what he just did, prompting the first trial glitched line, which is believed to take place after the murder, "My life... it wasn't supposed to be this way." The heartbreak is too much to bear. John takes over and is the one to bury the body, dispose of the evidence, and clean Mikoto up. When Mikoto wakes up the next day, he can disregard it as a bad dream: "All I did was dream / And that's what you found GUILTY?"

Pretty words, but empty ones, I know. Where's my proof? I'm glad you asked. :)

Switch-Hitting

Let's start out with the murder weapon: the baseball bat.

In baseball, a switch-hitter is someone who can bat left- and right-handed. Switch-hitters are prized by coaches, because batters have a higher chance of hitting the ball when they swing opposite of the pitcher; meaning a left-handed batter has a better chance of hitting a ball thrown by a right-handed pitcher than the right-handed batter against that same pitcher. There can be switch-pitchers (someone who can throw left- and right-handed), but because Mikoto's murder weapon seems to be the baseball bat, I'm going to focus on the way he swings the bat. As previously stated, during the third chorus of Undercover, we see Mikoto's silhouette bludgeon Es with a baseball bat.

Now, it has been a while since I've played baseball and softball, but I do still own a bat and I believe that that is a left-handed swing. A left-handed batter would have their left hand positioned above the right hand and the bat would have been held over their left shoulder. When they swing, they step in and turn towards their right to complete the swing. That is what Mikoto is doing in this picture. I tried to mimic the swing, but I am a right handed batter, so it feels awkward when I do it. Right-handed batters are more common that left-handed hitters, and in Double, we see Mikoto/John bat both ways, making him a switch-hitter. In the US, a switch-hitter has to pick one side to hit from during the time he is at bat, meaning that say he batted right, then swung and missed twice (two strikes, one more and he's out), he can’t switch to bat left. He can switch to bat left the next time he is up at bat, but he cannot switch positions once he steps up to the plate. I can’t find much on Japan’s rules about switch-hitting, but there’s a ton of articles about a high school player who kept switching positions for every pitch during the same at bat (pissing off the Americans in the comments section). Now, I can’t speak for professional baseball in Japan, but I guess switching positions during the same at bat is allowed at the level Mikoto played (high school). I do feel confident in stating that the Mikoto featured in Undercover has a left-handed swing. But Gimme, what does that have to do with switch-hitting? Switch-hitting involves batting both ways.

If you continue to closely watch the opening of MeMe, while Mikoto holds the bat in his left hand, but when he readies himself for the overhead swing, Mikoto has his right hand over his left, something a right-handed batter would do. I actually made a list of when we see Mikoto swing the bat, and it seems that when Mikoto swings the bat normally (like how he would in a game), he usually bats left-handed. I could only find one instance of Mikoto holding the bat right-handed as though he were up to bat.

Left-Handed Batting:

at 3:04 in Undercover

at 0:30 in MeMe

at 0:58 in Double

at 1:29 in Double

Right-Handed Batting:

at 1:26 in Double

Buuuut, when we see Mikoto swing the bat abnormally, he uses his right hand to guide the swing as if he were batting right-handed. His right hand is above his left (which is normal positioning for a right-handed swing) when he does the overhead swing in MeMe at 0:37, and when he swings the bat one handed during Double, it is with his right-hand.

Your dominant hand isn't what determines your batting stance. Generally, it's a good indicator, but it's not set in stone thanks to cross-handedness. Cross-handedness is when you use your dominant hand for certain activities and your non-dominant hand for others. But if it matters, Mikoto is right-handed. Most of his actions in both songs involve his right-hand. If you watch MeMe, the only time Mikoto uses his left hand is to move the camera at the beginning and end of the song, and then to pick up the Death tarot card at the very end of the song. In Double, the only time he uses his left hand is when he swings the bat. Also, his shoulder bag is on his left shoulder in both MeMe and Double, and generally, purses and shoulder bags rests on your non-dominant side to give your dominant hand easy access.

Like I said, Mikoto being right-handed doesn't necessarily translate to him batting right-handed. Now, I'm no baseball expert, but I don't think his left-handed swings are all that good. They look 'jerky' to me. We don't see Mikoto complete a right-handed swing; we only see him hold the bat as if he is waiting for a pitch and the positioning seems natural. And there is something that I want to point out. You can train yourself to become a switch-hitter. I am not kidding when I say that switch-hitters are coveted. I think it would be in-character of Mikoto to naturally bat right-handed but try to teach himself how to bat left-handed so that he can become a switch-hitter. He is someone who knows what they want and creates a ten-step plan to get it, (see his "I wanted this job so I chose this art college with this degree"). He also believes in hard work being rewarded, so if he successfully trains himself to become a switch-hitter, his coach will reward him with more playing time (in this case, move him up the batting list). Mikoto is also self-effacing, so when he puts himself down, it needs to be questioned. Are his claims about not being good at baseball an example of his low self-esteem affects his perception of himself, or was he just plain bad because he was batting from the wrong side? He could just plain suck at baseball, but his abnormal, right-handed swings are smooth and controlled. It makes me think he bats right naturally, and that his left-handed swings are him practicing to get better at switch-hitting.

Unlike Mikoto, John is not patient. He would not bother with a swing he is not comfortable with. We saw that in John Doe as they are quick to taunt Es and lash out at them and Kotoko. John did not try to retreat and figure out a strategy to best Kotoko, an experienced fighter, he just went for it. I can only assume he wised up during his fight with Kotoko and that's why she couldn't knock him out a second time. This impulsive, fiery temper reappears in Neoplasm, when John mock Es for chaining Mikoto and for the name they gave him, and then as Es stalls during John's prodding of what will happen to Mikoto, John begins shouting at Es to answer him. I would probably split the two this way: while Mikoto is proactive with his willingness to think ahead and shortchange himself for the chance of being rewarded in the future, John is reactive and his impulsiveness leads to short-term thinking that can screw over Mikoto.

Here's Mikoto in Neoplasm: "I wonder if it's like... some kind of sleepwalking...? After all, I've been losing sleep more and more often recently... Man... It's really troublesome, isn't it?...Usually, if you just laugh and pretend, things work out in the end, right? I'm pretty good at that. Making things work out to the best of my abilities." At this point, he can no longer deny that nothing is wrong, and Mikoto is now forced to seriously consider just what is going on when he has these forgetful spells and falls asleep. Something is wrong, and he is trying to follow his usual protocol of smiling and quietly figuring out how to make things turn out for the best. Except it is not working in Milgram, triggering John's appearance in Neoplasm.

John is surprised by Es's acceptance of the situation, and even says, "I'd just think it's a lie someone came up with to get away with murder." As he and Es continue to talk, John asks Es why they think he was born and confirms that his role is to protect Mikoto from harm. Es is the one to bring up the murder, and suddenly, the chatty John is giving short, vague responses, reiterating that he is the murderer, not Mikoto. Here's some of it, "Yeah, it's me. I killed them off... They annoyed me [so I killed them]... Just someone [a stranger] who was walking around nearby... Can't remember [how many I killed]." When Es demands to know how John can be so calm, John changes the subject to find out what will happen to Mikoto. When Es cannot give him a satisfactory answer, John repeats again and again that Mikoto is innocent and that he, John, is at fault, so please forgive Mikoto. I think John would admit to every wrongdoing of Mikoto's if that meant Mikoto's burden would be lifted. It's why I don't trust him. Not only is his confession too vague to be considered admissible, but as Mikoto’s protector, he also has a reason to take the fall. John is not an evil alter, but he is taking advantage of the trope to get Mikoto the Innocent verdict. An Innocent verdict, in John’s mind, will erase most of Mikoto’s current stress. It is too short term, and relies to heavily on Mikoto’s habit of denial. If Mikoto is found Innocent, there is a chance that he may continue to pull his head out of the sand to figure out what is going on so he can learn how to manage or suppress it so his everyday life won't be impacted.

Oh, and one more thing before I end this first part.

That Wasn't Mikoto at the End of Neoplasm, which is why Double differs from MeMe.

John is playing up the idea that he is an evil alter to get Mikoto out of trouble, and the weird behavior shown by 'Mikoto' at the end of Neoplasm is just John attempting to manipulate us. Do you guys remember at the end of John Doe when Mikoto is back in control and is confused and then horrified as to why he’s hurting and why Es is now covered in bruises? From what I’ve read, that confusion is a common sign of personalities having been switched, and so is the memory loss he has experienced. Now compare that to the end of Neoplasm, when John ‘leaves’ and Mikoto comes back and immediately starts guessing what kind of dog Es owns? And how weird that is because Mikoto had started the interview clearly worried over what is going on with him when he is ‘asleep’? I don’t think Mikoto actually came back. I think that that’s John taking advantage of Es being startled by the bell and pretending to be Mikoto and trying to emphasize how harmless Mikoto. Mikoto is just a little guy. How can someone so friendly be a monster?

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