#but i think if he were in a relationship with someone who likes to hug and kiss him

[alohajix]

𝑹𝒐𝒐𝒎 1014

Description: freshly single and craving something reckless, Cassie meets a soft-spoken stranger in a hotel lobby. One look turns into one night—filthy words, slow touches, and a room she might never want to leave.

Warnings: explicit sexual content, smut, oral sex (f. receiving), dirty talk, praise kink, light chocking, soft dom harry, alcohol consumption. Readers +18.

Words count: 12K.

*****

The lobby was quiet, humming with the low buzz of a piano track playing somewhere overhead. Glass walls caught the last flickers of city light, and the air was thick with cologne, polished floors, and money. It was the kind of place where everyone either had somewhere to be—or was waiting for something to happen.

I was the latter. Sat on the edge of a velvet armchair in a dress I probably wouldn’t have worn two weeks ago, I sipped what was left of my watered-down drink and crossed my legs tighter. My breakup was still fresh—three years gone in one loud, final fight—but I wasn’t here to sulk. Not really. I’d told myself I just needed to get out, clear my head. Let the city hold me for a while. But deep down, I wanted to forget. Maybe even get a little reckless.

I’d spent the last hour pretending to scroll through my phone, watching couples pass by, laughing, arms linked or fingers brushing. I tried not to let it eat away at me, but it did. That sharp twist of loneliness, edged with something hotter—want. Need. I wanted someone to see me. Crave me. Someone who didn’t know my past or my favorite coffee order or the sound of my laugh at 2 a.m. Someone who wouldn’t ask why I wasn’t home.

I ran a finger along the rim of my glass. I didn’t need a relationship. I didn’t even want a conversation. I just wanted out of my head.

That’s when I noticed him. Tall, broad-shouldered, leaning casually against the bar with a glass in his hand and his head tilted slightly toward me. He didn’t look like everyone else here—too understated. Wavy brown hair that curled at the ends, a plain black tee hugging his chest beneath a dark jacket, rings on his fingers that glinted every time he adjusted his grip on the glass. He had a quiet confidence, like he could ruin you without saying a word.

And then he walked toward me. My heart kicked up the moment our eyes met. His lips curled just slightly, but he didn’t smile.

“Mind if I sit?” he asked, voice low, smooth with that unmistakable British lilt.

I blinked up at him, pretending I wasn’t already a little dizzy. “Be my guest.”

He took the seat beside me—close, but not too close. Enough to feel the heat off his body. Enough to make me ache for more.

“Didn’t look like you were waiting for anyone,” he murmured, eyes still on mine.

“I wasn’t.” I tilted my head. “Are you always this forward?”

He chuckled softly, gaze dropping to my lips. “Only when it works.” God.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward—it was thick, full of something unspoken, crackling beneath the surface. I shifted in my seat, my dress brushing against his thigh as I did. He didn’t move. His scent—clean skin, faint spice, something woody and warm—settled into my nose like a drug.

“What’s your name?” I asked, voice a little breathier than I meant it to be.

“Harry,” he said, tilting his glass toward me. “You?”

“Cassie.”

“Cassie,” he repeated slowly, like he was tasting it. “Pretty name. You look like you’re not quite sure what you want tonight.”

That made me pause. My lips parted, but I didn’t speak. He leaned in just slightly, voice softer now, aimed only at me. “Or maybe you do. You’re just waiting for someone to ask.”

My thighs clenched instinctively. I could’ve played it coy. Could’ve teased or deflected. But something about the way he looked at me—like he already knew what I was thinking—made the words slip out before I could stop them.

“Do you have a room here?” His eyes darkened instantly.

“I do,” he said, voice gravelly now.

I stood, slowly, letting him look at me. His gaze dragged over every inch, lazy and deliberate.

“Then take me to it.”

————————————————————————————————

It should’ve felt too fast. But it didn’t. I followed him through the sleek glass elevators in silence. There was something magnetic in the stillness, something dangerous in the calm. The doors slid shut behind us, and I suddenly became aware of the way his hand brushed mine as he reached for the button. His knuckles were rough, the backs of his fingers dusted with ink. I wondered what his hands would feel like on my waist. On my thighs. Around my throat.

“Regret it yet?” he asked, barely glancing at me.

“Not even close.”

He nodded once. Didn’t smirk. Didn’t flirt. Just pressed his back to the elevator wall and let the air between us fill with everything we hadn’t said yet. The ride was slow. Too slow. I didn’t lean into him. He didn’t reach for me. But when the elevator dinged, I could still feel the tension in my gut, hot and liquid.

He walked ahead, key card ready, and I took my time watching him—broad shoulders rolling under that black jacket, jeans sitting low on his hips. His walk was confident, grounded. Like he knew exactly what he was doing. Like he wanted to make me wait.

Room 1014.

He slid the card in, the light flashed green, and he opened the door for me.

“After you.”

The room was dark and cool, the soft scent of linen and something musky drifting out from within. I stepped inside, heels clicking quietly against the hardwood. I heard the door click shut behind me. But he didn’t touch me. Not yet.

“You nervous?” he asked after a moment.

I turned toward him slowly, my hand resting on the back of a chair. “Should I be?”

His lips twitched, the ghost of a smile. “Not unless you’re scared of wanting something too much.”

I didn’t respond. I was too focused on the way he shrugged off his jacket and draped it over a chair. His sleeves hugged his arms, tattoos curling over his skin, disappearing into the dark fabric.

“I’m not going to rush you,” he said, stepping closer, voice low and even. “We don’t have to do anything.”

“I didn’t come up here to talk,” I replied quietly.

He raised an eyebrow, pausing a few feet in front of me. “Didn’t think you did. But you look like someone who’s been pushed around before.”

My jaw tensed. His eyes caught it.

“I won’t do that to you,” he said simply. “Even if you want me to.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. Instead, I took a step closer, closing the space between us until we were nearly chest-to-chest. I could see the gold flecks in his green eyes now. I could smell the heat on his skin. He didn’t move. He didn’t reach. He just looked at me like he was waiting.

So I whispered, “What if I want to be touched?”

His voice dropped. “Then tell me where.”

My breath caught somewhere between my chest and throat. I didn’t answer right away. I was too aware of the silence stretching between us, too wrapped in the feeling of his gaze on me. There was no smirk, no playfulness in his face—just heat. Pure and controlled and terrifying in how much it made me want.

I swallowed. “Everywhere.”

He blinked, slowly.

“Cassie,” he said, low and deliberate, like he needed to say my name just to stay grounded. “You sure?”

I nodded, but he didn’t move. He waited. Patient. Unrelenting.

So I said it. “Yes.” That was all he needed.

His hand lifted first, fingertips grazing the side of my jaw so lightly I barely felt it. But I leaned in anyway, craving more. He cupped my cheek, thumb tracing a path just below my eye, and his other hand followed—slow and careful—brushing down the slope of my neck until his palm pressed just above my collarbone.

“You’re warm,” he murmured.

“You’re slow.”

He smiled at that, a tiny curl at the corner of his mouth. “That’s on purpose.”

His hands traveled downward, not groping—just exploring. Over the curve of my shoulder, down the outside of my arms, until his fingers wrapped gently around my wrists. He guided my hands to his chest, placed them there like he wanted me to feel him. And I did. Solid warmth under soft cotton. A steady heartbeat under inked skin.

“You haven’t been touched like this in a while,” he said softly. It wasn’t a question. And I didn’t deny it.

His thumb brushed over the inside of my wrist, eyes holding mine.

“Tell me something,” he whispered.

“Mm?”

“What were you thinking about… when I walked over to you?”

I let out a slow breath. “Whether or not you’d be worth it.”

His grin deepened, and something flickered in his eyes—darker now, mischievous, but still patient. He dipped his head just slightly, his lips brushing the shell of my ear as he asked, “And what do you think now?”

“I think you’re still being too careful.”

His hands slid down to my hips, fingers curling around the fabric of my dress. “You want reckless, don’t you?”

I nodded, barely.

“You want to forget.”

“Yes.”

He stepped forward, pressing his body against mine without warning, and I gasped—his chest firm against mine, his thigh between mine, his hand suddenly tangled in my hair. He didn’t kiss me. He just looked at me, holding me still.

“Say it,” he murmured.

“I want to forget.”

“Forget what?”

“Everything.”

His mouth brushed mine. “I can do that.” And then he kissed me.

God—he kissed me like he meant to erase every other man before him. His lips were soft but sure, coaxing rather than demanding. But when I opened my mouth to him, he groaned low in his throat and pressed me back toward the bed. I went willingly.

He guided me with both hands, like he’d done it a hundred times before, like he knew exactly where my body would go and how it would respond. When the backs of my knees hit the edge of the mattress, he paused. His forehead rested against mine, and his fingers slid down the length of my arms again.

“You nervous?” he asked again, but softer this time.

“No.”

“Good.”

He kissed me again—deeper now, slower, teeth scraping just enough to make my knees buckle. I clutched the front of his shirt, pulling him in closer, and this time he let his hands wander. One dragged up my thigh, pushing the hem of my dress higher. The other trailed over my ribs, just barely grazing the side of my breast.

“You feel good,” he whispered against my lips.

“Then touch me.”

His smile curved against my mouth. “I am.”

“Not enough.”

He laughed once—low and rough—and his mouth moved to my jaw, then my throat. He took his time there, letting his lips brush over my pulse before sucking gently at the skin. I arched into him, desperate for more, but he didn’t rush.

“Cassie,” he said again, dragging my name out like a promise.

“Yes.”

“Tell me what you want.”

“You.”

“You have me.”

I pulled back slightly, looking at him. His eyes were dark, pupils blown, lips kiss-swollen.

“I want your hands on me,” I said quietly.

He didn’t respond. Just leaned in, slowly, and kissed the corner of my mouth before pulling back entirely. For a second, I thought he was stopping. But then he dropped to his knees. My breath caught. He looked up at me from the floor, palms gliding up the backs of my thighs, pushing my dress higher, higher, until I was completely exposed to him. He didn’t touch me—not there. Not yet. He just stared, taking his time.

“You’re trembling,” he said.

“I know.”

He pressed a kiss to the inside of my thigh. “You’re soaked.”

“I know.”

And then—finally—he slid my panties down, inch by inch, until they pooled at my ankles. He helped me step out of them, kept eye contact the entire time, and pocketed them with a smirk.

“Souvenir,” he said, like it was nothing.

“Fuck,” I whispered, breathless.

“I haven’t even started yet.” He said it like a promise. Like a threat. Like he already knew how I’d unravel.

I didn’t move. Couldn’t. Just stood there in front of him—bare from the waist down, dress hiked around my hips, legs slightly parted, breathing shallow. Harry stayed on his knees, still holding eye contact. The sight of him like that—broad shoulders, messy curls, gaze locked on me from beneath long lashes—made something inside me twist.

Then he leaned in. His hands slid slowly up the backs of my thighs again, thumbs brushing over the curve just beneath my ass. He kissed the inside of one thigh, then the other. Feather-light. Like he had all the time in the world.

“Still want this?” he murmured against my skin.

“Yes,” I breathed, my voice thin.

“Good. Wanna taste how fucking sweet you are.”

He hooked one of my legs over his shoulder. The shift forced me to balance with one hand gripping his hair, the other clutching the edge of the dresser behind me. He didn’t tease. Didn’t draw it out. The first stroke of his tongue was slow—so slow—it made me gasp. The second had my hips tilting forward. By the third, he was groaning into me like he needed it just as much as I did.

“Fuck, look at this cunt,” he muttered, voice rough against my skin. “Dripping all over my tongue already.”

He hummed in response, the vibration shooting straight through me. One arm wrapped tighter around my thigh, holding me steady while his mouth worked in slow, deliberate circles. He alternated between soft licks and firm pressure, and when I squirmed, he simply gripped me harder, tongue dragging deeper, wetter, filthier.

“Gonna ruin this pussy,” he said between licks, lips slick and red now. “Gonna fuck you so hard you forget your own name.”

The words made me moan. My head dropped back, my spine arching as pleasure crept higher, faster than I wanted it to.

“Harry—” I choked out.

“Yeah, baby? That close already? Go on. Fucking soak my face.”

“I’m gonna—”

“Cum for me. Wanna feel that pretty pussy fall apart.” That did it.

My orgasm hit with a low, desperate cry, my legs trembling as I came against his mouth. He held me steady, licking me through it, only easing up when I was gasping for air. When he finally pulled back, his mouth was shiny, and his expression was dark, intense, like he wanted more.

“Fuck,” I breathed. “That was…”

He stood up, licking his bottom lip as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “That was just your warm-up.”

I blinked. “Warm-up?”

“Yeah, love. I’m not even close to done with you.”

He kissed me hard—filthy and deep, tongue sweeping into my mouth like he wanted me to taste myself. I moaned into it, grabbing at the hem of his shirt, pulling until he raised his arms. I tossed it to the floor and finally got a full look at him.

Jesus.

His chest was strong, defined, tattooed with black ink that danced over his collarbones and down his ribs. I ran my hands over it slowly, letting my nails drag. He hissed softly, eyes dropping to my hands.

“You’re fucking unreal,” I whispered.

“Wait ‘til you feel me inside you.”

He turned us toward the bed and lowered me onto it gently. Then he undid his jeans, pushing them down his hips—no boxers underneath. My eyes widened slightly at the sight of him: thick, flushed, already hard. He caught the way I looked at him and raised an eyebrow.

“You gonna be a good girl and take every inch?”

“Every single one.”

He crawled onto the bed and hovered over me, trailing kisses down my throat, between my breasts, over my stomach. Then he paused, hands bunching the hem of my dress again.

“Still want me to fuck the heartbreak out of you?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Gonna make you cum ‘til you forget who fucked you over.”

He pushed the dress up and over my head, leaving me fully naked beneath him. I felt bare in every way, but I didn’t look away. Not when his hand gripped my jaw. Not when he leaned in and kissed me like he owned me.

“Condom?” he asked against my mouth.

“In my purse.”

He reached for it without rushing, pulling one out and tearing the wrapper with his teeth. My thighs rubbed together while I watched him roll it on—his hands slow, practiced, deliberate. When he looked back at me, I was already panting.

“Spread those legs for me, pretty girl.”

He didn’t make me ask twice. The first push of him inside me stole every thought from my brain. He was thick, stretching me inch by inch, and still slow—always slow.

“Shit—this pussy’s so fucking tight,” he groaned, forehead pressing to mine. “So warm. Fucking made for me.”

I wrapped my legs around his waist, drawing him deeper. “Please fuck me. Don’t make me wait.”

“I’ve got you, sweetheart. Gonna fuck you nice and deep.”

He set a rhythm that made my body burn. Deep, steady thrusts that dragged across every sensitive spot. His hand found my throat—not tight, just enough pressure to make me feel claimed—and his other hand slid under my knee, angling me open even more.

“Look at me,” he said. I did.

“Let me see how pretty you look when you take cock.”

He fucked me with purpose—filthy, perfect purpose. His hips ground against mine with every thrust, pelvis catching my clit just right, making my moans get louder, higher. I clawed at his back. He kissed me through it, groaning when I clenched around him.

“You gonna cum again for me, baby?”

“I’m close,” I gasped.

“Do it. Cum on this cock—make a mess. Want you soaking me.”

I shattered with a cry, body arching beneath him, eyes fluttering shut as my second orgasm tore through me. He didn’t stop—just fucked me through it, still holding eye contact like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. When I came down, he was still moving—slower now, controlled.

“You okay?” he whispered.

I nodded, breathless. “Don’t stop.”

He groaned again, hips stuttering slightly. “Gonna fill you up, even if you can’t keep it in.”

“Do it.”

He kissed me hard one last time, then buried himself to the hilt and came with a low, drawn-out moan, his grip bruising on my waist. I held him through it, shaking slightly, head spinning. Then he collapsed beside me, chest heaving. Silence filled the room. Not awkward. Just… full.

I turned my head toward him. He was already watching me.

“Worth it?” he asked.

I smiled. “You have no idea.”

*****

hope you enjoy this one lovelies! 💕

don’t forget to ask any request you'd want to see next

[jayden-killer]

Don't let me go. ‹𝟹

Eddie pushes away his need of affection. That is, until he meets you.

warnings: ig angst to fluff(?), reader is fem bc yes, al munson mention lmao.

Eddie needed affection.

Having someone cuddling him is what he has always wanted; however, never admitted, especially since his mother passed away. He doesn’t need a maternal figure, far from it. Growing up, this need is repressed over time, inculcating this idea that it is not necessary because he can live without it. Yet this desire resurfaces in front of couples who embrace, holding hands, sharing their personal space. After all, he doesn’t need it.

He’s a freak.

Who would ever want to be next to a freak? A person who will never succeed in life? Who may end up like his father?

He cannot cope with the discomfort in his heart, so he tries to repress it once again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

That was his belief until he met you. It wasn’t a chance meeting at all. One of his teachers had said that he needed a tutor. His school grades were not stable, not to mention the poor attention he paid to almost every class. He would never have expected his tutor to be the most beautiful, kind person in the world.

Date after date, you have opened to each other, sharing a comfortable silence.

Your relationship started after 4 months of seeing each other; everything was going well. One of those days, Eddie thought it would be nice to invite you into his trailer, stating that his uncle would come back late to catch up on some overdue hours.

So you found yourself in the heat, on his poorly groomed sofa, focused on the vision of the musical The Rocky Horror Picture Show. One of Eddie’s favourite movies.

"Love?"

"Mh?"

"Do you really...wanna hold my hand?"

His girlfriend’s eyes were confused. "Why would I be bothered by it, Teddy?"

Teddy. God, he loved her when he called him that.

Eddie met her eyes and thought for a moment to lie, but... did it make sense? Was it really worth lying? What if she knew about it? She knew that her beloved had a good intuition. He also knew that women did not miss anything and would not get away with it easily.

So, with a deep sigh, he played with his girlfriend’s fingers and confessed everything. His feeling of repulsion towards love, of inequality, how he had always tried to fool him and how he was not...worthy.

"Eddie..." The girl’s fingers squeezed more of hers. "I must admit, I suspected it."

Eddie raised his eyebrows. Good sense, indeed. "How?" he asked.

She shrugged her shoulders. "You weren’t very convinced when I hugged you in public on certain occasions or when I kissed you on the stairs of the school. You looked... tense. I knew something was wrong."

On Eddie passed a feeling of shame.

What a shithead, he began to think.

"And I understand how you feel. Sometimes it happens to me too, and it will definitely never be the same feeling as yours, but..." The girl caressed his cheek, gently swiping her thumb up and down, "you have to start believing it. Also, you don’t really believe all that crap going around about you? Unsubstantiated bullshit by ignorant people?" They both chuckled.

"Right," said Eddie, still smiling. "Maybe I just have to believe it a little bit more." He paused, this time stroking her cheek. " I have to work on it. It won’t happen immediately, but...with time"

"With time," she repeated. She silently got closer to him, as if she wanted to kiss him, but fearing that she might bother him. Eddie appreciated the gesture.

"You mustn’t think it bothers me. I love it. I love to feel your lips on mine." He gave her a quick kiss and took her cheeks in his hands.

Eddie memorized every detail of her wonderful face, with red cheeks and eyes that conveyed security and love. "Okay?"

She nodded, smiling. "Okay. I’ll be by your side the whole time. If you ever need to talk about it again, you know I’m here for that."

"I know, baby. I know. I don’t know how to thank you yet."

She rolled her eyes playfully. "10 dollars an hour for each psychological counseling."

Eddie threw his hands in the air. "This is a burglary without a gun! I’m already broke, then you go too!"

The two spent the evening laughing, enjoying the movie, and Eddie seemed to have a lighter weight on his shoulders. At least for now.

☆

taglist: @justalotoffanfiction

[mind-empty-just-fictional-people]

(pre-relationship) Frank Langdon x Reader idea:

These two don't know yet that they like each other yet -- "I only got [Reader/Frank] a pack of sour gummy worms because they haven't eaten yet, their blood sugar is probably low and I wanted to be nice" "What do you mean 'it's weird that I gave [Reader/Frank] a long hug'? They just lost a patient, they needed the comfort" "I'm asking [Reader/Frank] all these in-depth questions because I'm their friend, it's normal for friends to want to know more about each other" etc. etc. etc. Just to set the scene. It's unbearably obvious to everyone else, but not to them.

Anyways. They're at that stage of their (inevitable) relationship. And here comes a patient -- some smarmy dude who thinks he's charismatic, but is really just a creep -- who needs a truly impressive number stitches (or a thousand pieces of gravel that needs to be picked out one by one). Reader gets stuck having to care for this guy, and he's just making it a miserable time for Reader. Reader feels trapped, not sure if they could stop and get someone else to help out instead, when Frank steps in and freaks out a little on this guy (nothing bad, but definitely not professional lmao).

Later, Dana (who's scolding Frank for his unprofessional behavior) tells him "dude. Would you even be reacting that strongly if you didn't have feelings for Reader?" Boom -- Frank's sudden epiphany that oh, maybe I do like Reader.

(Meanwhile Kiara is checking in on Reader, and due to their conversation Reader also realizes oh, maybe I do like Frank.)

Hold Up

main masterlist | the pitt masterlist

summary: you and frank realize you have feelings for each other 

pairing: dr. frank langdon x female reader

rating: R for language, pitt level heavyness

word count: 1.2k

warnings: death of a child, man being creepy toward reader, that's it i think 

author’s note: i absolutely love this idea anon, and i hope i did it justice <3

“How many hours left in this shift?” Langdon sighed and leaned next to you against the front desk.

You checked your watch; “Four hours and twenty-seven minutes,” you answered his question.

“So excited to get the fuck outta here,” he said.

“What’re you doing after work?”

“Nothing much; just me, my dog, my TV, and take out.”

“Ah, sounds like a dream, Langdon,” you said.

“Oh, it is, for sure,” he laughed. “I noticed you haven’t eaten in a while, so I got you these from the vending machine and the food cart.” He handed you a sandwich and a pack of sour gummy worms.

“My favorite! Thanks, Langdon,” you exclaimed.

“Anytime,” he replied and got right back to work.

Robby noticed the little interaction and furrowed his brows as he watched you head to the break room for a quick lunch.

“What was that about?” he asked Langdon, walking up next to him.

“Y/n hadn’t eaten yet today,” Frank replied nonchalantly. “Her blood sugar’s probably low, I was just being nice.”

“So you bought her candy?”

“I knew she wouldn’t bother eating unless I lured her in with sour gummy worms,” Frank chuckled. “Smart, right?”

“Uh… yeah. How’d you know she likes sour gummy worms?”

“Everybody does.” Frank shrugged before being called to help a patient.

“No, they don’t,” Robby mumbled to himself.

**

“Hey, it’s not your fault,” you told him. You reached out and held his hand in yours as you repeated the words. “This was not your fault.”

“I know,” he said, but you knew he didn’t believe himself. Frank had just lost a patient, a ten-year-old car accident victim.

You asked if he wanted a hug, and he replied by wrapping his arms around you. You returned the gesture and squeezed him tightly.

“Wasn’t your fault,” you said again.

“Thank you,” he mumbled.

After a minute or two, he pulled away from the hug. He thanked you again before he went to help another patient.

“What was that about?” Dana asked you, her brows furrowed.

“What was what about?” you asked half-heartedly, looking up at the screens to pick out a patient.

“Why were you hugging Langdon for so long?” she asked.

“Oh, he lost a patient,” you replied.

“So you had to hug him for that long?” she chuckled a little. 

“He needed the comfort.” You shrugged. “Ooh, nose job gone wrong? I’ll take that one,” you said and went to go grab the patient.

“These two, I swear,” Dana scoffed with a laugh, shaking her head with amusement.

**

“If you could live anywhere in the world, where would you live?” Frank asked you.

“Ooh, that’s a tough one. I’ll get back to you on that,” you said before being whisked away to help a patient. 

“What’s up with you and Langdon?” Samira asked. 

“What do you mean?” you asked, focused on the patient and not fully paying attention to Dr. Mohan.

“Why are you and Langdon going back and forth with so many questions?”

“Oh, we’re playing this game where we ask each other a question every time we see each other. It helps pass the time.”

“Huh, strange game…”

“We’re friends,” you started, still fully focused on the patient, “we just want to get to know each other better.”

**

There was one patient no one wanted to take because they’d met him before, and all he did was hit on the women working there the whole time. You reluctantly took him as your patient (without Langdon knowing), and you had begun to despise him. His rude comments and gestures were only getting worse.

“C’mon, sweetheart; you, me, a bottle of wine at my place? Whaddaya say?” He smirked and reached out to touch you.

“What the hell is going on in here?” Frank exclaimed, much louder than he intended, and gained the attention of everyone around him. 

“Nothing–” the man started, but Frank cut him off.

“You listen here, Dr. Y/l/n is not here to date you, and by the looks of it, she doesn’t want to be here at all. Now you are gonna man up and take a ‘no’ like a normal person, or I will escort you out myself.” Langdon stood there, fuming mad. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir,” the man gulped.

“Yes, doctor,” Langdon corrected.

“Yes, doctor,” the man replied.

“Is everything okay in here?” Robby poked his head in. 

“Everything’s fine,” Langdon said.

**

Kiara wanted to talk with you briefly after the incident, although you told her you were fine.

“I’m sure you were happy when Dr. Langdon came to your rescue,” she remarked.

“Yeah, he’s a great friend,” you said.

“I’ve been meaning to talk with you about that. You know you’re allowed to date your coworkers, right?”

“Are you asking me out?” you teased.

“I meant,” she laughed a little, “you and Langdon.”

“Oh, we’re just friends.” You furrowed your brows.

“Sure,” Kiara said. She said something else before she left, but you weren’t really listening.

Hold up… did you like Langdon?

Meanwhile, Dana was busy scolding Frank for his behavior with the patient.

“Come on, Dana, you know I was doing the right thing, standing up to that guy,” Langdon scoffed.

“We all know how annoying that man is, but you can’t threaten a patient!” Dana exclaimed.

“I was only doing what no one else had the guts to do,” he replied. “Ask anyone, they wanted to do the same thing!”

“Come on, Langdon, you’d only be reacting like this if you had feelings for Dr. Y/l/n!”

“I–” Frank stopped. Hold up… he did have feelings for you, strong feelings. “I don’t have feelings for her?”

“Sure, kiddo,” Dana said in a playfully condescending tone before she turned to walk away.

“We’re just friends!” he called out after her.

“Well, your ‘friend’ is in the breakroom if you wanna go talk to her,” Dana said, using air quotes as she continued to walk away.

“Shit,” Langdon mumbled to himself. 

“Go,” Robby said to him.

“Huh?”

“Go talk to her, I’ll cover your patients.”

“Thank you.”

**

“So… that was something,” Langdon said, as he walked into the breakroom and found you staring at the vending machine. 

“There are no sour gummy worms in this vending machine,” you pondered out loud, wondering where Langdon had gotten the bag from earlier.

“No, but the one on the second floor has them.”

“You went all the way to the second floor just to make sure I ate something?” you asked.

“Yeah.” Langdon stood in front of you. “There’s a lot I’d do for you.”

“Really?”

“I think I have feelings for you,” he sighed. “I’m sorry, I know that’s not what you want to hear.”

“I think it’s exactly what I wanna hear, Frank,” you admitted. “I think I have feelings for you, too.”

“So… what do we do now?”

“You could kiss me, if you wanna.”

His face lit up before he leaned down and kissed you deeply. His hands went to your hips as yours went to his cheeks. You stayed locked in the passionate kiss for what felt like hours before you both broke away.

“I think you might be my best friend,” Langdon whispered, making you smile widely.

“I think you might be my best friend, too, Langdon.”

[blainesebastian]

take the hint

word count: 4,715 ship: Nick Leister x reader rating: R (for crass language and uncomfy situations for the reader) summary: Nick begins to lose his patience when Lion's friend, Mark, won't stop bothering you at a party. notes: masterlist is here! gifs are from here! notes 2: still blown away at the lovely comments, asks, reblogs and likes. thank you all 🥰

Your relationship with touch is complicated. 

You’ve always been very open about your love languages, how you preen under words of affirmation, or lean into intimate touches. If you’re being honest, being with Nick has made that one come alive. You’ve been in a couple of relationships in which their touch was not thoughtful, bruising, making you shy away from craving it with anyone else. 

Until you met Nick. 

Nick, who’s clearly a very tactile person, reads you like an open book. Pages that have always been visible for someone to see, and yet no one has taken the time or effort to do so. He used to approach every single one of his touches with an air of permission, whether verbal or a lingering question in his eyes in which you could say no at any time. You don’t think he understands how much that meant to you, what it still means to you. 

Maybe it’s why it was so easy to fall in love with him, because trust and respect were the things missing from your past relationships. Touch with him is so automatic now, absentminded, as if it’s always been easy. 

And you suppose that’s the point. 

—

Fixing your lipstick in the mirror, you take one final look at your silky babydoll dress and give yourself a light smile. Exiting the bathroom at Lion’s place, you automatically find Nick waiting for you. A soft, handsome smile brushes over his features as he reaches for you, fingers lacing as if it’s the simplest thing he’s ever done. He guides you towards the living room, where your friends are, his thumb tracing your knuckles. 

You take in his easy attire; jeans, a black t-shirt, sweater, silver accent jewelry, and envy the fact that he can always pull off something that takes little effort. 

The house is filled to the brim with people, a typical party to enjoy company, dancing, a little bit of food and too much to drink. Lion’s got a pool outside that has people jumping in, a hot tub that couples are lounging in with champagne flutes and a games room that hosts pool and darts. You tease that the game space reminds you of something out of the seventies and he admits there was a shag carpet in there at one time. 

This party is thrown for no reason, just like any other, but what’s different is that Lion has a friend visiting from another city for the weekend, so he’s joined your friend group for the night. Mark is tall, broad and loud, but not necessarily in a bad way. He clearly has a strong personality to match up with his defined features—handsome, but in a way that tries a little bit too hard. His blonde hair is cropped short to his head, but not buzzed, and there’s a spattering of facial hair on his jawline. His eyes are blue, electric, dipped even a shade brighter thanks to the flow of alcohol. 

When you’re introduced to him, he hugs you, and you let out a nervous laugh, squeezing the hand that never left Nick’s. When you tell him it’s nice to meet him, his hand brushes your arm before letting go. 

“Wow, American?” He asks and your cheeks flush before you give him a smile as you nod. “Brilliant.” 

“I like to think so.” You agree, taking a step back with a soft laugh. 

Jenna brings over a round of drinks and you grin when she tosses an arm around your shoulders to encourage you onto the makeshift dance floor. Nick squeezes your hand before letting go, and you grin at him over your shoulder as you let your friend sweep you away. 

—

You’ve never had any problems with friends that are girls touching you, or even girls that are strangers. There’s a safeness there that you don’t have the words to explain. So when Jenna throws her arms around you or hugs you from behind, or a random girl a little too drunk in the kitchen touches your hair and tells you you’re beautiful, you just grin and squeeze on back. 

It’s not the same when it comes to guys. 

—

Chewing on your lower lip, you attempt to concentrate as you line up the pool cue with the table. You’re not…the best at this game? But it’s slightly better than darts. You let the cue slide forward and hit the white ball and it rolls…but hits nothing. Or not. You wince, leaning back up before glancing over at Mark and Jenna who are trying not to laugh. 

“Okay, rude,” You call out to them, Nick looking over his shoulder as he throws darts with Lion and grinning when he sees the pool table. “Even ruder.” You point at him. 

He throws his hands up with an expression of total innocence, “I didn't say anything.” 

Rolling your eyes, Jenna takes her turn and you lean on the pool table, watching as Nick plays darts. He’s taken his sweater off and you’re a little addicted to the way his biceps flex against the sleeves of his black t-shirt. The long lines of his back make you want to move towards him, press your face into the slope of his shoulder, breathe him in. 

“She does this sometimes.” Jenna steals your attention and you huff out a laugh when you realize she’s speaking about you to Mark. “Totally head over heels, those two.” 

You roll your eyes but you’re smiling, trying to line up and take a shot again. You’re not sure if it even matters—it’s not like anyone is actually keeping score, there’s nothing for the winner other than bragging rights. You’re not drunk yet, but you’re on your way to being so, a rose-colored tipsiness that sits warmly in your blood. 

You don’t notice when Mark moves but suddenly he’s beside you, “You’re choking the pool cue.” 

You blink, looking up at him, “What?” 

He smiles, “The pool cue,” He motions to it in your hands, “It’s not loose enough.” 

Your eyebrows draw together, “I don’t get it.” 

Without asking, he reaches for you, unfolding your hands from the billiard cue. You feel yourself stiffen, standing from leaning on the pool table as he places your palms a little further apart. His fingers are warm, too warm, his cologne a little citrusy and it makes your stomach a bit queasy. You shake off the sensation, nodding as Mark instructs you—he’s just trying to be nice. 

“You want the cue to be able to glide through your hand here,” His thumb brushes yours, “Then—”

“I got it.” Nick interrupts and when you step back from the pool table, he’s there on the other side of Mark. 

His face is impassive, but you can pick up minute details of irritation that anyone who doesn’t know Nick might not notice. He’s leaning his hip against the pool table, appearing lazy, but there’s a tightness to his shoulders, a feathered twitch in his jaw. And his brown eyes are alight with heat. 

“Oh of course,” Mark laughs, stepping away from you. “Just trying to help.” 

Nick hums, watching as he steps away before taking his place. The moment you feel the warmth of his body press against your back, his arms creating a cage around you, you instantly relax. A soft sigh leaves your lips, Nick dipping his chin to brush a kiss along your shoulder. 

“Not sure I can concentrate with you against me like this.” You smile, shifting a little to look at him. 

He leans in close, as if he’s sharing a secret, brushing your noses together in a bunny kiss. “I don’t care.”  

You drop the pool cue, turning around to wrap your arms around his shoulders. Nick takes a step forward, pressing you back into the edge, his hand cupping your cheek as you lean up and kiss him. Smiling against his lips, your fingers play with the curls at the base of his neck. 

Definitely not concerned about learning how to play pool anymore. 

—

As the night spins forward, it’s clear that Mark is the type of person that can get along with anyone. He makes friends with random people at the party, loud laughter and exaggerated touches as he’s pulled into drinking games and conversations. When he comes back over to your group, Nick takes a small step forward, his arm slipping around your waist to mold you into his side. 

It’s a gesture that most people probably wouldn’t notice for what it is, but you do—it’s possessive. 

You get that drinks are flowing, Mark is obviously having a good time, but it seems like he’s been finding excuses to touch you. A hand on your arm when he laughs, or a guiding elbow so you can shift out of the way if someone is pushing through the crowd, his hand on your upper back when he’s trying to get your attention to ask you a question or talk about something over the music. 

You get having a large personality, you’d even understand being a touchy person in general but…you can tell that Nick’s patience is wearing thin. It’s in the tightness of his shoulders, the way he’s biting the inside of his cheek any time Mark wanders over and begins to talk to you, the way his responses start to become short and nearly disconnected from the conversation taking place. You soothe a hand under his shirt, thumb brushing the base of his spine, his attention slipping down to you. 

“Hi.” You give him a soft smile, “You okay?” 

Nick draws in a breath, letting it out through his nose as he glances at Lion and Mark before nodding. “I’m okay.” 

“I dunno if I believe you,” You tease, turning a little, his hand squeezing your hip. Your eyes flicker to the way his eyebrows are drawn together, “You’re gonna get wrinkles like that.” 

He rolls his eyes but the corners of his mouth tip into a smile, lifting his beer to take a long sip. Jenna declares that jello shots are needed and you find yourself wrinkling your nose because blegh. You are not a fan of taking a shot that has liquor infused with a substance that jiggles. 

“No, c’mon, get regular shots,” You giggle as Jenna pouts. “Jello shots give me the ick.” 

She turns to head to the kitchen and you’re unsure of whether or not she’s going to get what you’ve requested, but Mark goes with her, and you can feel Nick’s body slowly uncoil as you’re left alone. You lean up to press a kiss to his cheek, snagging his attention again, 

“Please don’t get into a fight tonight.” 

Nick raises his eyebrows, picture-perfect innocence, “No idea why you’d worry about that.” 

“Nick.” 

“Y/N.” 

Your hand settles on his waist as you turn a little to better face him. Nick lifts his arm to rest along your shoulders, folding you more firmly into his chest. As he looks down at you, you notice how perfect his eyelashes are, how they rest on his cheeks, the fullness of his lips, the beauty marks on his one cheekbone. He brushes a kiss across your lips, definitely in an effort to distract you. While it’s a solid attempt, you shake your head, your hand moving to rest on his chest. 

“I’m serious.” 

Nick pulls back just a little, licking his lips, “You’re uneasy, I can see it on your face.” 

Warmth settles in your chest that Nick sees you so clearly, that he’s worried about you. That he’s protective. It means everything, especially given your past relationships. But…

“I don’t want you to fight with Lion’s friend in his house.” 

“I can easily take it outside.” 

You huff out a sound that’s the combination of a laugh and scoff. You suppose you should know better than to try and talk Nick out of anything. Running a hand through your hair, you can hear Jenna’s laugh approaching, so you’re hoping you can make your feelings clear—

“I’m okay,” You assure him, fingers curling a little in his shirt near his heart, “I promise.” 

Nick’s eyes bore into yours, like he’s trying to pick out any thread of doubt, but you’re not going to let him see any. Yes, Mark might make you slightly uncomfortable, but it’s nothing to be upset over. Emotions are heightened right now, inhibitions lowered. He’s only here visiting for the weekend, it’s not like he’s a permanent fixture in your friend group. 

Jenna appears by your side again, handing you a regular shot, jello shots for the rest. You smile warmly at her and clink glasses with everyone in the circle, tipping the liquid back to swallow. The heat is familiar as it settles in the bottom of your stomach, blooming outward and slowly nullifying your nerves. 

You can handle one party. You’re just not sure if Nick can. 

—

The invisible push and pull between Nick and Mark spans out over the length of the party. You’re not sure whether Mark’s even aware of what he’s doing, or if he is, he’s definitely just doing shit now to piss Nick off. He brushes his shoulder into your own when he dives into a story about the last time he was in New York, which is where you’re originally from. 

“And the pizza slices there,” He continues, even when you’ve taken a step away to create space, a gentle smile on your face as you nod. “I mean, some of them are as big as your fucking head. And there’s so many of them? You could easily put together some sort of tour and not be able to cover them all in a weekend.” 

You know you should just say something, maybe he’s just…unaware that he’s handsy? That he takes up space. Sometimes he kinda reminds you of a golden retriever puppy that doesn’t realize his limbs are everywhere because he has yet to grow into them. 

You’re not one hundred percent comfortable, but you do talk about New York for a bit. It’s only been two years since you’ve moved to London but you miss it? It’s easy for you to dive into bits and pieces about when you lived there, a distraction from the slow pulses of anxiety that wash over you in waves any time you get a good look at Nick’s face. You can tell he’s still lingering on what you two talked about, not enjoying the party as much as before because he’s wound tight like a rubberband ready to snap. 

As you all stand around outside, the air fresh and cool, you glance over at Nick as he talks to Lion, Jenna off to the bathroom. You wonder if you should suggest that you head out for the night? It’s getting late anyways. But when you go to move, Mark reaches into a cooler nearby and grabs a bottle of beer for himself, offering you one. 

You shake your head, “Think I need to stick to water.” 

He then switches it out for you, fingers brushing over your own as he hands it over. “You should visit Oxford some time,” He says, “It’s only a two hour drive.” 

A soft smile in response, “Yeah maybe, I’ll see if Nick wants to go.” You bring up your boyfriend for two reasons—one, if you’re traveling anywhere and need an adventure buddy, he’s your first choice. Second, it doesn’t hurt to give Mark a bit of a reminder that you are not here at this party on your own and that you are not single. 

Mark’s eyebrows draw together in soft confusion, having a slow pull of beer from the bottle. You catch a whiff of his cologne as a breeze brushes through; it’s now mixed with the scent of stale beer and a bit of sweat. You swallow, playing with the wrapper on the water bottle, peeling the corner a little with your nails. 

“What, you need his permission?” 

Your mouth opens a little, bristling a little at the implication. “No, I just meant—”

“I mean,” Mark leans a bit closer and your pulse spikes as it feels like he’s towering over you, “It sounds like you’re unable to come visit unless he tells you it’s okay. That doesn’t sound like a really healthy relationship but,” He smiles, his gaze falling to your lips, “What do I know?” 

You’re about to argue with him—your blood pumps hotly in your veins that this guy has no idea who Nick is; he’s trying to drag his name through the mud. That he’s trying to imply that he’s some sort of controlling, overbearing boyfriend and that…that’s the farthest thing from the truth. You’ve had exes like that, and the flippant comparison upsets you. That, paired with the closeness of his body, makes your stomach clench. 

You’ve always been a touchy person but…not with people you don’t know, especially not guys who are practically strangers. That’s who Mark is. A stranger. He might be a friend of Lion’s, but he’s far too comfortable getting close to you, by shelling out his unwanted opinion. You feel like you should be able to blame this behavior on the alcohol, but you’re getting a sneaking suspicion he might be like this stone-cold sober. 

You’re trying to be polite, welcoming, a ‘friend of Lion’s is a friend of yours’ but you can feel yourself become rigid, backing up right into—

“We were just talking about you.” Mark says to Nick. Your boyfriend’s arm slides around you, fingers massaging your hip in a calming gesture, as if he can sense the uptick in your anxiety. 

“Can you talk further away?” Nick says, it’s not actually a request. “You’re in my girlfriend’s space, you’re making her uncomfortable.” 

Mark scoffs out a soft laugh, as if something’s funny and then does a dramatic step back. “This good? Sorry man,” He does not sound the least bit sorry, “She didn’t say anything.” 

Nick’s jaw clenches and you can tell he’s biting down on another set of words about how you shouldn't have to tell him that, “That’s because she’s nice.” His voice has a sharpened edge, as if Mark stepped close enough, it’d cut him. “I’m not.”

Mark’s hands lift in mock surrender, as if he’s not going to fight on this, laughing again before taking another sip of his beer. Lion must sense the tension, because he steps between the two of them, 

“Feel like it’s time to get in the hottub, yeah?” 

Mark’s all over the idea and allows himself to be pulled in another direction, one glance back at you before he begins talking about visiting Oxford again, this time for Lion and Jenna’s ears when she rejoins the group. 

Nick’s head tilts down, brushing a question against your ear. “You alright?” 

You nod but his eyes, once again, do not leave yours. He doesn’t believe you this time, he can read right through you. His fingers squeeze your hip in a silent conversation—want me to do something about this?

“No,” You reply quietly. Last thing you want is to stir up trouble with Lion’s friend. It’s not worth it. 

You’re about to suggest what you meant to before, leaving, but Mark appears again with Lion and Jenna in tow. His movements are too quick for you to realize what’s happening, like your brain is playing catch up with what your eyes are seeing. Mark reaches for you, grabs onto your arm and tugs—

“Jenna wants you to join the hottub,” He’s saying, but the rest of his sentence is drowned out when Nick shoves his shoulder hard enough for Mark to trip over his own feet and end up on the concrete. 

“Keep your fucking hands to your fucking self,” He snaps, his restraint finally splintering. 

The party dissolves into a cacophony of voices, laughter and callouts. Some people, who have clearly seen Nick fight before, call for him to suckerpunch whoever he pushed over onto his ass. Some are grabbing their phones to record whatever is about to happen next, and a few comments over the sound are clear that they don’t want the party to end early—so stop fucking fighting. 

You quickly move in front of Nick before he can step forward, your hands coming down onto his chest as you can hear Mark stumbling behind you, being lifted by Lion. 

“What’s your problem?” Mark nearly steamrolls Lion, trying to move past his friend to get in Nick’s face. He gets within an inch of your boyfriend, you can feel the heat of his body like static electricity against your back. The calm, easy demeanor he held before is completely gone, replaced with booze-infused fury. 

“Yo, knock it the fuck off,” Lion tries to yank Mark back but he’s immovable. 

You glance over your shoulder, stumbling back just a little as Nick shifts his weight. Fuck, this is so bad. You’re definitely regretting not speaking up for yourself, attempting to put Mark in his place. Maybe you could have helped dissolve some of the tension? But honestly? Maybe that’s naive. You feel like ever since Nick saw Mark pressed too close ‘helping’ with the billiard cue that this was going to end up happening. 

“My problem?” Nick’s eyes widen in disbelief, a dangerous tilt to his voice, like he might push past you despite your attempt to keep him at bay, “My problem is that you don’t know how to take a hint and stop.”  

“She has a mouth, doesn’t she? I guess the bitch should have said something.” You wince at the crass remark but that doesn’t matter to you. All you care about is getting Nick to calm down. You can leave, take some space, touch base with Lion once Mark heads back to Oxford. 

But with one look at Nick you can tell the exact moment he sees red. 

His shoulders dip, a sense of calm that reminds you of what happens right in the eye of a storm. He moves you aside with such a tenderness he shouldn't be capable of right now before cracking his fist forward. It’s quick, something practiced, his knuckles slamming right into Mark’s nose and upper lip. When his head whips back, the force of it sends him right into the fucking pool. There’s a chorus of oh’s that surround the party, Jenna gasping and putting her hands up to her face. 

“Shit.” Lion mumbles, quickly moving to the pool as Mark breaks the surface. 

You don’t even have a chance to say anything, Nick is turning and gently grabbing your hand, guiding you out the backyard. You pass Jenna and you manage to squeak out a sorry to her, though you’re not sure why you’re apologizing. 

So much for being able to handle one party. 

—

The last thing you’re going to do is chastise your boyfriend about punching someone who deserved it. Despite the busyness of the party, you’re sure both Jenna and Lion were able to pick out points in which you were uncomfortable. You just hate that it turned out like this—you and Nick leaving early, standing between his legs in his kitchen as he sits on a stool, cleaning up his knuckles. 

“I should have said something sooner,” You offer quietly, bringing his hand closer to your face so you can see the small cut on his middle finger knuckle better. 

His fingers twitch, “This isn’t on you. Mark doesn’t seem like the type to take ‘no’ seriously.” And you give a gentle wince because…that doesn’t seem like a person Lion would be friends with. But sometimes people show you who they are, sometimes you see versions of them that hide their true nature. You’ve been there before with your exes…you know that better than anyone. 

And because you can read him so well, you add, “It’s not your fault either.” You brush your thumb back and forth over his fingers. 

Nick scoffs, “Should have fucking decked him after the pool table, would have saved a lot of time.” 

The tip of your lips twitch up because you are pretty sure that would have solved zero problems, but you appreciate the sentiment. When you go to pull back, throw away the trash from cleaning him up, Nick reaches for you. His hand cups your chin, his thumb brushing over your jawline, the action meant to draw your attention to him.  Your eyes meet his and he takes a long moment to press his thumb to your lower lip and you kiss the pad. 

A flutter of a smile on his face. “You’re alright?” 

Your chest warms with how he asks it, like as long as you’re okay, then anything else that happened tonight doesn’t matter. 

“I’m not the one who got suckerpunched into a pool tonight, so,” You smile, a small laugh bubbling up, “I’d say I’m doing alright.” 

There’s an eyeroll from him but at least the tension seems to have disappeared from his shoulders. “Glass jaw.” He mutters and you bite down on a grin at the crinkle in the bridge of his nose. 

He uses his legs to keep you from moving, leaning up a little and over to wrap his arms around your waist and presses his lips to yours. 

—

When Lion comes over later, the first thing out of his mouth is an apology. You’re not sure how you expected it to go, but you can tell there’s this brief moment where Nick looks concerned that Lion might try to defend any part of Mark’s nonsense tonight. There doesn’t have to be sides here, but you can tell that Nick would choose yours in a heartbeat. 

“Absolute tool.” Nick comments. 

“Couldn’t agree more,” Lion shakes his head, and when he glances your way, he gives you an apology as well. 

You gently wave him off as you sit down on the couch, even though you appreciate him offering it up. Lion doesn’t owe you an apology, and you wouldn’t begin to take one from Mark if he tried. 

“Not sure if it matters, but he won’t be visiting again. Told him to lose my number.” 

Drawing your legs up onto the cushion and to your chest, you give him a tired smile, “It matters.” 

Nick walks Lion out and you’re not sure what they talk about but you can hear the murmured conversation between them. The last thing you would want is for their friendship to be fractured by fucking Mark, so you’re glad to see it isn’t. You check your messages, a soft smile as you see a few from Jenna, assuring her that both you and Nick are alright, sending her a heart emoji before putting your phone on Do Not Disturb. Running a hand over your face, you lean your chin on your knees, allowing your eyes to close. 

It’s late, you know that even if you don’t remember what the time said before you set your phone back down on the coffee table. A yawn slips out of your mouth and you hear Nick come back into the living room, running a hand along the back of your neck. 

“Bed?” 

“Don’t want to move,” You admit. 

Nick brushes your hair over your shoulder before he sits down on the couch, stretching himself out along the cushions. He playfully nudges you with his knee and you turn your head to see him leaning against a few pillows along the arm of the couch. Something inside your chest aches in the best way, seeing him like this—comfortable, warm, safe, yours. 

You smile, mapping yourself along his chest. His legs open up to accommodate you and you slide right between, your chest lining up with the lower part of his abdomen, head tucked under his chin. You press your nose into the fabric of his shirt, breathing him in as he tugs a blanket down from the back of the couch to cover you both. His one hand runs up and down your back, his lips brushing along your temple before he kisses your forehead. 

Your relationship with touch may have been complicated before meeting Nick, but there’s no confusion now. His touch is warm. His touch is loving. 

His touch heals. 

[seenoversundown]

For Cryin' Out Loud

a request! Thank you to the lovely anon who submitted it! I do fear I strayed from the plot a little bit but it came out so good, I hope it works for everyone. 🥹🤭🖤

Jake Kiszka x Fem Reader

Warnings: (18+ Smut) Fluff, Angst, Uncomfortable Tension, yearning, pining, drinking, smoking — as for smut warnings, they include hand stuff, penetrative sex (for the love of god, wrap it up folks) pet names, a bit of sexual language.

For Cryin Out Loud - FINNEAS 

Her POV

There wasn’t a day that passed that I didn’t think about him. And I know that sounds crazy, but considering the history that we had, it was hard not to let him cross my mind. Even if, oftentimes, it was resentment that flooded my body. But the second he walked into view at this bar, it was like every moment played in my mind. 

We were inseparable as kids, and living down the street from each other made it even easier. Spending every summer together, rain or shine. We were just happy to laugh and play together. When we’d go back to school, we’d always hope we were in the same classes together, and if not, finding each other during recess or lunch. He was my best friend. 

When high school hit, we stayed close, but something changed. Suddenly, the way he looked at me would make my heart race, or when we hugged, it felt like we were both waiting for something. We no longer played outside, but we would lie on the floor of his bedroom for hours just watching stupid videos and laughing. Our friendship had never faltered, despite the lingering glances or awkward ‘goodbyes.’ 

Well, that was until I walked down the hall of our high school, going to find him as I would. Stopping dead in my tracks as I watched him kiss someone. My body warmed as I watched the way he held her and the way he stared at her while she spoke. It should have been me. 

I’ll never forget the look on his face when he realized I saw him. He apologized relentlessly for not telling me about her yet and said that he didn’t want to say anything until he was sure it was happening and promised nothing would change between us. But that promise was bleak. 

We slowly drifted apart, with him spending time with his new girlfriend, and I found myself picking up new hobbies to distract from the feelings I never thought I’d admit. After so many years of being around him, I didn’t think I’d have developed a crush on him. I always thought that we would end up like siblings, just too close that those feelings would never come up. Sadly, that wasn't the case for me. 

Eventually, I did start dating and slowly forget about the heartbreak he caused. A few relationships throughout college taught me lessons that I never wanted to learn. But moving back to my hometown after a handful of years away, everything here would remind me of him. 

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Now, as I’m sitting here, creepily watching him walk closer to the bar, I can’t decide if I want him to notice me or completely disregard my presence. 

It was a fleeting thought when his stare met mine. His turn to feel like a deer in headlights. His eyes lit up and it was like we both turned into the child versions of ourselves again. He walks toward me and I feel all the air in my lungs dissipate. 

“Hi,” his voice blessed my ears, as his arms reached toward me for a hug. Who am I to deny him that? 

He pulls me into him, and it feels like nothing has happened between us. I whisper, “Why are you here?” Feeling his chest shake gently against mine as he quietly laughs, I missed that. 

“I have some time off, so I figured I should come visit the parents,” he tells me as he pulls back, pulling out the stool next to me. “Nothing too exciting. Did you move back or are you just visiting?”

I sigh, not fully wanting to admit that I moved back, but telling him, “I did move back.” 

“That’s not a bad thing, y’know?” He says, his voice is so soft. Pausing the conversation to order a drink, he turns back to me, saying, “I miss it all the time.” 

I can’t help but laugh at the thought. With a taunting tone, asking, “You? Jake Kiszka? You miss it here?”

He was always a talented musician, but when he finally started touring and got signed, I figured he would never want to come back here. 

“Of course, I do,” he laughs. His eyes locked on mine when he said, “A lot of good memories here.” 

We spent a while just catching up on the years we lost between us. Learning about how the band really took off and all the places they’ve been. Him asking about college and how my career was going. But we both danced around the elephant in the room, like neither of us wanted to admit what really happened. 

“I missed this,” he says, looking down at his lap for a breath. His hand lands on mine, “I missed you.”

It feels like all the air was sucked out of the room when he says it. The feeling of his thumb rubbing against the back of my hand, my stomach is in knots. And pathetically, I whisper, “Really?” 

“Every day,” he says, and it’s like the world stopped spinning. All I could hear was him, “You were my best friend, and I always hated that we stopped talking.”

All the repressed anger bubbling inside me, trying to gently let it out, but the slight attitude lacing everything I wanted to say, stopping me. 

He takes a sip of his beer, gently setting it back on the bar before asking, “Why did we stop talking?” 

“You were wrapped up in that girl you started dating,” I try to say normally, but I know he could feel the bitterness exuding from me. 

He lets out a breathy laugh, “Wait, really?”

“Yep,” is all I say, popping the ‘P’ to really drive it home. Sipping on my drink as I watch him process the situation. 

“So.. you were jealous?” He asks, a small smirk on his face. 

There were countless times in our years of being friends when I wanted to hit him, but this takes the cake. 

My eyebrows pull together, “No?” I lied. 

“Then why did it make you pull away?” 

I try to not sound like a child, but it’s hard. Telling him, “You didn’t have time for me anymore, so..” 

His smile falters, “I always had time for you.” 

“Clearly not. You never tried to reach out?” 

“Neither did you.” 

The anger swirled inside my body, not because he was doing anything wrong, but because he was right. I never attempted to rekindle anything with him and I don’t know if I was afraid of what would happen or if he would decline my calls. 

“I couldn’t,” I admit. My eyes darted away from him, knowing it’s going to have to come out at some point. 

He asks, “Why not?” 

Nothing in this world could have stopped the way my words came out, and I knew it would only cause more questions that I’d have to reluctantly answer. 

“I had to get over you, and I couldn’t do that if we still spoke,” I admit. 

He about choked on his beer, staring at me for a minute in silence. Finally mumbling, “Get over me?” 

I nod, sitting in the discomfort of him finally knowing. It’s been years but it feels like I’m my sixteen year old self again. 

“That means.. you had actual feelings for me..?” He questioned, almost like he was in disbelief. 

I hum back, “Mhm.” 

It almost feels like I’m watching him go through all the stages of grief in a matter of seconds. The look on his face and the way I could feel his mood shift. Even after years of not being around each other, I can still read him like a book. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asks, almost sounding hurt. 

Tilting my head as I looked at him, “So you could reject me and make the friendship weird? There was no way I could tell you.” 

His eyebrows raised slightly, but the pain was all over his face. Quietly following up with, “How long—how long did you feel like that?”

“Like two years?” I admit— not having much to lose now. It’s been so long since everything happened, and having alcohol in my system is making this whole conversation happen a lot easier. 

The grimace on his face was telling. I gave him a moment to sit with the feeling, as much as I wanted to tell him it didn’t matter, I knew he needed to process it. 

My hand rests on his leg, and when I finally ask, “What are you thinking about?”

He shakes his head a few times before looking back over at me. Something about the twisted expression on his face makes me nervous. Muttering, “I can’t believe I was so blind.” 

“What do you mean?” 

He breathes in deep, it’s as if I can see his brain working as we sit here. Unprepared for the next thing to come out of him. 

“How didn’t I fucking see that?” He says, his voice thick with anger. “We were together constantly. I feel so dumb.” 

Taken aback by the tone, I practically whisper, “I tried to hide it. I didn’t want you to feel bad..” 

“Feel bad?” He laughs, but in the scoffing kind of way that people do. “I wanted you more than anything.” 

My jaw actually dropped. He wanted.. me? 

“Excuse me?” I ask, unable to believe that he was being honest. 

His hand rubs down his face, taking a minute before telling me, “You meant everything to me.”

My heart pounds at his words. It feels like we’ve both gone back in time and were just the timid sixteen-year-olds again. The only thing that comes out of me is, “Oh.” 

“God,” he mutters, taking the last sip of his beer. “I think I need to step outside.. come with me?”

“Sure.” 

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Finding ourselves just around the corner from the door to the bar, out of the way. I’m not typically a smoker, but at the moment, it felt necessary. 

We stood there in a comfortable quiet. I think both of us were just trying to figure out where to go from here. 

“So, how long are you home?” I ask, trying to break the tension a little. 

He shrugs, “I have no plan really. We just got off tour, so I have time.” 

My stomach flips as the thought of him being around more but my brain stops me from being too excited when I ask, “No lady to get home to?” 

He shakes his head, laughing when he says, “Nope.” 

My eyes look up to meet him after he says it. 

He asks, “You?” 

“I don’t have a lady either,” I smirk, watching his eyes light up at the joke. His laugh graced my ears, and I’ve never been happier to hear it than after the last hour of my life. 

“You know what I meant, you shit,” he says in between giggles. 

My heart swells at the sound, and I finally answer him, “No, no boyfriend either.” 

He stares at the ground when he asks, “Do you have any plans tonight?” 

“Jake,” I laugh out. “I was at the bar alone. Do the math.” 

His smile still made me weak, and he mumbled, “Can I ask you something?” 

Time felt like it came to a halt. I looked at him, and all I saw was the boy that I loved so long ago. No matter how much I cried over him and wished that he would have chosen me, I can’t seem to hold it against him. 

I nod slowly, unsure where this is going. He steps toward me, closing the gap between us. His raspy voice was so sweet when he asked, “How do you feel about me now?”

Tilting my head back slightly to look at him, even after years of avoiding looking him up, trying to forget everything, hoping that I’d finally move on, he’s still perfect. 

His brown eyes are so soft as they look back at me. The way his lips were perfectly shaped, his Cupid’s bow just begging to be kissed. I wanted nothing more in this moment than to just pepper his face with little pecks. My heart rattled in my chest as we stood way too close to each other. 

Shocking myself when I tell him, “I feel like you should kiss me right about now, Kiszka.” 

His hand holds the back of my neck as he pulls me in, pressing his lips against mine. Everything I had imagined about finally getting to kiss him was coming true. Years of pent-up emotion in this, my cigarette hitting the ground next to me as I wrap my arms around his neck. Smiling into him, I can’t stop the giggle that escapes me. 

“I’ve waited so long to do that,” he whispers against me. 

The nerves in my body finally disappeared. Kissing him one more time before I asked, “Come home with me?” 

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

My hand in his, I pull him through the threshold of my house. He pushes the door shut with his foot behind him, pulling me back to him. Kissing me over and over, like we were making up for lost time. 

Leading him straight to my bedroom, I start undoing the buttons on his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders. He lets it slide off, hitting the floor as he’s grabbing the hem of mine and lifting it over my head. 

He closes in on me, and I pull myself back onto the bed, and he’s crawling over me. I had seen him shirtless countless times growing up, but having him hovering over me like this, feels like a dream. 

“I never thought we’d do this,” he mumbles. 

My hands nervously touched his chest, and looking at him, I whispered back, “It’s long overdue.” 

He smiles, moving so he is just above my lips, he says, “I’ll do anything for you, beautiful.” 

My hands run down until I hit the waistband of his jeans, fiddling with the button as he’s gently biting my bottom lip. He lowers himself so his hips are pressed into me. My legs on either side of him, and any movement his body makes gives me a drop of relief. 

“Mmm,” I moan quietly, as he shifts slightly. Something about it being him makes me less embarrassed about it. Pressing a kiss against my cheek before he sits up, sliding his jeans down his legs quickly before pulling my leggings off and tossing them into the pile we’ve started. 

It’s the first time I’ve ever seen this much of him, and it’s suddenly feeling very real. He leans down, his lips pressing kisses into my stomach and dragging them up as he leaves little wet marks in between my breasts. When he finally makes it to my throat, he lowers himself back down and I can feel how hard his cock is against me. 

My hips shift against him as he kisses underneath my ear gently. He mumbles, “Do you want me to..” 

“Please— touch me,” I whine. 

His hand slipped down and underneath the lace covering me, and I gasped at the feeling. I can feel his smile on the side of my neck as I let myself enjoy the feeling. He carefully circles my clit, and I can tell he’s having fun teasing me. 

My hand slides down his chest until I feel the little trail of hair. My palm flat against his stomach creeping towards his cock, running down the length of it. His breath hitches when I do. Slipping my hand into his boxers, gently stroking him, as he whimpers against my throat. Both of us are falling apart at the smallest of touches. 

“Jake,” I whisper. “I need you.”

Without hesitation, he pulls my panties down my legs, tossing them out of the way. Following suit with his boxers, and then kneeling between my legs. We both take a second, just staring at each other. 

I always thought he was attractive; it was hard to deny. He was just a handsome guy, but getting to see him like this, he was perfect. 

He smiles as he looks down at me, and then tells me, “I don’t think I’ve told you enough how beautiful you really are.” 

I can feel my face warm at his compliment, giggling when I tell him, “You’re not too bad yourself.” 

Watching him as he moves closer, dragging the tip down, until he’s lined up. Leaning forward and pushing himself in, letting out a groan as he does. 

“Oh my god,” slips out of me. He leans down over me, letting his hips slowly meet mine. My heart pounds as he lingers there for a second. 

“Are you okay?” He asks quietly. 

Grabbing either side of his face and pulling him in, my lips land on his gently, holding the kiss for a moment before I pull back. Staring in his eyes as we lay in the most vulnerable position possible, I told him, “I’ve never been better, actually.” 

He leans back in to kiss me, and his hips start to slowly rock into me. My hands tangled in his hair as we breathlessly pressed kisses into each other. Moaning into his mouth as his hips pick up pace. 

“Yes, baby,” he moans. “Tell me how good it feels.” 

He sits back up on his knees, pulling my hips closer to him as he thrusts into me a bit harder. His hands wrapped around my waist and held me up slightly— our moans filled the room.

My hand sliding down, and letting out a loud moan as I start to rub small little circles on my clit. Staring at this man whom I’ve pined over for years, finally getting the chance to have him to myself, and every second feels like bliss. 

The feeling of my orgasm nearing, my body warming, and the visual of his necklace bouncing off his chest, making it harder to hold it in. 

“Jake,” I let out, louder than before.

His smirk is instant, and his voice has a sultry tone when he tells me, “Come for me, baby.” 

My mouth opens slightly as the feeling starts to overwhelm me, succumbing to it. 

“That’s my girl,” he mumbles, and I can feel his stare as I go through it. 

He leans down and lets his lips rest against my forehead, kissing it a few times before hovering above me. 

I quietly ask, “Are you close?” 

He nods a few times, giggling as he says, “I’ve been struggling to hold it together, baby.” 

Tapping his hips a few times, he pulls out slowly. Wrapping my hand around it, I start stroking him quickly. His mouth fell open as I did. Watching him try to keep his eyes open, but he can’t help it. 

I whisper, “Come, babe. You know you want to.”

He whimpers quietly, and I can feel him inching closer. 

“Give it to me,” I mumble. 

His hips jerk forward, and the moan that falls out of him is delicious. I just watch his face as he works through his orgasm. 

We lay there in comfortable silence— the only sound is our breathing. The moment feels surreal. 

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

He graciously cleaned up the mess we made and then crawled back into bed with me. He pulls me closer, my head landing on his shoulder. Tracing the little freckles on his stomach as we lay there. 

“Uhh,” I let out. “Did you happen to pay for your beer?” 

His eyes go wide, he mutters, “Shit.” 

“Neither did I,” I told him. Both of us fall into a fit of laughter, and everything just feels right. 

“So,” I start. Nervous to ask, but knowing I’ll regret it if I don’t. “..what are we doing?” 

He tilts my chin up to look at him, and quietly says, “Whatever you want.” 

My heart thuds as I stare at him. I hesitate when I start to say, “Only if you’re sure. I don’t—“ 

He cuts me off with a kiss, pulling back, he whispers, “I’ve waited years for you— I’m sure.” 

“Then I’m all yours, babe,” I giggle out. 

We both lay there in a dreamy state, just enjoying each other's presence. Fully in disbelief that the boy I once longed for is finally mine. 

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Taglist: (reply or dm to be added | sorry I'm just using the most recent version of the taglist, I figured you would all enjoy)

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@justwantjosh

[5minutefanfiction]

Happy Birthday, Mr Winchester

Hello My Lovelies,

You can find my Masterlist here

Regards, Bec Xxx

Happy Birthday, Mr Winchester.

Authors Note: Well, I can’t say I’m back. But I can say I’m around in between work and getting my second post graduate degree. I miss writing, probably more than I like to admit. So I thought I would jump back in, finish off a few half-finished pieces and try to get my mojo back. Enjoy x

WORD COUNT: 5,400

The knock echoed through the bunker. Dean didn’t have to even think twice about who was there. It was January 23rd, there was only one person it would be. The same person who would stay until January 25th before leaving again. He ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

‘I keep telling you, don’t knock!’ he chastised as he threw the door open.

She lifted her eyes from her feet as she grinned at him, ‘I know you well enough to know I have no idea what I’m walking into. Knocking is your chance to rearrange yourself and anyone else.’

‘There’s never anyone else this time of year,’ he grinned, pulling her in for a hug.

‘Happy Birthday, Sweetie,’ she smiled, holding him close.

‘It’s not my birthday yet.’

‘It can be, given I seem to be seeing you less and less. I’m thinking we make up for the lost time and lost drinking, and get this party underway,’ she chuckled, holding up a shopping bag of food and whisky.

Dean smiled as she moved past him into the bunker. Less of her, she wasn’t wrong there and it was killing him. The stupid boyfriend and his stupid claim over her. He bit his lip to keep it from trembling as she brushed against him softly. He watched as she walked down the stairs, taking in every part of her. The worst mistake he ever made was letting her go. The stress of the hunt, the threats to her life, the near miss. It all got too much. The fights only grew worse and that night it had all exploded. Both their lives going to crap as they agreed to go their separate ways a little over two years ago.

Christmas had come that year, and Dean was in a dark place. He hadn’t heard from Y/N in months. And his life was worse now than it had ever been. The two had never spent holidays apart or their birthdays. Not since they were born. If it wasn’t her parents organising something it was his. She’d come back to him that day, showing up just after lunch, not as his girl. But as a friend. That was his worst Christmas to date. As she showed up again for his birthday, then Valentine’s Day and Easter, he felt a flicker of hope. They messaged or called in between but both were careful not to cross that line. Not yet. Dean knew why, he had instigated it. Used it as a way to prove to her that there was still something there. Something beyond the physical that had once seemed to drive their relationship. It had been hard, both coming so close to crossing it. Not just from the desire of the other, but through honest frustration. The two matching each other’s high sex drives perfectly. A year without sex was killing the both of them.

Then 12 months ago, she’d shown up for Thanksgiving. Dean had made his moved, told her he wanted her back. He apologised for being a douche, and she broke his heart. She’d recently started seeing someone else. Another hunter. They had been hooking up since September after a rather nasty hunt and decided to try the whole relationship thing. Dean was pissed. More at himself for not winning her back sooner and for letting her stay away so long.

Since then, her calls had become further apart. Their text conversations shorter. The only constant thing in their relationship was the guarantee she’d be here each and every holiday and their birthdays there was time with just them, and Sam, if he was around. But he relished it. It gave him a few days each year to pretend life was normal again. That she was home.

He sighed as he followed her down the stairs. Sam had asked him once when they were teens if he believed in soul mates. It was a night Dean remembered so clearly, they were sitting around a bonfire at Bobby’s, and he watched as Y/N laughed as something John had said. Dean had smiled, “I believe in her.” Ten years on, despite the pain, he still felt the same way. All he needed was her to dump Lawson and come back to him.

*

He downed the rest of his glass, staring at the empty space across from him. It had been almost three weeks since she left. And tomorrow was Valentine’s Day, she wasn’t coming this year. She’d messaged a week ago, Lawson had made plans. Dean had been polite as he could as he replied. Drinking himself into oblivion afterwards. The douche got her every other time of the year. He had hundreds of days to organise something. Hundreds of days to spend with her. Dean got so few. And he just lost another.

His phone rang, glancing at the screen as he answered.

‘Jodie, how’s things?’

‘Not as good as I’d like. I’m sorry to be the one to call. But I figured it was better coming from me than someone else.’

He sat up, suddenly alert and sober.

‘I’m at Stanford Health, Sioux Falls. Y/N was admitted last night.’

His chest grew tight, as someone knocked the air from him.

‘She’s ok, I guess. Battered and bruised but she’s alive.’

‘Wha-…what …’

‘I don’t know for sure what happened, but Lawson’s nowhere to be found. And I’m thinking, if it was a hunt gone wrong, she would have said. You know got someone in to take over.’

‘Yeah,’ Dean croaked, before clearing his throat. ‘She wouldn’t have left anything out there.’

‘Which leads me to think it’s D.V. I’m sorry, Dean. I’ve got a A.P.O out on him and Bobby’s put word out. But until she talks we can’t do anything.’

‘She conscious?’

‘Yeah, and will talk about everything but what happened.’

Dean drove dangerously fast across the country, refusing to leave her in that hospital longer than she needed to be. She was coming home with him. He could get answers later. But right now, he just needed to know she was safe. And that he was there to stop anything else, anyone else, getting close.

He met Jodie in the foyer, barely stopping long enough to greet her as she explained what room Y/N was in.

‘She drove herself here,’ Jodie said quietly. ‘Her place is trashed. There’s semi packed bags, but I don’t know if she was leaving or returning. But there’s a lot of blood. Based on the injuries and what I’ve seen, I’d say she was attacked from behind. The blow to her head would have caused issues with her trying to fight back.’

‘How big of an issue?’ he whispered as he moved outside her room. He watched her through the glass. Her normally glowing skin now black, blue and yellow. Her hair matted and oily. Her cheek and eye swollen. Her arm was in a splint and rested on a pillow. Christ, she came out of hunts in better condition than she was now. Bobby fussed about her and the room, an action that would normally cause her to groan and roll her eyes. Now seemed to do nothing as she zoned out and paid little attention to the man that had taken her in when she was 11.

‘She put up her fight.’

Dean nodded, ‘Sam’s running an EMF over it. Checking for stuff,’ he whispered.

Jodie nodded, squeezing his shoulder as she headed back towards the nurse’s station.

He stepped into the room, Y/N’s eyes flicking to him as tears filled them. She looked away quickly, focusing on life outside her window. Bobby said something quietly in her ear and excused himself, leaving the two alone.

‘Tell me it’s not as bad as it looks?’ Dean whispered, moving closer. His fingers trailed her temple and jaw as he took in just how bad it was.

‘Then I’d be lying.’

He tensed, hoping that he’d heard wrong. But the look on her face said otherwise.

‘What happened?’

‘Don’t want to talk about it.’

‘Was it a hunt? We need to know, Sweetheart. You know that.’

‘If it was a hunt and someone needed to finish it I would have said.’

‘So, it wasn’t a hunt?’

‘Not discussing it.’

‘Y/N?’ he pleaded. ‘Give me something? Anything? What about Laws-.’

‘He’s not in the picture anymore.’

‘Did he do this?’

‘He’s not in the picture. And that’s all you need to know. Please, Dean,’ she whispered, finely pulling her eyes from the window to look at him once more. ‘Don’t push.’ Tears rolled down her cheeks as he nodded. Whatever it took. There was a look in her eyes he’d never seen before. A look he couldn’t decode. In their entire lives, that had never happened before, not once. She was an open book to him and this, right now, only made it worse.

He kissed her temple as he stood up, ‘I’m guessing you want out of here?’

She nodded quickly, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips. She obviously wasn’t facing life threatening injuries.

‘I’ll go see what I can do. Under the condition that you come back with us.’

‘I don’t want to be anywhere else.’

Dean nodded, pride and warmth filling him. He was still her hero. And that was something. Hopefully it would be enough.

She’d been at the bunker for two weeks, not that the boys would know, they never saw her. She’d locked herself in her room and refused to come out unless she had to. When she did, they did everything in their power to talk to her. To try to convince her to stay and watch a movie, help them research, do something, anything that involved bringing some form of life back into her eyes.

‘Do you think he’s dead?’ Sam asked quietly as she walked back towards her room once more.

‘Not sure. Possibly. But surely, she would have said, she knows Jodie’s looking for him.’

‘Taken?’

‘She would have sent everyone looking. She may not have loved him, but she cared.’

‘Dean,’ Sam said gently. ‘If she didn’t love him, why’s she acting like this?’

‘Trust me, she doesn’t. I know Y/N, better than I know myself. She doesn’t love him, never did. If she did, I’d know.’

Sam nodded as he gave Dean a tight smile, before focusing back on the book in front of him.

‘There’s no way,’ Dean whispered, staring at the doorway.

He followed her, standing in the doorway of her room as he watched her read something on her phone.

‘Wanna go to the bar?’

She shook her head.

‘Since when do you turn down the bar?’ he chuckled, crossing the room to climb into the bed next to her.

‘Since I’m not exactly up for going.’

Dean sighed, brushing the hair from her face. ‘You can barely see it now.’

‘It’s not the bruises, Dean. I’m just not up for it. Drinking, hunting. I just need some time off.’

‘Oh God, this wasn’t some drunken hunt thing, was it?’

She shrugged, shutting her phone down and placing it on her cabinet, ‘It is what it is, Winchester. If you want to go out, go. Don’t let me stop you,’ she sighed, standing up.

‘The whole point was spending time with you. Trying to make you feel better. You’re home, Y/N. Finally, after years, you’re back. I just…I want things to be ok. I want you to be ok.’

‘I will be,’ she smiled sadly. ‘I’ve been gone a while, Dean. I’m different. We all are. And it may never be like it was. I’m going to shower.’

Dean sighed, watching her leave. She was right, he knew that. But it wasn’t going to stop him from trying. He picked up her phone, knowing she’d kill him if she found him snooping. But he didn’t care. She was scaring him. And he wanted answers. He frowned at the lock screen, fingerprint ID needed. Not once, had she ever felt the need to hide her life from them. From him. Christ, this was the girl who left her diary out. Not caring if they read it. She had nothing to hide. Until now.

She came back in a short while later, blinking at him as he sat there with her phone in his hands.

‘Since when do you need to lock it?’

‘Since my housemates can’t mind their own business.’

Dean sighed, putting it back on the cabinet. He didn’t want a fight.

‘Your housemates are worried. Just answer me one questions. Is he alive?’

‘Last I heard.’

‘Did he do this?’

‘You said one,’ she hissed.

‘Fine, make it two!’ he snapped. ‘Do I need to hunt the bastard down?’ In the dull light of her room, something seemed to flicker in her eyes. At least he thought it did, but no sooner had it appeared it disappeared again. Leaving no proof of its existence behind. Leaving Dean wondering if he imagined it.

Sam cleared his throat behind them, causing the two of them to stop glaring at each other.

‘Sorry, but we have a hunt. A wendigo,’ he offered, looking hopeful at Y/N. She was their tracker. The one who could track anything.

She shook her head, ‘I’m not up for a hunt.’

‘You don’t seem up for much of anything,’ Dean muttered. He knew how much she loved their job. How much she relied on the hunt to deal with her emotions.

‘If I go, I’ll end up in a fight. We both know that. And as much as I want to, my ribs still aren’t healed. I can’t,’ she commented through gritted teeth.

Dean stared at her for a few minutes before he nodded, not pushing the argument any further. He went to leave to pack when he saw the look on Sam’s face and stopped. Watching the confusion for a few moments before slowly turning back to Y/N.

‘You didn’t crack your ribs,’ Dean frowned, realisation about Sam’s confusion taking over.

She paled slightly, before recovering quickly. ‘I never said I did. I said they weren’t healed. I’m still bruised. Still sore.’

‘Bullshit,’ Dean snapped, seeing through the lie. ‘What the hell is going on?!’

Her lip quivered slightly before she regained control once more, ‘That’s my business!’

‘Not anymore! Start talking!’

‘I can’t trust that if I go, you won’t keep hounding me for information that I’m not going to share,’ she snapped. ‘The idea of being locked in a car with you two, or stuck in the middle of nowhere with nothing but time to talk horrifies me.’

Dean glared at her, he would never put her in that sort of position. Never force her to tell him before she was ready. Damn it, yes, he’d approach it. Ask. But he’d never force it.

‘Now leave, before I do,’ she threatened, gesturing to the door. ‘And if I go, I ain’t coming back.’

He grew desperate, torn between needing answers and needing her stay. The two glared at each other, it wasn’t until Sam took hold of his elbow that he stepped back. Doing what was needed to keep her here.

The boys drove in silence, neither had spoken since Y/N’s room, other than Sam giving Dean the location.

‘He’s alive,’ Dean admitted, quietly.

‘Do you think he did it?’

Dean sighed, ‘I don’t know. The Y/N I know, wouldn’t let him get away with that. If anyone hit her, they’d only be doing it once.’

‘Yeah, that was my thoughts. I’m thinking, maybe they split and she went on a hunt out of anger and got herself hurt.’

‘That’s was my first thought. And if she planned on it, she knew she’d get hurt, which was why she cancelled coming to see us. I’m guessing, she knew it would end badly, she just didn’t expect hospital bad.’

‘It wasn’t even that bad though, she’s gone back to the motel with worse,’ Sam pointed out. ‘And given her hatred for hospitals, why then?’

‘The head injury. She was concussed.’

Sam nodded, shifting in his seat, ‘We’re still missing something,’ he mumbled.

‘Like why she was that upset about their break up?’

‘Exactly. Dean, when you two split…Christ, she was bad then but never like that. And she fights better when she’s pissed. She focuses on the fight to avoid her emotions.’

‘I know,’ he admitted quietly.

The next week and a half was spent hunting the Wendigo and killing it. Dean couldn’t decide if the time away from her was good or not. It gave him time to think. Not that it gave him any answers. But it allowed him to calm down. Sort of anyway. He messaged her when he could, making sure she was ok. He was relieved that she had calmed down enough to reply. She even apologised. That in itself was odd.

He sat on his bed listening as the phone rang.

‘Hey,’ she said quietly as she answered.

‘You ok?’ he frowned, listening to the slight catching of her voice.

‘Yeah, I just found some chicken thing in the freezer and had it for dinner…’

‘Christ, Y/N. I don’t remember the last time we had chicken.’

‘I gathered that from the taste. You’re down a container by the way. The whole thing went in the bin. The autopsy report I’m looking at for Larry, looks more appealing.’

He chuckled, it was the most like her old self she had sounded since Jodie’s call.

‘I need to ask you something, Sweetheart,’ Dean admitted, hesitating slightly. He didn’t want to ruin her mood, or have another fight but it had been bugging him.

He heard her take a breath. Listening as she braced herself for what was coming.

‘You know I love you. Always have. And no matter what, I’d be there for you. If you were in trouble, if a hunt went wrong or whatever it was, I’d be there.’

‘I know,’ she whispered.

‘Did you get bit? Turned? Or something? Was the attack some kind of hunt gone wrong? I know you’ve dealt with it. With whatever it was. But since then, you’ve not been yourself.’

‘Dean, if that had happened I would never have gone to the hospital. I would have called you, said my peace, said everything I should have said years ago and a million times since and ended it. I wouldn’t risk another person.’

He nodded, clearing his throat as tears welled in his eyes, ‘I would have stopped you.’

‘I wouldn’t have expected anything less,’ she breathed. The tears creeping their way into her voice. ‘I’ll explain what happened. I promise. Just not now. Not over the phone. I just need some time. But when I’m ready, I will.’

‘Just promise me, you’re not in any kind of trouble or danger?’

‘I promise. I need to go, I have to call Larry.’

He said his goodbyes and went to hang up when he heard her call his name.

‘Yeah?’

‘Thank you.’

‘What for?’

‘For being you, for all you’ve done. For all I know you will do.’

Dean frowned as the call disconnected. His hand eventually falling from his ear and into his lap as he stared at the phone. A sense of dread filled his veins. The call had done nothing to settle his nerves. Nothing to settle him. The only difference was, she seemed better. Happier. More herself.

He sat at the bar with Sam, staring at the beer in his hands. Both men still trying to figure out what she meant.

‘Maybe there was more to it, maybe she was bit but thinks she has time. Werewolf or something. Maybe she’s not even sure if she’d turn and is just preparing herself for the worst.’

‘Maybe she should just bloody say,’ Dean grumbled.

Sam chuckled, as he shook his head. ‘She’s never needed to in the past. Christ, Dean, it was always like you had transcripts of her thoughts constantly playing through your head.’

‘Hasn’t been that way for a while,’ Dean admitted sadly.

‘Winchesters,’ the deep voice broke through the noise of the crowd causing them to look up.

‘Larry, Ed,’ Dean nodded, gesturing to the seat.

The men sat, making small talk. Discussing latest hunts. No one seemed in the mood to talk. Dean listened as Larry described the victim of a ghoul.

‘That the case you’re on now?’

Larry shook his head, ‘No case at the moment.’

Dean frowned, ‘I thought…Y/N said she was helping you?’

‘Last week,’ Ed grumbled. ‘If you can call that helping. She’s not been the same this past month. Sure, she picked it. But she was annoyed we asked for her opinion.’

Dean frowned, as Larry shot Ed daggers.

‘What do you expect. I told you we shouldn’t have called her. Not with everything that happened.’

Both Winchesters, shifted in their chairs, suddenly interested in their friend’s company.

‘What do you know?’ Dean asked icily. ‘And I advise you don’t hold back any information.’

*

Dean stood in the shadows of the hall, watching her silently as she read something on her laptop. He was still seething that he hadn’t been told. That she thought she could hide this. That the whole world knew the truth and he was left in the dark. Him. Her best friend. The one she told everything to. The one she turned to. He stepped into the door frame, prepared to take the gentle but firm approach. Her time was up. He wanted to hear it from her. Then he would deal with it. Deal with Lawson. Sam was already on the hunt.  

‘Why didn’t you tell me?! Is this why you broke up?! God, Y/N, tell me he didn’t put you in hospital because you’re pregnant?! Did he hurt your kid?!’ he blurted, the approach nothing like he planned. Nothing like he rehearsed.

The blood drained from her face as she lifted her eyes to meet his. Her whole body shook but she refused to answer. He wasn’t sure if it was because she couldn’t or because she didn’t want to.  

‘Y/N?’

She shook her head slightly, ‘I can’t…Not now. Don’t ask me about it now.’

‘Don’t ask you about it now? When, Y/N? When some hunter in a bar tells me you’ve delivered?’

Her jaw dropped as she continued to shake her head. Her hands brushing tears from her face.

‘Do you know what it’s like finding something like that out from someone else?’ he yelled. ‘It should have come from you.’

Her tears fell heavier as her whole body shuddered. Dean sighed, grabbing the tissue box from the desk and handing it to her before sitting down at the bottom of her mattress.

‘I’m sorry. I just thought…We tell each other everything. At least, I thought we did.’

‘Dean,’ she pleaded. ‘Leave. Please.’

‘Is the baby ok?’

She hesitated, and in that moment, he saw more truth than he had for a while.

‘You’re not thinking of…Y/N?’ he whispered.

‘It’s complicated,’ she sobbed. ‘I can’t… I don’t…’

‘Sweetheart, you’re not alone. I can help. But you need to talk to me. You should have talked to me!’ he growled. ‘To Sammy even! Christ, Y/N this whole time. You need stuff. Vitamins, support, special foods. Its dad might not be around but we are. The bunker needs baby proofing, but we’ll do it. Bobby’s going to need time to clean up his place.’

She shook her head as she buried it in her hands, ‘Stop,’ she sobbed.

‘We’re here, Y/N, and we’ll help. The whole way, I swear. You’re not alone. You’ve never been alone.’

‘Dean,’ she pleaded once more, lifting her tear stained face to meet his. ‘Please.’

‘Can you tell me how far?’ he argued. Fighting every urge he had to scream at her. He still struggled to believe she’d kept this hidden. That he hadn’t noticed. That said, he’d barely seen her. It explained so much about her time since coming home. Her reason for avoiding them, alcohol and the hunt. He hated himself for not realising earlier.

‘If I do will you leave?’

Dean sighed, nodding sadly. It was something at least. And a start. The rest, he hoped, would come.

‘9 weeks.’

He nodded, standing up. He gently kissed the top of her head.

‘You won’t be doing this alone, Y/N. We’ve got your back. Always have.’

Dean lay in bed, letting his music play softly in his ears. Letting his thoughts wander. Thinking. Imagining what it would be like to have a baby around. A small smile played on his lips. Sure, he’d never wanted kids. But he had to admit, a part of him was excited about the prospect of Y/N’s kid filling these halls with giggles. He’d keep them safe, no matter what. There was no way her ex coming anywhere near them. Not after what he did. Blood or not, he wasn’t even going to be informed of when the baby came or the details. Dean would see to that. And once he found the bastard, he’d kill him. For what he did to her. For what he did to his own kid. What kind of father beats his child’s mother?

His mind wandered to Y/N as he struggled to contain his anger. She’d need things. The baby will need things. Clothes, prams, car seats, toys…the list went on. Nine weeks, that meant 31 weeks till it’s here.

Flashes of Y/N and her ex crossed his mind and he gripped the sheets as anger rippled through him. Not just at Lawson for what he did, but for touching her in the first place. She was his girl. His. He should never have broken up with her. Never have let her walk. Never have left it so long. No, Lawson didn’t deserve her. She was his girl. Was all those years ago. Still was now. Despite the circumstances. She’d proven that time and time again as she came back to visit. Every major holiday was with the boys. Every birthday…

He blinked, yanking the headphones from his ears as he threw himself out of bed. He took off running for her room. Grabbing his doorframe as he used it to swing himself around the frame.  

He slammed into her door, ignoring the crash as it hit the wall behind it.   ‘It’s not his baby!’ he blurted.

Her jaw dropped as she looked up at him. Her nose red, her eyes puffy and moist. Her cheeks coated in warm trails that tugged at his chest.  

‘It’s not…it’s not…’ he ran a hand through his hair as everything came crashing down. His legs seemed to turn to jelly as they wobbled beneath him. He grabbed her desk chair, steadying himself as the words played through his mind over and over again.

Y/N tried to talk, a small squeak left her lips but that was all.

‘He put my girl in hospital and tried to kill our kid!’ he roared suddenly, jumping up.

Y/N jumped, watching helpless as Dean stormed from the room.

‘Have you found him?!’ he growled as he walked into the library.

‘Not yet,’ Sam admitted.

‘Find that son of a bitch, now!’ Dean snapped. ‘Call me as soon as you do.’

He stomped back towards Y/N’s room. Her sobs echoing off the halls as he approached, slowing his steps to a complete stop. He sighed, taking a deep breath he walked into her room. He grabbed her chair and placed it next to her bed, before sitting down. He reached out, gently brushing his fingers across her stomach.

‘Tell me our baby’s ok? That he didn’t hurt it.’

‘It’s fine,’ she whispered.

‘Why the hell didn’t you tell me?’

‘Because I didn’t even know how to tell me,’ she cried. ‘You never wanted kids. Not now. Not while we were still hunting. Neither did I. Christ, Dean. I wouldn’t know what to do with a baby. A kid fine, I helped look after Sammy but a baby…Jesus. The last baby I held I thought I was going to drop when it moved. And don’t even get me started on changing it. Blood and guts I can handle, but dirty nappies and vomit?! I don’t even help you when your hung over. I’m a damn sympathetic vomiter!’

Dean chuckled; yes, she was.

‘I wasn’t prepared for this. I wasn’t ready. I… I was still struggling to cope with the fact that we’d slept together. I hate cheating…I…’

Her tears fell once more and Dean reached out and wiped them from her cheeks.

‘I know. And I’m sorry for the guilt it made you feel. I know I shouldn’t have kissed you. But I couldn’t not kiss you either. I hated that you were with him. With anyone other than me,’ Dean mumbled. ‘But I ain’t sorry for what I did. For being with you. For this,’ he admitted, a small smile flickered on his lips as he reached for her stomach again. ‘I am sorry I wasn’t there to kill the bastard though, the moment he raised his hand the first time,’ Dean growled.

Her lip quivered as she watched him. Dean let his hand fall, clasping his hand around hers.

‘Why tell him first?’

‘He guessed,’ she admitted. ‘I was sick and I hadn’t started... He knew straight away. We hadn’t had sex, it had been months since our last time.’

Dean gaped at her, he wasn’t expecting that.

‘I’d been trying to break up with him, but I felt terrible. He honestly felt something for me and I couldn’t return it. Not when I love you. Not when I spent every night lying in bed wondering how it came to this. How we came to this. And all I wanted was to come home. To be back where I belonged.’

Dean gave her a sad smile as he squeezed her hand.

‘We got into a fight and he left. I was packing to come here when he attacked.’

Dean’s grip in her hand grew tighter, as he tried to stop the trembling that coursed through him.

‘Dean,’ she whispered, glancing down at her hand.

He nodded, loosening his grip slightly.

‘It was the only reason I went to the hospital,’ she admitted. ‘I had plans to tell you. But when I saw you, I just…God it was so hard. I’d gone from knowing I needed to end things with him so I could be with you, to having to admit I cheated, to realising I was pregnant and everything just happened so fast. And all I could think was you didn’t want me anymore when I wasn’t pregnant…you wouldn’t want me now.’

‘Bullshit! I never stopped. I never stopped loving you. Never stopping wanting you. Never stopping waiting for you,’ he cried, the tears now falling down his cheeks. ‘I didn’t sleep with you because I needed sex. I slept with you because I needed you. Because I was prepared to beg you to leave him to come back to me. But you kept shutting down the conversation.’

His eyes dropped to her stomach, as it lay hidden beneath a thick woollen sweater and blankets.

‘Why not tell me once we got back here?’

‘There was a chance, that the baby wouldn’t survive,’ she whispered. ‘I was told to stay as stress free as possible until the danger passed at 12 weeks.’

Dean froze. Unable to breathe as the words left her lips.

‘I had a check-up while you were gone, it’s fine. Heartbeats strong, it’s growing properly and all that. The worst was over and they’re pretty sure we should be fine.’

He let out his breath as the tension left his muscles, ‘I’m sorry I pushed. If I had of known I wouldn’t have. I wouldn’t have even taken the hunt. I would have-.’

‘I needed you to. Dean, it was worse having you here and not telling you. I knew how you’d react. Although, there’s less yelling than I expected,’ she admitted.

‘That will come. Once I find him.’

‘Dean,’ she sighed.

‘He’s not getting away with this, Y/N. I’ll either kill him or maim him and hand him over to Jodie.’

‘I did that already.’

‘But I haven’t. No one hurts my girl, you know that. And to hurt our kid…he’s going to pay, Y/N. He won’t even know what pain is until I’m done with him.’

She gave him a sad smile as she relaxed against the headboard, ‘I’m so sorry, Dean.’

He lifted her hand, gently bringing it to his lips, ‘So am I.’

He watched as she too a shuddered breath and sunk back into her pillows. Her face relaxing as she closed her eyes. A kid wasn’t something he expected. Something he never thought was possible. His eyes drifted to her stomach as he watched it carefully, protectively. Knowing he would give his life to keep their baby safe. A smile tugged at his lip, this was the best birthday yet.  

@thegreatficmaster @torn-and-frayed @hamartiamacguffin @illisea

@tornjeansandabrokenheart @msimpala67 @gabavaldman @raylin19 @kgbrenner @thatfangirl46  @theskytraveler @upon-a-girl @wishedworld @scamanders26newtcase @shame lesslydean  @calaofnoldor @stylesismyhubs  @mrspeacem1nusone

[twistedheartsclub]

His Favorite Mistake- Yandere Ex Male X Female Reader

⚠️ CONTENT WARNING — This story contains themes of emotional manipulation, cheating, toxic relationships, possessive obsession, and psychological tension. Features morally gray characters, jealousy, non-graphic sexual scenes, and blurred lines between love, lust, and revenge. Reader discretion is strongly advised.

She begged him once. He left. Now she smiles when he burns.

Aisle Seven

Y/N hadn’t expected to see him again.

Certainly not in the middle of the grocery store, under warm fluorescent lights and soft pop music, while she reached for fresh thyme.

But there he was.

Him.

The man she once loved with every aching part of her.

The man who broke her.

He was pushing a cart. Laughing. A woman clung to his arm—pregnant, glowing, unaware.

Y/N froze.

She could’ve turned. Walked away. Pretended she hadn’t seen him.

But it was too late.

“Y/N?”

His voice hadn’t changed. That effortless charm. That smile she used to melt for.

“Wow, it’s been a while.”

She didn’t speak right away. Just… looked at him.

At the woman.

At her hand on his arm.

At the small swell of her belly.

She blinked once. Then smiled—perfectly.

She looked stunning. A tight sundress hugging her curves, wedges lifting her calves just right, her makeup soft and glowing. In her basket sat fresh herbs, red wine, pasta, garlic—his favorite. The recipe she used to make when he was hers.

“Hi,” she said sweetly, voice smooth as silk.

Something shifted in his expression.

She looks good. Better than I remember.

Who’s she making dinner for?

The woman beside him adjusted her bag. Nervous. Unsure.

“Hi, I’m Elle,” she said, holding out her hand. “I’m his fiancée.”

Y/N smiled even wider. Shook her hand gently.

“Lovely to meet you.”

She didn’t ask questions. Didn’t linger.

“I’m in a bit of a rush. Hope you both have a beautiful day.”

And just like that, she walked away.

But not before catching the flicker in his eyes.

He watched her go.

Like a man who just realized he lost something he should’ve held onto with both hands.

Y/N’s Apartment — 7:42 PM

The apartment smelled like garlic, white wine, and basil.

Y/N stirred the pasta with one hand and scrolled on her phone with the other while her best friends lounged at the kitchen island, sipping rosé and nibbling cheese.

“You’re so domestic lately,” Maris teased, stealing a tomato off the cutting board.

“Yeah,” said Bree. “Like, scary domestic. You’re making fresh pasta now? Who are you feeding like this?”

Y/N smirked and shrugged. “I just wanted comfort food.”

She didn’t say his name.

Not yet.

But it slipped out during dinner. Between bites of the creamy sauce he once moaned over, she said it—

“I saw him today.”

Both girls stopped mid-chew.

“Wait. Him him?” Bree asked.

“Matt?” Maris blinked. “Your Matt?”

Y/N nodded, sipping her wine. Her voice was casual. But her grip on the glass was a little too tight.

“Market aisle seven. With a very pregnant fiancée.”

“Jesus,” Bree muttered. “What did he say?”

“Hi,” Y/N said sweetly. “He looked… surprised. I think I made his brain stop.”

They all laughed, but there was a quiet under it.

A hum of something bitter.

Matt’s Apartment — 8:05 PM

Dinner was plated in front of him.

He hadn’t touched it.

Elle smiled gently, rubbing her belly as she watched TV from the couch.

“Who was that girl earlier?” she asked. “You seemed weird after.”

Matt barely looked up. “No one.”

“She was really pretty.”

Silence.

Elle looked at him.

“Seriously, who was she?”

He exhaled. “Just someone I used to know.”

“Old friend?”

“…something like that.”

He pushed his food away and got up. Walked into the bedroom. Shut the door softly.

Then grabbed his phone.

He searched her name.

Clicked on her profile.

And froze.

Her latest post was from last night. A photo at her apartment—candles glowing, pasta plated beautifully, two friends laughing in the background.

She looked good.

Her lips were glossed. Her dress soft and short. Her eyes glowing in low light.

He stared at the caption.

"Girls’ night in 🍷✨ comfort food, comfort people."

Who’s she cooking for?

She never looked like that with me.

Is someone else touching her now?

Does she even think about me?

He saved the photo.

He didn’t know why.

But he couldn’t stop looking.

Matt hadn’t meant to check her page again.

But it was muscle memory now.

Y/N’s name.

Tap. Scroll. Watch.

The 4:05 a.m. selfie—face flushed, ponytail messy, captioned “beat the sun 🌅”.

The yoga video her friend reposted—tight black leggings, form perfect.

The pic from school—“My students made me cry today 🥹 #teacherlife”.

She was doing good.

No.

She was doing better.

And that made something sour coil in his gut.

He clicked her tagged photos next. Every brunch, every bookstore run, every glass of wine with her girls. He studied the background. The angles. Looking for a shadow of a man. A wrist. A second glass. Anything.

He didn’t find one.

But that didn’t calm him.

It infuriated him.

She cried for me.

She begged on her knees. Her voice shaking. Hands gripping my shirt like she’d die if I walked away.

And I did. I left.

The night before I left, I made love to her.

Slow. Deep. Her whispering “I love you” against his neck like a prayer.

He remembered the way her lip trembled when he said it was over.

How she broke.

And now?

Now she glowed.

Now she thrived.

And something in him… fractured.

He wasn’t sorry.

Not in the normal way.

He was angry.

Angry that she healed. That she smiled. That she lived in a world where he wasn’t necessary.

She was supposed to shatter without me.

Not become something more.

He closed the app.

Sat in silence.

And whispered to himself—

“She was mine.”

His fiancée called from the next room.

He didn’t answer.

He was already planning the next time he’d “accidentally” run into Y/N.

And next time?

He wouldn’t be smiling.

Y/N’s Apartment – 6:47 PM

She stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the sleeves of her satin blouse, smoothing the hem of her skirt.

Her makeup was soft. Hair curled. A warm red lip she hadn’t worn in months.

Her friends buzzed around her, giggling, handing her a glass of wine she barely sipped.

“Come on, Y/N,” Bree said. “This guy is perfect. Handsome, steady job, no weird ex drama, wants marriage and a dog.”

“He’s seriously looking to settle down,” Maris added. “And he’s seen your photos. He asked us if you were single.”

Y/N laughed quietly, shaking her head. “That’s terrifying.”

“It’s called fate, babe.”

And so, at 7:30, she walked into the warm glow of the downtown restaurant. Candlelight. Leather booths. Glasses clinking.

And across the table—Luca.

Tall. Calm. Easy smile.

He asked her questions. Listened. Laughed at her jokes. Held the door open when she got chilly and offered his coat.

It felt… nice.

Easy.

Too easy.

And someone else—somewhere else—was watching.

Matt’s Condo – 8:06 PM

The second she posted the photo—just a plate of pasta, a glass of wine, the blurred edge of a candle—he knew.

She’s on a date.

He stared at the screen, heart thudding.

He refreshed her friend’s story.

There she was.

Laughing.

Her hand near a man’s wrist.

“Who the f*ck is that?”

His knuckles cracked as he gripped the phone.

He didn’t recognize the guy.

Didn’t care.

He paced his kitchen like a caged animal, every breath sharper than the last.

She’s dressed up.

She’s smiling at someone else.

She doesn’t look sad. Doesn’t look like she’s waiting for me.

She looks happy.

That’s what pushed him over.

That’s what made him snap.

He threw the wine glass against the far wall.

It shattered.

He stared at the shards.

“You little liar,” he whispered. “You said you’d always love me.”

Meanwhile — Y/N’s Doorstep – 10:42 PM

The date had ended with a soft goodbye. No kiss. Just a hug, a warm smile, and a “Let’s talk again soon.”

She was halfway through taking off her heels when her phone buzzed.

Unknown Number:

You looked beautiful tonight.

Her blood went cold.

Then another:

But you looked more beautiful crying on my floor.

She dropped her phone.

Her heart pounded.

Outside, a car sat idling at the curb.

Dark. Windows tinted.

She didn’t know it yet…

But Matt had already followed her home.

Y/N’s Apartment – Night Before

Her phone was face down on the kitchen table, untouched.

Her hands shook.

“He followed you home?” Maris whispered.

“Did he see you?” Bree asked, already pulling up a lock change service on her phone.

Y/N nodded, eyes glassy. “He texted me. Said I looked beautiful. And then—he reminded me of the night I broke down for him.”

The silence between them went heavy.

Maris wrapped her arms around her. Bree joined, warm and fierce.

“He doesn’t get to come back now,” Bree said. “He left. That was his choice.”

“You’re not that girl anymore,” Maris added gently. “Don’t let him make you one again.”

The Next Day – 10:12 AM — Bookstore

It was her safe place.

Always had been.

The scent of old pages, quiet piano music overhead, warm sunlight slanting through the windows. She took her time, trailing her fingers along the spines of novels, pretending everything was still okay.

Until she felt it.

That shift in the air.

That presence.

She turned—too late.

Matt was there.

Eyes dark. Hands in his pockets. Blocking the aisle.

“Y/N.”

Her heart slammed into her ribs. “Don’t do this.”

“I needed to see you.”

She stepped back, clutching her bag tighter. “You moved on. You said I love you once too. You burned the love I had for you.”

Her voice cracked.

“You had your chance. Go enjoy your perfect little family with Elle.”

He closed the space between them fast.

Too fast.

She hit the wall behind her with a soft gasp. His hand slammed beside her head. His other hand gripped her hip.

“I didn’t burn it,” he hissed. “You’re still burning.”

She flinched as his face came close—too close.

His eyes dropped to her lips. Her neck. Her dress.

“I still know this body. Every. Inch.”

“Let me go.”

But his hand didn’t move.

His thigh brushed hers.

His voice was low. Breath heavy. “You let him touch you? That soft little boy from your date?”

She shoved his chest.

“You don’t get to ask me that.”

He grabbed her wrists.

Pressed them against the wall.

And kissed her.

Hard. Possessive. Messy. Like he was starving.

She twisted beneath him—but somewhere in it… something broke.

And she kissed him back.

The pressure of his body. The fire in her stomach. Her fingers curling into his shirt. His groan vibrating against her lips.

It was familiar.

It was wrong.

But it felt so good.

When they pulled apart, they were both breathing like they’d run a mile.

Their eyes locked.

Neither of them said a word.

The air between them didn’t cool.

After that kiss—wild and burning—Y/N couldn’t breathe. Matt didn’t give her time to think. His hand was already gripping hers, tugging her toward the exit of the bookstore like he owned her path.

She should have pulled away.

She should have said no.

But her lips were still tingling. Her heart was still racing. And when he opened the passenger door of his sleek black car, she got in.

“This is a mistake,” she whispered as he pulled onto the road.

His hand slid over her thigh. Firm. Hot.

“Then tell me to stop.”

She couldn’t.

In the Car

The city lights passed by in a blur. Her breath hitched every time his thumb stroked soft circles on her bare skin, just beneath the hem of her dress.

“You’re shaking,” he said, glancing sideways.

“This is wrong,” she whispered. “You have a fiancée. A baby.”

“I only see you.”

His voice was low. Raw. Like something inside him had snapped and spilled out.

She swallowed hard.

But she didn’t move his hand.

Y/N’s Apartment — The Door Clicks Closed

The second it shut, her back hit it. His mouth was on hers again, rougher this time. Desperate. His hands roamed down her waist, under the curve of her dress.

She gasped as he lifted her, carrying her toward the bedroom like she weighed nothing.

Her hands gripped his arms—hard, sculpted, familiar. His scent was intoxicating, his mouth moving from her lips to her neck, biting and kissing down to her collarbone.

“I shouldn’t want this,” she breathed.

“But you do.”

What Follows Is Fire

Clothes hit the floor in flashes.

The way he touched her—like he’d never stopped knowing how. His mouth on her breasts, sucking hard, tongue circling until she cried out.

His hands on her thighs, spreading them wide.

Every thrust was punishment and worship.

She arched, her head thrown back, moaning his name like it was pulled from the deepest part of her. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling as he groaned into her skin.

He didn’t stop.

Not when she whimpered.

Not when her body shook.

He took her again. And again. Until her voice cracked and her body melted against him.

After

They lay tangled in her sheets, skin sticky, hearts pounding.

He pressed soft kisses to her shoulder, his chest rising and falling behind her. One strong arm wrapped around her, his fingertips drawing slow circles into the curve of her arm.

“Why,” she whispered into the dark.

He didn’t answer at first.

Then—

“Because no one else gets to touch you like that.”

“You’re mine, Y/N. You always were.”

Matt’s House — 2:14 AM

He unlocked the door quietly.

Elle was asleep on the couch, one hand resting protectively on her belly, the TV still glowing in the background. A baby onesie ad flickered across the screen.

Matt stood there in the dark, still tasting Y/N on his lips.

His shirt smelled like her. His skin, her perfume. His thoughts? Only her.

He stared at Elle for a long time.

But he didn’t feel guilt.

He felt… annoyed.

She’s not Y/N.

She never was.

Sunday Morning — 9:42 AM

Y/N sat on a sunny patio, sipping coffee with Luca.

She wore a soft yellow blouse and a pair of delicate earrings. Her hair was tied up loose. The same fingers that gripped Matt’s shoulders the night before now toyed with a silver necklace as she smiled.

“You have a really cute laugh,” Luca said, eyes warm.

She laughed again, tipping her head.

“You’re just saying that because I ordered pancakes and a croissant.”

He chuckled. “I respect it.”

She leaned forward a little, her legs crossed, casually gorgeous.

Like nothing had happened.

Like she hadn’t moaned Matt’s name hours ago.

Like she wasn’t still sore from the way he devoured her.

But her smile?

It was real.

Because this was control.

Meanwhile — Matt’s POV

He was still lying in bed.

Staring at the ceiling.

Elle had asked if he wanted to go out for brunch. He said no.

He opened Instagram.

And there she was.

Y/N. At a café. Croissant. Pancakes. A man’s arm in the corner of the frame. Her smile wide.

His jaw clenched.

She doesn’t look wrecked.

She doesn’t even look like she’s thinking about me.

He locked his phone.

And threw it

Sunday Morning — Café Jardin, 10:06 AM

The sun filtered through the patio umbrella, casting soft shadows over Y/N’s table. Her coffee was still hot. The plate in front of her was nearly cleared. She was glowing—fresh from yoga, skin soft and flushed, the barest shimmer of gloss on her lips.

Across from her, Luca smiled with that effortless charm. Warm, polite, well-dressed in a crisp button-down.

He was easy to talk to.

Safe.

“So,” he said between bites of his omelet, “your friends said you were in a pretty serious relationship before?”

Her fingers paused around the coffee cup.

She smiled.

“Yeah… it ended about a year ago.”

“I don’t want to overstep,” he said gently, “but you seem really grounded. Not everyone gets through something like that and still believes in… you know, dating. Love.”

She tilted her head, watching him over the rim of her mug.

“I believe in second chances,” she said sweetly. “But only when someone deserves one.”

He smiled. “Fair.”

She didn’t say his name.

She didn’t need to.

But inside her chest, something tightened—an ache she had no interest in naming.

Time Skip — Monday Evening, 6:42 PM

Y/N’s Yoga Studio — Front Entrance

She pushed open the glass door, mat in one hand, water bottle in the other, ponytail damp from sweat and effort. Her body felt lighter. Her mind clearer.

Until she saw him.

Leaning against the black car parked right outside the studio.

Matt.

Still in a white fitted tee and dark jeans. Forearms crossed. That same chain around his neck. Eyes locked on her like a hunter who’d been waiting hours.

She stopped dead.

“Seriously?”

He said nothing at first. Just pushed off the car and walked straight toward her.

“You’ve been ignoring me.”

“Yeah,” she snapped. “That was on purpose.”

“Get in the car.”

She laughed—dry, disbelieving. “Are you serious right now?”

“Now, Y/N.”

“Why don’t you go home and play daddy?” she hissed. “I’m sure your pregnant fiancée is wondering where you are.”

His jaw tensed. His nostrils flared.

He grabbed her wrist—not roughly, but firmly—and yanked the passenger door open.

“We’re talking. One way or another.”

And before she could fully think, she was in the car.

The door slammed.

He got in. Started the engine. Said nothing.

And she said nothing either.

Until she realized—he was taking the turns toward her place.

Her breath hitched.

She looked at him.

His profile was sharp. Angled. His knuckles white around the wheel.

She hated the way her thighs pressed together. The way her chest rose with every breath. The ache.

“You know what?” she said quietly. “We can talk… over coffee.”

Back at Her Apartment — 7:11 PM

She handed him a mug.

He didn’t say thank you.

They stood in the kitchen, the air thick.

“You don’t get to act like this,” she said finally. “You don’t get to follow me, drag me into your car, show up. You’re engaged—”

“You kissed me back.”

She blinked. “That doesn’t make this right.”

“No,” he said, stepping closer, “but it makes it real.”

His voice had dropped. Dark. Rough. He placed the coffee down slowly.

“You smiled at that guy yesterday like he could give you something I didn’t. But you let me fuck you like no one else ever has.”

Her face flushed. She tried to look away.

He stepped closer.

“What did he get? Pancakes?”

“Matt—”

“I gave you everything. And you’re pretending it didn’t mean anything.”

“Because it shouldn’t mean anything,” she snapped.

“Then why are you shaking right now?”

Silence.

Then—she stepped forward. One hand in his hair. The other pressing against his chest.

And kissed him.

Hard.

Hungry.

Like she needed it.

“Shut up,” she whispered. “Just shut up.”

He grabbed her waist, lifted her off the ground like she weighed nothing, and carried her down the hall.

The Bedroom — A Blur of Heat

She didn’t remember how fast her dress hit the floor.

His mouth was on her neck, her shoulder, her chest. He didn’t undress her gently—he tore through the silence, through her restraint.

She gasped as he bit the skin of her thigh, sucking hard until it bloomed red.

He was rough. Deep. Possessive.

Her hands gripped his hair. Her nails scraped his back.

She moaned his name again.

And again.

And again.

After —

They lay tangled in her sheets, again.

His arm around her waist. His fingers tracing her skin like a ritual.

She was quiet.

Until—

“Why do you keep coming back?”

He didn’t answer right away.

But when he did, it was a whisper.

“Because no one has ever ruined me the way you did.”

It had been a month.

A month of Sunday breakfasts and weekday yoga.

Of late-night messages and secret key turns in the lock.

Y/N was still dating Luca—charming, kind, the kind of man who made her tea when her throat hurt and sent good morning texts with heart emojis.

But she was still fucking Matt.

Hard. Secret. Messy.

Sometimes she hated herself for it. Other nights, she let him ruin her until she couldn’t even speak his name.

She was playing with fire.

But she liked the warmth.

Thursday — 3:14 PM — Boutique Downtown

She didn’t mean to run into Elle.

Y/N was just looking at candles, smiling softly at the scent of vanilla smoke and clean linen when a familiar voice chirped behind her.

“Y/N?”

She turned, slow and sweet.

Elle stood there in soft blue maternity wear, a headband pulling her curls back, shopping bags in one hand and polite curiosity in her smile.

“Oh, hi!” Y/N said with practiced delight. “You look so cute.”

“You too!” Elle smiled, a little too tightly. “You… you used to date Matt, right?”

Y/N blinked once, then laughed, covering her mouth lightly.

“Oh, you didn’t know? That’s funny—yeah. I was the one before you.”

Elle’s smile strained.

“He never really talked about you.”

“No, I imagine he wouldn’t,” Y/N said, voice sugar-slick. “Hard to explain that kind of love to your new girl.”

Elle’s lips parted, unsure if she was being insulted.

“How far along are you?” Y/N asked suddenly, tilting her head. “You’re glowing.”

“Six months.”

“Aw,” Y/N said with a hand to her chest. “So sweet. Pregnancy looks so good on you… I was just saying to my friends the other day how Matt always loved that domestic look.”

Elle blinked.

Y/N smiled wider.

“Anyway, I’m running late. Take care of yourself, Elle. And say hi to Matt for me.”

And just like that, she walked out—heels clicking, perfume lingering.

That Night — Girls’ Dinner

The wine had flowed. The pasta was gone.

Y/N wiped her mouth with a napkin and said it:

“I ran into her today.”

Both Bree and Maris leaned in like wolves.

“Elle?”

“Elle.”

“Did you tell her?”

Y/N grinned. “Oh, I let her connect the dots. Told her she was glowing. Asked about her due date.”

“You bitch,” Bree whispered in awe.

“Queen,” Maris corrected.

Y/N sighed, swirling her wine.

“I can’t do this forever. I told myself once Luca asks me to be his girlfriend… I’ll cut all ties.”

“Do you think you will?” Bree asked gently.

“I have to,” Y/N said. “Because the thing about Matt is… if I don’t leave first, he’ll never let me go.”

That Night — Matt’s Home, 11:03 PM

Elle sat on the edge of the bed, brushing lotion into her belly in slow, distracted circles.

Matt had just come out of the shower, towel around his hips, hair damp.

“You didn’t tell me your ex was that Y/N,” she said softly, like a landmine whispered into the dark.

Matt froze.

“What do you mean?”

“I ran into her today.”

Her voice was calm.

That was worse.

“She was very… polite.”

Matt reached for a shirt without speaking.

“She said you used to love the domestic look. That it looked good on me.”

His jaw clenched.

Elle looked up at him slowly.

“She’s beautiful. Even more than in her pictures.”

“Is there something you want to tell me, Matt?”

Silence.

He met her eyes, cold and unreadable.

“No.”

Elle didn’t argue.

She didn’t cry.

But she turned off the lamp without saying another word.

And Matt lay in bed beside her, staring at the ceiling, thinking of the woman who had just played his fiancée with a smile.

Three Days Later — Friday Night, 7:28 PM

Luca’s Loft — Soft Music, Candlelight

Y/N stood on the balcony, wine glass in hand, city lights sparkling below.

She felt safe here. Steady. Like she could almost have a normal life.

Luca stepped behind her, arms warm as they wrapped around her waist.

“You’ve been glowing lately,” he said against her temple. “I like seeing you like this.”

She leaned into him.

“I like feeling like this.”

He turned her gently.

Held both her hands.

“Y/N…”

“I know we’ve only been seeing each other a short while, but I don’t want to keep playing it casual.”

Her heart picked up.

“I’d like you to be my girlfriend.”

There it was.

The moment.

The promise she made.

She stared at him—kind, beautiful Luca—and smiled.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I’d love that.”

He kissed her.

And she let herself believe it would be enough.

But somewhere inside…

Matt’s name still echoed between her ribs.

Matt didn’t hear it from her.

He saw it on her profile.

A soft photo: Y/N in Luca’s coat, her hand resting gently over his, their fingers laced across a café table. Captioned:

“✨He asked. I said yes.”

A simple sentence.

But to Matt?

It detonated.

He didn’t sleep that night.

Didn’t go home the next one.

And on the third day?

He showed up at her apartment.

Saturday — 6:31 PM

Y/N had just opened the door, keys in hand, when she froze.

Matt.

Standing there. Leaning against the wall outside her apartment, black shirt rolled at the sleeves, eyes burning through her.

She blinked, tried to shut the door, but he caught it—fast. His foot slid between it and the frame.

“We need to talk.”

“I’m on my way out—grocery store,” she said lightly. Her voice was too sweet. Her outfit even sweeter—short skirt, tight top that hugged her waist, made her breasts spill just enough.

He stared.

“Dressed like that for produce?”

She smiled. “Don’t girls in relationships dress cute now?”

His jaw tensed.

“You talked to Elle.”

“She talked to me.”

“What did you say to her?”

“Oh, just that she was glowing. Asked about the baby. That sort of thing.”

Matt stepped inside before she could stop him, his eyes dragging over her body like he wanted to carve her open with just his stare.

“You’re not funny.”

“I’m not yours.”

Wrong words.

Too sharp.

He slammed the door shut behind him.

“So Luca’s yours now? That soft little thing gets to touch what I ruined first?”

She turned, heart pounding.

“This isn’t your life anymore, Matt.”

“Then why do you keep letting me back in?”

She opened her mouth.

But he was already on her.

Hands gripping her waist, lips crashing into hers like punishment. Her back hit the door hard, breath stolen from her lungs.

She kissed him back.

Like fire and denial.

Like maybe this would make it easier to let go.

His hand slid under her skirt, gripping her thigh.

“Matt—” she breathed against his mouth, “—this has to be the last time.”

He didn’t answer.

Because he knew it wasn’t.

And so did she.

Saturday Night — 8:12 PM

The restaurant glittered with crystal chandeliers and hushed elegance. Waiters in black. Tables dressed in white.

And Y/N?

A vision in red.

Her dress hugged her curves like it was painted on—backless, slit high, the neckline dipping just enough to earn stares. Her hair curled in glossy waves. Power-red lips. Cute heels. Confidence in every step.

Luca held her hand as they were guided to their table. He couldn’t stop looking at her.

“You’re the most beautiful woman here,” he whispered as he pulled out her chair.

“I know,” she teased with a wink.

And then—

Matt.

Sitting three tables down.

His head turned when he heard her laugh. He went still.

Elle touched his hand, following his gaze—her smile faltering when she saw Y/N.

They weren’t just in the same place.

They were in the same orbit again.

The Collision

Eventually, someone suggested they say hello. Or maybe Elle couldn’t resist. Or maybe Matt needed a closer look.

The two couples stood face to face between tables.

Y/N smiled.

“Elle. Matt. Fancy seeing you here.”

Elle’s eyes flicked over her outfit, her makeup. The glow.

“You look… different.”

“Healing does that,” Y/N said sweetly. “Luca, this is Elle and Matt.”

Luca offered a charming smile, clearly unaware of the tension crackling beneath the surface.

“Nice to meet you.”

Matt said nothing.

He just stared at Y/N’s mouth.

Later — Restroom Powder Room

Y/N was reapplying her lipstick in the mirror when Elle’s reflection appeared behind her.

“You wore that on purpose.”

Y/N kept her eyes on the mirror.

“Wore what?”

“That dress. That color.”

Y/N capped the lipstick slowly. Turned.

“Wouldn’t be the first time I wore red for Matt.”

Elle flushed.

Y/N stepped closer, eyes amused, voice low.

“Remind me—how did you two meet again?”

Elle blinked.

“We… well, he said he was ending things with you.”

Y/N’s smile sharpened.

“Ah. So he was cheating.”

Elle stiffened. “He said it was over.”

“That’s the funny thing,” Y/N whispered. “You can tell yourself that. You have to. Otherwise, what are you really standing on?”

She took a step toward the door.

Then turned back.

“You’re glowing again, by the way. But this time… I think it’s fear.”

With a smile like a blade, she walked out—heels clicking.

Elle stayed frozen by the sink, throat tight, suddenly unsure of everything.

The dinner was done. Drinks finished. Laughter fading.

Luca stood inside by the register, card in hand, chatting casually with the hostess.

Y/N stepped outside for air, heels clicking on the stone steps, the breeze brushing over her bare shoulders like silk.

And there he was.

Matt.

Waiting.

Eyes dark. Jaw tight.

He didn’t speak—just reached out and grabbed her wrist, pulling her around the corner, out of view from the front entrance.

“You’re really doing this,” he hissed. “Parading around like that in front of me.”

She smiled. Dangerous. Radiant.

“I wasn’t parading. I was glowing. There’s a difference.”

“You talked to Elle like that on purpose.”

“Oh, baby,” she cooed, stepping close. “You still think I accidentally hurt people?”

His breathing was heavier now. She could feel it—his jealousy, his need, his rage wrapped in desire.

“You think he touches you the way I do?”

She leaned in slowly, lips a breath from his.

Her voice? Velvet and venom.

“I’ll think of you…”

“…while he fucks me.”

Matt’s hand twitched at his side like he didn’t know whether to drag her closer or shove her away.

But she was already stepping back.

Right on cue, Luca pushed through the front doors.

“Everything good?” he asked.

Y/N turned, radiant and untouchable.

“Perfect,” she said sweetly. “Just catching a little air.”

Matt stood frozen as she walked away, red dress swaying with every step, her hand sliding into Luca’s effortlessly.

She didn’t look back.

But over her shoulder, she said with a smile:

“You always liked watching me leave.”

Luca opened the car door for her like the gentleman he was.

And Matt?

He stood on the curb, burning from the inside out.

[crabsnpersimmons]

How would Sun from your have you eaten au feel about hugs? He seems like he's so reserved and you mentioned that because he knows he's a robot he isn't very indulgent

But would he like hugs? Or could he warm up to them eventually?

(was chatting with @inkydoughnut the other day and i realized i never posted this comic woops 😂)

well well! Sun is no stranger to hugs! he doesn't usually initiate hugs, but he's used to receiving them from when he was a daycare attendant. he's never really learned when is a good time to pull back tho, so he often stays put until you pull back first:

Eclipse: Sun, we have dishes to wash.

Sun: You have 4 hands. And Moon.

[blue-eli]

Thinking about Kairi & Sora but mainly Kairi and going insane. Girl you have so many issues

[scratxhed-cd]

While I’ve cared deeply for many people throughout my life, I have yet to have an experience of feeling I’ve found “the one” and feeling all the intense emotions that come with that.

So I’m curious: for anyone whose fallen in love with someone, what was your “heart stopping” moment like?

[banj0possum]

My Lovely Melody

Yandere!Rockstar x GN!Reader

CW: yandere is a playboy before he meets reader, suggestive (creepy) thoughts, minor obsessive behaviour

🎸 Axel's been in many relationships with both men and women alike, but all of his little flings felt nothing more than that, just flings.

🎸 And he was content with it, I mean being a famous rockstar meant lots of people wanting a chance with you and he indulged in that fact.

🎸 He could sleep with whoever he wanted, whenever he wanted, and he wouldn't have to deal with the commitment that comes with dating or any of that messy stuff.

🎸 So why the hell can't stop thinking about you ?!?!?!!

🎸 He scratched his head trying to make sense of it, his messy hair getting even more ruffled as he tries to get the image of your smile out of his head.

🎸 You were in a miscellaneous store full of alt clothing, trinkets and various other stuff when he walked in with his bandmates.

🎸 It was fairly normal when he came in the store. It was dim with some random punk song playing faintly in the background. His friends started exploring, looking at the graphic t-shirts and mugs shaped like skulls and the like.

🎸 He got a bit bored and wandered to the other side of the store. It had posters, candles and..who's that?

🎸 There you were, staring longingly at a plush toy sitting on one of the shelves, just standing there.

🎸 He didn't think much of it, probably just some person baked out of their mind. "Hey buddy, you doin' good?"

🎸 You snap out of your gaze and look at the big hulking man in front of you. You stutter out an apology and explain your little misfortune.

🎸 "So you want this..toy...but you can't afford it..?" He raises a brow at you as you nod, making him chuckle.

🎸 He thought for a moment, looking at the stuffed creature, well it wouldn't hurt to buy it for you, he's pretty well off from all the gigs and concerts he's been in so...

🎸 "How 'bout I buy this thing for ya then? But you owe me~" He winks, thinking he could score some quick sex for being such a 'gentleman'

🎸 But no, instead of a blush or a knowing smirk, you just looked at him with the widest, most innocent eyes he's ever seen, you were practically shaking with joy as he said it.

🎸 You thanked him profusely before listing off things you could do in return, treating him to some food, buying something for him in return, plain paying him back..he was a bit surprised.

🎸 "O-oh...uhm that was a joke heheh, y-you don't have to do all that babe..." He blushes.

🎸 The two of you head to the cashier, his friends spying from behind the aisles as his gaze is locked on the little ball of cuteness beside him.

🎸 Seriously? Did you even know who he was? This has never happened before...most of the time, he would pay for someone's drink or something and they'd be on his dick in seconds, but you, you were so..different...it felt nice..

🎸 You didn't even get it in a bag, you immediately took the plush after it was paid and hugged it close.

🎸 so cute so cute so cute so cute so cute!!!

🎸 "Hey uh..so me and my buds are in a band and uhm..wanna maybe..watch our next gig?" He asks nervously, he's never been so shy towards anyone!!

🎸 You agree, thinking it's the least you could do for what he did for you.

🎸 You take out your phone, Axel can't help but grin at the case, it was cute, like you~..

🎸 "Here's my number if..you need it.." You smile at him, that smile..that damn cute smile...you had his heart wrapped around your finger at this point.

🎸 "Th-thanks sugar..I'll see you there.." He smiles back as you part ways, he heads back to his friends who were bombarding him with questions as he watches you skip out of the store with your new little soft friend.

🎸 That night, he was getting ready for the show when he got a message notification and sees that you sent a picture of the show from one of the seats with some text "Good luck out there!"

🎸 His face was on fire as he realized you were there, he peeks out in the crowd and there you were, your little plush toy in tow.

🎸 You look so out of place from the people in spiky jewelry and dark outfits, you were just in a hoodie and baggy pants, albeit the hoodie had a MCR design on it, but you can tell it was very soft compared to the rest of the audience.

🎸 Finally it was time for the show to begin and it was the most passionate he's been in a while, it seemed as if the words he was singing were dedicated to you and you alone.

🎸 The little glances at you made you giddy, like a friend seeing their bestie perform, you were cheering excitedly for him, not in a fangirly way, but one of genuine support and amazement.

🎸 After the performance, Axel tried finding you, but the crowd was too big and he assumed you must have left already.

🎸 Wait..why is he being so buddy buddy with you? You just met today! It's not like you two were best friends or anything!

🎸 He tried dismissing the thought of you, tried distracting himself by flirting with other people, but he could only think about you, and making you smile like that again..

🎸 no no no! get out of my head!

🎸 Maybe a little fling can ease his mind?

🎸 Even on his bed with some random girl after show, he can still think of you.

🎸 Would your skin be as soft? or maybe softer? How would your hair smell? He bets your moans would sound delicious..

🎸 shit FUCK!!

🎸 Even after his one night stand, he kept thinking of you

🎸 He stares at your messages, you sent a lot of pictures of your plush toy doing goofy things to him, so cute..so silly...he can't help but smile.

🎸 He decides to look you up on social media and..

🎸 Wait a minute...you make music too?

yep this was a bit short but idk man i love making you guys suffer <3 stay tuned for part 2 (i am actually out of ideas guys please request me please please ple-)

[seumyo]

BAKUGOU KATSUKI ✰ THE DRESS CODE

Bakugou was in a bad mood.

It was stupid, really. Absolutely stupid. But he couldn’t help the scowl on his face as he approached your desk.

“Oi,” he snapped, crossing his arms. “What the hell are you wearing?”

He had taken his time this morning, making sure the maroon shirt he picked out was one he actually liked. It wasn’t over the top or anything—just a plain shirt with a white skull on the back, paired with some casual black pants.

But it was the principle of the matter. You were supposed to match. That was the whole damn point.

The UA student council had this dress code specifically to celebrate Valentine’s Day. Maroon for those who’re in a relationship, blue for those in a situationship, green for those in the “friend zone,” black for those who are admirers from afar, and the plain school uniform for those who are more inclined in their studies to even bother with romantic relationships.

Was this your way of subtly denying him as your boyfriend? It wasn’t like you two were in hiding—and it’s not like he doesn’t mention that you two are seeing each other whenever someone pesters him about it.

You looked up, eyes wide and innocent. “Huh? My uniform?”

Bakugou’s brow twitched. “Yeah, I can see that. Why?”

You blinked, clearly not understanding what he was getting to. “Because… it’s Friday?”

“Did you forget what today is?”

You stared blankly at him, confusion written all over your face.

“...Friday?”

“Valentine’s Day!” he barked, causing a few of your classmates to glance over in amusement. He jerked his thumb at his own shirt—a simple red tee with a black skull printed on the back. “Maroon’s for people who are dating. Thought we were gonna match.”

You felt as though your soul just left your body.

“Oh... oh.” Your hands flew to your mouth. “I... I didn’t know! You never told me!”

“Didn’t think I had to. It’s common sense.”

“And you don’t even like Valentine’s Day! So... I thought we weren’t doing the dress code thing...”

That was true. But still! He was adamant on making you look like the one in the wrong here.

“Well, I am,” he pouted. So subtle it could be mistaken for his signature grimace. “And I heard from Ears that you were planning on wearing maroon, you idiot.”

“I told her—I was thinking about it, though.”

Bakugou’s shoulders sagged, the irritation draining a little. “Yeah, well... I went and did it. Thought it’d be obvious we’re together if we matched. You had a shirt with a golden dragon on the back, too, right?”

Your heart fluttered, your gaze finally meeting his. He remembered. The realization hit you like a ton of bricks—Bakugou Katsuki, the loud, brash, and unapologetically stubborn hero-in-training—your boyfriend, wanted to show off your relationship. Publicly. On Valentine’s Day.

A moment in history!

You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Instead, you jumped to your feet. “Wait here!”

Before he could argue, you bolted out of the classroom, leaving Bakugou standing there, baffled. He turned to find his classmates blatantly eavesdropping.

Mina’s eyes were practically sparkling. “Awww, Bakugou, you wanted to match with [Name]?”

Kaminari snickered. “Dude, that’s so cute.”

Kirishima grinned, throwing an arm around Bakugou’s shoulders. “You really have gone soft, man.”

Bakugou’s eye twitched, and he shrugged Kirishima’s arm off roughly. “Shut it, Shitty Hair. I just didn’t wanna look like an idiot wearin’ maroon by myself,” he grumbled. “And Sero’s wearing green—‘nd I don’t see anyone picking on him!”

“Cool it, man,” Sero laughed, shaking his head. “The incident still stings.”

“We salute you, brave soldier,” Kaminari replied.

Mina sighed dramatically, resting her chin on her hands. “Young love...”

His cheeks turned crimson. “Mind your own damn business!”

Before his embarrassment could escalate, you came running back, slightly out of breath, with something red clutched in your hands. You unfolded it and slipped it on—a maroon cardigan. It hugged your frame just right, with allowance to spare, the color bringing out the warm shimmer in your eyes.

You looked at him, your fingers fiddling with the buttons. “I had this in my locker. Does this work?”

Bakugou stared at you, his irritation disappearing like a factory reset process. You looked... cute. Really cute. But he wasn’t about to say that out loud. He cleared his throat, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Yeah... s’fine, I guess.”

Your face brightened, a smile breaking across your lips. “Really?”

He looked away, his voice gruff, though there was no heat in his reply. “Whatever.”

Their moment was interrupted by Mina’s dramatic squeal. “And they say romance is dead!”

Kaminari gave a thumbs up. “Didn’t think Bakugou could be such a romantic.”

Kirishima laughed. “Man, who knew you’d be such a softie?”

Bakugou’s eye twitched, and he spun around, his hands sparking. “One more word and I’ll kill all of you!”

His classmates laughed, not the least bit intimidated. They could see right through him—Bakugou Katsuki was completely, undeniably, head-over-heels for you.

Turning back to you, his voice softened, his anger dissipating. “C’mon, let’s go. Cafeteria had those stupid snacks you wanted.”

Your smile never wavered as you followed slightly behind him.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Katsuki.”

“Yeah, yeah... Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Bakugou hopes the next Valentine’s Day to come is when he can properly match with you. He won’t let you forget this time around.

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[darkmatilda]

𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐬 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: each of you—especially spencer—knew that the words let's split up never ended well. yet, they still escaped his lips, something he would regret for the rest of his days. now, held captive, you must decide whether to place your hope in being rescued by the team or to start a psychological game with the unsub and escape on your own.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x bau!female reader, kidnapping, psychological and physical torture, captivity, bloodletting, reader attempting to commit s (to end their suffering), split narrative, performing a ritual, mention of sexual abuse, everything being broadcasted live by the unsub, incestous relationship, sad but not tragic ending

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 14.8 k

𝐚/𝐧: i admit, there’s not much romance in this, and yep, probably the freakiest shit i've written so far. a slightly modified request from an anon—really hope you like it. i hate how i described this investigation. please overlook the absolute lack of logic at times (especially in the beginning) (in my defense i've never kidnapped anyone lol). oh, almost forgot, happy valentine's day (to those who celebrate) <

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟐

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/ˌmetəˈmɔːfəsɪs/ a change of the form or nature of a thing or person into a completely different one

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You took a step back when your friend threw herself at you with a joyful squeal, wrapping her arms around your neck.

"Happy, happy birthday, my dearest!" Penelope exclaimed.

"My dearest?" you echoed, raising an eyebrow. A wide smile stretched across your face as you remained in her firm embrace, breathing in the pleasant scent of her sweet perfume. "Wait till Morgan hears that..."

"I heard," a deep voice sounded behind you. "But just for today, I'll let it slide. Happy birthday, kid."

Turning around, you spotted Morgan and Prentiss stepping out of the office elevator, each holding an identical cup of coffee. Both had smiles on their faces, and both pulled you into tight hugs while Garcia and Rossi were providing a cappella, completely off-key performance of Happy Birthday 

In seconds your hands were full—two gift bags and a box, and you hadn’t even managed to take off your coat yet. You thanked everyone with genuine warmth and gratitude but didn’t want to drag out the moment too long. It was still morning before work officially started, and you were already running later than usual. JJ had practically begged you to stop by first thing because your godson, Henry, simply couldn’t wait to give you his gift and wish you a happy birthday.

Either way, you had already been hugged by everyone—except…

“Come back in five minutes,” Hotch instructed the two of you, nodding at the rest of the team. “We need to get started on the case.”

And just like that, you and Reid were left alone—a surprisingly thoughtful decision from your boss. You were just friends, of course. Just like the rest of the team…okay, maybe a little closer than that.

“Here, let me help,” he offered, watching with a soft smile as Garcia’s massive gift nearly slipped from your grasp. True to his word, he carefully took it from you and placed it on your desk with the kind of caution usually reserved for handling evidence.

“Are you doing this because you’re an altruist,” you teased, “or because you’re afraid Pen would murder you if her present got damaged on your watch?”

“Why do you assume she’d only murder me?”

“Because I have a birthday,” you said matter-of-factly. “It’s weird to hurt someone on their birthday, don’t you think? Pretty sure even savoir vivre has something to say about that.”

Reid let out a short laugh, but whatever he was about to say next seemed to get caught in his throat. Under different circumstances, he probably would have kept talking, but time wasn’t on your side. In five minutes, you’d both have to return to a world filled with kidnappings, murders, and violence.

“So…” he started, briefly glancing down at his shoes before slowly reaching into the pocket of his blazer. “Oh—first and foremost, happy birthday. I know you’ve already heard that about a hundred times today, but…”

“But not from you.”

“Happy birthday,” he exhaled, almost nervously.

You frowned slightly, wondering why he seemed so worked up over this.

“Sorry, I just…I spent a lot of time trying to figure out if you’d like this gift, and I really wanted to see your reaction. So much so that I kind of forgot to actually say happy birthday.” He let out a nervous chuckle. “Anyway, I hope that…”

He stopped short at the look on your face.

For a moment, you just stared at what he was holding, lips slightly parted, completely silent. Then, slowly, a delighted smile spread across your face.

“You hope I’ll like it?” you repeated, shaking your head in disbelief. “Tickets to Heathers? Spence, of course I love it! You know how much I love musicals, and oh my god, I wanted to see this so badly…”

You opened your arms to hug him—but then hesitated.

You knew he was one of those people who tended to avoid physical contact, and his comfort had always been your priority. Even after all these years of friendship, you had only truly hugged a handful of times. And by truly, you meant something more than the brief, passing embraces that came with birthdays or other celebrations.

Spencer caught your gaze, his lips parting slightly as if he was about to say something. But instead, he simply gave a small nod—and wrapped his arms around you. The corners of your lips lifted again—though, honestly, you weren���t sure they’d ever really dropped. Not that he could see it, not with your hands resting against the fabric of his sweater and his chin lightly hovering over your shoulder.

You let out a soft sigh as you pulled away, reluctant but aware that time was chasing you both. Besides, you had something to show him.

There was a quiet tension in the air as you slowly stepped back, just barely out of his arms. Spencer watched intently as you reached into your coat pocket.

“Henry gave me this this morning,” you said, handing him the homemade card your godson had made. A small, knowing smile tugged at Spencer’s lips even before he took it, his gaze dropping to the stick figure that was supposed to be you. “He said I’m his favorite aunt in the whole world,” you added, a playful lilt in your voice. “But I’m not supposed to tell Uncle Spence because it might make him sad.”

He placed a dramatic hand on his chest, his eyes flickering between the card and you, back and forth.

"That would have really hurt my feelings," he began, "if he hadn't told me the exact same thing on my birthday."

You burst into laughter. With a small nod, you gestured that you should head back to the rest of the team. Walking side by side, you made your way in the right direction.

"Should we tell JJ that there's a little liar growing up under her roof?" you asked along the way.

"Well, the lying phase is actually a natural stage of child development," he mused. "A lack of distinction between fantasy and reality, a desire to please adults—there are various reasons. So I think we can spare her that particular worry. At least he's empathetic."

You had already reached the door to the briefing room, but before either of you could grab the handle, Spencer stepped forward slightly, stopping you in your tracks. You looked at him, a bit surprised by the gesture.

"And by the way..." he began, his tone drastically different from the one you'd been using just moments ago. You saw him swallow, carefully choosing his words. "Are...are you okay? The case we're working on...it seems to be affecting you a lot. You have dark circles under your eyes."

You had the urge to scoff defensively and sarcastically thank him for the compliment. You probably would have with anyone else—but with him, you never felt the need to hide your worries. It was easier to admit to them. Easier, but not easy.

You took a deep breath, lowering your gaze as you nodded.

"I just really want to catch these people," you admitted quietly, truthfully. "It's been going on for too long. They've hurt too many girls..." You clenched your eyes shut, avoiding his gaze, which was filled with concern. You nodded toward the door in front of you. "Come on."

He watched you for a brief moment before sighing and stepping aside to let you go first.

Soon all of you were seated around the long table, noses buried in the case files. Penelope was briefing you on a new discovery related to the case you were working on—the one that, as Reid had noted, had been keeping you up at night. She kept her gaze averted from the image on the screen, never able to handle such sights well. And the body of a young woman, drained of every last drop of blood, was particularly disturbing.

"Just like in the previous cases, abandoned seven days after the abduction," she announced, clasping her hands at stomach level. "I’ve been tracking them—I mean, really staring at my screen for hours, even more than usual—but our twins haven’t streamed a single broadcast since then."

"We've entered the transition phase," Hotch said quietly, though his rough voice, as always, carried enough weight to reach even you and Reid, seated farthest from him. "Their ritual failed. They disposed of the body and now need time to prepare for the next one. Restocking supplies, medications, medical equipment."

"This is when we should strike," Prentiss said, leaning both elbows on the table. "They're out of their hideout, likely making transactions, meeting with suppliers. It's all illegal, of course, but the underground market, or at least part of it is under our surveillance…"

This case was difficult.

Usually, you followed a certain pattern. First, there was the crime. Then, piece by piece, you uncovered the missing fragments of a complex puzzle, eventually identifying the unsub. Or unsubs, as in this case. When dealing with an abduction, the final step was typically locating the victim’s holding site.

And that was exactly where you were stuck—on this fucking last step—for yet another week.

In the meantime, one of the unsubs had launched a career as a streamer, broadcasting their actions—at least fragments of them—on the dark web. The streams started at irregular hours, lasted for inconsistent amounts of time, and seemed almost spontaneous. He had to believe that he would attract psychos like himself and his sister—people who would be fascinated by the process.

As strange as it sounded, moving the crime online had actually filled you with a twisted sense of hope.

You thought it would make everything simple. Garcia would trace their location, or maybe, by watching the streams, you’d catch some clue that would lead you right to them.

Nothing could have been further from the truth.

He only ever showed you that one room—a space resembling a hospital ward that could have been anywhere. It could have been hidden in the basement of any house in the country, inside some abandoned warehouse, on a remote farm miles away from civilization. Anywhere.

The only thing that had changed was that now you could see the victims' faces. You could watch the hope drain from their eyes as they realized no one was coming to save them.

And that thought drove you to madness.

How you even uncovered their identities and names was an even more complicated story. It all started with an offhand theory Reid had muttered under his breath—one that no one had paid much attention to at first, but which later escalated into the truth.

You had already known there were two unsubs. Their names were Lavinia and Leon Schuyler—thirty-three-year-old twins. Well, technically, triplets.

Piecing together fragments of their lives, you discovered they had another sister, Lydia. The three of them had spent their childhood deeply bonded, drifting from one dysfunctional foster home to another. Since the third sibling wasn’t involved in their crimes, you concluded she had recently died. That theory was reinforced by the fact that their victims all resembled her—and that during the streams, Leon addressed them by one name Lydia.

And, once again, through analysis, you realized what all of this was leading to.

The twins believed they could bring their sister back to life.

You had all of this. But until you had their location, it was as if you had nothing at all.

"Prentiss is right," Derek announced, his hand tightening around his coffee cup. "Our best chance is to track them now, while they’re searching for their next victim. Because we all agree there will be another, right?"

He wasn’t looking for confirmation—everyone knew cases like this didn’t just end.

Hotch nodded thoughtfully. "That’s our job for today," he began. "Not just today—we keep looking until we find them. We need to reach out to our informants, track down their supplier for drugs and medical equipment. And we need to pinpoint the location where the transaction might take place."

With a quiet sigh, you rubbed your forehead, fully aware that the next few hours would be pure informational chaos. But you were completely prepared to dive into it—anything to finally bring this case, the one that had been keeping you up at night, to an end.

In a perfect scenario, that would happen before another victim was taken.

♊︎

"Guess this isn’t how you planned to spend your birthday evening?" Reid asked.

With your hands resting on the steering wheel, you gave a small shrug. He might not have even seen the gesture in the dimly lit car, the empty road ahead reflecting the brief flashes of headlights cutting through the night.

"I wasn't in the mood to celebrate anyway," you admitted.

Under different circumstances, you might have let your teammates drag you to a bar or invited them over, picking up a cheap cake from the first bakery you passed on the way home. But from the moment you came across the information about a human blood sale taking place that night in an abandoned ruin—once a shopping mall—you all knew there would be no chance to catch your breath anytime soon.

You were almost certain that the twins would be one of the parties involved in the transaction.

At first, it filled you with doubt. Human blood? Why would they need to buy it when they were kidnapping all these women for that very purpose? Every body had been drained of it—whatever ritual they believed they were performing revolved entirely around blood.

"Maybe it's a form of experimentation," Reid had tried to explain a few hours earlier at the office, his furrowed gaze fixed on the board cluttered with all the data you'd been compiling. He paused, thinking. "Our unsubs are deeply delusional. They believe their actions will bring their sister back to life. So far, they've tried twice and failed. But instead of admitting that what they're doing is utterly irrational and illogical—because, of course, a blood transfusion into a dead body won't resurrect it—they'd rather blame the process itself, look for errors in their methods. Buying blood allows them to practice, to refine their approach without wasting what they truly desire—the blood of their victims."

"Actually, the fact that I'll finally get to see Heathers soon totally makes up for having to do... this on my birthday," you added after a moment of silence, gesturing toward your bulletproof vest.

Spencer didn’t respond—he was listening intently to Hotch’s voice coming through the car radio. A brief summary of what was unfolding at the ambush site.

You had your doubts about it, ones you kept to yourself. This was your best shot; you had to believe it would work. There hadn’t been enough time to prepare. You didn’t even have up-to-date blueprints of the place.

The abandoned building was in such a state of decay that most people driving past probably had no idea it had once been a shopping mall. The floor was coated in dust and shards of shattered storefront glass. Water from a leaking roof had seeped into the walls, leaving behind dark stains. Plastic tables from the long-defunct food court lay overturned and filthy. From what you’d managed to gather, a lot of people from the local underworld—mostly dealers—had passed through here at least once in their careers.

You didn’t feel that you were properly prepared, nor did you like your role in all of this. Your job was to circle the area in an unmarked car, providing backup in case your unsub somehow managed to slip away. That meant you had no direct view of the ambush and had to rely entirely on the descriptions and updates from your teammates. So far, though, no one had shown up.

"Hm, Spence?" you suddenly said into the space between you, a little uncertain. You kept your eyes on the road as you drove, but out of the corner of your eye, you saw him tilt his head questioningly. You fell silent for a moment, trying to keep your tone casual. "I got two tickets from you…and, you know, I was wondering if maybe you’d want to, well…see it with me?"

You had no idea why you suddenly felt so tense. After all, you were friends, and friends went places together sometimes. Just the two of them.

"Are you sure?" Reid asked, making you shift in surprise. Was he going to say no? He quickly added, "I mean, I don’t want you to think I expected you to invite me just because I gave you the tickets…It’s a gift, and if you’d rather take someone else, a friend or…"

"I want to take you," you interrupted, shifting your gaze to him.

For a moment, you just stared at each other, the glint of your eyes visible in the dark car. Spencer gave a small, gentle smile.

"She's here. Alone. We're waiting in position until she goes inside," Morgan's voice informed you.

You both straightened up, as if brought back down to earth. The sense of satisfaction, even excitement, that had grown within you after he agreed suddenly took a backseat. You remained silent, listening for further instructions. Sitting there in the car, you felt utterly useless. She’s here. Just Lavinia? What about her brother? Did she come alone? Had they suspected something was off and decided not to risk being caught together? Your breath caught in your chest for several long minutes, stretching into a quarter of an hour.

“Fuck” 

Your grip on the steering wheel tightened.

“Fuck! She got away. She was alone, and she still managed to slip through…there must be a hidden exit in the warehouse…”

Reid brought the radio to his lips.

“We’re nearby—we might be able to catch her. Did she come on foot? If so, her car could be parked somewhere close, maybe with her brother waiting. She’s probably heading straight there.” A faint crease formed between his brows, the mark of complete focus. “Garcia, you got me? Check the maps. Find anywhere they might have stopped…”

“How the fuck did she slip through?” you hissed under your breath, your heart hammering against your bulletproof vest.

You weren’t there—you had no right to judge. But for god’s sake, it was one woman against a trained FBI team!

“Guys, I think I’ve got something!” Penelope’s tense whisper crackled through the radio. “An abandoned parking lot, I’ll guide you there…”

You shoved your anger and confusion aside for the moment, yanking the wheel sharply as you turned toward the location Garcia had given. Cracks in the concrete had been overtaken by tufts of grass, something you noticed the moment you stepped out of the car, the door slamming shut behind you. It was nighttime, and darkness sprawled between the trees ahead, swallowing up what little visibility you had. The entire area was unlit, making it hard to see much—except for the single parked car standing out in the gloom.

You and Reid didn’t need to discuss your next move. A brief exchange of glances was enough—a silent reminder to stay cautious. Weapons drawn, you approached the vehicle from opposite sides, moving in sync without a word. You expected to see the face of the man you had been staring at endlessly over the past few days of the investigation. You hoped to find him in the driver’s seat, to yank him out with a firm pull, slam him against the hood, and cuff his wrists as his face met the cold metal.

But the car’s interior was empty.

“Damn it,” you muttered, lowering your gun. “Is this even their car? Maybe we came here for nothing…”

“Let’s find out,” Reid murmured, scanning the area cautiously before tugging on the surprisingly unlocked front door. His brows lifted—he seemed just as surprised as you.

You circled around the vehicle to join him on the same side, resting a hand on the open door as you watched him pull on a pair of gloves. He reached for the glove compartment, likely expecting to find some documents inside.

“Nothing,” he sighed after a long moment, disappointment lacing his voice.

He turned his face toward you, his tense jaw easing as he parted his lips to say something else. 

Then everything was drowned out by the sharp crack of gunfire. One shot. Then another. Bullets slammed into the hood of the car with a metallic clang.

It all happened too fast.

You spun around, your flashlight beam cutting through the darkness—and landing on her. Blonde hair wild around her face, cheeks flushed from a desperate sprint.

Her gun was raised. Her finger tight on the trigger.

And you.

Most of your body shielded behind the open car door.

Most of it.

But not your head.

Then—Reid’s hands gripping your waist. Yanking you down.

The bullet shattered the window, glass exploding around you. Instinctively, you both ducked, heads low as sharp fragments rained down.

Curled up together, arms tangled, you locked eyes—both of you breathing hard, lips parted in shock. It had only been seconds, but in his gaze, that raw flash of fear stretched endlessly.

Your fingers dug into the fabric of his vest, gripping onto the solid warmth of his body as the world tilted. The ringing in your ears was deafening, the gunshot echoing in your skull, stretching time unbearably—like a warning of the next shot to come.

But it didn’t.

And when another second passed. Then another—

You moved.

Ignoring Reid’s sharp inhale, his hand reaching to hold you back, you pushed up onto your feet. The flashlight beam managed to catch Lavinia for a brief moment before she disappeared entirely into the stretch of trees between you. You couldn't let her escape and make it back to their hideout, the one you had been struggling to locate for so long.

Following her trail, you shot across the parking lot like an arrow. Reid was a fraction slower to react, but he wasn’t about to let you go after her alone. You could hear his footsteps behind you as you ran forward with determination, nearly tripping more than once over scattered rocks and branches along the forest path. You knew the flashlight was giving away your position, but you kept it on, scanning the surroundings for one of the unsubs.

It was as if she had vanished into thin air. As if the trees had swallowed her whole, even though the narrow, mostly overgrown path led only forward. You stopped, desperately looking around. You had no idea how far you had run, but your breath had become uneven, despite your excellent physical condition as an FBI agent.  You couldn't accept the fact that she had slipped away from you twice, that she would soon meet up with her brother and together start planning the abduction of another victim…

Reid's hands reached for yours to turn off the flashlight you were clutching. In one moment, his face was right in front of yours, perfectly lit with squinted eyes, and in the next, it disappeared. You could still sense his presence just in front of you, his heavy breathing when he spoke.

"We have to..." he started in a slightly hoarse, quiet voice.

"We have to catch her," you interrupted through clenched teeth. You pulled away, moving forward again, but then he grabbed your wrist tightly.

"This is pointless," he replied, to which you immediately snorted in response. You wanted to argue, but then his finger landed on your lips, stopping you from speaking. "It's pointless for both of us to chase her like this," he explained, finally calming his breath. "Give me the flashlight, I'll go on alone. You head back to the car and take the other route. The forest is small; she'll have to come out on the other side soon. And above all, notify the team about everything."

His hand pulled back only after he finished explaining the plan. At that point, you no longer had the desire to protest. Everything he said made sense, even though something deep inside you screamed that you shouldn’t split up. You ignored it and forced yourself to nod. You handed him your flashlight and, after a last exchange of glances, you jogged back.

“Spence,” you turned suddenly after taking only a couple of steps. He also looked at you, clearly surprised. “Be careful.”

 Reid nodded.

“I’ll be fine,” he reassured you. “Be careful too. We’ll meet up in a bit.”

It was only when you were running back to the car that you realized just how far your pursuit had gone. Anxiety clung to your back and didn’t let go, even as you emerged from between the gnarly trees. You gripped your gun tightly and tucked it back into your waistband as you sat behind the wheel of your car, not even pausing to catch your breath. Without hesitation, you leaned over to the radio, but before you could get a word out, something flashed in the corner of your eye.

You froze at the sight of the gun aimed at the driver’s side window.

You didn’t even fully turn to the side, you didn’t wait. You knew what was expected of you. With slow, almost rigid movements, you opened the door and stepped outside. You dragged out the process, analyzing the stance of the man, the second of your unsub suspects. He wasn’t a tall man, and after reviewing his history, you knew he had no significant experience with weapons or combat skills you had mastered long ago.

You almost smiled when you managed to use the element of surprise, grabbing his hand and redirecting the gun to the side. The shot rang out.

Leon Schuyler hissed with satisfaction, as if he had expected it all along. Then, before you could slam your knee into his groin, another sound escaped his lips. It was possible you had misheard it, but it sounded very much like a goodnight.

And after that, a sharp needle of a syringe pierced your neck with precision.

♊︎

It wasn’t until morning that Spencer began to grasp what had actually happened.

And even then, not fully. He felt as if he were blankly staring at the script of a play—one whose plot and themes filled him with such deep discomfort that he wanted nothing more than to leave the theater without so much as murmuring an apology to the people he passed. Yet at the same time, his entire body was nailed to that rough seat, his head immobilized, unable to look away. He wanted to run onto the stage and shout, enough, to put an end to it all—but he had no such power.

Who did?

The ambush for the twins had been set around midnight. About an hour later, they had both taken off after the fleeing woman. Then they had split up.

He didn’t remember much after that—not until five in the morning, when the entire team finally stopped scouring the area, clinging to the desperate hope that they might stumble upon the unsub by sheer accident. For the first time, Spencer felt so detached from the passage of time that even when he looked at his watch, the position of the hands made no real sense to him.

Hotch had announced that they needed to return to the office. To regroup. To think carefully about their next move.

They were the first to arrive—Spencer trailing behind Hotch more like a shadow than an actual participant in events. Others followed, one by one. Shaken. Furious. Devastated. But most of all, still bewildered, still unable to accept what had happened.

The sun had begun to rise, but even that seemed slower than usual, reluctant to banish the wretched darkness still clinging to these walls.

Spencer realized he was staring blankly out the window instead of using his so-called genius to find a solution. His mind felt empty, and the shame of it hit him like a physical blow, followed by something even more tangible.

A pair of hands shoved against his chest, forcing him backward.

“JJ…”

Derek was between them in an instant, stepping in to hold her back.

She froze, staring at her own hands as if surprised by what they had just done. Then she clenched them tightly across her chest, her gaze locked onto Spencer, raw and overflowing with emotion.

“How could you…how could you even suggest splitting up?” Her voice trembled, her head shaking in disbelief. Her chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven breaths. She had been the last to arrive, the one who stayed out searching the longest—desperate, frantic, chasing down any possible lead that could tell her where they had taken her best friend, the godmother of her son. “You know this never ends well, Spencer. You know that. You should have known that…”

"Enough" Emily appeared beside them, gently wrapping her arms around JJ’s shoulders.

JJ slumped, a single tear glistening in her eye for the first time.

"This isn’t helping," Emily said softly. "We need to focus on finding her as quickly as possible. They… they don’t kill their victims. Not right away. We still have a chance…"

"They don’t kill their victims," JJ repeated blankly, wiping her eye with a stiff movement. She didn’t look at any of them. "They just keep them locked up for days, drain their blood, and throw them away like garbage."

She took a breath.

"I need to see Penelope."

She tore herself from Emily’s grasp and walked away without looking back.

Her words lingered, filling the space, stretching the silence into something unbearable.

Spencer felt like he might throw up if he even tried to swallow

By accident, his gaze met Emily’s. Her brown eyes were surprisingly gentle.

He looked away.

Facing JJ’s fury had been easier—it was just a fraction of the hatred he felt toward himself. But he couldn’t stand any attempt to soften just how badly he had fucked up. He opened his mouth, maybe to apologize, before realizing just how meaningless it would be. What would his apology change? The only thing he could do at that moment was pull himself together and find her.

“I need to focus,” he said, his throat so dry the words barely made it out. He wanted to leave the room, to be back among the case files, to lose himself in analysis and overlapping thought patterns, to check everything—literally everything.

But then Penelope appeared in the doorway, the color drained completely from her face.

“Guys, you need to see this…” she choked out.

For a second, everyone froze—until, led by Spencer, they rushed toward her office.

"Just like in the previous cases, I can’t trace this transmission," Penelope explained frantically, nearly running beside him on her high heels. They burst into the dimly lit room full of screens, where JJ was already inside—motionless. She was biting her thumb, staring at one of the monitors in a trance. "They’re using satellite internet, masking the signal, and constantly jumping between servers..."

Behind them, Prentiss let out a strangled sound.

The whole thing was being streamed via a handheld camera, mostly fixed on one point—the face of their teammate. It seemed to be set down on something, maybe a table, because if someone were holding it, the frame would be shaking.

Hotch stepped in as close as possible, his eyes shutting for a brief moment. He was reliving it all over again. Once more, one of them had been taken, and the rest were forced to watch, helpless.

But if Tobias Hankel had left behind anything remotely useful, it was that they knew how to handle this.

Silently, painfully, they all gathered around Garcia, absorbing the footage—no, the live feed.

"Is recording this really fucking necessary?" a woman's voice snapped—it belonged to Lavinia.

Spencer's mind flickered with the image of her face—those empty green eyes staring down the barrel of a gun aimed directly at them. Her brow furrowed. She had no visible injuries on her face. She was lying on a stark white bed, the kind that looked like it belonged in a hospital, covered by an equally white blanket up to her waist. She wasn’t wearing a bulletproof vest anymore—just a loose nightgown that ended at her elbows. Her eyes were half-lidded, blinking slowly—probably just waking up.

"We already talked about this. It is," her brother replied. "What are you doing?"

Lavinia stepped into the frame. They weren’t wearing masks, weren’t bothering to hide their identities—fully aware that law enforcement already knew their names.

One of her hands clamped down on the captive’s, pulling it toward her with little care before pricking the tip of one finger.

Confusion rippled through everyone watching. Spencer might have rushed to explain if not for the fact that he couldn’t force a single word out. He couldn’t even look away.

"I'm checking her blood type, what else?" she scoffed. "You kidnapped her without running it by me, and you should know that if this bitch has the wrong blood type, I’m not wasting our time on her."

"Pay attention to the way they speak to each other," Hotch started, bracing a hand against the desk. "There's tension—some kind of conflict…"

"Hotch," Spencer cut in, his eyes shut tightly. Nausea churned in his stomach. Keeping his eyes closed was the only way to stay on his feet.

Lavinia's words pounded against his skull on repeat. If this bitch has the wrong blood type, I’m not wasting our time on her.

"…That's a good thing. It means they're less coordinated, and it's more likely they'll make a mistake..."

"Hotch," he tried again.

This time, it was almost a plea.

"…We should—"

"She’s AB Rh+."

Hotch finally turned to look at him. So did the rest.

They froze—silent, motionless—not because they didn’t understand what it meant, but because they refused to accept it.

AB Rh+, a blood type that could only be transfused to someone with the same.

All the previous victims had type A blood.

I’m not wasting our time on her.

Prentiss sank into the nearest chair, as if her knees had simply given out beneath her.

So this was how it was going to end?

Before they could do anything to help her? Before he could even come up with a single idea on how to save her?

A single tear slipped down Penelope’s cheek. She didn’t even try to wipe it away.

“Let me check,” Leon, the male unsub, suddenly offered. “Go turn the heat up. Even I’m cold, and I’ve got a jacket on.”

His sister hesitated for a moment before she agreed.

Spencer finally opened his eyes—not to torture himself with the helplessness on his colleagues’ faces, but to force his gaze onto the screen. He fixed his eyes on her half-conscious face, searching for any sign of understanding. Did she get it? Had she already connected the dots?

Breathing started to hurt.

He wanted so badly to apologize. It wouldn’t fix anything, but maybe—maybe—it would dull the ache.

Him. Spencer Reid. And his stupid idea to split up.

He had sent her back to the car.

He had sent her to die.

That thought was dangerous, but maybe it was a good thing that the end was so close. That she wouldn’t have to endure days of suffering, uncertainty, and fear. He knew that feeling. He knew it all too well—praying for his own death when the pain became unbearable when fear and exhaustion drained the last of his strength. He didn’t want her to go through that.

He didn’t want her to go through any of this.

But that…that especially.

"And?" Lavinia returned to the room after a long moment.

"Well, what can I say? I’ve got a good eye," her brother said lightly. "O Rh-, a universal donor. We couldn’t have asked for a better match. You know what this means? That this time, we might finally succeed."

Everyone exchanged glances, utterly confused.

“Spencer…” JJ looked at him for the first time since their argument. “You said…you yourself said that she—”

“Because she is,” he interrupted. “He lied.”

Prentiss snapped her head up, a spark of hope flickering in her eyes. Spencer didn’t share her optimism. He did feel some relief, that much was true. But he was painfully aware that this wasn’t over. The nightmare was only beginning, and it was up to them to end it—before it was too late.

♊︎

You were afraid to be afraid. 

Absurd—you were well aware of that. But ever since you woke up in that hospital-like room, hooked up to an EEG and an IV, with a pulse oximeter clipped to your finger, your thoughts had focused solely on one thing. Not panicking. Calmness gave you a sense of control. Of course, you had none whatsoever—you were entirely at the mercy of two lunatics who believed they could bring someone back to life. But if they could be delusional, then so could you.

You knew this room from the recordings. For the longest time, you couldn’t determine where exactly it might be located. Was it a repurposed basement? A cabin in the middle of nowhere? Even now, being here in person, you couldn’t say for sure.

The moment you were left alone, you seized the opportunity to unhook yourself from all the machines and pressed your ear against the wall.

Once, your team had found a victim’s location by identifying the sound of a plane taking off in the background of a ransom call. You hoped for something similar to happen now. But you quickly realized the grey walls were lined with  soundproofing foam. The floor, covered in rubber, absorbed footsteps completely. You didn’t even hear anyone approaching until a flat palm struck you across the face so hard that you collapsed back onto the bed.

Lavinia was ridiculously strong.

“If you get up without permission again, I’ll cuff you to the damn bed,” she said, tossing a bottle of water onto the mattress beside you. “Drink. You’ll get food when you do something for me.” 

"As if I have anywhere to run," you muttered under your breath, reluctantly reaching for the water. "What do you want me to do? What time is it?"

Every time one of the twins visited you, you asked for the time. You needed to know how long you had been there. But with the constant doses of sedatives they were giving you, you couldn’t even estimate it.

Deep inside, you felt like it had been no more than a day.

The others had been kept for seven days before…

You shook your head. You couldn’t think about the others if you wanted to hold on to what was left of your sanity.

“Good night,” Lavinia muttered, messing with the IV drip.

“But you said I had to do something…” You frowned in confusion.

The blonde shrugged. She was wearing a green coat with fur on the hood. Both she and her brother always came to see you dressed warmly, even though the temperature in your little prison was relatively comfortable.

They had changed you into a thin nightgown that ended just above your knees and at your elbows, but curled up under the blanket, you were relatively warm.

That led you to one conclusion—wherever you were, the rest of the building wasn’t as well-heated. It was cold enough that they needed extra layers.

Whatever was in the IV worked.

You woke up on the floor. And freezing. Oh God, it was so cold. Your entire body immediately started shaking.

When you tried to push yourself up at your own sluggish pace, someone simply yanked you upright, like pulling a vegetable from the ground. You hissed in pain, instinctively trying to push the woman away, but all that did was earn you another hit.

Lavinia didn’t hold back.

The previous victims hadn’t been beaten this badly, so you assumed she particularly disliked the fact that her brother had chosen to kidnap you.

Leon, unlike her, didn’t hit you.

He just kept shoving the camera in your face.

Honestly, you preferred a busted lip and bruises over the fact that your team was seeing what was happening to you.

That awareness hurt a thousand times more than any torture ever could.

You managed to take a look around this new room before you were shoved toward the bed.

Unlike yours, it didn’t look like a mad doctor’s operating room but rather an ordinary, slightly old-fashioned bedroom. Dark wooden floors, a wardrobe with ornate handles in the corner, no windows—just like your room. Bottle-green walls.

Your gaze finally fell on the bed, and you barely managed to choke back a scream.

Suddenly, you understood why it was so unbearably cold in the room.

In front of you lay the body of a woman, her eyes closed, but her face was so unnaturally blue that you could never have believed she was merely sleeping. If not for the fact that she had been dead for—what you estimated to be—several weeks, she would have been identical to Lavinia.

Only after the initial shock of the sight wore off did her name come back to you.

Lydia.

The last of the triplets. The one who had died. The one they were trying to bring back with their…ritual.

As an FBI agent and profiler, you were accustomed to seeing dead bodies—but this one unsettled you in a way you couldn’t quite rationalize.

Lavinia approached the corpse and smiled down at it with an affection so genuine, so reverent, that it sent a shiver down your spine. It was the kind of smile only mothers gave their children. Then, without hesitation, she leaned in and pressed a kiss to Lydia’s cold, gray cheek.

The dead woman’s short blonde hair fanned out across the pillow like a halo. Her hands were folded neatly atop the blanket, eerily reminiscent of someone in prayer. You were shaking, and it probably wasn’t just because of the cold.

"From now on, you will take care of our sister twice a day," Lavinia began, opening the drawer of the bedside table. She took out a hair comb, a bottle of some liquid, and a silk cloth. "Brush her hair and wipe her body."

As she spoke, she demonstratively rolled up one of Lydia’s sleeves. She was dressed in a nightgown similar to yours, but with lace at the collar and long sleeves reaching down to her wrists. You couldn’t suppress a shudder at the sight of her exposed skin. You were trembling too much from the cold for Lavinia to notice.

Lydia’s veins were dark. The blood transfusions into her lifeless body had caused it to clot. Small lumps had formed where the blood had thickened, and her arms were covered in scars and puncture marks.

“W-why do I have to do this?” you asked, clenching your teeth to stop them from chattering.

Lavinia shrugged as she wiped her sister’s skin with the cloth.

“Someone has to take care of her,” she said. “By doing this, you’re building a bond with her. Here, try it. Just be gentle.”

For a moment, you just stared at her. You were now certain—absolutely certain—that both Lavinia and Leon had crossed the threshold of madness and were living in a world where logic held no place.

Her gaze hardened as she shoved the cloth into your hands. It almost slipped from your trembling fingers.

You looked down at the body and hesitantly wiped its surface…a violent gag reflex hit you so hard that you staggered.

You heard a contemptuous scoff.

“If you throw up on her, you have no idea what I’ll do to you,” she warned.

This was sick. Sick, sick, sick.

Your breath caught in your chest—you couldn’t look at Lydia, laid out in bed as if merely asleep. Taking care of her as if she were alive. But another warning glance and the flash of a weapon beneath Lavinia’s coat forced you to keep going. You started wiping down each of her limbs, one by one.

She was a small woman, barely any weight to her, and yet it felt like the task stretched into eternity.

Sick, sick, sick.

When you were done, a comb was shoved into your hand. Its teeth were wide-set, meant to avoid damaging the delicate hair of a corpse. Lavinia kept hissing softer through gritted teeth every few seconds.

Sick.

You forced yourself to set the comb down calmly instead of flinging it away like it burned you. Following instructions, you reached for Lydia’s hands, gently folding them back into the same position as before. As you did, your gaze lingered on her wrists for a long, drawn-out moment. The deep, jagged wounds. So that’s how she died? Suicide?

Lavinia stabbed you with a syringe.

♊︎

You lay in bed, your body still trembling.

You weren’t cold anymore, yet you curled up under the blanket. Just as Lavinia had warned, she forced you to do it again a few hours later. Taking care of Lydia’s body now dictated when morning came and when night fell. Not once had you fallen asleep on your own—there were always the drugs, injected mostly when they needed to move you to another room. You wondered why you couldn’t just walk there yourself.

Not that you would have been able to sleep anyway. You made sure not to close your eyes. When you did, your mind conjured sick visions—of the corpse lying right beside you, feeding off your blood, slowly consuming you the way mold devours fresh fruit.

You were afraid to be afraid, yet fear was beginning to take hold of you.

You were still searching for a way out of all this… You knew the team was looking for you too, doing everything they could, but you couldn’t just sit and wait. You had to find a way to gain some sort of advantage over the unsubs. There was no use trying with Lavinia, but Leon…

He was the weaker link in this duo.

He had lied about your blood type, which meant he wanted to keep you here.

You heard him enter the room. They usually took turns coming to see you, rarely together. His arrival was always preceded by the small wheeled table carrying all the electronic equipment and streaming cables. If only Garcia could trace it…

“How are you feeling?” Leon asked, sitting on the edge of your bed, keeping his distance, the camera aimed directly at your face. You tried to turn your head so the bruise under your eye—courtesy of his sister—was out of view. A poor attempt. Your lip was swollen too. “You look weak. My sister told me to bring you something to eat, but… you know, Lydia is smaller than you.”

You raised your eyebrows. So what, was he planning to starve you until you resembled his sister’s corpse? You didn’t even try to understand it anymore. It wasn’t worth the effort for your exhausted mind. You didn’t answer, unsure of what you even should say. But you wanted to keep the conversation going.

“Why…why are you even recording all of this?”

You couldn’t stop yourself from glancing directly into the camera. It was impossible that the whole team was watching the stream. You hoped as few of them as possible were seeing you like this. Especially not Penelope—she wasn’t built for this. Not JJ, your best friend. And definitely not Spencer.

On second thought, you didn’t want any of them to be watching.

Leon cleared his throat.

“Well, we’re doing something incredible. People want to see it. They’re curious if we’ll succeed.”

You’re doing something sick. Freaks want to watch it. They’re fascinated by it, you corrected him in your head.

“So, I have fans?” You tried to sound playful, friendly.

Leon was surprised by the warmth in your voice. Pleasantly surprised. His pale face, green eyes brightened slightly.

“Yes. I guess you do,” he admitted. He almost seemed shy, as if he hadn’t kidnapped you. “Can I…can I talk to you? Maybe they’d like to know something about you. The previous ones…the previous ones didn’t really want to say much. Mostly, they just screamed.”

You used all your strength not to flinch.

“Sure,” you replied, forcing a soft smile. It was just a game, a mask. You tried to observe the conversation from the outside, detached, clear-headed—while pretending you didn’t hate him. “What do you want to know?”

He didn’t move closer, but he shifted slightly to make sure the camera captured as much of you as possible.

“I know you’re a fed,” he began. “I even looked you up. I know your name. How old you are. But nowhere did it say what you like. You know, what you do. In your free time.”

You hesitated for a moment. You were kidnapped. If it were someone else in your position, you’d tell them to be as human as possible—honest, even. Make your captor see you as a person with feelings, desires, dreams.

So you took a breath and tried to answer truthfully, even though it hurt.

“I love musicals,” you finally said.

You thought about the two tickets—Spencer’s gift.

It hurt unbelievably much.

You prayed he wasn’t watching. That he wouldn’t hear this.

You told Leon a little about the last musical you had seen. It had been a long time—your job left you no time for such things. You looked him straight in the eyes as you spoke, because the sheer disgust you felt toward him was the only thing keeping your tears from spilling over. You felt so fragile, talking about something you loved to a man who, in just a few days, planned to drain you of blood.

You didn’t want to die like this. You refused to.

“Do you want kids?” he asked suddenly.

The question was so unexpected that you didn’t even have time to think.

"I guess…I guess so," you said.

But your surprised mind quickly sharpened, pulling up information from their biography. You knew that the twins' mother had died in childbirth. You didn't know what was driving him to ask this question, but you preferred to be cautious.

"I mean, no. I don’t know, actually. Maybe. To continue the species."

Or to have a loving family, but of course, you weren’t about to say something so personal out loud.

Leon remained still for a moment, then suddenly laughed. You pretended to laugh along, but you couldn’t stop the sharp flinch when he suddenly moved closer, touching your cheek with his hand. He lowered the camera—it was now pointing at the floor.

"You're so funny," he said with strange tenderness. "Just like Lydia. She…she was the same way."

For the first time, he referred to her in the past tense instead of the present. Was he starting to realize that she was gone?

"Do you have a boyfriend?" Another question.

"No."

"Have you ever loved someone?"

"What…what really happened to Lydia?"

The team had never found that out. But you had seen the wounds on her wrists and figured it out yourself. Still, you wanted to hear what he had to say about it. Because by now, you were starting to suspect.

"She passed away because of an illness," he said shortly, enigmatically, cutting off any further questions. Then, he repeated himself. "Have you ever loved?"

"In what way? Romantically, like a sibling, like family…?"

"It doesn’t matter."

Your posture became more alert, analytical. Leon withdrew his hand from your face, but he didn’t point the camera back at you, as if he had forgotten he was even holding it.

"Of course, I’ve loved," you said quietly. "And I still do. And you loved Lydia, right?"

The man nodded, a certain longing filling his green eyes.

"It’s late," he announced after a moment of silence. "I should go."

But before he even moved to stand, he leaned in. His lips brushed the top of your head, hesitant. You fought the urge to push him away. You had to keep up the act, continue this game. Wrap him around your finger, so that the very thought of hurting you would terrify him.

"Goodnight, Lydia."

♊︎

A certain force kept him bound to that chair, watching each broadcast over and over again.

He believed that, eventually, he would spot some previously overlooked detail—one that would immediately allow him to pinpoint the location. But in part, he also wanted to punish himself. Because what could hurt more than watching the face of one of the most important women in his life grow paler and more bruised with each passing moment?

A woman he himself had condemned to this fate.

But he didn’t stay in the office for another night just to drown in his own guilt. He was capable of multitasking, so while the weight of it pressed down on him, he poured everything that came to mind onto paper.

He noted the exact moments the streams began, measured their precise duration, wrote down every single word spoken, and searched for any hidden meaning.

Maybe, somewhere in one of those conversations, she had hidden a message meant for their team—a clue to help them find her.

Three days had passed. Logically, it made sense to assume they were following the same pattern as in previous cases. And that meant nearly half of their time was already gone.

Spencer kept thinking about Leon’s cryptic words—that his sister had supposedly died of an illness. He wondered if that was true or if the twins had chosen to live in denial. Maybe it was easier for them to accept that fate, a cruel and indifferent universe, had taken her—rather than the possibility that she had done it to herself.

He rubbed his tired eyes and let out a heavy sigh when he realized he was getting nowhere.

Garcia had allowed him to stay in her office alone—something that, under any other circumstances, would have gotten him killed. She hated when anyone touched her keyboard.

But time was relentlessly moving forward, and they all had to sleep at some point. Usually, only one or two of them were assigned to monitoring the broadcasts at a time, while the rest focused on other search efforts. They worked nonstop.

They had already experienced a moment of sheer terror at the very start, forced to confront the brutal reality that she could die. And they were determined not to let that happen.

Especially Spencer.

Not just because he owed it to her. It wasn’t only about guilt—the fact that he had been the one to suggest they split up. Even if he had nothing to do with her current situation, he would still be glued to this chair in the dimly lit room, illuminated only by the glow of the screens, a single desk lamp, and the rhythmic ticking of the clock.

Because she was his friend. Because she was an inseparable part of his life.

Because she was someone he could say, without a doubt, that he loved.

Whether that love was purely platonic or something more didn’t matter right now.

The only thing that mattered was the silent promise in his mind—that he would make sure they watched that musical together.

Hundreds of them, if she wanted.

He drank surprisingly little coffee. What kept him on his feet and his mind sharp weren’t the stimulants but the occasional glances at the drawing Henry had made—a gift she had left in the office, intending to take it home after work. To pin it to her fridge with a cat-shaped magnet. Of course, Henry had no idea what had happened to the best aunt in the world. 

He drifted off in thought for a moment, only to be pulled back by movement on the screen.

The stream was starting.

Spencer immediately straightened in his seat, giving his cheek a light slap to wake himself up, to force himself into absolute focus.

Like every time, something clenched painfully in his chest.

He barely recognized her, even though the light in her room was on.

Several details hit him all at once.

First, the wound on her cheek—one that hadn’t been there before. Second, her hair. It had been cut to the exact same length Lydia’s had been in the photos he’d seen of her. The association filled his mind in an instant, vivid and unshakable. Third… the bandages wrapped around her wrists. Both of them. His hand shot toward his phone to alert the team, to wake everyone up. Or maybe someone else had already done it—he wasn’t entirely present in his own body.

But before he could move, before he could do anything at all, his breath caught in his throat. A thought began to scroll across his mind like a news ticker.

Metamorphosis had already begun.

♊︎

When Leon cut your hair, you took advantage of his momentary distraction—his mind entirely consumed by memories of his sister—and stole the scissors, slipping them under your pillow.

You wished you could say it was part of some greater plan. But in reality, you were exhausted, your strength fading more and more—not just physically, but mentally too. If your calculations were right, at least three days had passed. Twice a day, they drugged you and moved you to a room so cold that you lost all feeling in your limbs for hours, forced to care for a dead body. Staring into Lydia’s empty eyes, at the bluish veins beneath her lifeless skin, you couldn’t stop imagining yourself the same way—discarded by the roadside, drained of every last drop of blood.

You didn’t want to go like that. You wanted to go on your own terms.

You seized your chance that evening, when they left you alone without sedatives. You hesitated. But what if the team had finally tracked you down? What if they were already on their way? Wait or don’t wait? They would understand. You knew that. You were relieved that the camera hadn’t been on you 24/7. You had at least spared them from witnessing this, the desperation and terror slipping from your wrists along with your blood.

It was Leon who found you. He collapsed to his knees beside you, consumed by sheer panic, screaming Lydia’s name over and over, begging her not to leave him again. His cries alerted Lavinia. You had hoped that despite her medical experience as a nurse, she wouldn’t reach you in time.

You squeezed your eyes shut, not wanting their faces to be the last thing you saw before death. With the last remnants of your strength, you struggled against their grasp as they tried to lift you from the floor.

Then, everything faded away.

"Leon, this is a waste of time."

The blurred words drifted into your consciousness, floating there like debris on the surface of water. You observed them with closed eyelids, seeing nothing, feeling little, barely understanding anything.

"She…maybe we should just get rid of her. Find a new one."

"We can’t," her brother responded firmly. You had never heard him speak in such a commanding tone before. "We can’t take that risk. They’re on our tail. Police…FBI. If we try again…this is our last chance. She is our last chance, and this time, it will work. I can feel it"

He paused.

"She’s just like Lydia."

His twin remained silent for a moment before letting out a weary, resigned sigh.

"I guess you're right," she finally replied. "I'll go refill the boat's fuel. Keep an eye on her, make sure she doesn't do anything stupid. And when she wakes up, take her to Lydia. They need to…they need to bond. A stronger bond. Right now, she's too weak."

"Be careful," her brother warned her gently.

You opened your eyes only after Lavinia left the room. The light stabbed at them painfully. For a moment, the helplessness consuming you was utterly devastating. You wanted to scream, to wail—it took everything in you not to beg the man to put you to sleep again. If even death couldn’t save you from this fate, then what could? 

Leon didn’t say a word to you. After a while, he simply helped you up, touching your body as if it were made of fragile porcelain, then guided you into the hallway, offering light support. You were weak, horribly weak, but the moment you left your room, a flicker of strength began to return.

For the first time, they allowed you to walk to Lydia on your own instead of carrying you there unconscious. That gave you a chance to take in your surroundings more clearly. You were so surprised by this newfound freedom that, for a moment, you forgot how unsteady your legs were.

You stepped into what seemed like a corridor. Instead of soundproof foam, the walls were lined with metal, rust creeping along some of the panels. The air carried a certain chill—not the biting cold of Lydia’s room, but something more natural, like a draft seeping through an imperfect structure. And then there was another sound, layered beneath the whisper of wind slipping through the cracks—a faint, steady noise.

Rushing water.

Leon kept leading you forward. You crossed a threshold, and that was when you saw it—an old window at the end of the corridor. Something inside you surged forward, an instinctual pull. You wanted—needed—to press yourself against the glass, to look outside, to at least see where you were. The unfamiliar sounds and the stark change in environment stirred something deep within you.

The will to survive.

You thought it had died back there, on the floor, when you miraculously lived. But it hadn’t. It had only been waiting.

Leon pulled you along more forcefully. For the first time, you thought about hurting him. He wasn’t as strong as his sister—if you wrapped your arms tightly around his neck at just the right angle…You were alone there, Lavnia had gone… You tried to recall her blurred words. Refill the fuel in the boat? A boat? So your intuition had been right—you were somewhere on the water.

You had done this so many times that he didn’t need to hand you the cloth or the comb; you already knew where to find them. As you opened the drawer, you could feel Leon’s gaze on your back. You moved slowly, hoping to find something sharp. Anything. Even the comb would do…

You turned around and saw Leon sitting on the table by the bed, his forehead resting on his sister’s lifeless hands.

A perfect opportunity. Perfect circumstances. He was distracted, not paying attention to you.

Unfortunately, you weren’t fully focused either. His sobbing…

"My beautiful Lydia," he wept softly into his sister’s body, burying his face in it as if hoping she would embrace him, stroke his head. "My dear Lydia. I loved her, you know. I love her."

You didn’t move, clutching the comb in your hands. You barely felt the cold, even though your body registered it perfectly, making you shiver. And although rage filled you—a wild, feral madness—you wanted to lunge at him. Yet somehow, you found a sense of calm, a sliver of reason.

You remembered your previous strategy. Leon, the weakest link.

Leaning in, you gently ran your fingers through his blond hair.

“I love you too,” you replied with difficulty.

The man stopped sobbing, remaining still for a moment. With a slow inhale, he straightened up, his wide-open eyes locking onto your face. A slight shiver ran down your spine.

It was possible that you had just made the worst mistake imaginable.

But there was no turning back now. You held his gaze, refusing to look away. You couldn’t tell what emotions were flickering behind his stare. Was it shock? Suddenly, he stood up abruptly. Instinctively, you flinched, raising your hands to shield yourself, bracing for the kind of blow his twin sister had delivered so many times before.

But it never came.

Instead, without a word, he simply turned on his heel and left. He didn’t call for you to follow. He didn’t say anything at all.  For a moment, you stood motionless before slowly setting the comb back onto the table. Your feet barely lifted off the ground as you moved toward the door, only to freeze once you reached it. Seconds passed. Then minutes.

You pushed it. And it opened.

A strange wave rolled through your chest.You were alone at the threshold of an open door. Alone on your own feet, not tethered to anything that could put you to sleep at a moment’s notice. You didn’t think long.

You ran.

The world spun violently from the sudden movement, your weak body barely managing to stop in time to avoid crashing into the window. Your heart pounded furiously, drowning out your thoughts.

You would regret it. In fact, you already did a second later.

Your gaze had barely locked onto the space outside the window when strong arms seized your clothes, yanking you back and slamming you to the ground. You landed hard on your elbow, too disoriented to even feel the pain. Lavinia stood over you, clad in a jacket, her hands clenched into fists. But before she could take a step toward you, her brother moved between you, shaking his head.

"Don't hurt her," he pleaded.

He reached out to touch her, but she slapped his hand away, redirecting her fury toward him instead.

"Don't hurt her?" she echoed mockingly. "And how else is she supposed to learn that she can't just go running off? Why did you even let her?"

"Sorry, it's my fault. I forgot to lock the door," he said.

You didn’t even care whether he was telling the truth. Your mind was spinning too much, especially as you tried to push yourself up.

"But she's our sister, and you can't keep hitting her."

At those words, both you and Lavinia froze.

You looked at her face—pure shock, trembling lips. You were surprised too, but… the corners of your mouth twitched. You masked it quickly, pretending there wasn’t even a trace of satisfaction in you. That your plan wasn’t starting to fall into place.

“Get her out of my sight,” Lavinia said coldly, her voice devoid of emotion.

You watched as Leon slowly stepped toward you, helping you to your feet. As he led you back to your room, you caught a glimpse of Lavinia hiding her face in her hands. You stayed silent for a long time, watching him carefully. It hit you—this was the first time you were with him when he didn’t have his camera.

Slowly, you sat down on the bed, waiting to see if he would sit next to you. And he did.

You swallowed. You couldn’t let yourself feel too confident yet—you still had to be careful, still had to watch every step you took.

“You defended me,” you noted gently.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He looked just as bewildered as you felt. You hoped he wasn’t starting to regret calling you that. You hoped his own delusions were wreaking havoc in his mind—to your advantage.

“Thank you,” you added.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said. He straightened up, turning his head toward you. There was a strange devotion in his green eyes. “You’re my sister. Of course, I have to protect you.”

You nodded gently.

"I am your sister," you repeated clearly, locking eyes with him, willing these words to sink deep into his very core. "I am already your sister, Leon. Lydia. But… our other sister wants to hurt me."

As you spoke, you reached out your bandaged hand, lightly touching his arm. He stiffened under your touch, staring at you with growing astonishment. In fact, he looked almost in awe. As if you had just descended from the heavens. You took that as a good sign.

"You know what she wants to do to me. To drain my blood. How many days do I have left?"

His breathing grew heavier.

"Tomorrow," he answered. "Tomorrow at midnight."

"Tomorrow…" you trailed off, shaking your head. You forced panic to take hold of you. You must have been unconscious longer than you'd thought. "But I am already her. Can't you see?" You ran your fingers through your hair, smiling brightly. "We’re together again. We love each other again. And she wants to tear us apart."

You saw hesitation creeping onto his face, the subtle furrow of his brow betraying his uncertainty. You had forgotten—Lavinia was his sister too. He loved her as well. Turning him against her wouldn’t be that simple.

Swallowing your nerves, you spoke again.

"We have to convince her that I have truly become Lydia. But for that to happen…you know, there’s something still holding me back. An anchor. Two anchors, actually. They keep me from letting go of who I used to be."

He gazed at you with growing intrigue. A metaphor like that had to be especially stimulating for his deranged mind.

"What are these anchors?" he asked, a readiness in his voice, as if he was already prepared to rid you of them.

"One of them," you began slowly, carefully choosing your words—mostly because you hadn't fully thought this through yet. "One of them is…I need to say goodbye. One last farewell that will sever all ties to my previous life. I wish I could let go without it, but…Leon, I’m afraid it’s necessary. It’s holding me back against my will."

You could see him absorbing everything you were saying.

"Say goodbye…to whom?"

There were many names you could have given him. But you chose the one that would strike straight at his orphaned heart.

"To Mom. I don’t need to see her. Just…just a short phone call would be enough."

The silence between you was so heavy, you genuinely feared he might hear your heartbeat. And it was raging in your chest, pounding so fiercely that your limbs trembled. You waited. Everything depended on his answer.

Leon averted his gaze, staring blankly into the distance. You prayed you had reached him. That his desire to have Lydia back was strong enough.

"Tomorrow, I will bring you a phone. One that can't be traced," he finally said.

Okay, that was not part of the plan.

"But tomorrow, Lavinia will…"

"She won't," he cut you off. "I won’t let her… We’ll get rid of the anchor, and she’ll understand that you’re already here."

You could have argued, but you were too afraid of accidentally undoing everything you had achieved so far. So, you agreed. Even an untraceable call was better than nothing. Especially since, in that brief moment you had stood by the window, an idea had begun to form in your mind.

Leaning in, you pressed a grateful kiss to Leon’s cheek. He allowed himself a brief smile.

"And what is the second anchor?"

You told him.

♊︎

When you woke up, you knew it was morning.

Lavinia had dragged you to Lydia’s room the old way—while you were unconscious. At the same time, she had announced that this was the last time and that you had better start getting it right. So, you wiped the woman’s body with as much care as possible. For the first time, you were able to look directly into her eyes.

This was going to end soon.

She would finally end up in a grave, those two would be in prison, and you…

You tried not to fantasize too much. You had to stay focused.

You slowly combed through Lydia’s short hair. Time passed, but Lavinia did not return. You had grown somewhat accustomed to the fridge-like cold, but you had never stayed here longer than fifteen, maybe twenty minutes. You waited for someone to come, but when the chill became unbearable, you approached the door and started pounding on it. Your frozen hands didn’t even register the pain.

"I’m still here!" you shouted.

Had they forgotten about you?

"And that’s where you’ll stay," Lavinia’s voice answered from the other side.

You frowned, hugging your trembling body.

"You’ll stay there until the ritual. I’ll come for you before midnight."

"But it’s morning!" you screamed.

No response.

You slammed your fists against the door again. Harder. Again and again, until blood coated your knuckles and your lungs burned from breathing in the freezing air. One moment, you had everything—a plan to keep yourself alive. The next, you doubted you’d survive the next few hours in this cold.

Had the previous victims gone through the same? Or were you the exception because Lavinia wanted to make sure you never made it out?

You paced around the room, hoping that movement would warm you up. Meanwhile, thoughts of hypothermia and its fatal consequences circled in your mind. You wavered between determination to survive and pure despair, convinced that you wouldn’t make it. You had no idea how many minutes had passed before your gaze landed on the wardrobe that had been standing in the corner of the room the entire time.

With almost blissful relief, you layered on piece after piece of clothing found inside. You knew you would make it until nightfall. 

What came next remained uncertain.

♊︎

Leon found you curled up inside the wardrobe, so accustomed to trembling that it felt like a natural state for your body.

“Come on, we have to hurry,” he said, offering his hand to help you out.

You clung to him tightly, as your legs refused to support you.

“What…where…Lavinia…the phone…” you mumbled, your frozen body unable to form coherent sentences.

“I have the phone, but we need to move fast. I got here just before her to give it to you. Come on.”

He led you out of the room. You turned your head toward Lydia lying on the bed, wondering if this was the last time you would see her.

When you were back in your own room, you wrapped yourself tightly in the blanket, leaving only your head and hand exposed—the hand in which Leon pressed the phone. Your body slowly began returning to its optimal temperature. You couldn’t believe this was really happening.

Leon crossed his arms over his chest. He had no intention of leaving you alone with the phone—he was going to listen to the call. But you were prepared for that possibility.

Instead of frantically dialing, you looked at him. He didn’t have his camera with him.

“Don’t you want to show… this moment to your fans?” Your voice still trembled slightly, your tongue struggling to cooperate. He frowned, not seeming to understand what you meant. You had always avoided the camera before. “Well, you k-know…the final moment before my complete metamorphosis. They’ve followed you for so long…I’d think they…they’d want to see it.”

"You're right. Absolutely right. Wait here."

Not that you had anywhere to go.

He returned, as always, pushing his small table along and clutching his camera in his hand. His fingers trembled slightly. Acting behind his sister’s back must have been stressing him out, but his desire to get Lydia back was too strong. At that moment, you were certain he would do whatever you told him to. With stiff fingers, you dialed the number twice before getting it right. You were calling your mother to say goodbye. That was the official version.

There weren’t many numbers you knew by heart, but Spencer’s was one of them.

Under Leon's watchful eye, you pressed the phone tightly against your ear to make sure he wouldn't hear a male voice—one that was definitely not maternal. The camera was aimed straight at your face, and you stared into it without blinking, as if challenging it to a contest of who would break first.

If the team wasn’t watching this, you might as well smash the phone against the floor.

"Hi, Mom," you said the moment the call connected.

You didn’t breathe. The fear of ruining everything made your throat tighten, and you swallowed hard against the lump. For a moment, there was only silence on the other end.

You didn’t look away from the camera, your senses sharpening from the sheer intensity of your focus. The adrenaline burning through you kept you warm.

Still, no response.

"Hi, sweetheart," a woman’s voice finally said—JJ’s voice.

Tears stung at your eyes, and you worried they would give you away in front of Leon. You made a mistake while blinking and you bit down hard on your tongue as punishment.

JJ was pretending to be your mother.

"I don't have much time, Mom," you began. "I'm just calling... just to ask how you're doing. Is everything okay?"

"Garcia, can you trace where this call is coming from?"

Spencer’s voice.

Another mistake.

Your next breath felt like choking, and you had to steady yourself. You needed to do one more thing—just in case this didn’t work.

"That's great," you threw in a random half-sentence to make the conversation sound real for Leon. "Uh-huh...I'm glad everything's fine. Yes, I'm okay too, don’t worry"

You fell silent for a second, too long. Leon raised an eyebrow. You were supposed to be saying goodbye.

"I...I...Mom, do you remember my favorite mug? The one you accidentally broke last time?"

You swallowed hard, never breaking eye contact with the camera. You couldn't come up with any other cover story besides the mug, so it had to be enough.

"I...I kinda yelled at you back then. Sorry. It was my favorite, but now I...I know it wasn’t your fault."

Your voice grew weaker as you spoke.

Don't cry, you warned yourself.

"It wasn’t your fault, Mom. Not your fault, S—Mom."

Terrified, you glanced at Leon, hoping he hadn't caught it. But he only waved his hand impatiently, urging you to hurry.

You swallowed hard, and before anyone on the team could say anything else, you spoke your final words.

"I love you. Goodbye."

Then you hung up.

For a moment, you stared at each other without moving, until he turned off the camera and you handed the phone back to him. Hearing their voices—possibly for the last time—tightened something in your chest, a pressure you struggled to release.

"Thank you, brother," you said softly. You nodded slightly, grounding yourself, pulling yourself back to the plan. You had to act, to keep moving before Lavinia returned. "You know what we have to do now, right?"

Leon nodded.

♊︎

“What was that about the mug?” Prentiss asked as the call ended.

JJ closed her eyes for a long moment. The rest of the team, gathered around the computer where the stream had played just moments ago, looked utterly confused.

“You think she was trying to send a message? A hidden clue?”

“Garcia, can you play it from the beginning?” Spencer cut in, leaning toward the screen.

The first time he watched it, emotions had taken control, clouding his focus. He had been stupid, so incredibly stupid. Most of his attention had latched onto the repeated words it’s not your fault which only deepened the devastation in his mind. But a small part of him had registered the way her eyes moved.

“Sure, just a sec…” Penelope’s fingers flew over the keyboard, and soon the footage played again.

“Do you understand what she was trying to say?” Rossi asked.

Spencer shook his head. A rush of adrenaline, almost intoxicating, coursed through him.

“She didn’t hide a message in her words,” he explained, straightening up. His gaze darted around Garcia’s desk, searching for something to write with. He grabbed a notebook with a pink, glittery cover and a pencil topped with a fluffy pom-pom. “Look at the way she’s blinking. It’s Morse code.”

Everyone fixed their eyes on the screen, trying to see it for themselves.

Everyone except JJ.

She was looking at Spencer, no trace of anger in her expression—just hope.

Reid wrote down the message she had sent.

Oil rig.

♊︎

The cold was almost liberating.

You stood with Leon at the edge of the oil rig. Ever since you managed to reach the window, you'd been trying to figure out where they had kept you. The realization had come to you slowly. The sound of water surrounded you both, and the wind played with your freshly cut hair. It felt so good that, for a brief moment, you closed your eyes.

But only for a moment.

You couldn't celebrate victory when you hadn't won yet.

Your gaze shifted to the man beside you, then to Lydia’s body, wrapped in a bedsheet and lying just a few steps away. This was the last anchor—the one you had convinced him needed to go.

Lavinia would be back any second. It had to happen now.

Of course, it was never really about anchors. The whole story about your mother had been nothing more than a way to send a message—one you hoped your team had understood and was already acting on. And the one about Lydia? That was just to bring Leon to the edge of the oil rig. 

“Okay, I’m ready,” he said, nodding slightly and exhaling as his eyes lingered on his sister’s body.

You pushed him.

When you planned this, you hadn’t accounted for how weak you would be.

Leon staggered, yes—but he didn’t disappear beneath the waves. Instead, his hand caught the thin fabric of your nightgown, and with a short, startled yell, he yanked you both down onto the floor. 

You groaned as your body slammed against the hard surface.

“You… bitch,” he said, almost in despair, realizing you had been lying to him all along.

You kicked him in the face with your bare foot and pushed yourself up onto your elbows. He let out a sharp gasp of pain—you heard the crunch of his nose breaking—and for a fleeting second, you thought you were on the fast track to escape.

But then his hand clamped around your ankle, yanking you down again.

You let out a frustrated sound as his knee pinned you to the ground. You struggled to shove him off. He wasn’t like Lavinia, but he also wasn’t as weak as a starved woman who had spent nearly an entire day in a freezer.

Right. He wasn’t like her.

He was fucked up, but not enough. Not enough madness in him.

Your nails clawed blindly at his skin while your other hand fumbled against the surface, searching for anything. You felt like you could kill him with a feather if you had to. But you found something far more practical than a feather. 

A brick.

Leon collapsed when it struck his temple. But that wasn’t enough. With a pained breath, you pushed yourself up over him and swung again. You kept swinging, not caring that your fingers were sticky with blood and the brick was beginning to slip from your grip. You kept striking longer than necessary.

Leon had been dead for a while.

You threw the brick aside, gasping for air. Everything felt so unreal, so distant. For a moment, you closed your eyes, still kneeling over his motionless body. When you opened them, ready to face the sight before you, your gaze accidentally met someone else's.

Lavinia stood a few steps away, disbelief and slowly growing fury in her eyes.

For a moment, you just stared at each other, neither of you fully grasping what had just happened.

Then it hit her—you had killed her brother.

And it hit you—that you were absolutely screwed.

Well, that thought only truly settled in once she tackled you to the ground. Punch after punch rained down on your face, so relentless that you couldn’t think, couldn’t come up with an escape plan. Was there even one? Your hands fell limply to your sides, no longer attempting to fight back. The ends of her blonde hair mixed with yours, strands stained red from the blood streaming down your face.

When she stopped, for a brief moment, you thought you were dead.

You had always imagined death as a very quiet experience. Peaceful.

But instead, you could hear her ragged, frantic breathing, a sound almost like a sob, and barely intelligible words cutting through the air.

"I’ll finish this."

During your entire time in that place, she had always moved you from one location to another by knocking you out with sedatives first. But this time, it wasn’t necessary. Your body was so battered that all she had to do was grab you by the leg and drag you along, not caring that your skin scraped against the rough surface.

When your vision finally sharpened and you realized you were back in that same cursed room where it had all begun, for a moment, you thought the recent events had been nothing more than a dream.

But then—

One glance at your bloodstained hands.

One glance to the side, at the neighboring bed and the lifeless body of Lydia resting upon it.

One glance at the IV lines piercing the crooks of your elbows, the slow, steady flow of liquid passing through them.

Your blood.

The only thing that brought you solace was the slowly creeping realization that, at the very least, you had managed to say goodbye to those closest to you. They had seen your face, the raw pain and love in your eyes as you whispered your final goodbye. At least you had assured Spencer that none of this was his fault. You could only hope that, in time, he would start to believe it. At least partially.

You had long drifted off when the door to the room burst open with a bang. 

♊︎

She was saved by the fact that she was a universal recipient.

Still, by the time they found her—after Garcia had finally tracked down the illegally sold oil rig through a bankrupt extraction company—she was already weak. Very weak. So much so that the following hours were filled with even greater fear than the past few days.

She couldn’t slip away from them now that she had been rescued. Or rather, now that she had rescued herself. Spencer had no intention of taking credit—nor letting anyone else take credit—for her brilliant moves and meticulous plan.

He sat in the hospital corridor, while JJ rested her elbow on her knee and her chin on her hand. Her leg trembled, and with it, her entire body. Emily held her other hand tightly.

"Spence," she finally said. Her gaze had been fixed on the floor, and it took effort to lift it to him. But it was necessary for what she was about to say. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. For how I reacted, for how I treated you these past few days."

He wasn’t quite sure what to say, so he just gave a small nod.

“She’s your friend. It’s normal that—”

“She’s your friend too. Ours. We should have been supporting each other this whole time instead of yelling at one another.”

“You were the one yelling.”

The words slipped out before he could stop them. JJ opened her mouth but said nothing.He hadn’t meant to throw it in her face—he didn’t even feel angry. Back then, he had only cared about one thing. One person. But before he could add, retract, or clarify his words, a nurse approached them, informing them that someone could go inside. The entire team stirred in their seats, but only two people were allowed in at a time.

Spencer sat back down, nodding toward JJ and Emily.

Emily raised an eyebrow.

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Reid. Of course, it has to be you.”

Although he had been ready to step aside, a faint, grateful smile crossed his lips.

He followed JJ into the hospital room, his steps slowing as they approached her bed. Unpleasant flashbacks flooded his mind—seeing her like this on a screen, the helplessness that had gripped him then. It took him a moment to shake off the feeling, to ground himself in the realization that he was here now. That she was right in front of him.

A sudden chill of panic ran down his spine. What was he supposed to say to her? Was he even capable of opening his mouth without turning into a pathetic, guilt-ridden mess, mumbling endless apologies and self-deprecating confessions? JJ spoke first, sparing him from his spiraling thoughts. She started with something simple—a quiet whisper of her name.

She said it again, and slowly, her eyelids fluttered open. Spencer felt something tighten in his chest. A relief so immense it almost hurt.

She murmured something weakly.

Both he and JJ stepped closer, and this time, he was the one to say her name.

“Don’t call me that,” she rasped. Her eyes shut again, and she turned her head to the side, as if refusing to look at them. Shutting them out. “That’s not my name,” she whispered.

“I’m Lydia.”

post-reading author’s note:

if you survived reading such a long fic—CONGRATULATIONS and THANK YOU and also im SORRY. i know there wasn’t much reid not much of the team and honestly it had very little to do with canon—it was mostly just a product of my imagination. i hope you’re not disappointed.

if any topic in this fic triggered you, i apologize. i tried to include everything in the tw but i might have missed something.

[hanniebaeee]

Clueless: Baby Bang

Bang Chan x fem!reader

Warnings: Reader is pregnant (just that, nothing deep)

Genre: established relationship, flufffff

Summary: You've been distant lately, and Chan can't understand why. Because this is very unusual for the two of you as you two are on each other all the time. And Chan panics as you guys are getting married in a few months, and this sudden change is unraveling him.

Clueless Masterlist

Chan paced the living room, a deep frown etched into his forehead. You hadn’t touched him in days. Weeks, actually. That alone was already a catastrophe, considering the fact that you two were basically like bunnies.

But now? Nothing. You were dodging his touches like he was contagious. He reached for your hand? Oh, look, you suddenly needed both hands to text someone. He tried for a kiss? Whoops, you conveniently yawned. Bedtime? You were already asleep. 

And that diamond ring glittering on your ring finger? It made him wonder if you were regretting saying yes to him already.

He’d spent way too many nights staring at the ceiling, feeling like the universe was punishing him for something he didn't even know he did.

Chan sighed and opened the group chat. This was bad. He needed to vent.

Chan: She’s avoiding me.

A rapid barrage of notifications followed, and Chan barely had time to process one before another arrived. 

Minho: Y/N? The one who’s practically glued to your lap 24/7?

Hyunjin: LMAO. Not possible. I won't believe it.

Seungmin: You obviously did something.

Chan: NO, I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING!

Chan: She’s been acting weird for WEEKS. 2 weeks to be exact. No kisses. No hugs. No… anything.

Jisung: No sex? BRO. Are you okay?

Felix: What if she’s planning something? Like a surprise? Maybe a wedding thing?

---

Chan paused. That was… not unreasonable. But no. You’d never kept secrets from him before. Like you've given him enough surprises before so he knew this was different.

---

Minho: OR. She’s finally come to her senses about you seducing her into saying yes? 

Chan: Minho. I will come to your house and end you.

Jeongin: But seriously, hyung. Did you say something? Do something? Forget an important date? You’re kind of a workaholic.

---

That hit a little too close to home. Chan frowned, scrolling back through his mental timeline of your relationship.

---

Chan: I didn’t forget anything. I swear. We were fine until a couple weeks ago, and now she’s avoiding me like the plague.

Changbin: Well. There’s only one logical explanation.

Changbin: She’s been abducted by aliens and replaced with a clone.

Jisung: YES. I second this. The real Y/N would NEVER do this. 

Felix: Omg guys! 

Chan: GUYS.

Hyunjin: Okay. What if she’s mad because you’re not initiating? She’s waiting for you to grovel.

Seungmin: That makes no sense. If she’s mad, why not just say so?

Hyunjin: IDK, some people like drama.

Jeongin: That’s your toxic trait, Hyung.

Hyunjin: IS NOT!

---

Chan groaned, dropping his phone onto the couch. He missed you. Like, really missed you. Sure, he wanted to rip your clothes off 90% of the time, but he also missed the simple things - your cuddles, your soft laugh, the way you’d always need him by your side when you're stressed. 

The cold shoulders and polite smiles were killing him.

---

Minho: Just confront her, idiot. Corner her in the kitchen and ask her what’s wrong.

Chan: You think I haven’t tried that?! Every time I ask, she changes the subject.

Jisung: Okay, hear me out. Seduction.

Chan: What?

Jisung: Set the mood. Candles. Sexy music. Flex those ridiculous arms. She won’t stand a chance.

Felix: Worth a try. 

---

That night, Chan put the "seduction plan" into action. He dimmed the lights, skipped the candles, and put on a romantic playlist. He even went full drama, lounging on the couch with his shirt conveniently unbuttoned.

When you walked in, your eyebrows shot up as you asked, “What's up?”

Chan said nothing, just held held his hand out.  You froze, guilt flashing across your face, and Chan knew he had you. You placed your hand on his and let him pull you close.

“Baby, what’s going on? You’ve been avoiding me, and it’s driving me crazy. Did I do something wrong?” His voice cracked, and that set you off.

Your eyes filled with tears, and in an instant you were in his lap, clinging to him like your life depended on it.

“I’m sorry, Channie! I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Then why -”

“Shhh,” Chan fell silent as you pressed a finger to his lips. “Just know that I love you, Channie.”

Chan was suspicious. Because, well, you’d shut him up in the best way possible, last night - all he remembered was his shirt coming off and yeah.

You’d seduced him. Thoroughly. And while his brain had short-circuited at that time, he was now absolutely certain that you’d dodged his questions on purpose.

At least he can't complain about you not touching him anymore, right?

---

Chan: It didn't work.

Minho: WHAT didn't?

Chan: She kinda caught me off guard. And avoided my questions.

Jisung: I thought we agreed on YOU seducing her and you got seduced??

Felix: Soooo… you still don’t know what’s going on?

Chan: NO. She’s hiding something, I know it.

Hyunjin: Maybe you’re overthinking. Or, maybe she’s secretly a spy.

Changbin: She’s NOT a spy, Hyunjin. That’s ridiculous.

Hyunjin: And alien clones aren’t?

Minho: Why are we even helping you? You let her seduce you and then just… forgot your goal.

---

Chan groaned, flopping onto his back. It wasn’t his fault! He was weak when it came to you. All it took was a look, or a whisper of his name and his brain turned to mush.

Still, Minho had a point.

---

Chan: Okay, fine. What do I do now?

Felix: She’s probably just stressed? Weddings are a big deal. She might just need time to sort her thoughts.

That gave Chan pause. Weddings were stressful. Maybe that was it?

Hyunjin: My bet’s still on spy.

---

Meanwhile, you were in the bathroom, staring at the little plastic stick in your hand for the hundredth time now. You’d known for two weeks, but the reality hadn’t gotten any less terrifying.

You were pregnant. Pregnant. With Chan’s baby.

The thought sent your heart racing. You loved him more than anything, but… you’d never talked about kids. What if he wasn’t ready? What if he panics when you bring it up? 

There were only a few months until the wedding. You didn’t want to dump this on him now and risk throwing him into a spiral.

---

That night, Chan decided to take Minho’s advice (for once). No more distractions. He was getting answers tonight.

When you walked into the living room and his eyes locked onto yours - you froze. He looked so handsome, and a little…worn out? You felt so guilty for doing this. 

“Come sit,” he said, patting the couch beside him.

You hesitated, but complied, heart pounding.

“Baby, we need to talk,” Chan said, his voice soft but firm.

You swallowed hard as you murmured, “About what?”

“You’ve been acting weird for weeks. And you obviously don't trust me enough to talk it out. I’m worried. What's going on? Is it the wedding?” He was giving you that puppy eyed look, and your heart shattered.

“No, Channie, it's not like that...”

“Then what is it? Please, just tell me.”

You opened your mouth, ready to spill everything - but then you panicked. The words caught in your throat, and instead, you leaned in, pressing your lips to his.

Here he was - caught off guard (again) but quickly melting into the kiss. You climbed into his lap, your hands tangling in his hair, and within seconds, all thoughts of questioning were gone.

---

Chan: SHE DID IT AGAIN.

Minho: You’re hopeless.

Seungmin: At this rate, she could rob a bank and get away with it.

Felix: Honestly, I’m impressed.

---

Chan sighed, glaring at the group chat before throwing his phone across the bed. Whatever you were hiding, it was big. And he was determined to find out, one way or another.

Little did he know, in the bathroom, you were rehearsing how to tell him the truth: that in just a few months, he wasn’t just going to be your husband.

He was going to be a dad.

Chan was officially losing it. His imagination had gone to some very dark places (thanks to Changbin’s clone theory and Hyunjin’s spy nonsense), but now he just felt defeated. What was so big and terrifying, that you felt like you couldn’t share it with him?

Chan: I give up. She’s unbreakable.

Jisung: Hey don't lose hope.

Minho: Pathetic.

Jeongin: Just sit her down and don’t let her leave until she talks.

Chan: I’VE TRIED THAT.

Chan was ready to lock himself and you in a room till you cracked, but unfortunately he was already cracking under the stress. And then a lightbulb went off in his head. There was just one person in the world who might be able to get through to you.

Felix.

---

Felix was, to put it lightly, concerned when Chan cornered him in his kitchen.

“Lix, you have to help me,” Chan said, his eyes wild and desperate.

“Help you how?” Felix asked cautiously.

“Can you please try to talk to her?” Chan literally begs. “She loves you, Lix. Maybe she’ll tell you if you ask?”

Felix hesitated, torn between loyalty to Chan, who was literally his brother and his friendship with you. But ultimately, his desire to help won anyway.

“Okay,” he said with a sigh. “I’ll talk to her.”

---

Later that afternoon, you opened the door to find Felix standing on your porch, holding a box of cookies and his sunniest smile. 

“Lixie?” you asked, surprised. “So good to see you!”

“Just wanted to check on you, love,” he said, coming forward to hug you.

You stepped aside to let him in, and the two of you settled on the couch.

“I baked these for you,” he said, watching your reaction closely as you opened the box and munched on a cookie immediately. “You’ve been looking a little stressed lately.”

You stopped mid-chew, guilt gnawing at you.

“I’m fine, Lix. Just… wedding stuff, you know?” you said, carefully avoiding his eyes.

“Is it really just the wedding?” Felix tilted his head, unconvinced.

You froze, your hands tightening around the box.

“You know you can talk to me, right? Whatever it is, I won’t judge.” Felix said, reaching out and placing a gentle hand over yours.

Your eyes welled up with tears, and as you put the box aside gently. Felix scooted closer as he saw the tears fall, and before you knew it, the truth came spilling out.

“I’m pregnant, Felix,” you whispered. “And I don’t know how to tell Chan. We’ve never talked about kids, and I don’t even know if he wants them. And now the wedding’s so close, and I’m scared I’ll ruin everything. I already got my wedding dress and I don't think I'll fit into it anymore because by that time-”

Felix’s eyes went wide, and for a moment, he looked like he might burst into tears himself. But then he let out a strangled laugh.

“You’re… you’re pregnant?”

You nodded, sniffled and managed a soft, “Yeah.”

Felix threw his arms around you, nearly knocking you over. 

“Oh my God, Y/N! I’m so happy for you! And for Chan! You’re gonna have the cutest baby in the world!” he gushed, his eyes sparkling with happy tears. 

You couldn’t help but laugh through your own tears. 

“You don't think this is a disaster?” you asked softly, wiping your tears away. 

“Disaster?” Felix pulled back, shaking his head. “Of course not. This is amazing! But you have to tell Chan. He’s going insane trying to figure out what’s wrong.”

“I know,” you said softly. “I just… I’m scared.”

Felix gave you a reassuring smile and said, “Chan loves you more than anything. Trust me, he’s gonna be over the moon. And I'll always be here for you. Seriously, sweetheart, this is the best news ever.”

---

Hyunjin: Well? Did she tell you?

Jisung: SPILL, FELIX.

Chan: Felix? Please. I’m dying here.

Felix hesitated, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. He couldn’t betray your trust, but he also couldn’t leave Chan hanging.

Felix: She’s okay. She’s just… working through something.

Minho: And you’re being suspiciously vague.

Seungmin: Should've known that sending her best friend to investigate wasn't your strongest idea… obviously he's gonna take her side! 

Felix: I promised I wouldn’t say anything. But it’s nothing bad, I swear.

Chan: Seriously?? Nothing bad? Then why is she avoiding me?

Felix: Just… be patient with her, okay? She’ll tell you when she’s ready. I promise it's all ok. Trust me. 

Chan frowned at the message, his heart twisting.

You had spent the whole night rehearsing what to say to Chan, your stomach churning with nerves. Morning came far too quickly, and as you watched him shuffle into the kitchen with his hair messy and his sleepy face, you nearly chickened out.

But Felix’s words echoed in your head. He’s gonna be over the moon.

“Channie,” you said softly, placing your mug of tea aside and taking a step towards him. 

He looked up from the coffee maker, his sleepy eyes brightening instantly. You were trying to talk to him, and somehow that was enough. Anything was better than you avoiding him. 

“Morning, baby.”

You smiled nervously, gesturing to the table. “Can we talk?”

His brow furrowed, worry flashing across his face as he nodded and sat down opposite you.

“Is everything okay?”

You took a deep breath, your hands trembling slightly as you said, “You know how I’ve been… weird lately?”

Chan nodded, his gaze fixed on you with a mix of concern and curiosity.

“Well,” you continued, “there’s a reason for that. And I’ve been scared to tell you because it’s big. Like, really big.”

“Baby, whatever it is, you can tell me. I promise, I’ll handle it.” Chan said, reaching across the table and taking your hand in his.

Your eyes filled with tears as you finally said it.

“I’m pregnant.”

Chan froze. Completely. His mouth hung open, his grip on your hand tightening slightly as his brain processed your words.

“You’re… pregnant?” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

You nodded, tears spilling over.

“Yeah. I found out a couple of weeks ago, and I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t know if you’d be okay with it, or if it was too much with the wedding coming up -”

Chan cut you off by pulling you into his arms, burying his face in your neck. His body shook as he let out a half-laugh, half-sob, and you realized he was crying.

“Channie, are you okay?” you asked nervously, your own voice shaking as you stroked his hair.

“Okay?” he choked out, pulling back to look at you with tear-streaked cheeks and the biggest grin you’d ever seen. “Baby, I’m better than okay. I’m… I’m gonna be a dad?”

You nodded, your heart swelling at the pure joy on his face.

Chan laughed, his tears flowing freely now.

“Holy crap. I don’t know what to say?! We’re having a baby. A baby!”

Before you could say anything else, Chan was  peppering your face with kisses, squeezing you in the tightest hug ever.

“I love you so much. Baby, you’re…I can’t believe you’ve been carrying this on your own.” he said, cupping your cheeks with his hands. 

“I didn’t want to stress you out,” you admitted, clinging to him as he pulled you onto his lap. “And…I've never been more scared about anything my entire life? I mean, I adore you, and I know I want this with you, our baby already means the world to me…but not knowing if you would want that too? It's been killing me, we've never even joked about this before, Channie… “

“You could’ve told me sooner, baby,” he said softly, kissing the tip of your nose. “I thought we were clear about this, with you, I'm ready for anything! But I get it. And I love you even more for worrying about me. But baby, we’re in this together. Always.”

---

Chan: GUYS. I HAVE NEWS. HUGE NEWS 🤩

Jisung: Finally!! 

Hyunjin: I told you she's a spy!! No one ever listens to me!! 

Minho: He’s too happy for that, you idiot.

Chan: WE’RE HAVING A BABY.

Jeongin: Excuse me, WHAT?

Changbin: STOP. Really?! 

Seungmin: Wow, plot twist

Felix: Oh thank godddddd😭😭😭😭

Felix: I was dying here

Chan: SHE TOLD ME THIS MORNING. I’M GONNA BE A DAD. WE’RE GONNA BE PARENTS. OMG.

---

It felt like everytime he said it, it felt a little more real.

---

Jisung: Congratulations, bro. Wow. 

Hyunjin: I AM CRYING. I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU’RE REPRODUCING.

Chan: 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

Chan: MY BABYGIRL AND I ARE HAVING A BABY😭💖

Minho: Jokes aside, this is such great news!! Congrats. Now go take care of your pregnant fiancée instead of spamming us.

Chan: I think I'm gonna faint

Changbin: Congrats, bro. But also… HOW DID YOU NOT NOTICE SHE WAS GOING THROUGH SOMETHING?

Chan: I NOTICED! I just didn't think she was, you know

Jisung: Avoiding you because she was growing your spawn, apparently.

Hyunjin: “Spawn” makes it sound like a little gremlin. Oh my Gawd 🤣

Felix: STOP. My baby’s gonna be so adorable I’ll CRY 😭

Minho: Okay, Felix, you’re suspiciously calm about this. Did you already know?

Felix: 👀

Hyunjin: YOU KNEW.

Chris: WHAT?? FELIX, YOU KNEW BEFORE ME?!

Felix: SHE TOLD ME FIRST, OKAY? SHE WAS NERVOUS, AND I PROMISED I WOULDN’T SAY ANYTHING.

Jisung: Wow. Betrayal.

Chan: SO YOU JUST LET ME SUFFER FOR WEEKS??

Felix: Yes. And? I'd do it again for her.

Changbin: LMAO savage.

Jeongin: Shame on you for trusting him when everyone knows he works for her

Chan: Thanks for being on her side, Lix

Felix: Anytime 💖

Hyunjin: Omg, imagine Baby Bang. Tiny curls, tiny dimples 😍

Chan: STOP I’M ALREADY CRYING AGAIN 😭

Jeongin: I've never been this excited for a baby really. You'd let us babysit won't you? 

Changbin: Oh yeah. Group uncle duty.

Hyunjin: We're gonna be dancing before we can even walk Baby Bang 🤝

Felix: For sure!

Chan: THANK YOU GUYS FOR BEING EXCITED FOR US!

Jisung: Save your tears for the wedding, Daddy Bang.

Jeongin: When do we throw a baby shower? Felix?

Felix: Already planning it.

Hyunjin: This baby’s gonna be so loved.

Chan: THANK YOU, GUYS. I LOVE YOU ALL 😭

---

Chan added Y/N to the group chat.

Chan: SURPRISE, BABY! WELCOME TO THE CHAOS.

Jisung: AHHH THE QUEEN IS HERE!

Hyunjin: ALL HAIL THE BABY-MAKER 👑

Minho: Congrats on creating life and also tolerating Chan for this long.

Felix: YAYYYYYY YOU’RE HERE! 😭 We’ve been dying to have you here!!!

Jeongin: Thank you for gifting us Baby Bang. We promise to only slightly corrupt them.

Changbin: We’re all crying. I’m crying. Hyung is crying. Everyone’s crying.

Y/N:😂

Y/N: Oh my God, you guys.

Minho: This is us being tame.

Hyunjin: Soooo, what does it feel like, hm? Asking for research purposes, of course

Chan: Oh yeah, totally not gonna run off and impregnate someone 🙄

Hyunjin: What's it to you Christopher? You can do it, but I can't?! 

Chan: Oh please

Minho: I told her to get a collar for this damn puppy and look who's here yapping

Y/N: Leave him alone guys!

Hyunjin: I respect you, Y/N. I respect you. So I'm gonna shut up (Mr Know, let's do this face to face huh)

Minho: Gladly.

Felix: Honestly, Y/N, we’re just honored to be part of this. 

Y/N: Thanks guys, this means a lot to us. 

Changbin: And we’re going to spoil them rotten.

Jeongin: Rotten is an understatement.

Y/N: 🤭🤭🤭

Minho: You won't even know what hit you for the next 18 years. Or 30.

Chan: GUYS. Stop scaring her. Baby, they’re joking.

Felix: We’re not.

Hyunjin: Nope.

Jisung: Absolutely not.

Y/N: I'm all in for that hehe

Chan: I love you guys

Jisung: Chan’s in his feels again.

Felix: We have a wedding and baby shower to plan! 

Hyunjin: OMG. A pregnant bride. You’re gonna be so GLOWY.

Y/N: Thank you for being this excited for us. I love you guys 😭💖

Felix: We love you too!! 🥺💖

Divider: @saradika-graphics

Tags: @moonchild9350 @velvetmoonlght @eastjonowhere @pixie-felix @sailor--sun @chancloud8

[miumura]

SHE GETS HER WAY ｡ ｡ ｡ 보이넥스트도어 🪽 ✦

( 𝓢 ) ﹕ gf privilege with boynextdoor

──── 0t6!boynextdoor x f ! r ╱ ⌕ est. relationship, fluff ∿ w. none, they are just cuties wc. 0.7K+ ( 757 ) ｡ ｡ first post of 2025 😚 !! ( many more bnd works to come! ) happy new years everyone !! i am so thankful for everyone && i hope that 2025 treats you well and also becomes your year 🤍 !!

❛❛ 💬 ❞ 𝗦𝗢𝗣𝗛 > 𓂃 𝗖𝗛𝗘𝗖𝗞 𝗢𝗨𝗧 𝗕𝗢𝗢𝗞𝗦𝗛𝗘𝗟𝗙 ⋮ 🪽

MYUNG JAEHYUN freely allowing you to bother him

no matter what kind of tricks you could pull, he never seems to get even a little bit annoyed. in fact, it's almost as if he adores you even more because of your antics. sometimes, it leaves you wondering if anything could tick him off at all. in reality, he might just play hard to get purposefully just to watch you persistently ask for something he would do for you without a second thought—no matter what it was. he just finds it rather cute when you're so determined to make him do something that you want. you wouldn’t even notice it’s an act until you see his wide grin as he finally “gives” in. so really, there's no need to beg for anything—you’re his weak spot, and he doesn't even try to hide it.

PARK SUNGHO dragging him into doing silly trends

regardless how silly he may think the tiktok you just showed him is, there’s such a low chance for him to say no. almost all of the time, you’d catch him saying yes. to his defense, how could he say no to someone like you? he loves seeing that spark of excitement in your eyes and can’t help but smile as you eagerly set up for the video you’re about to record. sungho, without a doubt, would just look at you with so much love as you tie that pink ribbon around him, adoring and cheesing over you internally.

LEE SANGHYEOK random physical touch

he doesn’t dislike physical touch, however, he will get all tensed up if someone were to randomly give it to him without warning. but with you? that’s a complete different story—poke at him, wrap your arms around him, or even smother him with affection, and he'd let it happen without a single complaint. if you wanted it, he’d simply give it to you. regardless, it’s a win-win situation for him—you’d get all the physical touch you want and he gets pampered with your sweet kisses and hugs. let’s say, there was always a motive all along—one that leaves him content with getting to keep you as close as possible.

HAN DONGMIN taking his belongings without asking

the first time he saw you wearing one of his hoodies, he could’ve sworn he fell even harder for you. sure, he’s the type who usually prefers when people ask before borrowing his things, but seeing you in it? that was a whole different story. it brought an instant smile to his face, one he couldn’t hide even if he tried. from that moment on, he’s never refused you—or asked for anything back. need to borrow his phone for a bit? go ahead. want to wear that accessory he cherishes so much? it’s yours. he’s just that down bad for you. honestly, it doesn’t matter how long it’s out of his sight because as long as it’s with you, he’s at ease. he trusts you completely—and maybe, just maybe, he secretly loves the reminder that he’s yours.

KIM DONGHYUN you have all of his attention

safe to say, you have the leehan completely swooned. you could be distracting him from his game or youtube video, but the moment you call his name, it's like everything fades into the background. it’s almost as if, within a split of a second, he’d be right there for you. even when you don’t call for him, he’ll pause whatever he’s doing just to check up on you. whether it’s a quick text or simply staying close within your reach, it’s more than enough to keep him content. his eyes soften the moment they land on you, almost as if he can’t help but admire the person who means the most to him. and honestly? he wouldn’t want it any other way.

KIM WOONHAK decorating his belongings

at first, he might refuse and say a few half-hearted complaints as you pulled out your sticker sheets. but the moment you stuck those tiny heart stickers on his phone case, it was game over. his heart started racing faster than he’d like to admit, and suddenly, those so-called “childish” designs didn’t seem so bad. ever since then, he’s been extra cautious with anything you’ve decorated, treating them with such care as if his life depended on it. he’s practically paranoid about getting even the tiniest scratch on them. in fact, he takes every chance he gets to proudly show them off—whether it’s his phone, notebook, or water bottle—and purposely leaves his things out in the open, secretly hoping you’ll add more. it doesn’t matter if the stickers are cute, silly, or completely random. what matters is that you’re the one who decorated them, and to him, that makes them absolutely perfect.

‘💬’ ─── new year new layout ( ? ) do we like this way of writing for hcs ??

BND PERM TAGLIST ( OPEN ) ! — @juyeoz @j4d

[nmakii]

GETTING CAUGHT IN THE MOMENT… LIPSTICK ON YOUR FACE

— alastor + lucifer + vox getting caught with lipstick stains all over them…

— generally gn!reader. guys can wear lipstick too smh

hehe i got a new lip tint (˶‾᷄ ⁻̫ ‾᷅˵) maybe alastor’s part is a little self-projected

— alastor

alastor himself isn’t one for physical affection. in fact, the thought itself makes him feel dirty. someone else’s skin against his… eugh…

though, when it came to you, he couldn’t keep his hands to himself; hands clawing and playing with your hair, wrapping his arms around your neck, pinching your cute cheeks, holding your hand… it’s almost as if he’d double-die without you near!

and the only thing he’d enjoy more than that would be having his affection reciprocated; interlocking your arm with his, a surprise hug from behind, a kiss on the cheek, they are all more than appreciated! especially the thing about kissing…

a kiss from you is simply just exhilarating. the suddenness yet sweetness of it, it’s truly the purest form of love, regardless of if it’s familial, romantic, or platonic— it’s the purest expression of your love for another person.

so, just imagine alastor’s reaction to your new lipstick, strawberry red to give your lips a glossy color, yet still light enough to appear natural. the pretty hue of red complimenting your face features perfectly by giving it the color it needs as to not appear pale.

absolutely gorgeous. so confusing how a simple amount of color could make you look as if you were an angel from heaven itself. you quite literally took his breath away from just applying a new lipstick…

at some point, alastor had reached some sort of limit when he finally caved into his inner desires, bringing you to a secluded place in the hotel, his hands moving to your hips and hair.

he couldn’t wait any longer to place his lips on your’s, your lipstick smearing all over his thin lips. kissing him from his cheeks to his jawline, leaving light pink stains all over his skin.

he groaned at the feeling of wet lipstick all over his face, and at the same time reveled in the ways you are telling everyone that the only one who could see the radio demon in such a needy and doe-like state would be you; he’d be yours to fool around with, and yours to do however you’d see fit. just as you are his— no one else’s. the smeared lipstick on the side of your lips should send that as a statement enough to whatever lowlife hooligan would even attempt to sweep you off your feet.

when the two of you had returned, it was a strange sight to say the least… alastor’s face and jaw covered with pink lips, and you with your lipstick smudged and smeared off your lips, instead all over you neck.

“well, uh… you two look like ‘ya had lot’sa fun…” angel said monotonously, awkwardly trying to keep up conversation. “ohh, most certainly!” alastor grinned, his transatlantic accent popping through the radio static.

he knows he could’ve wiped it off… he has a handkerchief in his back pocket, he could’ve easily saved himself that awkward conversation.

but, he didn’t.

could you blame him? he wants all of hell to know that both you and him off-limits for good.

— lucifer

when many imagine the king of hell, it’s hard to think he’d be a social piranha. the same case had gone for you.

who knew lucifer was still as pure of heart as he was during his time in heaven? and who knew he’d fall for someone so easily after the sudden disappearance of his wife?

when he saw you, it was practically love at first sight! your big eyes, your shiny hair, and those big pretty lips of yours that he just wanted to kiss so badly…

he listened carefully as charlie introduced you to him, trying to remember every detail about you and every feature on your face, stuttering over his words once it was time to speak for himself.

and somehow, despite his meekness towards you and your awkwardness whenever he was around, you two ended up in a relationship— with the help of vaggie and charlie’s meddling in pushing you two together.

the two of you loved each other, of course… but it was always hard to express. the only way lucifer knew how to show his love was through his presence and gifts. he wasn’t hell’s greatest kisser, but he tries.

and, today— it was your 5 month anniversary… quite a long time, the hotel’s been good so far, no major threats other than one of cherri bomb’s occasional explosions. and because of how long it’s been, you decided to do something a little special… put on some relatively expensive clothes and make-up your face a little bit.

when lucifer saw you all dolled up, he was honestly a little stunned. lips as red as an apple, hair as soft as silk, the words were stuck in his mouth. “w- er- wow..! i’m not dressed up or anything— agh, this is awkward..” lucifer muttered. “hey, it’s ok… this was a surprise for you, y’know?” you said, comforting him slightly.

“you look… stunning today” he smiled, carefully putting down his anniversary present for you on his work desk, still wrapped in a red ribbon. he made his way to you, hands making their way to your cheeks to softly cup them as he gently leaned into you for a kiss.

he released a breath he didn’t know he had been holding as you kissed his face all over, as if healing the wounds of his past with his present. his banishment into hell, lilith’s abandonment, they all didn’t matter anymore, you are the present and the future.

he wrapped his arms around your waist in a hug as he kissed your forehead, the residual lipstick from his lips smeared onto you.

lucifer laughed awkwardly before using his finger to carefully rub off the pink stains on your forehead. “haha… c’mon, i got a dinner reservation in the lust ring tonight…” he laughed, interlocking his arm with yours.

“don’t you wanna take off that lipstick on your face first?” you raised an eyebrow at him. “i mean… i dont minddd… so, it’s only if you wanna take if off” his eyes wandered, his cheeks growing flustered “hmm… nah. i want everyone to know you belong to me now.” you grinned mischievously.

and when the two of you walked out of the hotel lobby, charlie went to wish you a safe trip and happy anniversary before she noticed the stains on her dad’s face. “err… dad..? you gotta a little something there…” charlie muttered as she pointed all over his face. “ah..? yeah, i know” he laughed it off, proudly showing off to hell how hopelessly devoted he is to you.

— vox

vox was a busy man. from having many public appearances, to coming up with new ideas for voxtek, to putting out valentino’s temper tantrums, he barely had the time for romance.

barely. he loved you, truly. he keeps you dear to his heart, no matter how busy he’d be, vox would still make time for you late at night.

everyone had known you, why wouldn’t they? you’re the partner of one of the most influential overlords in hell, that’s a feat that is amazing to accomplish, dating vox in itself has made you into a sort of local celebrity; causing you to be invited to many galas, parties, and occasional raves.

and tonight happened to be the night of one of those parties. zestial had invited you to a formal dinner party, an all star guest list filled by many of the goetic princes, various overlords in hell, and other local hellborns such as verosika mayday.

“please, voxxx? just this once, it’s only like 3 hours!” you grumble as your apply a coat of ruby red over your lips, checking your appearance in the bathroom mirror. “i can’t.. i have a 5:00 with val and velvette, then after that, a board meeting about new gadgets to release…” vox groaned, already pissed about the day ahead.

“fine then, your loss.” you pouted, rolling your eyes as you left the bathroom and into the bedroom. “holy shit…” vox sighed out. “you look… really good, my love.” he walked over to you, his hands moving to your body, outlining the clothes’ stitching as he recognized it to be the one he had custom-made for you.

your hands rested on vox’s shoulders, forcibly making him lean over a bit before leaving various kiss stains all over his screen.

vox visibly tensed as his screen started glowing a bright teal, showing his clear embarrassment as pink smudges fogged his screen.

his breath heaved as his hands moved all around your body, desperate to find some kind of relief to his pent-up stress.

ending your kiss attack all too soon on his lips, you pulled away, your lips slightly pale now as you grinned at him. “spend the day looking like that and i’ll give you more after work” you winked, taking your belongings and leaving out the door, leaving a flustered vox in your bedroom, covered with lipstick stains.

“vox… the fuck is going on with your face?” velvette snarled. “it looks as if you got fucking mauled by a bear pretending to be a woman.” she yelled, her british accent making her trip over some consonants.

vox sighed, hearing valentino mutter some sort of dirty comparison of vox to a prostitute. “instead of focusing on me, why don’t you put your efforts into our agenda today?” vox frowned, his tone clearly saying that he’s holding himself back from releasing a flood of curses onto the two…