#THIS WAS A MESS I APOLOGISE IN ADVANCE

[polin-erospsyche]

I’ve finally seen THE CLIP and I’m not well

This and the “come with me” had me swooning but I was holding it together

But THIS?

With ZERO warning??? Like I’M SORRY? This has me dead in my grave

[doomedtokill]

Evan having a special interest in helicopters and infodumping in bed when Barty says he can do a helicopter impression and gets out of bed and starts flinging in dick around. Evan is mortified but they both collapse into giggles

[btwn2lungs]

"I'm home", Kazuki calls out as he steps into the apartment, a sleeping Miri cradled carefully against his chest.

She had a long day full of running and laughing at the annual fair the elementary school held. Hell, Kazuki had a long day too considering he planned, organised, and baked fifteen different pastries for the damn thing. Really the whole month had been long but he expected as much, what with being head of the Parent Teacher Association and all. But he was happy to be busy and more than willing to be present for any and all of Miri´s school events. He had more time now.

They had more time.

And thank God for Rei, Kazuki thought to himself as he gently laid Miri on the couch, pulling a blanket over her. He sank down onto the couch beside her and closed his eyes, happy to finally rest his back after running around all day.

If it wasn't for Rei´s help this past month, Kazuki is sure he would have pulled his hair out or worse: get premature grey hair. Kazuki liked to plan but between the event, taking care of Miri, and the usual household chores, it was a lot to take on by himself. He was thankful he didn't have to.

Despite his initial eagerness and the overwhelming satisfaction of another successful day, Kazuki was glad the day was finally over. He had woken up before the sun rose to finish some last minute baking and his phone had been ringing nonstop since 7:00am with last minute preparation questions from the moms. If it wasn't for Rei´s help with getting Miri up and dressed, preparing her breakfast and entertaining her with a few rounds of Morio Kart while Kazuki rushed around the house in a frenzy, he's sure he would have been late.

Kazuki barely had time to brush his teeth and put on clean clothes let alone clean up the monstrous mess he had made in the kitchen. Kazuki was a "clean as you go" type of guy but this morning proved to be quite the exception.

"Fuck," Kazuki groans under his breath. "The kitchen."

Visions of the catastrophe he had left behind had been plaguing him all morning but they were soon replaced with the present chaos that was decorations, tables and chairs, children and parents alike milling around like ants through the school grounds.

He kept his eyes closed for a few moments longer, bracing himself for the disaster only a few meters away from him. When he finally stood up and faced the kitchen, he was convinced he was hallucinating. How he hadn't noticed before was beyond him.

There was no mess in the kitchen. In fact, the kitchen, and the living room too he now realised, having whipped his head around so fast he felt dizzy, were arguably cleaner than they had been all month (hey, between this shit, a kid, and Rei having recently started his physical therapy, some things had to be deprioritised. Sue him).

He turns back around to the kitchen (slowly this time) and notices that not only is it spotless, but the dining table is set for three, a bouquet of roses in the middle, and a white envelop placed on his side of the table.

Kazuki had never been so confused in his life. Was this an early sign of dementia? He needed to sit down.

As he was about to do just that, Rei walks in the front door with a box of pizza under his left arm.

"Oh, you got here before me", Rei says, toeing his shoes off at the door.

"Uh," was all Kazuki could manage to respond. He gestures vaguely around the apartment. "What happened here?"

Rei places the pizza on the dining table and shrugs nonchalantly but there's a hint of mirth in his eyes that Kazuki doesn't quite understand.

"I cleaned", Rei says casually. And while Rei has been helping out significantly more in the past couple of years, he cant help the look of disbelief that crosses his face.

"You," Kazuki starts and then stops. "How did you....When did you," he glances quickly at Rei´s right arm, newly freed from its splint, and back up to Rei who is now standing over Miri with a soft look in his eyes.

"You had physical therapy today," Kazuki tries again.

It was still early in his sessions. 90 minutes a day, three times a week. Usually Kazuki drove Rei to and from therapy, more at his own insistence than Rei´s but Kazuki had reluctantly agreed to let Rei manage his appointments for the month. Just for this month, Kazuki had insisted.

It was the reason Rei couldn't join them at the fair today.

"I did," Rei says, looking at Kazuki from the side of the couch with that same amusement twinkling in his eyes. "I had some time."

Kazuki narrows his eyes at him, knowing that couldn't possibly be true let alone physically possibly at this stage in Rei´s recovery but he doesn't push the point.

Don't look a gift horse in the mouth as they say.

"That still doesn't explain the flowers or the card or the pizza. I thought we agreed to save pizza for the weekends. I could have cooked us something."

Ah, apparently he will look that gift horse in the mouth after all.

The amusement in Rei´s eyes doesn't lessen, if anything it grows brighter and Kazuki is getting a little frustrated at feeling like a joke is being played on him, at the thought of Rei exhausting himself over Kazuki's mess.

"Do you know what today is?," Rei asks carefully. And Kazuki really doesn't understand what he's getting at. Of course he knows what day it is.

"Its Wednesday. Physical Therapy day, School Fair day, trash day," Kazuki replies matter-of-factly. His eyes have been glued to his calendar since the start of the school year, keeping close tabs on Miri´s school events and extracurriculars and Rei´s physical therapy and doctor appointments.

Hell at this point he probably didn't need the calendar anymore, each event, day and time, so vividly burned into the front his mind.

Of course he knows what fucking day it is, what kind of question —

"Its our anniversary."

And holy shit, maybe Kazuki needed his calendar more than he thought. Anniversary? Of all the things, how could Kazuki forget something as significant as their first anniversary? He felt dizzy again. Had he been standing this whole time?

Rei must notice the internal reprimand Kazuki is giving himself because he walks over to Kazuki and gingerly walks him over to the dinner table, pulling out a chair for him to sit down.

"Rei, I am so sorry. I—," Kazuki tries to explain but stops at the feeling a feather light kiss at the top of his head. Kazuki had been spluttering all night, but that got him to finally shut up. That seemed to be Rei´s intention if the smug look on his face was anything to go by.

"You had a busy day. I wanted to do something for you." Rei takes his hand as he sits across from him at the table. Rei was generally soft spoken but he always seemed to lower his voice in moments like this, barely a whisper; eyes focused intently on their clasped hands above the table. "You deserve nice things, Kazuki."

Kazuki is really at a loss of words now. He did not think he deserved nice things, could barely believe he had any nice things at all: a roof over his head, a family, love. He especially didn't feel deserving of nice things after forgetting one of the most important days of his life. And we wanted to argue that point but the sound of Miri´s voice made the words die on his tongue.

"Pizza!" She squeals running excitedly up to the box that sat at the opposite end of where Kazuki and Rei sat at the table.

"Lets wash our hands first Miri," Rei says as he begins to stand, taking his hand away from Kazuki´s. Kazuki frowns slightly at the loss.

Miri giggles as she runs into the bathroom to wash her hands.

"I got your favourite," Rei offers as he goes to join Miri in the bathroom. "But only on half because pineapple on pizza is gross."

And Kazuki laughs so hard that he starts crying. Of course it's those words that make Kazuki burst into tears.

Maybe for today, just for today, he can believe he was worthy of nice things.

------------

Nobody asked for this but @girlboyssing said "Kazurei" and "anniversary" and I became possessed. I hope you like it :)

[lorainedoesthings]

Coming on to say that chapter 5 is… a thing. I’m not even going to lable it, it’s its own thing. I’m very scared of it. It’s going in the opposite direction from which it started.

[athousandbyeol]

and @a-slut-for-vegaspete has finally watched the on1y one... and she's enjoying it too... oh, Lord. i'm going to be so annoying and bombarding her with my screams and thoughts 🥲

[keithbutgay]

<∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

aaa thank you <333

<∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

<555555555555555555555555555555555555555555

<33333333333333333333333333333333333333333

<∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 (i think that's the correct daily amount... :)

[technologyvoid]

Great

[catb-fics]

I'm a little nervous to see Van after so long 😂 I wonder if he's changed much. We haven't seen him properly since 2019/20. I know he probably looks the same but there's gotta be at least some little changes over 4/5 years. I can't believe it's finally happening, I can't wait for Thursday!!!

This is so funny as I feel the same ha ha, it was exactly the same before Reading 2021!

I can’t wait for next week but I don’t think I’m ready either 😭😂

[crescentofthegods]

ALL TOO FAMILIAR!

pairing: harry potter x fem!reader

request: cormac gets a little too touchy, but harry finds you just in time.

word count: 2,084

warnings: FLUFF, angsty bc cormac is a DOUCHE, cormac being weird creepy touchy etc, few swear words, not proofread!!, (lowkey suck at warnings pls tell me if i've missed anything)

author's note: OH MY GOODNESSSSS i haven't uploaded anything for like two years straight i sincerely apologise to all of my followers please forgive me. i also apologise to the anon who sent me this request bc i took so long to freaking answer it😭😭😭 feel like this is RUBBISH but i hope you all enjoy! xx

taglist: @floweringrott ♡

more harry potter | masterlist | navigation

THE GREAT LIBRARY had always been a solace to those who required it. Especially to you, who found comfort in the smell of parchment since Hogwarts’ supply seemed to always be fresh. The quiet lull of the area managed to put you in a state of peace too, the way everyone’s voices resounded to whispers and murmurs rather than loud babbles of laughter. There was nothing wrong with laughing, of course—it just happened to be distracting. You were actually waiting for someone, both of you having the intention to study. In front of you was your Potions revision; you were simply making notes on Everlasting Elixirs, taking your ideas from your copy of Advanced Potion Making. Crumbs of strawberry cheesecake lingered on your tongue since you had come straight from lunch, eager to get these done for Slughorn so you could finally rest. Your fingers were clasped around your favourite quill, your spare hand keeping your parchment still as you quickly wrote down every thought your mind was firing at you—

            “There you are!” a voice snapped you out of your reverie, your body going slightly rigid, reluctantly lifting your gaze to see the last person you wanted to converse with. “I’ve been looking all over for you…”

            He never gets the hint, McLaggen. Always stalking following you, always standing outside every room you exit, always loitering too close whenever you’re trying to get back to your House—never taking no for an answer. Everyone knew you as the quiet girl, rarely taking part in things like extracurriculars or school clubs. For the life of you, you could not figure out why Cormac had suddenly become… interested.

            You kept to yourself just because it was a personal preference, you barely had any friends—you were a loner.

            And that was how you liked it. Being a people person had never been your thing entirely.

            But, Cormac didn’t seem to get that.

            “Really?” you replied, your tone almost resembling the bored purrs of your very own tabby cat, who was probably lounging around in your dorm, messing up your pillows…

            How you wished you could be in her position right now.

            “Yeah…? You sound so unsurprised,” he bit his bottom lip, the light of his green eyes dimming when he noticed how quickly you stood up. You almost felt bad… Though, you remembered the way he disgustingly pursued Hermione Granger a few moons back and, fleetingly, shook all feelings of regret from your body; Cormac McLaggen was a creep.

            “Haha, right…” A half-assed chuckle escaped you, clearing your throat as you shoved the remnants of your work into the new satchel messenger bag you bought before beginning sixth year. Discerning the dire, hardened gaze of Cormac falling upon you never failed to make you shudder inside; his eyes were always so intense. So scrutinising. So… unnecessary?

            “So, uh… Potions,” Cormac began, attempting to look unbothered at the sight of you slinging your bag off your shoulder. “Wait—are you leaving already?” A sigh stumbled from your lips, your fingers moving to tuck the shorter strands (the ones that fell from your ponytail) behind the broad space of your ear, praying to Merlin himself for an escape route.

            “Yeah, um, my cat—well, she…” Kill me now. “She’s… alone in my room,” you tried to explain, pushing your chair under the desk you sit at on a regular basis, refusing to even glance Cormac’s way. “And she probably misses me—” His scoff interrupted you, your eyes flitting towards his expression, seeing the smugness in his bemused smile—what the fuck?

            “Your old, moody cat, the one that slumps around every window seat she can find, misses you?” Cormac laughed, his hand cradling his chest like he found himself funny. “This is the first time I’ve heard an excuse like that.” All you did was furrow your eyebrows, confused as to what he was implying.

            “Are you… insulting my cat?” You asked, genuinely perturbed because of his peculiar behaviour. Perhaps you were being a little peculiar yourself, but was this Cormac’s way of flirting? It made no sense whatsoever. Anyhow, your words seemed to knock some sense into the Gryffindor, regret latching onto his countenance. You were quick to turn away, murmuring an almost noiseless ‘excuse me’, speeding walking out of the library like nothing had happened.

            Legs moving as fast as they could, Cormac was right after you—he, annoyingly, had quite the Beater’s build. 

            “Wait! I’m sorry—I wasn’t insulting your bloody cat!” He always seemed to persist, much to your misfortune; Merlin, he was thick in the head. When you turned your head back around, you almost tripped, unable to comprehend how he caught up to you in seconds. “I-I was just saying that your excuse for leaving was rubbish—”

            “I’m just busy, alright, McLaggen?” you brushed him off, trying to muster up a polite smile, but it vanished from your face immediately when Cormac grabbed your arm, roughly pulling you back���a spasm of pain shot up your arm and whilst it only lasted for a moment, it still caused you to freeze, the light in your eyes disappearing entirely.

            The light in his brightened.

            “You don’t seem busy,” Cormac mumbled, his digits firm and enclosed around your flesh like a vice, your gaze lifting to his once again. Why were you always looking up? It made you feel… wrong. Like you were submitting yourself to him. McLaggen.

            He would like that, wouldn’t he?

            “McLaggen,” you said his name, your voice quiet; an eerie sort of quiet. He didn’t say anything, studying you for a moment. Suddenly, you wanted the laughter of those pestering first years, the bellows of the fourth year boys, the giggles of the third year girls to wrap around you like a blanket—you would prefer any sort of noise over the gratingly abnormal silence wafting over the empty hallway.

            The one time I don’t want to be alone.

            “You’re still calling me McLaggen? I thought we were way past formalities,” he uttered (moreso questioned), the Gryffindor’s expression changing to one of irritance, his jaw ticking as he tried to maintain his smile. He looked like he was about to barf all over his new fancy boots his father got him.

            Whatever his father’s name was.

            “Uh… No,” you retorted quite bluntly, irritation overwhelming your expression in response. Who did he think he was? “Now, if you could please let go—”

            “I don’t understand what the problem is, though,” he interjected, again, his perplexity at the situation making you want to explode as you opened your mouth to speak, but Cormac was faster. “I just want to talk. We’re having a conversation and you just walk away?” His grip tightened minutely, but it was enough to make you wince, pain submerging your irritation away.

            “Ow—Cormac, you’re hurting me,” you struggled to remain confident, feeling a sense of dread engulfing your body, your mind, your soul.

            This position was all too familiar. That same thundercloud hovering over your heart, waiting to strike where it hurt the most. Even though it was protected by your lungs, your ribs, your flesh—the thunderclaps were enough to compel the chambers of your core to quake.

            “Oh, don’t be daft,” he mumbled, rejecting your plea. “You’ll live.”

            “Listen, we can talk, but can you just let go—”

            “She said let go.”

            An abrupt, deep voice broke the uncomfortable tension between you and Cormac, his grasp loosening perceptibly since he was caught. Inhaling sharply, you took your chance to rip your arm away from him completely, stepping back, rubbing your arm as your eyes stayed downcast.

            Calm down, calm down, calm down—

            “Potter.” What? Hearing Cormac’s one-word mutter led you to look towards the source of the original voice, your eyebrows crinkling in relief when you saw him.

            Harry.

            You were supposed to meet someone in the library… That someone was Harry. During the course of the year, you had been struggling to keep up with Slughorn’s lessons and Harry, kind as always, offered to help you (you didn’t know about his little cheat notes from the Half-Blood Prince and he intended to keep it that way). However, you had left early because of Cormac… prompting Harry to go look for you.

            “Thank Merlin,” you breathed, your lips pressing together when Cormac turned towards him.

            “We were just talking,” he ‘clarified’, but his words fell on deaf ears.

            “Didn’t look like it,” Harry said simply, and you took this moment to actually examine your friend. He was still in his school robes, of course, the infamous Gryffindor crest plastered upon it. His glasses rested on the crook of his nose, his blue eyes unblinking, fixed on Cormac. Jaw clenched, as was his fists. Lips pressed together in annoyance, unlike yours which were pressed together in embarrassment.

            Embarrassed because you couldn’t believe Harry had found you in this position—unable to fight back.

            You could’ve sworn there was a glint of murderous intent within the emerald hues of his eyes; even from a distance, you noticed everything about Harry.

            “Well, we were,” Cormac stated in his matter-of-fact tone, angering you further—but, Harry had it covered. It genuinely baffled you that they were both in the same House.

            “Oh, just—come off it,” Harry scoffed, pushing past him to get to you—he had been the person you wanted to see at the Great Library.

            Not Cormac McLaggen, but Harry Potter.

            But, why? Even now, as he approached you, you felt those thunderclouds morph into wisps of the sun, warmth blooming in your chest as his fingers delicately brushed over your arm, specifically the bit where Cormac had grabbed you so roughly. For some reason, Harry’s touch didn’t disgust you like Cormac’s did.

            It was because he was your friend… right? You didn’t know Cormac like you knew Harry.

            You didn’t know anyone like you knew Harry.

            “You alright?” He asked softly, his tone changing so he didn’t frighten you further; you weren’t frightened per se, but he knew situations like this made you uncomfortable. Conflict. Arguments. Loud voices…

            All too familiar.

            “Fine,” you murmured in return, grateful for how the pads of his fingers massaged your flesh, the pain which had formerly bloomed now beginning to dissipate. Lowering your gaze, Harry turned his head to see if Cormac was still standing there like a fool.

            Thankfully, the creep took one look at Harry’s six-foot-form and fled the scene, probably wanting to maintain his golden boy reputation. He may have been taller, but Harry—

            Everyone knew what Harry was. Who he was.

            A few moments passed. Both of you just stood in the vacant hallway, your expressions paired with… serenity. You preferred silence. As did Harry, especially with the Dark Lord penetrating his mind every damned hour. You didn’t know when you developed this dynamic with him out of all people—others, girls to be precise, would wonder how you ‘bagged’ the Chosen One, how you managed to get him to pay attention to you.

            But, that was the thing. You didn’t do anything.

            “We were supposed to meet at the library,” Harry spoke, his voice synonymous with the stillness of the atmosphere, his lovely eyes trying to meet yours.

            Eventually, your eyes left the floor, trailing up his uniform—his broad chest; the Adam’s apple of his throat; the sharp contour of his jawline; his rosy-coloured, heart-shaped lips; his hawk nose—and then, finding his two orbs. They reminded you of the sea, his eyes. His black pupils were like jagged basalts, a form of rock, fixed within a circle of the Atlantic. They were quite pretty, actually.

            You preferred them over the dull green of McLaggen’s eyes.

            “I got… sidetracked,” you murmured in return, nibbling your bottom lip as Harry’s hand left your arm—you almost swallowed your disappointment, but you thought too soon, his fingers finding yours instead.

            Intertwined they became.

            “I know,” he whispered. “Sorry I didn’t come sooner.”

            “You couldn’t have known,” you were quick to reply, a little surprised that he was apologising. Yet, Harry simply shook his head, a small, soft smile finding his even softer lips.

            “Actually, I think I did.” You furrowed your eyebrows, having no choice but to follow him as he began the journey back to the library, where you were supposed to be all alone. “I just… had a feeling. You know—when your chest gets all clouded and… your heartbeats start sounding like thunderclaps.”

            Oh.

            Merlin.

            “Mhm…” you hummed, looking away, your cheeks flourishing with delightful shades of red. “All too familiar.”

thank you for reading!

[miedei]

heyoo🫶 idk if your spencer requests are still open but all I've been able to think about for weeks is s4ep9 spencer being the most adorable nerd when he was warning the women at the club about the serial and them being the reader's friends going back to the reader with like drinks or whatever laughing about "that nerdy loser" at which reader's practically frothing at the mouth asking them "WHERE" and then hardcore flirting with an oblivious (and/or blushing mess) spence to the team's amusement and reader just thinking "need me a pathetic loser like that" (affectionate). im not even sure this makes sense but i just go feral for nerd reid. im really looking forward to reading this and thank you in advance if you do write this🥰

REAL REAL REAL need me a pathetic loser boy

peacocking

spencer gets hit on at the club!!

cw: none i think?? spence is cute and pathetic, r is the kind of flirty i only aspire to be

wc: 1.2k

mlist

(reblogs are the only way to promote fics on tumblr! please reblog if you enjoyed it :) )

The club is busy, lighting dim, the music so loud that you can feel the bass thumping in your chest. It's a stark difference from the brightly-lit bathroom you just emerged from, wearing three new products of makeup courtesy of the drunken friends you've just made.

The crowd is thick, and you can just barely spot your friends, huddled around a hard-won table. You push through people, not bothering to apologise, until you've returned to the group.

You're greeted with whoops and cheers, and a drink is pushed into your hand before you can even sit down. Alcohol-fueled shouts leave their mouths, and you get the distinct feeling that they've somehow had at least two more rounds in the time you've been gone. You can barely focus on one person's speech, the words overlapping in their excitement.

"-and he was, like, the hottest guy I've ever seen!"

"-but he wouldn't take my number because he was working, and-"

"-his friend was pretty awkward though-"

"-like a string bean! Nerdy as hell, think it was his first time in a club-"

"-was like he'd never spoken to a woman before, kept talking about the serial killer-"

You hold up a hand, a little bewildered at the bombardment of information.

"Hold on- serial killer?" One of your friends shakes her head a little, as if clearing her mind.

"Not here, at least they pretty sure. Some creep's been picking up women and killing them at clubs, so there were cops or something here giving out fliers." A flier is thrusted into your hand, a sketch of a guy looking up at you.

"And, one of the cop guys was gorgeous! Adonis, Casanova, whatever the fuck you'd call him, he was so pretty..." She sighs wistfully, pointing across the room to a gaggle of women surrounding a well-built guy holding fliers like the one in your hand.

"The other guy was a little sad, though. Real nerd type."

Another voice butts in. "Yeah! I mean, look at him, I feel a little bad for him, he's clearly striking out and he's here for his job."

The pointing finger shifts, and your attention is directed to a lanky guy standing towards the edges of the crowd, near the bar. He looks nervous, hands fiddling with the stack of fliers he's got, and he doesn't seem to be trying to approach anyone anymore.

He's clearly uncomfortable, skittish in his stance. A nerd to his core, probably never the type to be wading through a crowd like this. He looks a little pathetic.

You've got to have him.

You tell your friends as much, and are met with drunken encouragement, slaps on the back and reminders to use protection. Setting down the flyer and your drink, you steel yourself, smoothing back your hair before walking with purpose across the room.

Once you near him, you slide onto a barstool, flagging down the bartender and pretending not to notice the new love of your life. He's clearly clocked you, and seems to be trying to work up the courage to approach you. Once you've given your order, you decide to make it easier for him.

Turning on the stool, you look up at him, eyes slightly hooded.

"You not having fun? It's a club, you should probably unbutton that shirt a little." It's thrilling, the way his eyes widen and he looks around him, as if you could be speaking to anyone else right now.

"Well, I actually- I'm actually here for my work, so..." His cheeks flush, and you continue with the oblivious act.

"Work? I've got to say, you're gorgeous, but I didn't think you were the type to be hired as a waiter here." You gesture to the scantily-clad waitress that passes you. He opens and closes his mouth a couple times, before seemingly remembering something. He rifles through his leather bag, producing a wallet with ID.

"Um, no, I don't work here. I'm- I'm an FBI agent. Doctor Spencer Reid. H-hi." Cute and smart? It's a wonder you haven't slid right off your stool.

"Yeah? And what are you doing here, Doctor Reid? Don't get me wrong, I appreciate being able to ogle you, but this doesn't exactly seem like the place for the FBI to be doing their investigating." You nod your thanks at the bartender, and run your finger along the rim of your glass, eyes locked onto Spencer's.

"Oh! Yeah," He fumbles with the papers in his hand, before holding one out to you. "There's a, um, serial killer? He's in the area, and he's targeting women at clubs like these... so," You lean forward, eyes not wavering from his, relishing in the way Spencer's eyes widen at the motion.

"So?" You prompt.

"So, uh, we're handing out those sketches," His hand, trembling slightly, comes up to point at the flyer in your hand. "and warning women to be on the lookout, not go home with anyone they don't know."

Your lips pinch slightly together, exaggerating your concern. "Oh god, Doctor Reid, that's really scary. What can I do to keep safe?"

His shoulders drop from where they were tensed near his ear, seemingly in his comfort zone here.

"Well, the unsub- the suspect is seeking validation from people, he wants women to chase him. If you meet any guys who try and play hard to get, possibly dressed flaboyantly, stay away and tell the police." You tilt your head questioningly, prompting him to continue.

"He's peacocking. It's a method that some people use to draw attention away from their faces. By using some ornate and distracting piece of clothing, he's diverting attention away from his face." His hands fly around him wildly as he speaks, long fingers wriggling and punctuating his words.

"Uh huh? So this... sweater." Your hand comes up, nearly unconsiously, to fiddle with the woolen texture of the sweater he's got on over his shirt. His hands still midair.

"It's distracting me plenty. Is that peacocking? But I've gotta say, I don't think anything would draw my attention away from that face." His eyes widen further, lips quivering as if he's struggling to come up with words.

"Um, I- I don't think, this isn't- isn't peacocking. This is just... how I dress." Your smirk widens further, hand still twisted in the collar of his sweater. The other agent, the one your friends pointed out earlier, sidles up behind him, but pauses, observing your conversation without butting in. You've only got a little time left.

"Well, I guess you're just that captivating then. You got a pen?" You let go of his clothes, watching him flounder for a second before pulling a pen out of his pocket, holding it out to you wordlessly.

Taking it with a smile, you begin to scribble your number down on the corner of the flyer in your hand.

"I think I'm missing out, if you dress like this every day." You finish writing with a flourish, tearing out your number and tucking it in his pocket along with his pen.

"Call me, okay? Keep me safe from the killer." You pat his shoulder, brushing past him with a smile.

(If the music were any quieter, you would've heard Spencer being interrogated by Derek the moment you leave, and the subsequent call to the rest of the team to inform them of the news. Penelope falls off her chair in excitement.)

[littlelovelunette]

hii! I love your writing, I'm using the translator, so sorry for anything! Could you write a smut with Sevika, where the reader is celebrating her birthday and her wish/desired gift is for Sevika to touch herself in front of her? 🩷

Birthday Gift

Contains smut, fingering, clit play, masterbating, whiny!Sevika, power bottom!r

Sevika was never big on celebrating birthdays but there was something about your puppy eyes that convinced her to try this year and celebrate your birthday.

"Happy birthday, babe," Sevika stood at the doorway while you remained seated in bed with your messes up bed hair and dried drool sticking to the corner of your mouth.

"Oh, it's my birthday." You grinned like a toddler before waddling off the bed and upto her, "Thank you, baby." You wrapped your arms around her, swaying a little from sleep.

"Careful, there." Sevika rubbed your back. "Do you want pancakes or waffles for breakfast?"

"Waffles!" You squeaked happily.

As you finished freshening up, you could already smell the delicious scent of your breakfast wafting through the small apartment's air.

The air which was usually stale with the smell of metal and tobacco. With a giggle, you made a beeline to the kitchen and wrapped your arms around your girlfriend's frame from behind.

"I love you." You giggled.

"I love you, too."

Sevika turned and placed a kiss on your head before turning back to the kitchen counter, busying herself.

"I should apologise to you in advance," Sevika put the perfect golden waffle on the plate, already making another, "I don't do birthday celebrations so... I might be a little raw at it."

"It's okay," you grinned and rubbed your face against her muscular back, "I'm just happy you're trying."

You remained like that for a bit before backing up and plopping down onto a chair across from her. "But you do know, you're supposed to give me a gift, right?" Now, you were just messing with her. Messing with her to get your way and get what you want like always.

Sevika looked around fixing you with a dumbfounded look. She looked back at the food, taking the cutlery out of the drawer. "A gift? What are you, five?"

You pouted and Sevika glanced seeing that. With a deep sigh, she added. "What do you want?"

"You to masterbate in front of me!" You squeaked happily.

Sevika sputtered, spoon dropping from her hand as she looked at you as if you'd gone mad. "No way."

"It's my birthday."

"You're having way too much fun with this birthday thing—"

You pouted again.

"—Fine."

Hours after breakfast, Sevika was sat on the bed across you, legs spread and pussy exposed. She huffed a sigh. "I shouldn't have agreed to this."

You giggled. "Too late to backup now."

Sevika grumbled but her fingers traced her labia slowly, rubbing the slit of her pussy. She bit her bottom lip and took a deep breath before she slipped in her middle and index finger. "Fuck." She whispered.

"Yeah it feels good?" You asked with a gummy smile.

"Fuck you." Sevika cussed, her fingers slowly dipping inside knuckles deep.

Her head tilted back as her thumb worked on her clit, rubbing circles on her clit. It felt amazing, and the fact that you were watching her masterbating in front of you so intently only intensified the pleasure tenfold.

Sevika barely needed to touch herself since you'd always been around whenever she was needy. It had probably been years since she did this. It was a different kind of thrill.

"Oh shit, angel. Bet you're enjoying this." Sevika chuckled shakily before she gasped in a low voice. Her muscular thighs shook a little, threatening to close. You had to place a comforting hand on her knee.

"It's okay. Go ahead, finger yourself properly."

Sevika blushed but complied, starting to move her fingers in herself causing her to whine out, her voice was low but you heard it loud enough. You could feel your wetness drenching your panties as you watched Sevika's fingers dipping back inside her slit with the familiar wet lewd sound.

"Yeah, there. You're so pretty." You murmured, fingers tracing patterns on Sevika's warm skin.

"Fuck, you're gonna be the death of me— ah..." Sevika moaned, head tilting to the side, tongue poked out slightly. "It feels so damn good."

"Come on, you can go a bit faster than that." You encouraged followed by a small playful giggle.

Sevika moaned loudly at that, fingers pacing up. Her fingers stuttered a little, a whine escaping her again. "Need to cum." She muttered to herself more than anything.

You could see the desperation practically radiating off of her and decided to be nice. "Go ahead, cum for me, baby." You placed a gentle hand on her throat, forcing her to face you properly. Her grey eyes were clouded with lust, no coherent thought forming in her brain as her fingers continued pumping in and out.

Sevika's moans were never soft and timid, they were loud and strong. And this time, they were no different. Sevika moaned loudly and orgasmed all over her fingers, causing you to giggle again.

"There, my good girl. You did so well, I'm so happy with my birthday gift."

Sevika didn't say anything, silently catching her breath before she finally spoke.

"Now, your turn."

[channieschaoscorner]

New Beginnings - Part Two - Stray Kids x female!9th member

Pairing: Chan x Reader

Summary: You’ve made it to the survival show with your best friend but things are changing. You're friendship is turning into something else and its becoming something neither of you can understand.

Genre: Full on angst (I’m so sorry) 💔

A/N: You guys I need to apologise in advance for this one. No joke, I cried at one point writing this. I feel a little bit evil after the first part was a happy ending by my standards.

I also have like 4 more parts planned out for this so it’s turning into its own series (yay for me, not for your feelings.) I really hope you like it and again I’m so sorry but love you all lots 💕

Part one

Part Three

Masterlist

────୨ৎ────

The practice room clock blinked 1:42 AM. The rest of the group had long since gone home, too exhausted to keep going. You on the other hand were still there as per usual. You were sitting on the floor, rewinding a part of the track, while Chan sat nearby, notebook in his lap, tapping his pen against the page. He’d come in a little while ago, claiming the excuse of needing a change in scenery.

“Alright,” you said, standing and stretching. “I’ve got five more counts to fix. You still stuck on that bridge?”

“No…” Chan scoffed, even though he was absolutely still stuck on that bridge. “I’m almost done.”

“Bet you I finish this choreo before you figure out your lyrics.” You smirked, walking backwards toward the mirror wall.

“What’s the bet?”

“Loser buys snacks for a week.”

“You’re on.”

You turned the music up and jumped back into the steps while Chan hunched over his notebook, furiously scribbling. Every few minutes, you’d sneak glances at each other in the mirror — catching his eye, smiling when he stuck his tongue out at you.

At one point, you messed up a step and groaned loudly.

Chan looked up with a teasing grin. “Need me to help you out, or…?”

“Please,” you laughed, walking over. “Like you can even keep up with me.”

“I kept up with you for years.” His voice softened, and so did yours.

“Yeah… you have.”

A quiet moment stretched between you before you both shook it off with matching smiles.

“Focus, Bang Chan. I’m winning this bet.”

“Yeah, yeah, in your dreams.”

You kept working side by side, the night blurring into comforting warmth and quiet music, and the unspoken truth that neither of you cared who won anymore.

────୨ৎ────

The clock had slipped past 3AM by the time you finally gave up.

“Okay, truce,” you groaned, collapsing onto the floor with a dramatic sigh. “I’ll buy the snacks. I can’t feel my legs anymore.”

“Deal,” Chan chuckled, dropping his notebook and flopping down beside you, shoulder bumping into yours. “But for the record, your choreography’s insane. The kids won’t survive this.”

“They’ll manage. They’ve got you, haven’t they?”

You turned your head, smiling at him, and he felt something tug in his chest. Something he pushed away and ignored.

“Yeah, well… I’ve got you too.”

It came out softer than he intended, and for a second, neither of them moved.

Then you grinned. “Damn right you do.”

You nudged his shoulder and sat up, rummaging through the snack pile you’d gathered. You handed him his favorite without even needing to ask.

“You always remember what I like,” he said, teasing, but something about the way he looked at you lingered. His eyes a little too gentle, a little too full.

“Well, someone’s gotta look after you. You’d live off energy drinks and stress without me.”

You sat cross-legged on the practice room floor, trading snacks and teasing each other, swapping old stories from your trainee days. Like the nights you snuck extra practice time, the times you had covered for each other, the little victories no one else had seen.

When you laughed at one of his jokes, Chan found himself watching you instead of laughing. The light in your eyes, the way your legs curled to the side, the warmth you carried like it was stitched into your skin. He didn’t realize how long he stared until you caught him.

“What?” You tilted your head and looked at him curiously.

He blinked. “Nothing. I’m just glad you’re here.”

You offered him a soft smile. “I’m not going anywhere, Chan.”

And you both believed that so easily.

Neither of you ready to admit the way your hearts beat too fast in these small, unspoken moments.

────୨ৎ────

The room was buzzing with anticipation as the Stray Kids members sat in a circle, waiting for JYP’s announcement. The survival show had already pushed you all to your limits, but today felt different, something unexpected was coming.

JYP entered the room, his usual calm presence settling over everyone. His eyes scanned the group, before his eyes settled on you. “Alright, everyone, I’ve been thinking about the next challenge. We’ve seen how you all work as a team, but now, I want to see how the two of you will collaborate.”

You caught Chan’s eye for a split second, your stomach fluttering. You tried not to let the nervousness show.

JYP continued, “So for this next stage, Chan and Y/N, I want you two to perform a duet. You’ll have to work together, not just as friends but as leaders. I want to see how well you can communicate and create something meaningful together.”

A sudden hush fell over the room. You could feel the weight of JYP’s words pressing down on you.

You and Chan.

A duet.

Together.

In theory it made sense. You had worked together as friends for years, as teammates, you shouldn’t be nervous but this was something else entirely. A duet was a performance that required you to put complete faith and trust in your partner.

“This stage is going to be emotional.” JYP continued, oblivious to the shift in the room. “I’m not going for something high-energy. I want to see how you both can bring vulnerability and depth. Show us something more. I believe in you two, so I expect you to deliver.”

The challenge hung between you and Chan, like a heavy weight neither of you could lift. It wasn’t just a performance. It was a test of what you could handle, and, more importantly, how much you were willing to expose. The vulnerability that JYP asked for wasn’t something you were used to. But now, it seemed inevitable, you were going to be forced to bare your soul on stage for everyone to see.

Chan’s gaze met yours, and for a moment, everything around you felt like it was in slow motion. The excitement that bubbled up inside you only added to the strange tension you couldn’t place. Was he feeling it too? You didn’t know. You both quickly looked away, pretending to play it cool, but inside, you were both trying to figure out what this meant.

Chan forced a smile, though you could tell it didn’t reach his eyes. “Alright, let’s do this,” he said, trying to make it sound easy. But his voice cracked just a little, and it made your heart race in a way you couldn’t explain.

“Are you two nervous?” Changbin asked, raising an eyebrow as he noticed your stiff postures.

“Of course not,” you laughed, but it sounded a little forced even to your own ears. “We’ve got this.”

But even as you said those words, you knew it wouldn’t be that simple.

JYP smiled knowingly. “Good. I’m looking forward to seeing what you both come up with. Take your time, practice together, and figure it out.”

As JYP left the room, the younger members began to chat excitedly, their energy bouncing off the walls. You and Chan stayed silent. The sudden, unexpected reality of what had just been assigned to the two of you was starting to settle in and what it could mean not just for the group but for both of you if you failed.

Failure wasn’t an option, you decided.

No matter what was going to happen.

Later on, when you arrived for your first practice, you found Chan already sitting by the speakers.

“You beat me.” You teased, but it did nothing to ease the tension that had settled in you earlier on.

He smiled, but you could tell it was forced.

You opened your mouth to speak again but hesitated, you didn’t actually have anything to say but you desperately wanted to cut through the silence.

Chan’s eyes dropped to your hands, you were pulling the sleeves down, it was a nervous habit that he’d picked up on a few years ago. His stomach flipped uncomfortably at the thought of you being nervous with him.

“I think I’ve found a song for us to do.” He hit play without waiting for you to reply. You nodded along as the lyrics filled the room. It was emotional, filled with words of longing and love but also fear of losing their person. It was…

“Perfect.” You said, when the song ended.

“Do you think so?” Chan’s hand drifted up to his earlobe, twisting the earring that sat in it.

Your eyes narrowed slightly when he did so, was he nervous as well?

“It will be if we can pull it off.” You pushed through the nerves bubbling in your stomach.

────୨ৎ────

Over the next few days, you had settled into a more comfortable rhythm with each other. The initial awkwardness of having to be so emotional with each, pushed aside as the need to perform well consumed you both.

With the rest of the group preoccupied with their own challenge, you and Chan had been spending nearly every hour of your days together. It was a good thing that you were already friends before this as spending this amount of time with anyone would have most people ready to take each other's heads off from the pressure of it all.

Not you two though, thankfully you had become quite used to living out of each other's pockets in your earlier years when you had been each other's only friend.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been rehearsing today, only that it was dark when you arrived and it was dark now you’d seen when you went to the bathroom earlier. It was easy to lose track of time in the practice room. Caught up in the rehearsals and each other's presence, it wasn’t the first time and it wouldn’t be the last.

“You’re going to kill me.” Chan groaned from the floor.

“You’ll live.” You walked over to him holding a water bottle, you nudged his leg with your foot.

He sat up wordlessly, taking the bottle off you with a nod. You ignored his hand brushing over yours, choosing instead to crack your knuckles as if that could remove the tingling sensation left there.

You sat down next to him, too aware that he was still staring at you and you shifted uncomfortably. Desperate to break whatever this feeling was, as Chan takes a long drink from his water bottle, you snatched it out of his hand mid-sip.

“Hey!” he coughs, laughing.

“What? Sharing is caring.” You grin, purposely taking an exaggerated sip.

“You better hope I don’t catch your germs.”

“Maybe I want you to.” It slips out too quickly, too easily, too… too much.

He holds your gaze for a second too long of eye contact.

Your smirk falters.

His gaze drops to the bottle in your hand, then back to your face. Neither of you says anything. You toss it back, and stand up quickly, walking back to your phone to turn the song back on.

“Come on, let’s run this again.”

Chan stands up, ready to jump back into rehearsal mode, ignoring the fact that his pulse is a little faster than it should be.

────୨ৎ────

*3 days until the final performance*

The final performance day was growing closer and closer.

You and Chan have been pushing yourselves to the limit. Only taking breaks from your own rehearsal to check in with the others and help them with their challenges. It took much needed energy out of you but neither of you complained out loud, all too aware of the responsibility on your shoulders.

This responsibility meant that you kept pushing your own practices back later and later until it was almost morning by the time you would finish up, head back to the dorms and get back up to do it all over again.

Tonight was no different.

The fluorescent lights hummed softly above you, casting a gentle glow over the near-empty practice room. It was one of those late nights again. The kind where exhaustion seeped into your bones, where your muscles ached and burned, and yet neither of you could quite bring yourselves to leave.

You sat on the floor against the mirror, legs stretched out, you head tipped back against the glass. A dull, persistent headache throbbed behind your eyes, made worse by the tight pull of your ponytail. You winced as you shifted accidentally catching some of your hair, you closed your eyes in an effort to block out the light for a few seconds of relief as Chan knelt nearby, rummaging through his bag for his water bottle.

He noticed your discomfort immediately.

“You okay?” His voice was soft, almost hoarse from hours of use.

You gave him a tired smile, your hand lazily reaching up to rub the back of your neck. “Headache.”

Chan hesitated for a second, his gaze lingering on you, watching the way your brow furrowed and your shoulders slumped. Without a word, he moved closer, gently batting your hand away.

“Here,” he murmured, kneeling in front of you.

Before you could argue, his fingers brushed against the nape of your neck, tugging carefully at the scrunchie that held your hair back tightly. His touch was careful, a little clumsy. Too intimate for something so simple. You closed your eyes at the warmth of his fingertips.

The soft, worn fabric slid free, and your hair spilled down around your shoulders. The release made you sigh involuntarily. A soft, relieved sound, and Chan felt it like a warm ache in his chest.

“There.” he said quietly, his fingers lingering a beat too long before pulling away.

You opened your eyes, blinking at him. The look between you both was heavy, something unspoken settling in the air around you.

He broke first, eyes falling down the scrunchie in his hand. He hesitated for a second before he tucked it into his pocket without waiting for permission, as if it had always belonged there. And maybe it did. You didn’t object either way, a single thought drifted in the back of your head that you were happy he kept it but you weren’t sure why.

────୨ৎ────

*2 days until the performance*

It was late. Too late, really. The only light in the practice room came from the dimming bulbs overhead which were absolutely going to need to be replaced from how much time the two of you were spending in here. The glow of your phones offered little lighting in the corner of the room. Both of you had been going for hours now, working through every single step, every little move, every note, perfecting it all for the survival show. But your body was beginning to protest, exhaustion creeping in.

You rubbed your arms, trying to get some warmth back into your cold skin. The chill in the air wasn’t helping, and you found yourself shivering, despite how much you had been moving earlier. It wasn’t that you had forgotten to bring a jacket, you had but gave it to Jeongin earlier who had forgotten his even though you reminded him this morning before you left the dorms. Now though in the stillness of the practice room, it was hard to ignore.

Chan, however, was still going, focused on the moves, gliding across the floor with ease, but you could tell his attention was partially on you. He kept glancing over at you, his eyes narrowed slightly in concern as he noticed you rubbing your arms again.

“Hey,” he said, finally turning toward you. His voice was soft, but there was an edge of worry to it. “You okay? You’re shivering.”

You gave him a small smile, trying to brush it off. “I’m fine. Just a little cold. I’ll be okay.”

He didn’t seem convinced. There was something about the way he looked at you, his eyes lingering for just a second too long, that made your chest tighten.

“Hold on a second,” he said, walking over to his bag, pulling out his hoodie. It was oversized on him, the dark fabric a bit worn at the cuffs, but it still had a comforting familiarity to it. You weren’t sure why, but just the thought of him giving you his hoodie made something stir in your chest.

He held it out to you, a gentle smile on his lips. “Here. It’s cold in here. You can wear this.”

You hesitated for a moment, looking at the hoodie. Something about it felt so intimate, like a quiet offering of care that you weren’t sure you were ready for. You had spent years being close to Chan, always side by side, but this was different. There was a subtle tension in the air now, a strange pull between you that you weren’t sure how to describe.

“Thanks.” you said quietly, taking the hoodie from him, your fingers brushing against his for a second. The brief contact sent a jolt through you, and you quickly pulled the hoodie over your head, the fabric swallowing you in its warmth.

As soon as you slipped your arms into the sleeves, you could feel the familiar, comforting presence of Chan’s scent. It was like a shield, like a piece of him that was now wrapped around you. You didn’t know why, but something about wearing his hoodie made your heart race just a little faster.

You looked up at him and saw that he was watching you closely, his gaze soft, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes, something you didn’t quite understand. He looked… pleased? Maybe even a little proud, but it wasn’t just that. There was something deeper, something unspoken, a quiet kind of longing that lingered between you.

“You look good in it.” Chan said, the words coming out softer than usual, almost shy.

You felt your cheeks warm at the compliment, and you smiled, a little embarrassed. “Thanks.”

There was a brief silence, both of you standing there, not quite sure what to say next. But the tension between you was palpable now, the distance between friends blurring. It was still subtle, but it was there, hanging in the air.

“I’m glad it fits.” he added, and you could tell he was trying to make it sound casual, trying to downplay the strange energy that seemed to have settled around you both. But his eyes were still on you, and you couldn’t ignore the way his fingers absently tugged at the sleeve of his own hoodie, almost like he wanted to pull you closer but didn’t know how to.

“Yeah,” you replied, tugging the sleeves down over your hands. “It’s perfect.”

He smiled, but there was something in his smile that felt a little too heavy. It lingered a little too long, and you couldn’t help but wonder if he was feeling the same thing you were — that strange, unexplainable pull between the two of you that you were feeling more and more as these practices went on.

You should have said something, anything, to break the tension. But instead, you both stayed there, silent, and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest but neither of you spoke, the words too difficult, too tangled in the space between you.

You couldn’t explain why, but in that moment, wearing his hoodie felt like the closest thing to being wrapped up in his arms. The idea of that alone made your cheeks burn, and for a second you were scared that he would know exactly what you were thinking about.

As you both returned to your positions without a word to continue rehearsing, you caught him stealing glances at you. Every time you caught his eye, you quickly looked away, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks again.

“It’s just a hoodie.” You kept telling yourself but you knew it wasn’t. It was everything. The way he cared for you, the way he always looked after you. You didn’t understand it, but you knew that it was something you didn’t want to lose

────୨ৎ────

*Final rehearsal*

It had been a long night of rehearsals. Endless runs of choreography, fine-tuning the moves for the performance tomorrow. You could feel your body aching and protesting from the exertion, but the weight on your chest was made heavier by the other person in the room.

You were hyper-aware of the space between you and Chan, of the quiet tension that had been building for days. To say it was confusing you would be an understatement. This had never happened between the two of you before, you’d always felt comfortable with him but now? Every moment alone felt charged, like there was a bigger force behind what was happening and you didn’t know what to do. You couldn’t talk to the one person that you would do normally, how do you tell your best friend that your friendship is starting to make your head hurt?

Chan stood across from you, sweat beading on his brow, his breath coming slightly faster than usual. His eyes met yours for a brief second, and you froze. The moment stretched on, like a pulled rubber band that was about to snap, but neither of you moved, neither of you spoke.

Chan’s gaze dropped to his feet for a second, and you felt an inexplicable urge to break the silence, to say anything to break this strange, heavy feeling in the air. But before you could find your voice, Chan stepped closer, the space between you narrowing.

“Let’s run it again,” he said, his voice low, a little breathless.

You nodded, not trusting your voice, your heart racing as your eyes followed his every movement. He was so close now, too close, but neither of you seemed to back away. It was like your bodies were drawn to each other without your permission.

You forced your feet backwards, ignoring what felt like your own nerves protesting against you and found your starting position. He remained still, watching you carefully, he knew you were on edge and wish you’d tell him why. It was driving him insane, he wanted to ask you what was wrong but was afraid of the answer you would give him.

He shook his head, as if he could shake the stress straight out of it and found his own position. The music kicked in and the two of you began to move. Despite what you both were feeling, you couldn’t deny that you performed well together. Countless months of training as trainees had meant that you were familiar with each other's movements. The only difference in this routine was the meaning behind it, the powerful lyrics about love and longing were dragging up something in the both of you that neither of you had been prepared for, and so you both continued to shove it away and pretend it didn’t exist.

The final moment in the performance was always hard to pull away from. It ended with one of Chan’s hands on your waist and the other holding your face. Your own hands rested on his chest. The more it was rehearsed, the harder and harder it became to force yourself to step out of his embrace.

The music ended and once again, in his arms you felt suspended in time, your body held close by him, the feeling of his chest rising and falling under your fingertips. The music had faded into a quiet hum. Both of you were standing there, breathing in sync, eyes locked for a second too long.

You felt his hand on your waist, his fingers warm through the fabric of your clothes. You stood there, unwilling to move and tired of arguing with yourself that you needed to step away. The moment stretched on, thicker than any choreography you’d rehearsed before. Something felt different. Your chest tightened, and your heart picked up speed, as if it could escape your ribcage at any moment. You were terrified that he could hear in, no idea how you could explain this if he could.

Chan didn’t move, didn’t break the connection. Neither of you dared to speak, both of you caught in the tension that hummed between you like static electricity. His fingers flexed and gripped your waist tighter. His thumb moved ever so slightly on your cheek, so fleeting he could argue that it didn’t happen at all.

His eyes flickered to your lips, and just for a brief moment, everything stopped completely. The air was so thick you felt dizzy, certain that without his grip you’d have fallen in seconds. The closeness, the quiet, the stillness overwhelming.

It was almost too much to bear.

And then, so gently, so slowly, as though drawn in by an invisible force, Chan leaned forward. His lips brushed against yours, like a soft whisper, barely a touch, like a question that didn’t need to be answered. His breath mixed with yours, warm and uncertain, leaving you paralyzed for a moment, unsure if it was even real.

You felt the ghost of his lips against yours, soft and fleeting, and then it was over.

He pulled back, but still neither of you moved. You were both frozen, staring at each other as if you’d crossed some kind of invisible line. The reality of what had just happened hung between you like a dense fog. Neither of you could breathe properly, the weight of the moment pressing down harder with every passing second. You could feel the cracks starting to appear between you.

“I—” Chan’s voice cracked slightly, as though he were trying to find the words, but they weren’t coming.

You opened your mouth to speak, to say anything, but no words came. Your throat felt tight, like it was holding something back, something too heavy to say out loud.

“Sorry.” Chan muttered, his voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t mean to—”

You shook your head, your hand instinctively going to your lips, the heat of the moment still burning.

“It’s… it’s okay. I don’t know what—” Your voice faltered, and you could hear your heartbeat hammering in your ears, loud and deafening.

Neither of you knew what to say.

“I just… I need a minute,” you said quickly, your breath shaky as you stepped back from him. You couldn’t stay in the same room with him, not now, not after that. You were too scared, too confused.

Chan nodded, his hand dropping from your waist, clenching into a fist at his side. “Yeah. Me too. I just… I didn’t—”

You didn’t wait for him to finish. You grabbed your things quickly, your hands trembling as you shoved them into your bag. Every movement felt clumsy, like you were trying to outrun something you couldn’t understand. You didn’t dare look at him, not now. Not after that.

Chan opened his mouth as if he were about to say something, but he didn’t. He just nodded slowly, his face strained, as if he was trying to understand everything just as much as you were.

You didn’t look back when you walked out of the practice room. The cold air hit you as soon as you stepped outside, but it didn’t do anything to calm the storm inside your chest. You felt your heart pounding, your thoughts a whirlwind.The kiss had been so soft, so fleeting, almost like it hadn't happened, and yet, it had managed to change everything.

What had that kiss been? Why did it feel like everything was changing between you two, and why did it terrify you so much? You were scared. You were scared that you’d lost him. Scared that if you let yourself feel what you wanted to feel, you’d ruin the one thing you’d always relied on.

No.

It was nothing, right?

Nothing but a slip-up.

You repeated that like a mantra to yourself, ignoring how your chest ached, your thoughts swirling, your heart tangled in the mess of emotions you didn’t have words for. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. You didn’t know if you were relieved that it was over so quickly or terrified of what it could mean. You didn’t know if you’d be able to face him again tomorrow without feeling the weight of what had just happened.

An image of the performance tomorrow in front of the others appeared and you banished it far from your mind, as far as it could possibly go.

The thought of losing him, of messing up what you had. It terrified you more than you wanted to admit. You wanted him so badly, and that terrified you too. You couldn’t lose him. Not like this. Not after everything the two of you had been through but you couldn’t stop going back to it.

How could you possibly stop thinking about it?

He had kissed you.

No matter how hard you tried, how hard you pushed them away, it kept coming back. The closeness, the feeling of his lips against yours. It was soft, gentle but there was something hovering behind it. Something full of longing, full of things unsaid.

And it terrified you.

You didn’t know what that kiss meant but you knew one thing:

You couldn’t pretend it didn’t happen, couldn’t pretend that you didn’t want to kiss him again, that you didn't want to turn around run right back in there to him and despite all of that, you knew you were going to have to.

So for the first time in years, you walked home alone. You kept pushing yourself forward, reminding yourself how much of a mess this would cause if you admitted the truth, admitted how you actually felt, what it would do to you both so you ran.

Ran further away from the JYPE building, further away from that stupid practice room and further away from him.

────୨ৎ────

Taglist: @m-325 @imeverycliche @mythicmochi @hynjnnie @mbioooo0000

Let me know if you’d like to be added to my Taglist <3

[mapis-putellas]

Three’s a crowd

Pairing: Mapi Leon x Ingrid Engen x reader

Words: 3389

Warnings: swearing

Summary: You accidentally tell Ona about your relationship with Ingrid and Mapi despite promising them you’d keep it to yourself. Their reaction is nothing like you expect.

Notes: I’m sorry I’m advance for the terrible Spanish. Also, this may not flow smoothly and I apologise for that. I tried my best!

"I mean, I'd make out with them but like -platonically, you know?"

"You can't make out with someone platonically, idiota."

"Of course you can! We've done it like, so many times before already. I mean, maybe it was platonic at first, anyway. But it's definitely not now." You wave your hand dismissively. It takes promptly three seconds before you freeze in the midst of shoving your belongings into your back at the words that had just escaped your mouth without meaning to. Eyes widening, you turn to face Ona who was staring at you with a look of pure shock on her face. Her mouth was agape, hands frozen mid air in the midst of pulling off her jersey.

"qué?" Her eyebrow raise.

You panic. "Uhh, nothing. I said nothing," you scramble to collect the rest of your things, hoisting your kitbag onto your shoulder before slowly backing away from her. "You're just hearing things, Ona. I didn't say anything."

You see, this...relationship, or whatever was going on between Mapi, Ingrid and yourself was new. So new, in fact, it didn't quite have a label. In the privacy of their home, you were like any typical throuple. You kissed. Cuddled. Held hands. They'd dote over you and you craved their attention and affection. In public, however, they tended to stay away from you. Not in a mean way. A least, you didn't think so anyway. Sure they'd speak to you. Pull you into he occasional side hug if you did particularly well in training. Soft, subtle smiles would be shared between the three of you.

But that was it, and that was okay. It was just easier that way anyway. Nobody questioned you; talked you into thinking that maybe joining their relationship wasn't the best idea. You were already going a good enough job of that yourself, after all, and the rumours and speculations that would surely appear if started being affectionate in public certainly wouldn’t help.

It wasn't like you didn't want to be with them, because you very much did. It was just...they were perfect together. Had been together for years before bringing you into the mix. What did you bring into this...relationship that they didn't already have?

The answer was nothing.

Perhaps that train of thought wasn't fair, you thought. It had only been a month, after all. A month was nothing. It was why you'd chosen to remain silent. That way, you wouldn't cause any issues.

"ey ey ey, no," her hand grabs your arm, preventing you from making your escape. "You are not going anywhere chica. Sentarse." She all but demands, pointing your cubby.

"No, Ona," you futility attempt to free your arm. Ingrid was going to kill you. Literally murder you before bringing you back to clean up the mess. Both she and Mapi had asked you to keep this to yourself, and you'd broken their trust before talking without thinking. You and your stupid big mouth.

"Really. I have to go. I said I would-"

Ona shakes her head, effectively cutting you off mid sentence. "Sentarse." She says again, sounding less amused than she had before. It has you shrinking in place, but yet, your stubbornness has you once again shaking your head.

"No. I'm not a dog." The door was just there. Your eyes desperately flicker around the room in hopes of finding something that would distract the defender so you make a break for it.

"Y/n, I swear-"

"What is going on?" A new voice fills the room, and both your heads turn at the sound. At the sight of Mapi standing before you, tanned, tattooed arms crossed against her chest, your eyes wide almost comically. Oh shit. Shit shit shit. You were dead. You were so dead.

Mapi's eyes flicker from Ona's face to her grasp around your arm, prompting the defender for sigh heavily before dropping it. She turns and sits, bending down to begin removing her boots. The knowing smirk on her face was hidden. She knew it.

"Qué está pasando?" Mapi asks again, dropping her arms and making her over to you. You instinctively take a small step closer to her, staring at Ona with pleading eyes when she looks up and makes eye contact. She stares right back at you for a few moments before sighing lightly and shaking her head, rising to her feet and tugging off her jersey.

"Nada," she finally speaks, and you let out a subconscious breath of relief as feel your heart beginning to settle in your chest. Crises averted. For now, anyway.

Mapi eyes Ona for a second before nodding and turning to face you. You don't seem to realise the look of concern still etched on your face, but the Spaniard decides that for now, she'd drop the subject in an effort to prevent furthering your impending panic.

"Are you ready to go?" She asks instead, and you nod, allowing her to place a steady hand on the small of your back to guide you out of the locker room. You glance back at Ona who just so happened to be staring right back at you. She raises an eyebrow and tilts her head slightly to the side in question, and you nod, the defender mimicking it before focusing her attention back to her kitbag.

"Ingrid is in the car already." Mapi tells you in her heavily accented English as you make your way outside, her hand absentmindedly trailing up and down your back in a subconscious action of comfort.

You hum does little to comfort her.

"What happened, amor?" She gently pulls you to a stop, her hand on your hip gently coaxing you to face her. You comply, albeit a little hesitantly, eyes focusing on the tattoo on her neck. Looks can be deceiving. They could be indeed. A small part of you admittedly wants to tell her, but you figure doing so and spilling your guts and in the middle of a car park with all your teammates surrounding you wouldn't be the best idea.

"Later?" You plead instead, and though the Spaniard hesitates, she nods her head and once again starts guiding you back to her car with her hand on the small of your back. The remainder of the walk was completed in silence, Mapi opening the trunk of her car allowing you to dump your kitbag in the there along with Ingrid's and her own before opening the back passenger door.

You slip inside with a tight smile and without your usual kiss to her cheek in thanks, and the defender finds herself frowning as she closes the door and makes her way round to the drivers side, completely missing your less than enthusiastic greeting to Ingrid. You settle in the back with your headphones in, perhaps a not so mature response, but one you deemed necessary to get your thoughts together before the inevitable conversation ahead.

"Is she okay?" The Norwegian questions, glancing back a you in concern. She doesn't normally like talking about you with you in such close proximity, but she figures due to the loud music currently emanating from your headphones that you wouldn't be able to hear them. Besides, she was only doing so out of concern.

Mapi shrugs, "no sé. Ona said something, I think. Said something she did not mean to, maybe?" Her eyes follow Ingrid's for a second before she starts the car, pulling out of her parking space with relative ease. The plan had been for you to stay with them tonight, so she purposely misses the turn to your apartment and continues straight to theirs.

"Ona said something to her?" Ingrid frowns.

"Sí. She look like, how you say..." Mapi tightens her hands around the steering wheel, "como un ciervo atrapado en los faros?"

"A dear caught in headlights?" Ingrid responds, and Mapi nods.

"Sí." The Spaniard confirms.

Ingrid reaches out and places a steady hand on the defenders thigh, giving the bare, tanned skin a soft squeeze. "Did you ask?"

Mapi nods as she eases the car to a stop at a red light. "Talk later, she said. So obstinada." She grumbles.

Ingrid couldn't help but smile, "Like you, you mean?" She teases, earning herself a playful punch to the arm.

"She is worse." The Spaniard grumbles, and Ingrid laughs softly.

With a quiet sigh, you place your AirPod back into your ear. You were stubborn, she was right. But it wasn't like you weren't willing to talk about it. You just didn't want to do so where there was a risk somebody would hear.

The looming conversation ahead seemed way more daunting now.

*

"Go shower, bebé," Mapi finally breaks the silence as Ingrid closes the front door and locks it behind her, and you nod mutely as you kick of your shoes and make your way down the hall to their bathroom. Their bathroom. Ingrid and Mapi's. Not yours. That thought alone makes your eyes burn with tears.

Pathetic.

You miss the look of concern shared between both women share as you close the bathroom door behind you.

"I need to text Ona." Mapi murmurs as she pulls out her phone, a gentle hand resting atop of her own stopping her in her tracks.

"Qué?"

Ingrid shakes her head, "I know it's hard, but you need to let her come to us. It's obvious that she doesn't want us to know what happened with her and Ona, and we need to respect that. Forcing her to talk will only end badly."

Mapi sighs, knowing her girlfriend was right. Still, she couldn't help but push.

"But, what if-”

"No, kjære," Ingrid takes both Mapi's hand in her own and squeezes. "Let her come to us."

"Sí, mi amor."

Both knew the topic of conversation between you and Ona had evidently been about them. If not, you would have come to them. Just like you had when Lucy had said something to upset you. It wasn't like you to push them away. Mapi knew that. She also knew Ingrid was right about letting you come to them, despite her reluctance to do everything possible to figure out what was going on.

"Okay. Go find us a movie to watch. I'll make a start on diner." Ingrid places a soft kiss against the Spaniards cheek before disappearing through to the kitchen. Mapi watches her go before letting out a quiet sigh and curling up on the corner of the couch, picking up the remote to turn on the tv.

You finish with your shower long before Ingrid finishes with dinner, and you appear in the threshold of the living room clad in both their clothes. Ingrid's sweater, and Mapi's sweatpants, your hair wet and hanging down by your face.

Mapi gestures you over with one of those smiles that makes you melt, "Let me do your hair, amor. Sit." She opens her legs and pats the spot in between them. Your reluctance was evident as you comply, placing your hands on either of the Spaniards thighs as you settle and allow her to start combing through your hair.

"Dinner smells good." You finally find it within you to talk as you feel Mapi's fingers beginning to part your hair with the intention of braiding it. You didn't like leaving your hair down to sleep, and you found it endearing that Mapi had somehow remembered that fact despite it being weeks since you’d told her.

"Mhh," Mapi hums, "huele deliciosa." She agrees.

After tying off your hair with a hair tie, Mapi's tattooed arms loop around your waist, her hands clasped together against your stomach. You expect her to talk. To push you into opening up about what had happened earlier. But she surprisingly does neither. She simply rests her chin against your shoulder and presses a kiss to your cheek before once again picking up the remote.

"You pick." She mumbles into your ear, and you nod, eyes skimming over the screen.

Ingrid makes her way into the room just as you'd decided on the lion king, carrying a plate in either hand. She hands one off to both you and Mapi before once again disappearing and returning with her own.

It was pasta. Your favourite.

"Gracias." Mapi grins, settling back against the couch with you still between her legs and shoving a large forkful of food into her mouth.

Ingrid stares at you with a smile, one you couldn't help but mimic as you both watch the Spaniard stuff her face. Knowing you were in the way, you shift yourself over Mapi's leg and settle on the couch between them instead.

You ignore Mapi's playful pout at the action.

"Thank you." You whisper, and Ingrid smiles again as she gives your thigh a squeeze.

"You're welcome, elskling."

It didn't take long before dinner was quickly demolished, three empty plates sat on the coffee table as the three of you lay comfortably on the couch. You were in between Ingrid's legs now, your back to her chest with one of her arms wrapped securely around your waist. Mapi was curled up next you both, her head on Ingrid's shoulder as the Norwegian combs her fingers through her hair.

The defenders arm was thrown lazily over your stomach, tattooed hand resting on the gentle curve of your waist. Your own hand settles on top of her arm, the pad of your thumb trailing over warm skin. 

The silence between you was comfortable. You were comfortable. So much so you almost want to bring up the elephant in the room. It couldn’t be that bad, right?

You sit up suddenly, yanking yourself out of both woman's grip. Mapi whines unhappily, but Ingrid nudges her softly as she shakes her head and sits up too.

Understanding, Mapi sighs lightly and forces herself to sit in front of you, her rear end perched on the edge of the coffee table. She tries to take your hands, but frowns when you gently push them away.

"I told Ona." You blurt out.

Ingrid's eyes widen, but you didn't need to see it to know she was disappointed. You could tell by the way an alarmed Mapi meets her gaze over your shoulder. You desperately try and fix your mistake.

"Well, I didn't tell her. We were talking, and it just slipped out. I didn't mean for it to happen. I swear. It was just a joke. I mean, it wasn't a joke. I was just trying to tell her a joke. That's when it happened. Please don't be mad. Or well, you can be mad. I betrayed your trust. But please don't be mad. It was an accident, I swear." You weren't aware that you had started crying until you feel Mapi's hands cup your cheeks and wipe away your tears.

Her hands were warm, and you relish in the feeling as you force yourself to take a few breaths. Ingrid's arms, you now notice, were tight around you too, her hands beneath your shirt resting on the bare skin of your stomach. You inhale and exhale, feeling her hands move with you.

"It is okay," Mapi was the first to speak, scooting a little closer and moving her hands to rest on either of your thighs. You desperately cling to to them with your own. "I am not mad. And Ingrid is not too, right?"

"Right." The Norwegian murmurs in your ear, her chin hooked over your shoulder. Her hair tickles your cheek.

"But I told..." You whisper, your voice breaking slightly, leaning back into Ingrid as much as your body would allow.

"Sí. You did," Mapi agrees. "But it was an accident, no? You did not mean to."

"Mapi's right, elskling."

"I always am." Mapi smirks, and you couldn't help but laugh when Ingrid playfully kicks her with her foot.

"She is right,” Ingrid repeats. “We are not mad at you. Being mad at you for something you didn't mean to do would be stupid. And besides, it's about time we start letting people know, mhhh?"

You blink, craning your head to the side so you were more or less looking Ingrid in the eye. She stares down at you, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to your nose. It scrunches up at the action, and both she and Mapi share a look when you flush and bashfully stare down at your lap. When Mapi reaches out to take your hands again, this time you let her.

"You want to tell people? About us?" You murmur.

This was not how you thought this conversation would go.

"Mhh," Ingrid nods. "Sí." Mapi agrees.

"But, what if..." you trail off.

"What if what, amor? Talk to us, por favor." Mapi coaxes, squeezing your hands again. You look up at her, and she smiles oh so gently at you it has your mouth opening before you could give it permission to do so.

"People will talk. About us. And that won't bother me, not really. But I don't want you guys to change your mind. You were perfect before, and I don't exactly bring anything to the table." You admit.

"Baby, no. Do not think like that. This is new, yes, but that does not mean we have any doubts," Ingrid starts, her frown identical to Mapi's whose eyes have grown shiny at your words. "I can almost guarantee people will talk. That's just what they do when they see something that they're not used to. But that doesn't mean their opinions matter."

You nod, feeling something inside you slotting into place.

"My opinion, yours, Ingrid's are what matter amor. If we are happy, then that is all that matters, sí?"

"Sí." You nod.

"You are happy?" Mapi pushes, and you nod with a genuine smile. "Bueno. Now stand, por favor." She holds her hands out for you to take, and you place your own into them allowing her to easily pull you to your feet. With a kiss to your forehead, she takes your place in between Ingrid's legs and tugs on the material of your sweater to pull you closer.

You yet again comply, ending up sat on her lap with your legs either side of her hips atop of Ingrid's thighs. Mapi's arms loop tightly around your waist, holding you tightly to them both, and you melt in their embrace as you rest your head against her shoulder.

Ingrid's face was just millimetres away from your own, and you smile when you feel her lips press softly against the top of your head.

"Something to the table. What does that mean?" Mapi settles back into Ingrid when she feels the Norwegian secure her arms around both herself and you.

Your eyes rip open. Damn. You hoped they wouldn't bring this part up. When Ingrid remains silent, it becomes clear she expects you to answer Mapi's question. So with a sigh, you do.

"It's an idiom. It means to do something that will benefit others." You mumble, less than happy.

Mapi's eyebrows furrow.

"You do not think you benefit us?" She places her hands on each of your sides and gently tugs your upper body away from her. You let her, but not without a pout and refusing to meet her eyes.

"Bebé, look at me por favor."

You shake your head.

"Elskling." Ingrid's warning voice echos around the room along with her fingers tapping gently under your chin, and you sigh heavily as you comply with the Spaniards words. Mapi's eyes immediately meet your own, but they didn't hold the stern look Ingrid's did.

"You do not think you benefit us?" She asks again, and you hesitate to shake your head.

"Por qué?"

"I don't know. I just...your relationship was perfect before me." You fumble with the chain hanging from Mapi's neck.

"No relationship is perfect, my love." Ingrid cuts in, Mapi nodding in agreement. "We love each other, yes. But all couples have their issues. Including us."

"If anything, being with you only makes us stronger. Because now there's three of us, instead of two. Meaning there is lots more love and time to go around." Ingrid hand grips your thigh and squeezes. You rest your own on top of it, gripping her fingers and squeezing hard.

Mapi nuzzles her nose with your own for a second before dropping her head back onto Ingrid's shoulder. "You make us better, sí?" She reaches up and cups your cheek, her thumb grazing gently over the still damp skin.

Your lips quirk up into a hesitant smile.

"There's that smile." Ingrid coos, and you flush slightly as you fall forward into their arms, hiding your face into the Spaniards neck. Mapi grins as she cups the back of your head, and Ingrid mimics is as she presses a kiss to her cheek.

"Our girl."

**

@ktgoodmorning @goldenempyrean @girlgenius1111 @alexias-putellas @mapis-russo @wileys-russo

[caramelarrowswife]

I love your writing and it had me thinking what would dark cacao cookie would do if he was jelly because a cookie was flirting with his husband.

But I hope you have a good day or night!

TONGUES & TEETH

─── ∘°❉°∘ ───

Pure Vanilla Cookie had always enjoyed forming alliances so much more than Dark Cacao Cookie. It just came so natural to the healer - cookies seemed to be attracted to his kindness like moths to a light.

Dark Cacao didn’t mind.. not until Clotted Cream Cookie, at least.

A/N: I'm thinking of doing a tag list for people who want to be updated but is that like. really cringe or outdated or or,,

─── ∘°❉°∘ ───

Pure Vanilla Cookie chuckled at a joke Clotted Cream Cookie told, gently squeezing Dark Cacao Cookie’s arm as the corners of his eyes crinkled. “Isn’t that so amusing, my dear?~”

“Hilarious,” Dark Cacao replied, his dark eyes boring into Clotted Cream’s with a mildly murderous glance.

The young consul paid the angry king no mind, and continued talking to Pure Vanilla with an overly cheerful tone. Hell, if Dark Cacao didn’t know better, he’d think Clotted Cream was flirting.

It turned out, as the night progressed, that Dark Cacao did not know better. The armrest of his chair was starting to crack with how much force he was practicing onto him, and his vicious gaze hadn’t left Clotted Cream once. Even the consul was beginning to notice the dangerous glance.

“Do I have something on my face, sire..?” Clotted Cream asked light-heartedly.

Dishonour and shame, Dark Cacao thought.

“Nothing of the sort,” Dark Cacao said.

The king stood from his chair briskly, Pure Vanilla’s hand falling off of its place on his wrist. The healer looked up, his eyes closed but his eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Cacao-”

“You will excuse me,” Dark Cacao muttered, walking out of the room through the main entrance.

“Is he okay?” Clotted Cream asked.

“Oh, he said ‘you will excuse me’ instead of ‘will you excuse me’,” Hollyberry Cookie said dryly. “That means he’s out for blood. You would be wise to watch your tone, consul — Dark Cacao Cookie is already upset by your continuous asking for his Souljam, you really don’t want to mess with him further.”

Clotted Cream opened his mouth to reply when Pure Vanilla stood up as well, albeit a lot softer than Dark Cacao had done moments ago. “I shall check up on him.”

“Oh, please, I insist you let one of the maids do it for you-!” Clotted Cream protested.

“Consul.” Pure Vanilla shot him a strict look. “I will check in on my husband whenever I please.”

As Pure Vanilla left the room, he just barely caught Clotted Cream whispering; “Husband..?”

Pure Vanilla shook his head with a sigh and a small smile, walking to where he knew Dark Cacao would be angrily waiting.

And right his predictions were; Dark Cacao was moodily pacing in the guest room he had been forced to begrudgingly accept by none other than his husband dear. The day Dark Cacao slept in that cold tent outside was the day Pure Vanilla was six feet under.

“Cacao, my dear..” Pure Vanilla murmured, sitting on the bed. “Why did you flee?”

“I did not flee! I am not in there anymore for that.. that wretched boy’s own safety!”

Pure Vanilla raised an eyebrow, egging Dark Cacao on to continue.

“Pure Vanilla, I know you are blind, but you are not an idiot. You knew what he was doing! You knew he was brazenly courting you!” 

Dark Cacao watched in disbelief as a chuckle escaped his husband’s lips. “Vanilla, are you laughing at me?!”

“Oh, I do apologise,” Pure Vanilla smiled, but the corners of his eyes crinkled mischievously. “But you are acting rather silly, my dear.”

“Silly?!” Dark Cacao repeated indignantly.

“Yes, silly,” Pure Vanilla said as he gently pulled Dark Cacao onto the bed beside him. “You know I would never give in to anyone’s advances, my love. You are the only one for me… forgive me for finding it silly that you keep forgetting.”

“I did not forget,” Dark Cacao grumbled, leaning into Pure Vanilla’s touch reluctantly. “But I think it’s ‘rather silly’ that you just let him talk to you like.. that.”

“Are you jealous, Cao..?”

Dark Cacao stared at him. “Someone is hitting on my husband, of course I’m jealous.”

Pure Vanilla laughed again, leaning against Dark Cacao’s chest. “Oh, you silly, hard-headed man.. don’t pout, love. It’s quite endearing when you throw little fits.”

Dark Cacao glared at him. He needn’t say a word, for his eyes portrayed all the indignance he felt for his show of emotion being called a ‘fit’.

“Please, my dearest,” Pure Vanilla murmured softly. “Let us return to the dining room, this time in peace. I know you do not enjoy Clotted Cream Cookie’s presence, but I hope you can rest assured knowing my affections go out to you, and you only.”

Dark Cacao sighed, before nodding.

“Very well.. but I expect to have you all to myself after.”

[ayumy1]

Scored My Heart

Itoshi Sae x Male reader

Part 1 (<- You are here) | Part 2

Synopsis: The reason why Sae gave up his shared dream with Rin was because 'he' scored his heart in a way nobody else could.

Content: Fluff, humour, a tiny bit of angst

wc: 3.2k

Note: This is my first bllk fanfic and reader fanfic. So I apologise in advance for any ooc or weirdness. This is a male reader fanfic for plot purposes, if you don't feel comfortable reading, don't.

Language colour code: Spanish | Japanese

Life in Spain was hard for Itoshi Sae. Very hard.

Despite being a step closer to reaching his dream, understanding the coach and his teammates was another matter entirely.

All trainings required a painful amount of scrutinising to understand what was going on. Whether it be what plays to execute to what he wanted to eat at team dinners.

Of course the coach tried to make things a bit easier by using a translation app or using actions instead of words. He obviously didn't want to lose such a promising player due to a lack of hospitality, but the only promising comfort he could provide was to wait for something next week. At least that's what Sae could decipher.

True to his word, something did come the following week. Rather it was not a thing. But a person.

"Y/N L/N, YOU DARE COME LATE AFTER MISSING A WEEK OF TRAINING!" screamed the coach hurling a soccer ball to the newcomer.

"Chill out, coach. I came here as fast as I could." the figure named Y/n L/n dismissively replied as he effortlessly chest trapped the incoming ball.

"Haaah...I'm gonna retire early because of this kid," the coach sighed, "What kind of idiot gets sick in summer?"

"The special kind!" he grinned.

By now everyone had crowded around the boy, either patting him on the back or teasing him mercilessly. Sae could only spectate on the sidelines in slight envy.

It was not long before the coach barked out orders to continue the training exercise, whilst the latecomer began warming up.

"Sae!" the coach waved over, to which he promptly jogged over. "This is Y/n L/n. He knows a bit of Japanese, apparently... Y/n, this is Sae. Don't bite him."

"THAT WAS A ONE TIME THING!!!" exclaimed a blushing Y/n, who recalled the memory with great embarrassment whilst trying to swat his coach away.

Sae could barely understand the conversation and watched the coach walk away, leaving them behind.

"Sorry about that, I promise I don't bite. Trust me. It was a one time thing with some guy who plays soccer. I don't know if you know him, he's kinda famous. But ever since then, coach never lets me live it down..." Y/n rambled on.

Sae just stared. Even if the boy spoke Japanese, he wasn't even sure if he'd catch it all.

"Oh, you don't understand me..." the boy suddenly realised, "Uhh...My name is L/n Y/n. But uh... Y/n okay".

Sae's eyes widened, hearing Japanese in a foreign country felt weirdly comforting. At least there was finally someone he could talk to without fear.

"Itoshi Sae. But Sae's fine." introduced Sae. "I'm a striker, what position do you play?"

"Uhh...(Insert favourite food)." Y/n cluelessly answered, praying that the question was about his favourite food.

Sae burst out laughing. It was the first time he ever laughed since arriving in Spain. Once again, Y/n was flushed in embarrassment. This was now the second time he messed up an introduction to someone his coach brought.

As soon as Sae caught his breath, he began motioning to himself and an imaginary soccer ball. Before pretending to kick it with precision and power towards an imaginary goal. He then pointed towards Y/n with a questioning face.

"Ah...Same!" Y/n enthusiastically replied.

In the distance, the coach was gathering everyone up for another exercise.

"I should go now. It was nice meeting you." Sae said before running off.

Y/n stared at the retreating figure, he couldn't wait to tell his mum about Sae. Maybe excluding the part about his own poor excuse of Japanese.

"Y/N, QUIT DREAMING AND FINISH YOUR WARM UPS!"

A few months had passed since Sae arrived in Spain. With the help of Spanish classes and Y/n, he'd gradually been able to feel more at ease and understand everyone. As usual training was harsh and the overbearing heat wasn't helping anyone's will to live.

Except for Y/n.

"Hey! Did anyone see that goal just now!" Y/n beamed. He was currently the only one out on the field, whilst the others took an extended break out of the sun.

"Alright, gather up!" called the coach, "We're ending today's practice here. I don't want any of you getting heatstroke or what not. Make sure to rest and stay hydrated. Understood?"

"Yes, coach."

"Especially you, Y/n! No more soccer today." the coach sternly reaffirmed.

"Hmph, fine." huffed Y/n in a pouty manner.

Everyone slowly trudged towards their bags before bidding farewell to each other. Sae was lost at what to do. His routine for the past few months consisted of training, class, eating and sleeping with barely any time for himself. Noticing his distress, Y/n decided to muster up his courage.

"Sae, wanna come to my house?" Y/n asked. With the help of Sae, Y/n's Japanese had also been improving.

"Sure." replied Sae.

"Cool, you can meet my mum. She's Japanese, so you can actually talk to her!" he exclaimed.

"You're half Japanese?" Sae asked, adjusting to Spanish. He gradually picked up Y/n's speaking habits. Such as using Spanish when he was excited or using Japanese to mess with people or a combination of both if he got too comfortable and lazy. Only when Sae switched languages with him, did Y/n notice.

"Ah, I did it again." Y/n sheepishly smiled. "Yeah, I learnt most of my Japanese from her. I guess I don't really look the part, I probably spend too much time in the sun."

"I thought you learnt Japanese from anime." stated Sae, "You're always quoting random lines."

"Shush, only you hear that." Y/n playfully glared as he guided Sae back to his home.

Time seemed to fly as the pair spent time together sharing stories, discussing hobbies and touring the L/n household. Then the topic of family came up.

"I have a brother called Rin. He's gonna be the best striker after me." Sae proudly.

"Wait... you're the best striker after me!"

"Huh, no way! You're behind Rin." retorted Sae.

Before Y/n could argue back, the click of the front door unlocking attracted his attention. He grabbed a Sae by the wrist and rushed to the door.

"Welcome back!"

"I'm back," the female who stepped into the house replied, "Oh, is this Sae-kun you've brought back?"

"Mhm"

"It's nice to meet you, L/n-san." Sae politely greeted.

"Likewise, Sae-kun. I hope Y/n hasn't caused you too much trouble. Would you like to stay for dinner? I can cook Japanese food if you're feeling homesick." she offered. They continued to exchange words in Japanese, leaving a very clueless Y/n to look back and forth.

With the addition of Sae, the home was filled with laughter. It had been a while since the L/n's were able to accommodate for another.

"Thank you for the dinner, it was delicious." complimented Sae.

"No problem, Sae-kun. You're welcome back anytime." replied the older L/n.

"Sae, you can come over everyday!" Y/n offered, oblivious to what his mother had just said.

"Hahaha...that's just what your mother just said, idiot."

"Oh."

Sae's lungs clawed for air as he hunched over trying keep his composure. He couldn't do it. He couldn't score. The defender's that swarmed like bees were tight knit and unrelenting.

The only reason they won was because of Y/n's goals again. A goal that soared beautifully in the air with deadly speed, to a place nobody could reach. Everyone could either watch in fear or awe over and over again.

That was the true essence of a striker.

"Dammit."

Every opportunity given to him always resulted in passing. It was like it was the only thing he could do.

"Sa-" Y/n hesitated. He knew the frustration of his friend. It had been multiple games since Sae had scored and it was clearly weighing heavily on his mind.

What is the purpose of a striker, if not to score?

It was obvious to everyone that Sae was stressed, tired and most of all homesick. Y/n signalled to the coach before dragging Sae to the locker rooms.

They walked home in silence, hand in hand, with Sae lagging behind a little. It wasn't until after they snacked and showered that Sae began to talk.

"Sorry."

Y/n motioned Sae to sit down and turn around, so he could help dry his hair.

"For what?"

"I failed."

"Huh?" Y/n' questioned, like Sae had three heads, "I thought you were sorry for eating my food."

"I wouldn't apologise for that" Sae quickly replied.

"Hmph, meanie. I was joking." huffed Y/n, "You didn't fail me. You failed yourself...This might be wrong for me to say to a striker, but your assists are amazing! Like better than (Insert team's midfielder), because your passes are like really precise, so they're really easy to kick in the way I want. The ball always goes 'BOOM' when I receive it from you. But from others it's always like 'baaaaam' and there's nothing special behind it. Obviously it's different when I move it up the field because then it's always a 'BOOM'. If that makes sense...?"

By now, Y/n's hands had already stopped drying Sae's hair and were waving around to imitate the sounds he made. He peeked over to see Sae's reaction, expecting joy from the compliment or anger from the insult as a striker. But was shockingly met with a blushing Sae.

"Uh...Sae?"

"You idiot, I can't understand you when you speak so fast in Spanish." he seethed and pushed Y/n's face away. His face clearly counteracted his words laced with annoyance.

"But if you didn't understand, why are you a tomato?" Y/n inched closer to whisper in his ear.

"Shut up!"

"HAHAHA! YOU SWITCHED TO JAPA-GWAH!"

Sae tackled the cackling boy and they wrestled around the room, knocking into the shelf and bed of Y/n's room. It wasn't till a stray soccer ball from an upper shelf smashed into the back of Y/n's head, creating a domino effect that unfortunately ended with their foreheads colliding.

"Why on earth do you have a soccer ball on the top shelf?!"

"For moments like these!" Y/n exclaimed, using the opening to capture Sae into a tight hug.

"Hey! Let me go!" Sae yelled, struggling to break free.

"I'll teach you street soccer."

"Huh?"

"I'll teach you street soccer." Y/n repeated.

"I understood the first time, idiot"

"But you said 'huh'"

"How does that even benefit you?" muttered Sae.

"If it means I get you as my partner on the field, I'll do it." stated Y/n with determination.

"...Fine."

"One more thing, you're staying over tonight. There's salted seaweed in the kitchen. No take backsies!"

For the next year, Sae and Y/n trained together to share each other's respective techniques and observations.

"I have a terrible self-awareness of whoever's behind me, when I have to trap a high ball mid air." Y/n randomly spilled.

"Don't tell me that, we're probably going to play each other in a warm up match." Sae panicked.

"Good." beamed Y/n, "Then I should learn how to fix it then."

"What if we play each other in the future?"

"Then it'll be even more fun! Just imagine it." Y/n happily replied. "But then again, if you apply for citizenship, we can play on the national team together."

"True. The Japanese team is lukewarm." Sae thoughtfully answered.

"Lukewarm?"

"Shut up." Sae half-heartedly glared, "I can't score when I'm anxious."

"I know." said Y/n, causing Sae to drop his head in disappointment. "Everyone can see your anxiousness on the field, which is why they take advantage of it. You gotta feel the desire to make them tremble under your skill and drop dead as you plow through the enemy territory...and finally score where no one expects!"

"...Did you take that from an anime?" laughed Sae.

"Hey! I was trying to help you and this is the thanks I get?"

After lots of teasing and laughing, they continued to practice diligently at mastering each other's style and it was not long until they could show off their practice.

'You're all...lukewarm,' is what Itoshi Sae mindlessly repeated in his head.

A defender approached from his left, causing Sae to pause with the ball on the outside of his right foot. By protecting the ball on the opposite side, he swiftly performed a roulette and passed them with ease. Another charged directly for him, allowing him to flaunt his speedy double touch.

He was readily approaching the goal, eyes piercing into the soul of the goalkeeper who could only cower in fear and beg for mercy.

This continued for many games, Sae would not only assist the other strikers, but also score himself, bringing great joy to everyone on the team, except for the coach. He was no doubt that he was ecstatic about Sae's growth, but the problem lay in the team composition. If Sae was a striker, he'd need to fuel his ego even more and focus purely on being a scorer. But if he was a midfielder, he'd need to focus on stamina only, creating and executing plays.

Whilst performing both was possible as an attacking midfielder, Sae was registered as a striker and needed to make a decision about his position. No coach would be willing to create a team featuring a player that couldn't pick a position.

"Sae!" the coach called out, to talk privately after another victory.

"Yes, coach?"

"Sae, do you like to score?"

"Yes."

"Then why do you pass?"

Sae hesitated, for he didn't know the answer at first. Initially passing was a way of evading the enemy due to fear. But now, he had grown to overcome that and charged powerfully with a desire to score a goal.

"Because it's just as fun." Sae began.

"Fun?" questioned the coach, motioning him to expand.

"Dribbling past the enemy, only to pass to another," Sae explained, "is like..."

"Tch, you lukewarms. You're not worthy of seeing the full extent of my powers." a voice suddenly filled the silence.

"Y/n, why are you here?" the coach sighed, not surprised at all.

"I'm hungry," replied Y/n, "So am I right?"

"Ehh, I don't know?" Sae responded.

The coach exhaled a deep breath, there was no point in shooing Y/n away, he'd most likely find out sooner or later.

"Sae, look up Alvaro Recoba and if you like his play style, then I'll be placing you as an attacking midfielder." the coach announced.

"M-midfielder?" both boys stuttered.

"I can't have you stealing the midfielder's job, if you're a striker." explained the coach, "You'll have to pick."

Sae nodded and allowed Y/n to drag him away.

"Goodnight, boys. Don't sleep too late." the older L/n reminded them before heading off to bed.

"Okay." they replied. Time passed quickly whilst Sae and Y/n were huddled together on Y/n's, watching videos of the Uruguayan midfielder, Alvaro Recoba.

"Woah! Can you do that, Sae?" Y/n nudged. The maroon haired boy was unresponsive.

"Uh...Sae?" asked Y/n with concern.

Instead of answering, Sae posed his own question. "Are we still partners, if I become a midfielder?"

His thoughts orbited around his friendship with Y/n and soccer. Would they still have their personal practice time? Would Y/n abandon him to practice on his own? Or even worse, never want to play together anymore?

Y/n sat up straight and grabbed Sae's shoulders firmly to the other's surprise. They stared for a while in silence.

"Don't play soccer or be a striker to be partners." Y/n firmly stated. "Never do something like that because it'll only make you empty. Got it?"

"Yeah." replied Sae, he was shocked at his friend's piercing gaze.

"If the only thing that changes is your title, I don't see why we wouldn't be." Y/n began, his seriousness seeping away, "In fact, you'd be my official partner because my goal is just as good as your goal. Without you, I wouldn't have scored in the first place."

Sae just nodded, allowing the words to sink in properly. After watching a few more videos, they retired for the night to their respective beds, or in Sae's case a futon. With his mind at peace, Sae could rest easily, unbeknownst that Y/n's mind was whirling with memories. It was going to be a long night for Y/n, who just gazed at the blank ceiling.

The next morning, Sae woke up well rested to the sound of oil sizzling and the smell of miso soup. His friend was messily sprawled in his bed, still snoozing away.

"Good morning, Sae-kun." L/n M/n greeted Sae, who just arrived in the kitchen.

"Good morning L/n-san." replied Sae, who kept insisting to call her L/n-san.

"Is Y/n still asleep?" she asked. It wasn't unusual for him to sleep in, but it was increasingly rare.

"Mhm." Sae hummed as he accepted the plate of fish sprinkled with salted seaweed from her. The table had already been set with cutlery, bowls of miso soup and rice.

They began to converse about daily life, even though they had heard most of it from the yapper, Y/n.

"You're curious about why Y/n told you that, right?" M/n guessed, when she noticed Sae's hesitation after mentioning the conversation that occurred last night.

"A bit." admitted Sae, "But I don't think Y/n's comfortable about it, since it involves his father."

There was no doubt that they both deducted the reason why Y/n was sleeping in this morning.

"You're so patient, Sae-kun." M/n proudly smiled, resting her chin against her palm. "I'll tell you anyway."

"Eh?" Sae's eyes widened in shock.

"You've figured out most of it... and I trust you, Sae-kun." she said knowingly, standing up to grab a photo album off a nearby shelf.

"Y/n learnt soccer from his father at a young age." she began, showing a photo of a young Y/n and a man posing with a soccer ball. As she was flipping through the album, the man had stopped appearing in the photos. "They played everyday, until he passed due to a car accident when Y/n was eight. From then, he played soccer for his father and slowly lost himself. My only regret is isolating myself and not noticing earlier."

An awkward silence settled between them. Sae was at a loss of words, should he share his condolences or had it been too long since it happened? Or would it be better to promise to take care of Y/n?

"Thank you for being his friend." M/n added.

"Thank you for telling me and taking care of Y/n. I'm very grateful to call him my friend and I promise to take care of him." Sae stood up and bowed.

"Now...would you like to see more photos of Y/n?" she smiled sweetly, lightening the mood. She quickly grabbed another album containing embarrassing photos of Y/n such as tripping or being smacked in the face by a ball. Sae could only sweatdrop at the abundance of photos.

"Morn-" Y/n sleepily shuffled into the kitchen, "GAH! WHY ARE YOU LOOKING AT THOSE!"

For the rest of the day, Sae couldn't make direct eye contact with Y/n without the images imprinted into his head from appearing.

Part 1 (<- You are here) | Part 2

Note: Thank you for reading. I hope it was clear to understand. I have plans to make a part 2.

[bruhstories]

Muse II

p.1 && p.3

summary: a knock on your door, an envelope and a dress pairing: viktor x painter!reader && jayce x mel warnings: swearing, angst, descriptions of anxiety and depression, quite a lot of dialogue, veeeery slow burn, jayce being a good friend, canon divergent w/c: 3.7k

a/n: this part is a little more reader-centric, but i will fix that in the third (and potentially the last) part. liking and reblogging is encouraged and appreciated!

"May I leave now?" The bright lights of the infirmary forced Viktor to squeeze his eyes shut.

The doctor nodded, but the nurse gasped, then shook her head. She seemed to want to see him all the time, always finding a reason to stall, to buy time. Viktor never understood why, but then again, he never understood why you wanted him to be your model. 

"I think it would be prudent to run a few more tests." The nurse suggested.

Her name was Sky, and she had been nothing but kind to him. But weren't all nurses supposed to be humane? To care for the sick? Unfortunately for her, the doctor was adamant on dismissing Viktor.

"I'm afraid not, Sky. Viktor's condition isn't improving, but it isn't advancing either. It's as though his condition simply stopped. You're free to go, but please come back if you notice any changes, positive or otherwise."

"Thank you, doctor." Viktor gripped the handle of his cane and left the infirmary, strolling down the streets of Piltover. 

He had been thinking about you, about how the rune you inscribed in his portrait changed him, but his ego brought out the worst in him, and he refused to search for you, to apologise for misjudging you. Besides, you were probably busy with commissions anyway. You wouldn't make time for him after he stupidly, arrogantly tore down your pride.

You weren't busy. 

It had been days since you left your apartment, weeks since you last touched a paintbrush, months since you saw Viktor. Not having a muse incapacitated you, turned off your creativity, destroyed your imagination. You stared at the blank canvas in front of you — empty, just like your mind and your heart.

Abandoning the attempt to paint, you tried to draw instead. Fiddling with the pencil in your hand, you took a look at your previous sketches, desperate to do something, anything. But nothing came out of you. Not a single line, or dot, or sliver of hope. The sudden knock on your door had you recoil and drop your pencil. Expecting your landlord, you swung open the door. 

Jayce stared at you, at your dishevelled hair and the state of your clothes, before he peeked behind your shoulder to see the mess in your apartment. Papers tossed on the floor, clothes piled up on your bed, spoiled food on your table. He hadn't seen anyone so... pitiful. 

"Can I help you?" Your monotonous voice sounded like fingernails on a chalkboard.

"I just wanted to check on you. Y/N, what happened?"

"Ask your partner." Venom dripped down your tongue as you closed the door, only for Jayce to stop it with his foot.

"Please, let's just talk."

"Why?" 

"That's what friends do!" His warm smile was supposed to offer you comfort, but it only offered you hate.

"We're not friends, Mr. Talis." You tried to close the door again, catching his fingers in the doorframe. The sudden shriek of pain made you violently open it, eyes wide at Jayce who was on the verge of tears. "I am so sorry, I didn't think you'd put your bloody fingers in the way!"

Ushering him inside your apartment, you kicked away the piles of clothes from the chair and sat him down. He winced, watching his fingers slowly turn purple and swollen.

"It's alright, it's nothing." His voice cracked like some prepubescent teenager, and you ran a handkerchief under cold water then gave it to him.

"I'm really sorry, Jayce."

"Aha! You used my name! Ow, shit."

You tried to stifle the chuckle that erupted from your throat, but to no avail. He managed to make you laugh, but the sweetness turned sour.

"Why are you really here?" You asked, avoiding his gaze.

"I told you, I wanted to check on you. And to ask you something."

There it was, the true reason.

"How did you do it?"

"Dunno what you're talking about." You shrugged. 

"That portrait, it somehow stopped Viktor's affliction from advancing. It's not regressing by any means, but it's keeping him in a stable condition, and I can't explain why. No one can." His forehead creased, unable to find a scientific reason.

"Maybe he got lucky." You simply said.

"Don't be modest, he told me you put some kind of magical rune in it." Jayce scoffed. 

"He spoke about me?" Was all you could think about.

"Yes, but you need to tell me how you did it."

You sighed. His scientific brain could never comprehend the intricacies of magic, the elegant enchantments, or the intuitive spellwork, but you tried your best.

"The Academy of Arts in Ionia trains artists to incorporate spells, runes and sigils into their work. Some can bring their paintings to life, others can use them to deal damage." You looked behind Jayce at the blank canvas. "I can heal. Sort of."

"That's fascinating!" He beamed at you like a child who just got a new toy. "So why didn't you fully heal Viktor?

"Ah, but what would life be if all our problems disappeared? We're all the product of our experiences, aren't we?" You mused. "I can't heal illnesses if people were born with them, I can merely hinder them, stop them from advancing, because even ailments serve a purpose. Would Viktor had become the scientist that he is without his condition?" You quirked a brow, and Jayce frowned, not in anger but in contemplation. 

"So, you could heal my fingers, then, yes?" He nodded, but you sighed again. It was something you found yourself doing quite often.

"I haven't touched a pencil in weeks. I'm useless, as you can probably tell from the state of my apartment."

"Why? Because you don't have a muse?" Jayce asked, and you nodded. "That's bullshit."

"Excuse you?" Your words came out a lot more condescending than you wanted.

"I said it's bullshit. You're a damn artist, you find beauty where others don't. You don't need a muse for that." He scoffed.

"It's not that simple-"

"It is! Science and art are not that different, Y/N! They're both attempts to comprehend the world around us. They require research, analytical processes, resilience. Not a muse." Jayce picked up a sheet of paper and a piece of coal and slammed them on the table. "Draw my hand."

You stared at him, dumbfounded by the sheer willpower that this man had. No wonder he was an innovator. You could've kicked him out of your house, shut the door and never look back, but you didn't. Picking up the coal, you studied his hand first — the length of his fingers, width of his palm, the swirls of his fingerprints. Then, you let the coal glide down the paper, tracing lines, smudging them with your index finger and thumb. Your own fingers were sore from the lack of practice, but you sketched his hand nonetheless, and just as you did with Viktor's portrait, you scribbled a rune in the corner of the paper.

Showing Jayce the sketch, he could feel his numb fingers return to their normal size, the black and blue disappearing by the minute. He knew you could do it, you just needed a little push.

"See, that wasn't so hard." Jayce grinned, but you stared daggers at him. "Oh, before I go, Mel wanted you to have this." He reached into the inner pocket of his cream jacket and handed you an envelope. 

"What's this?"

"An invitation. I hope to see you soon." 

You locked the door after he was gone and studied the wax sigil on the envelope. Red and golden, with the head of a wolf embedded in it. It was too beautiful to tear it open, but curiosity got the better of you, and you used a knife to cut open the envelope, not wanting to ruin the sigil.

Just as Jayce said, it was an invitation to a fundraiser. All of Piltover's finest would be there, and you were asked to attend as a guest of honour, to be appointed the Master of Arts, the head of Piltover's Guild of Artists. Disbelief settled in your mind, despite rereading the same words, over and over again. Every councillor agreed to that, you could tell from their signatures. But you haven't painted in weeks, so how could you represent all the artists in the city? You were a hypocrite at best, a failure at worst. 

And yet, you were chosen for that. Not your colleagues, not someone from the Academy — you. Did you need to prepare a speech? Bloody hell, you did. No one went up that stage without delivering one. But there was time, the fundraiser was only in a few weeks, right? Wrong. Your eyes scanned the words once more — it was three days away. Panic seeped into your veins. You had no dress, no shoes, no speech, no muse.

No, fuck the muse. Fuck Viktor. 

You were still bitter about the last conversation you exchanged with him, but you couldn't throw away such an opportunity, such an honour, for some guy. A very handsome, very clever guy, but still a guy nonetheless. No, Jayce was right — you didn't need a muse. You didn't have one in Ionia, didn't have one when you taught yourself how to draw and paint. You were your own muse. And you needed a damn good dress to impress. 

Forcing yourself to clean the mess in your apartment was easy. But showering and going out wasn't, not when the probability of bumping into Viktor was there. A slim chance, but not impossible, and you couldn’t afford to get distracted. You wrecked your brain trying to remember his schedule, because he never deviated from it. Thursday — he would have a doctor's appointment in the morning, then he would have lunch, and go to the lab. Or was it the other way around?

"Ugh!" You kicked the foot of your bed in anger and disgust. You were disgusted with yourself for even sparing him a single thought — the man who insulted you and your work.

So what if you bumped into him? He wasn't going to talk you, anyway, he made that quite clear when he didn't even say goodbye to you. Ungrateful fucking prick. No more. No more wallowing in self-pity, no more victimisation, no more emotion. How foolish of you to even think he'd see you as more than some dumb painter, that you were his equal in any way, shape or form. It was a facade, a mask, playing the innocent sick man when behind that mask was a god complex.

You found a dress, purple and golden. It reminded you of Viktor, but how else were you supposed to get over him if not by proudly wearing the colours of the enemy? Were you overreacting? Perhaps. Too dramatic? Definitely, but it helped process the pain attached to those stupid colours. Spending time to write a speech also helped take your mind off of him. It gave you a purpose, something you thought was lost.

There was one thing you didn't like about the dress — it was too modest. And while it wasn't a gathering of prudes, you wanted to find the perfect mix of elegance and vulgarity. Studying the dress that was hanging on an iron hook on the back of your bathroom door, you grabbed a pair of scissors and cut a slit up its side. You wanted to stop at knee's length, but something possessed you to cut higher, stopping well above the knee. Was it too much? Maybe, but you were about to become leader of an entire guild, and you needed to look your best. Besides, the thought of hooking up with someone at the fundraiser didn't sound so bad. You had needs after all, and you were going to satisfy them.

"There she is!" Jayce spotted you through the crowd of people, with Mel's arm looped around his.

You were glad that they were officially together. Too long they played pretend. You greeted them, deciding to be their third wheel since you didn't know that many people there. The life of an artist was quite lonely.

"I'm so glad you accepted my invitation." Councillor Medarda smiled. She seemed happier, and you wondered what it was like to have someone who made you laugh, who supported you and your work.

"It's an honour, Councillor. An unexpected one, I'll be honest." You quickly snatched a glass of champagne from a waiter. "But I've had something on my mind since I received your invitation. What exactly is the fundraiser about? The letter didn't mention anything."

"Ah, I must have forgotten to write that down." She scoffed. "The University of Piltover has decided to create a new department of arts and science combined."

"Oh, that is intriguing." You pondered the innovative idea. "How will that work?"

"Well, Jayce has been inspired by your talent. He believes that there are plenty of future students with the potential of incorporating both arts and science in their work." Mel said. "He'll explain more in the following days, but for now, enjoy the event."

"Thank you, Councillor." You nodded with a smile. "Are you alright, Jayce? You look impatient."

"Yeah, I'm just keeping an eye on the entrance. Viktor should be here soon." He nonchalantly said.

"Sorry? Viktor?" The smile disappeared from your lips as quickly as it appeared. 

"Oh, I didn't tell you?" Jayce avoided looking into your eyes, fearing for his life. He could feel you seething at the mere mention of Viktor's name.

"No. No, you didn't fucking tell me." You whispered the obscene word, not wanting to draw any attention. "What else haven't you told me?"

"Well, um-" He fumbled for words, beads of sweat trickling down his forehead. 

"Spit it out, Talis."

"You'll be working together."

"What? We'll be what?" You couldn't believe the words that came out of his mouth. And it didn't help that you heard his familiar voice and thick accent creeping behind your back.

"Good evening, Jayce. Councillor." Viktor greeted them, but you couldn't turn around. You couldn't face him.

So much for being tough. Your heart was beating against your ribcage, desperately trying to crawl out of your chest and run away from him. The pit in your stomach made you sick — you could actually taste bile on your tongue, and the champagne glass slowly slipped from your fingers as your palms became clammy with sweat. Not even the exams in Ionia made you feel as panicked as he did. But you were a grown woman. You couldn't let him put you down like that.

"Viktor." You articulated his name without an ounce of anxiety in your voice, then turned around to look at him.

You were pleased to see he was just as shocked to see you there as you were to see him — even more shocked to see you dressed so differently than how he remembered. Good. The bastard needed a reminder that you weren't a coward, nor a prude. And it made you consider that he also didn't know you two would be working together. How convenient for you.

"Miss Painter." Venom dripped down his tongue. How dare he be affected by your presence? "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

He didn't know. You thanked your stars for that. A shit-eating grin crept on your lips, and just as Jayce was about to open his mouth, you said it.

"Oh, you didn't know? We'll be working together. I'm absolutely thrilled!" You lied through your teeth and Jayce slowly turned his head to glare at you. A minute ago, you looked like you were about to have a heart attack, now you were thrilled to work with him?

"How utterly... terrific." Viktor forced a smile. "No, I didn't know. Jayce, a word?"

"No need, I'll leave you to it. Gentlemen, Councillor." You nodded and stepped away, blending with the crowd, eyes set on some poor man who was about to be your distraction for the night.

His name was Alfred, or Arthur. Something with an A. It didn't matter. He was good looking, with broad shoulders and much taller than you. But he talked. A lot. You politely nodded at everything he said, trying to keep up with the conversation, but anything he said fell on deaf ears. You weren't interested in him, not after seeing Viktor, who looked much better than last time, healthier. He went so far as to adjust his cane to look similar to the one in your portrait — the fucking hypocrite. And even the suit he was wearing was purple. You matched, and your stomach churned at that epiphany. What if people thought you were together?

You rolled your eyes when Arthur, or Alfred, spoke about how ridiculous the idea of combining science and arts was. The desire to pour your champagne in his lap was great, but your self-restraint was greater. Somehow. Paying him no mind, you dissociated, daydreaming of being in your atelier and working on a new painting, of buying new materials, new canvases. Yes, that was much better than listening to Alfred, or Arthur, yap about something his small brain couldn't comprehend. 

Even amongst hundreds of people, Viktor only saw you, and the thousand-yard stare on your face. You were quite obviously bored, and there was an impulse, an instinct to go and save you from the dull conversation that you weren't even a part of. But he couldn't. Deep down, Viktor knew he might have overreacted when he last saw you, but you made it quite clear that you wanted nothing to do with him, and he respected that. It pained him, because he grew used to your presence in the lab, but what could he do? 

He found it comforting that you wore the colours of his suit — of his portrait. It gave him hope that maybe, just maybe, there was a minuscule possibility that you weren't upset with him anymore. But Viktor wasn't an idiot. He knew all too well that the wrath of a woman scorned wasn't something that passed so easily. And he felt the spite in your voice when you blatantly lied about being thrilled to work with him. Oh, right, he forgot about that when he got lost in your eyes, even from across the ballroom. 

How were you going to work together when neither of you wanted that? Surely you could set aside any grudges, he thought. But could he? While the portrait did hinder his illness, Viktor still assumed that you weren't serious about him being your model. Your muse, even. How could someone like him be the object of your artistic desire? No, that was improbable. Impossible. 

"And that's when I said what do you call a woman who has lost 95% of her intelligence? Divorced!" Arthur, or Alfred, slapped his knee, laughing at his own sexist joke, and that was enough for you to regret your decision of approaching him.

"Excuse me, I'm going for some fresh air." You walked away from him as fast as you could.

Stepping out on the balcony, you shivered when the cool air kissed your skin. A coat would've been smarter than a slit in your dress, but freezing to death was better than hearing one more fucking joke about women. You just hoped Alfred, or Arthur, or whatever the fuck his name was, wasn't going to come looking for you. Leaning on the handrail, you sighed. What were you going to do? How were you going to work with Viktor for an indefinite amount of time? There was so much uncertainty about the future, and it scared you. The responsibilities of leading a guild scared you. The changes in your routine scared you. The idea of working with someone who hated you scared you.

The speech! You forgot about the blasted speech, and you ran back inside at the right time. Councillor Shoola invited you on the stage just as you entered the ballroom, and with a fake smile and complaisant nods, you walked up the few steps, blinded by the lights directed on you. Shoola shook your hand, and awarded you with a silver pin — a symbol of your new status as Guild Leader. The amount of people staring at you was overwhelming, but you took a deep breath in and adjusted microphone on the stand. When you looked down at your hands, you were surprised to find them empty. Where were the cards you had prepared? Where was your speech?

Then you remembered the balcony. You had forgotten the cards outside. Shit. Fuck. No matter, you could improvise. Even if your throat was dry, and your legs were numb, you could improvise. You did that before, plenty of times. But the hundreds of eyes that stared into your soul made it impossible to think, to breathe, to exist.

Um, good evening, everyone." You started, eyes narrowed down on Mel, who nodded in encouragement. Licking your chapped lips, you continued. "It brings me great honour to stand here in front of you..." Cringing at the crack in your voice, you found Jayce, who beamed at you, like he always did. That gave you a bit more hope. "...as the new Master of Arts."

You couldn't do this. 

They weren't looking at you, they were looking inside of you. They could see every fibre of your body, every imperfection, every weakness. You tried closing your eyes and pretending they weren't there, but when you opened them, it was worse. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you tried to steady your breathing, to stop yourself from hyperventilating. 

A pair of soft amber eyes found yours, and you couldn’t believe how calming they were. Even after the fiasco that was your meeting with Viktor, you still found inspiration in him, and that offended you. 

"We are here to celebrate a marriage." You spoke with newfound confidence stemming from sheer anger. "A marriage between science and art. A sacred union that some find ridiculous, others impossible. I find it a splendid symbiosis of reason and emotion. Too long art and science have mutually excluded each other, and while they both individually progressed immeasurably, their union has the potential to break boundaries, to make new discoveries, to bring people together. I will proudly represent the Guild of Artists in this new and fascinating adventure. Thank you, Councillors, for the distinction bestowed upon me. Thank you to Professor Heimerdinger for allowing this journey to happen. And thank you to everyone who believes in this pursuit of knowledge."