#start talking in a completely different way

[reiding-writing]

𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐝’𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐭.

a case involving female students being murdered in their dormitories brings the team to stanford university. You have more of a connection to it than you originally realise.

cold!reader ❅ 8.4k ❅ cold!reader masterlist. ❅ main masterlist.

CW | typical criminal minds violence, violence against women, detail of murder and injury, abuse of power, student-professor relationships, miscarriage and abortion, character death, manipulation, cynicism

“Three women, all doctorate students of Stanford University, have all been killed inside their dorm rooms in the last two weeks,” There’s a click of a button, and then three images flash up on the screen, headshots of the girls. “All three were found with their stomachs cut open and their reproductive organs removed,”

What a lovely way to start a Monday morning.

“So much for the best University in California,” Morgan nudges your arm with his elbow, and your roll your eyes.

“What was the medical knowledge of the unsub?”

“You tell me,” JJ clicks another button on her remote, and the smiling photos of the victims are replaced with their crime scene photos.

Hands and feet tied to their beds, a large incision at the pelvic bone that had been stretched open to leave the internal organs bare, and the uterus cut out of the body. The surface knowledge was there, but the execution was not. Messy lines and uneven incisions that left the gap left in the victims more blood and tissue than actual hole.

“So we’re not looking for a professional then,” Morgan points out the obvious with a cross of his arms, leaning back in his chair.

“They clearly know something about it though,” Spencer leans forward as Morgan leans back, squinting his eyes like it’s going to make the images clearer. “There’s several different ways to perform a hysterectomy, but for a complete hysterectomy like our unsub is doing, the most common method is to start with an incision just above the pelvic bone,”

We’ll discuss the details of hysterectomies whilst we’re on the plane,” Hotch taps both of his hands on the table as he stands. “Gather your things, wheels up in thirty,”

There’s a chorus of “Yes Sir,”s as you all follow him out of the conference room to return to your respective desks and gather your belongings for the flight, an air of fatigue still surrounding the group even through the graphic imagery you were presented with.

“Going back to your alma mater, how do you feel?” Morgan clasps his right hand into a fist and holds it out to you like an invisible microphone.

You push it away without much thought as you pack your laptop into your bag, rolling your eyes at him for what feels like the tenth time since you’d walked through the door an hour ago. “It’s been almost— no, it has been ten years since I graduated, what’s there to ‘feel’?”

“Okay robot face, damn, no lingering love for the College that gave you your career?” Morgan’s taunt is laced with that familiar air of light-heartedness that’s there to remind you that he really is just poking fun, but you’ve never been very receptive to his humour.

“No.”

He lets out a sharp laugh in a mix of amusement and surprise, opening his mouth to make another comment, but the expression on your face tells him you’re definitely done talking about the topic.

He does have some self restraint.

—

Stepping out of the San Jose International Airport almost felt like going into a time machine, spitting you right back out where you’d left that decade ago just 18 miles from your old campus.

It felt even more surreal actually reaching Stanford’s main site, walking around the place you’d dedicated four years of your life to. Not much had changed since you’d left, not that you really expected it to, but it felt almost foreign to you to walk around the campus as you were now, a properly matured adult compared to the almost naive teenager you started as.

You began where you always did, at the most recent crime scene, a college dorm room on the south-east side of the campus.

It was pretty standard, a bedroom big enough for a double bed and a desk, a built in wardrobe, and a private bathroom; Decorated how you would expect from a girl in her early twenties, covered in memories and interests that gave it a personality outside of the off-white paint on the walls.

Of course, it was mildly ruined by the fact the previously pink bedsheets were stained in a pool of oxidised blood that dripped down onto the rug adorned floor and ledger small spatters on the skirting boards, but what can you really expect when the girl had been cut open whilst she was still alive and most definitely struggling against it.

“There’s no signs of forced entry,” All Morgan could do was shrug as he examined the fire door that acted as the room’s only entrance. “The inside lock was unfastened and there’s no marks indicating it was forced open, or that it even could be without heavy grade tools,”

“So our unsub had his own key then?”

“Or,” Emily’s suggestion was side-stepped by Spencer, “He was let in,”

There’s a small hum from Hotch as he stands beside you, arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed. “Alright,” He turns his eyes onto you with a small nod, “Take Prentiss to the Mortuary and check the autopsy. Morgan, Reid, get Garcia to find a list of professors the victims shared and go and speak with them, they might’ve noticed a change in the girls’ behaviours before their deaths.”

“Will do,”

“Got it,”

There’s a series of shared nods between you as you spilt up, leaving Hotch, Rossi and JJ at the crime scene in search of any more information they could utilise.

—

Trying to catch a Professor when they’re not busy is harder than most people would think. So hard in fact that Spencer and Morgan had been left with standing inside one of the lecture rooms to endure the last twenty minutes of a forensic psychology lesson so they could get the professor between classes.

“Professor Callahan?”

“For any personal feedback on your essay please send me an email,” The professor doesn’t so much as look up from the papers he collects and organises on his desk, seemingly already in a rush even after barely two minutes of the lecture ending.

Morgan and Spencer share a glance.

“My name’s Dr Spencer Reid, and this is Agent Morgan, we’re from the FBI,”

Callahan looks up this time, rectangle glasses reflecting the two back to each other through the overhead lighting.

“We were hoping we could ask you a few questions, Sir,”

Spencer watches the Professor’s eyebrows knit in confusion before his eyes spark with a hint of realisation, and then understanding.

“Yes, of course,” He nods, collecting the pile of papers in his right arm. “Please, follow me into my office,”

His office is filled with bookshelves stacked with psychology texts and framed accolades lining the walls. Small busts of philosophers in the mpty spaces. His desk is littered with small rememberences of his former students, and lining the opposite wall is another, a small plaque reading Dr. Wittchen at it’s forefront.

“Did you notice any changes in the girls’ behaviour, or anything unusual leading up to their deaths?” Spencer’s question is cautious, if not a little bit emotionally insensitive.

Callahan’s expression shifts to one of concern. “Honestly, I hadn’t noticed anything alarming. They were all such high achievers, incredibly driven. The stress of their programs sometimes affected them, but nothing out of the ordinary.”

Spencer nods, then glances toward the accompanying desk. “What about Professor Wittchen? Does he interact with the students much?”

Callahan hesitates, his brow furrowing slightly. “Robert is highly respected, very dedicated to his work. He can be a little tough on their grades, but more often than not he’s sat in here doing one-on-one tutoring in his spare time,”

Spencer hums softly at Callahan’s assessment. “Do you know if he turoed any of the girls? He might have a better insight into any changes in their mannerisms,”

“I’m not sure I’m afraid,” Callahan shakes his head, “I leave him to his teachings most of the ime, but I can let him know you’ve asked,”

As they speak, Morgan’s gaze drifts to a nearby display shelf adorned with photographs of past students on the far wall, each one framed and labeled with a name and a date.

Etched into the wood of the shelf itself an engraving reading, “Shelf of Stars.” stood front and centre, and as Morgan’s eyes wandered the pictures, a certain label caught his attention.

Front and centre, there you sat, “2006 PhD” followed by your name, a picture of you and your Professors in what’s presuambly your first year.

“No way,” Morgan breathes out a laugh. “Reid come look at this,”

“What? What’s wrong?” Spencer and Callahan’s expressions mirror each other as they glance over at Morgan in concern, only for him to quash any need for worry as he holds up the frame in their direction.

“Look how different she looks! What happened, did she get hit by a truck when she turned 20 or what?”

There’s a flicker of recognition in Spencer’s eyes, one that almost turns to fondness as he takes in the bright smile printed behind the glass. He’s not sure he’s ever seen you smile like that since you’ve been with the team.

“You know her?” Callahan raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah, yeah, she’s on our team,” Morgan nods with a chuckle as he places the picture back where he found it, pulling out his phone to snap a photo, probably to make fun of you later.

“Really?” Professor Callahan looks more than a little surprised at the revelation. “I knew she was destined for great things, but the FBI, wow,” He breathes out a short sigh, nodding. “Robert’ll have a field day when he finds out she chose forensics over clinical,”

Spencer gives what’s almost a laugh, clearing his throat. “Well, Professor, thank you for speaking with us, we’ll contact you if we find any more information,”

“No problem at all, my door is always open,” Callahan follows Spencer and Morgan over to the office door, holding it open for them as they leave.

“Oh, Agents?” He stops them before they get too far. “If you have any time in or after your investigation, ask her to pay us a visit? It’d be nice to catch up,”

“We’ll let her know,”

—

“From what I can tell, the removal of the uterus was done antemortem, and the victims cause of death was the blood loss that resulted from it,” The Coroner lifts the muscle torn by the initial incision to give you and Emily a proper look at the damage.

“The nature of the incisions tells that they were most likely done with proper surgical instruments, a scalpel most likely, but their nature is unpracticed, see here for example,”

She points towards the left side of the victims pelvis, where the muscle had been separated from the uteral lining. “In a professional hysterectomy, this tissue here would also be removed, but in this case it’s been left attached to the surrounding tissues, and the same can be said for the others,”

“So our unsub knows the basics, is that something that would require medical training?” Emily furrows her eyebrows at the sight, and you’re much the same.

The sight is almost enough to make you feel nauseous, but you don’t need sickly thoughts clouding your judgement right now.

“Possibly, although with how the internet is, it’s possible they read an article or watched a documentary on how the procedure is done,” The coroner sways her head side to side, “I’d say that whoever did this has had some training, but not necessarily in the field,”

Emily hums, turning her gaze from the victim towards you. “Medical student maybe?”

You hum absently, eyes trained on the gaping hole left in the girl’s stomach. “Maybe, probably won’t still be a student though,”

It affects you more than it should, you think, a malingering nagging in the back of your head that won’t leave you alone but also won’t tell you why it’s there in the first place.

You sigh, “We should look at biologists too, clinical fields,”

Emily gives you an agreeing nod. “I’ll call Garcia,” She pats your shoulder deftly as she leaves the room.

“Was there anything else strange about the body?” You tear your eyes away from the girl to look up at the coroner, who only gives you a small shake of her head.

“Not that I can see,” Her gaze, though objective, flickers with small amounts of uncertainty. “It’s so upsetting, things like this, what spurs someone to do something so… primally horrific?”

“A rejection probably, a denial of a sexual relationship or children that’s projected onto other women because he can’t get to the person he really wants to hurt,” You shrug out an exhale. “More common than you’d think,”

She frowns. “it’s awful,”

“Yeah,” You purse your lips together. “But it is what it is,”

—

“Did the three girls have any clear connections?”

Garcia taps away on her keyboard, and the jingling of her earrings over the reciever suggests that she’s shaking her head. “Apart from being Stanford students, not really. Julie was doing an MsC in Pediatric Therapy, Ophelia doing an MA in History of Medicine, and Marie doing a PhD in Psychology.” She sighs. “None of them had any classes together, no mutual friends, I don’t even think they knew the others existed,”

“There has to be some overlap,” Morgan groans exasperatedly, glancing over at the mostly bare profile board that him and Spencer were trying to put together. They’d spoken to most of the girls’ professors by now, and apart from offhanded comments about stress and pressure, nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

It was frustrating, really frustrating, and for all they knew, the team was on a time limit before another girl suffered the same fate. They needed a break in the case, sooner rather than later.

“What about the students Emily asked you to look into? Spencer bends almost awkardly towards Morgan’s phone, trying to raise his voice into the speaker whilst still writing against the whiteboard.

“Nada, I’m afraid, no one who had connections to all three girls, past or present, I’ve hit a wall,”

“No kidding,” Morgan exhales heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose with the hand not holding his phone. “Thanks anyway, sweetness,”

“Of course my love, I’ll hit you back if I find anything, Penny G out,” —

“So we’ve got three dead girls, no connections, and no signature to help us track down this guy, lovely,” Emily sips on her coffee, leaning back into her chair with a sigh.

“Isn’t this like every other case we’ve ever had?” You raise an eyebrow is disinterest, stretching you arms above your head and almost hitting Morgan in the face as he and Spencer reenter the room from their lunch break.

The Psychology department had been kind enough to loan you one of their staff rooms during your investigation, and comments had already been made about Hotch’s demeanour as he walked around you like he was keeping an eye on a group of toddlers.

“There’s something we’re missing here,” Rossi pours over the whiteboard with a disgruntled sigh, his palm dragging down the side of his face. “There’s always something,”

Reid nods, tapping his pen against his notebook as he takes a seat. “Even perfectionists leave traces. It’s just a matter of understanding their logic—how they justify their actions.”

“Change of subject quickly,” Morgan holds up a hand as he walks around the table, his other hand landing on your shoulder. “Talking of leaving traces, who was going to tell us that you actually knew how to smile?”

You shrug his hand off of you with a furrow of your eyebrows. “What?”

“I’m talking little nineteen year old you beaming like you were trying to compete with the sun,” He digs his phone from his pocket, holding the screen out to face the group. “I mean look at this, look at you, its weird,”

You snatch the phone from him as soon as you recognise the picture. “Why do you have that picture?”

“We took a trip to see one of your old Professors,” Morgan wrestles the device back out of your hands before you have a chance to what he assumes will be deleting the evidence of your past sunniness. “He asked to see you at some point by the way, wants to ‘catch up’,”

“Delete that photo, Morgan.” You cross one leg over the other with a huff.

“No way, Ice Queen, I’m gonna make fun of you with this forever,”

“I hate you,”

”I love you too,” He blows an air kiss in your direction.

The shrill ring of the door opening cuts through the room, snapping everyone to attention. A mildly out of breath PD officer leaning against the doorframe.

“There’s been another one,” she says, her voice tight.

The room erupts into motion.

—

When you arrive, the scene is eerily similar to the others. The victim, a young woman in her early twenties, lies in the middle of her dorm room, fully clothed and carefully positioned. Her face is serene, as though she’s simply sleeping. The blood pooling out of her lower abdomen tells you that she’s not.

“Victim’s name is Natalie Yu. Twenty-one, Psychology major. She fits the profile—academic, driven, top of her class.” JJ fills you in easily.

You step closer, your heart sinking as you take in the meticulous staging. The unsub’s reverence for his victims is apparent in every detail. No signs of a struggle. No personal belongings out of place.

Reid crouches near the body, his eyes narrowing. “Same as the others. No physical trauma that would suggest a cause of death other than bloodloss. Removal of reproductive organs.”

Morgan stands by the door, his jaw clenched. “This guy’s escalating. Three murders in three weeks, and now this. He’s not slowing down.”

Something catches Prentiss’s eye. She kneels beside the victim and carefully lifts the edge of her blouse. Tucked neatly into the waistband of her jeans is a folded piece of paper.

“What’s this?” she murmurs, pulling on gloves before unfolding the note. The room goes still as she reads aloud:

“It was meant to be you.”

You lean over Emily’s shoulder to get a glance at the writing yourself. And then you immediately regret doing so. The handwriting is unmistakable—sharp, angular strokes that you’d recognise anywhere.

But you can’t say that. Not yet.

“‘It was meant to be you’?” Rossi repeats, stepping closer. “What the hell does that mean?”

Reid frowns. “It’s personal. Direct. He’s targeting someone specific now.”

“It could be a taunt,” JJ offers. “A way to throw us off or instill fear in the team.”

Morgan shakes his head, his expression grim. “No. This is different. This isn’t just about control anymore—this is about sending a message,”

“It’s personal,” Reid says again, his gaze sweeping the room. For a brief moment, his eyes land on you, and you feel like he can see right through you.

“Excuse me,” you manage, your voice steady despite the panic clawing at your chest.

You step outside, the crisp air hitting you like a jolt. Your hands shake as you pull out your phone, staring at the screen without really seeing it. The note wasn’t just a taunt—it was a reminder. He knew you were here. He’d known the moment you stepped onto campus.

It was meant to be you.

The words echo in your mind, a sinister promise that leaves no room for doubt.

—

“This is different from the previous victims,” Spencer says, “The note changes everything. If we assume the unsub has been fixated on someone specific all along, the other victims could have been surrogates—stand-ins for the real target.”

Prentiss looks at him sharply. “You think the unsub is escalating because the real target is now within reach?”

He nods. “Exactly. The murders were practice, perfecting the method. But now that the target is accessible, he’s shifting focus.”

“Great,” Morgan mutters. “Wonderful.”

JJ gestures to the note. “We need to figure out who he’s targeting—and fast.”

You stand by the door, your stomach twisting. You can’t let them figure it out, not like this.

“I’ll follow up on the note,” you say, forcing a calm you don’t feel. “Maybe there’s something about the phrasing or handwriting we can use to narrow down suspects.”

Morgan eyes you, his brow furrowed. “You sure you’re good? You’ve been quiet since we got here.”

You nod quickly, brushing off his concern. “I’m fine.”

He doesn’t look convinced, but he lets it go.

—

You barricade yourself in the staff room, spreading out the case files across the table. You stare at the note, the handwriting glaring up at you like a brand.

“It was meant to be you.”

You were just a kid, desperate to prove yourself. He saw that. He used it.

You grip the edge of the table, your knuckles white. You can’t let him win. Not again.

A knock at the door pulls you out of your thoughts. It’s Spencer, holding a cup of coffee.

“Thought you could use this,” he says, setting it down in front of you.

“Thank you.” You manage a display of gratitude, but his gaze lingers, sharp and questioning.

“You’ve been off since we got here,” he says softly. “Is there something you’re not telling us?”

Your heart skips a beat. Reid is too perceptive for his own good, and you know he won’t let this go.

“I’m fine,” you lie. “Just tired.”

He doesn’t look convinced, but he nods, stepping back. “If you need to talk, I’m here.”

As he leaves, you let out a shaky breath. The walls are closing in, and you don’t know how much longer you can keep this to yourself. Not if you don’t want anyone else to die because of it.

—

Spencer stands near the board, absentmindedly tapping his pen against his palm. Morgan is leaning against a table, arms crossed, while Prentiss and JJ exchange quiet remarks by the coffee pot. Rossi, as always, is seated with his chair tipped back, his eyes fixed on the board.

But it’s Hotch who breaks the silence. “This unsub’s timeline is escalating, and the note makes it clear they’re getting bolder. If we don’t figure out their connection to Stanford soon, someone else is going to die.”

Morgan sighs. “We’ve gone through the victim profiles a dozen times. There’s no overlap other than the school. No shared clubs, professors, dorms, nothing. It’s like this guy’s picking them at random.”

“Not random,” Spencer interjects, his voice sharp. “The victims are stand-ins for someone else. I’m sure of it. The note confirmed it—‘It was meant to be you.’ The unsub isn’t just killing; they’re trying to send a message to someone.”

Rossi tilts his head. “None of them bear any significant physical relation to each other,”

Reid nods. “It doesn’t have to be physical. It’s an ideal, there’s something specific that ties all of the victims together, something linked to whoever the unsub is actually after,”

JJ frowns. “But who is it? If it’s not one of the victims, how do we figure out who the unsub is fixated on?”

You tense in your chair, your hands curling into fists under the table. You can feel their eyes shifting to you, their collective attention like a spotlight burning against your skin.

Morgan raises an eyebrow. “You did go here. Maybe there’s something you’d recognise—something we’ve missed.”

You meet their gazes with forced calm, willing your voice to remain steady. “Just because I went to Stanford doesn’t mean this case has anything to do with me.”

Prentiss leans forward slightly, her tone gentle but insistent. “No one’s saying it does, but if there’s even a chance—”

“There’s not.” you cut her off, sharper than you intended. The words hang in the air, and you immediately regret your tone. It doesn’t change anything though. “We’re here because of the victims, not because I graduated from here a decade ago.”

The room falls quiet, and the tension thickens. Hotch watches you carefully, his unreadable gaze a weight you can’t escape.

“I need some air,” you say abruptly, standing before anyone can argue. “I’ll be back in a few.”

You leave the room before anyone can stop you, the sound of your boots echoing down the sterile hall.

—

Stanford’s campus feels both foreign and familiar as you wander its paths. The sprawling quads and ivy-covered buildings haven’t changed much in the years since you left, but the memories they stir feel sharp and raw.

You stop at a bench near the Psychology department, the cool breeze doing little to calm the storm inside you. Your arms wrap around yourself as if trying to hold yourself together.

“You’re not fine.”

The voice startles you, but you don’t turn around. You’d recognise that soft, observant tone anywhere. Spencer.

He sits beside you, leaving a respectful distance between you, his lanky frame folding awkwardly on the bench. “You’ve been different since we got here,” he says after a moment. “Quiet. Hesitant. That’s not like you,”

You don’t respond, staring out at the students passing by, their laughter and chatter a stark contrast to the weight in your chest.

“I know it’s not just the case,” he continues, his voice gentle but unyielding. “There’s something else. Something you’re not telling us.”

Your jaw tightens. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do,”

His certainty grates on your already frayed nerves, and you finally turn to him, your eyes flashing. “What are you trying to say, Reid? Spit it out.”

He hesitates, his brow furrowing as he chooses his words carefully. “I think you know who the unsub is. Or at least… you suspect,”

You laugh, the sound bitter and sharp. “That’s a hell of an accusation.”

“I’m not accusing you of anything,” he says quickly. “I’m worried about you. You’re not acting like yourself, and the way you reacted to that note…” He trails off, shaking his head. “It was different. You looked like you’d seen a ghost,”

“Maybe I’m just tired,” you snap, the defensive edge in your voice sharper than you intend.

He doesn’t flinch, his gaze steady and unwavering. “It’s more than that. I can see it. You’re scared,”

The word hits you like a slap, and for a moment, you can’t breathe. He’s right, of course. You are scared. Terrified, even. But admitting that feels like surrendering, like letting him win.

“Stop it,” you say, your voice low and dangerous. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Spencer leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he studies you. “I think I do. I think this unsub has a connection to you. And I think that’s why you’ve been avoiding us—because you don’t want us to figure it out.”

Your hands curl into fists at your sides, and you glare at him, your composure threatening to crack. “You don’t know what he did to me.”

The words slip out before you can stop them, and the moment they do, you see the understanding dawn in his eyes. “Who?” Spencer presses gently. “Who are we talking about?”

Your chest heaves as you fight back the tears threatening to spill. “One of my Professors.”

“Did he…” Spencer hesitates in pressing the subject, a mix of his usual timidness when it comes to you and the fear that he’s broaching on a very concerning topic.

“It was consensual.”

Spencer watches you closely, his eyes searching your face for a sign, some clue, as if trying to understand the puzzle that is your inner workings.

He doesn’t push, but the silence between you both is suffocating. His voice is almost a whisper when he speaks again, but it still cuts through the heavy air between you.

"You were just a kid," Spencer murmurs, his words soft but no less sharp. "He took advantage of you when you were vulnerable, when you were still figuring things out. That’s manipulation."

You flinch at the truth of it, at the way he so easily sees the pieces of your life you've tried so hard to bury. You didn’t want to think about him anymore, didn’t want to remember how he twisted every gesture, every word, until it was all about him, all about what he wanted.

You can still feel the weight of his hands, the way he made you feel like you didn’t have a choice, that this was all part of the price you had to pay to succeed, to be seen as worthy of your place in academia.

Spencer shifts slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. “He used his power over you. You were just a kid, and he was a professor. Someone you trusted.” His words are steady, but they cut deep. "You were in a position where you thought you had to do what he wanted. But it wasn’t your fault,”

“It was consensual.” you say again, more firmly this time, though it feels like you’re trying to convince yourself rather than him, the words raw and drenched in a cold calmness you didn’t really feel.

“Was it?” Spencer asks gently, his voice low. “If you were 19 and you thought you had to do it to get ahead, was it really? Was it truly your choice?”

You feel the air leave your lungs, and you want to scream at him, to deny everything, to make him stop asking these questions, because the answers are too painful, too complicated.

But he’s right. You were a child—so young, so desperate to succeed, to make a name for yourself in a field dominated by people like him. You thought you were lucky when he took you under his wing, when he offered you guidance, extra attention, time. But you weren’t.

“I had an abortion,” you finally confess, the words coming out in a broken whisper.

Spencer’s eyes widen, and for a moment, he’s silent, processing your admission. His lips part as though he wants to say something, but nothing comes. He doesn’t push, though, just watches you, his expression a mix of sympathy and concern, but there's no judgment in it. Not like you expected.

“In my shitty college dorm room,” Your voice catches, and you blink rapidly, trying to stop the sting in your eyes. “I thought I was dying. The amount of blood—” You let out a shaky breath, your hands trembling in your lap. “I didn't know how to make it stop.Sometimes I wish it didn’t.”

“Don’t say that.”

Spencer leans in a little, his gaze intense, but gentle. “You were just a kid,” he says softly, his words like a balm, soothing yet cutting through the guilt. “He took advantage of you. It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t deserve that.”

You want to believe him. You want so badly to hear those words and let them erase the shame that has clung to you for so long. But the voices of doubt are louder in your head. The fear that somehow, deep down, it was your fault. That maybe you could’ve said no, maybe you could’ve gotten away before it went too far.

“I didn’t tell anyone,” you say, your voice low, almost ashamed of the vulnerability. “I couldn’t tell my parents or my friends… or anyone. It was like everything I worked for, everything I had, was tied to him. If I said something, everything would’ve been ruined.”

Spencer’s brows furrow, and he lets out a soft exhale. “No one should ever have to carry that weight alone, especially not at your age.” His voice is steady, but there’s something deeply empathetic in his tone. “It’s not a burden you should’ve had to bear by yourself.”

“I lied to him too,” you whisper, the confession hanging heavily in the air. “I told him I miscarried. He was devastated. He wasn’t even angry—just sad. But I didn’t. I didn’t feel anything.”

“You…” Spencer starts, hesitating to make sure he words his response correctly. “Being in a state of shock is normal after a traumatic event,”

You shake your head. “I know what shock feels like. I was just numb. I murdered my own child and I didn’t even feel guilty about it.”

Spencer’s jaw tightens slightly, a flicker of anger flashing in his eyes, but it’s not directed at you. It’s directed at him, at the man who should’ve protected you, not preyed on you. His voice is tight, but he keeps it calm.

“You did what you had to do. That’s not your fault.”

“It was alive. Seventeen weeks. I flushed it down the fucking toilet,” You drag your palm down your face, leaning forward until your elbows are resting on your knees.

“I didn’t even want to graduate after that,” you admit, your voice raw. “I couldn’t face him. I just wanted to disappear, but I was not going to put myself through hell without getting something out of it.”

Spencer is quiet for a long moment, taking in everything you’ve said. His gaze never wavers from yours, like he’s trying to understand every piece of you, trying to reach that place where you’re still hiding, still locked away from the rest of the world.

“You don’t owe anyone an explanation for what happened. You did what you needed to survive. And you are surviving. But you don’t have to do it alone.”

You close your eyes, letting the weight of his words settle over you. The storm inside you hasn’t calmed, but for the first time in a long while, it feels like it’s not threatening to swallow you whole. The walls you’ve built around yourself feel just a little more porous, itching to crumble.

“I’m scared,” you say, the vulnerability you’ve been holding back creeping into your voice. “He’s murdering people because of me.”

Spencer doesn’t hesitate. He sits up straighter, his expression serious. “We’ll figure this out. We’ll help you, and we’ll make sure that he doesn’t hurt anyone else.”

“You can’t tell anyone what I just told you.”

He lets out a sigh of your name.

“Promise me, Spencer.”

“Okay,” He nods solemnly. “I promise.”

—

The moment you walk through the doors of the empty lecture hall, you feel it—that same nauseating mix of dread and anticipation curling in your stomach. The air is stale, thick with the weight of memories you spent years trying to forget.

He’s already there, standing at the podium like he belongs there, like nothing has changed. Like he hasn’t left a trail of bodies behind him.

“Ah,” Professor Wittchen exhales as if relieved. “There you are,”

Your fingers twitch at your sides. “I should’ve known you’d pick this place.”

His lips curve into a small smile, a smile that used to make you feel seen. Now, it makes your skin crawl. “It’s fitting, don’t you think? This is where it all began,”

He watches you with the same unwavering gaze he always had, the one that used to make you feel special—chosen. Now, it just feels predatory.

“I missed you,” he says simply, stepping closer.

You don’t move.

“You should’ve visited,” he continues, his voice warm, inviting, like this is a casual conversation and not a confrontation between a killer and his last loose end. “You were my brightest student,”

“I was your victim.” you correct, voice sharp.

His expression doesn’t falter. If anything, he looks pleased. “Victim?” he echoes, like he’s rolling the word around in his mouth, testing its weight. “That’s not how I remember it.”

You swallow hard, jaw clenched. You knew this was how he would react. Knew he would twist things, make them blurry, like he always had.

He tilts his head, studying you. “I heard you became a profiler. That’s impressive. Though I always thought you were more inclined to be a Psychiatrist.”

“You shouldn't be surprised,” you say flatly. “I learned from the best manipulators.”

A flicker of amusement crosses his face. “Now, that’s not fair,”

Your nails dig into your palms. “I know it’s you,” you say, cutting through the act. “You murdered four innocent women because you couldn’t move on.”

He exhales, almost disappointed. “That’s not quite right.”

You don’t let him continue. “Why are you doing this? Why now?”

His gaze darkens, and for the first time since you stepped into this room, the warmth fades from his expression. “It’s been ten years since you left me,” he says simply. “You never even had the decency to say goodbye. I tried to find a substitute, but they weren’t like you. No body is. You’re special.”

A shiver runs down your spine, but you force yourself to hold his stare. “I didn’t owe you anything.”

Wittchen exhales through his nose, shaking his head like you’ve disappointed him. “That’s not true. I shaped you. I made you.”

A bitter laugh escapes you. “You ruined my life.”

His eyes flicker with something unreadable, and then—slowly—he steps down from the podium, closing the distance between you. “You don’t believe that.”

Your breath catches, but you don’t move.

He stops inches from you, his voice dropping to a murmur. “I see it in your eyes. You still need me.”

You know what he’s doing. You know how his mind works, how he bends reality to his will, how he rewrites history to suit his narrative.

And for the first time, you don’t fall for it.

“You’re pathetic,” you whisper. “You think killing people will make me what? Love you? Miss you?” You shake your head. “You mean nothing to me.”

Something in his expression shifts. It’s subtle, but you catch it. The crack in his mask. The first glimpse of the monster beneath.

His fingers twitch at his sides.

There it is. The control slipping.

Good.

You see the flash of something dark behind his eyes—anger, frustration, maybe even desperation. He knows he’s losing control, and for a man like him, that’s unbearable.

You take a step forward. Not away, but closer.

“I hate you.” you say, your voice sharp, cutting through the heavy silence of the room.

Wittchen’s lips barely twitch, but you see the flicker of amusement in his eyes, like he thinks you’re still playing a game with him. Like this is another debate, another test of wills.

“No, you don’t,” he murmurs. “Not really.”

Your hands curl into fists at your sides. “Don’t tell me how I feel.”

He sighs, tilting his head like you’re disappointing him. “I did anything you didn’t ask for,” he says, like it’s a fact. “You wanted me.”

Rage burns through you, hot and all-consuming. “I was nineteen,” you spit. You knew exactly what you were doing. You took advantage of me.”

Wittchen exhales through his nose, shaking his head. “It wasn’t like that,”

“It was exactly like that,” you snap, stepping closer. “And do you want to know the worst part? I spent years telling myself it wasn’t. That maybe I did love you, that maybe I wanted to be with you. But I didn’t.”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t deny it.

“I don’t regret leaving you,” you continue, voice trembling with fury. “I don’t regret moving on, or never looking back. But do you know what I do regret?”

He doesn’t answer, just watches you carefully, like he’s waiting for the killing blow.

“I regret ever letting you touch me. I regret every second I spent thinking you were something special, that you cared about me. You didn’t. You only cared about what I could give you.”

Something shifts in his expression—subtle, but enough. His fingers twitch again.

You steel yourself and drive the dagger deeper.

“You think I miscarried?” you ask, voice dropping to a whisper. “That’s what I told you, right? That I lost the baby?”

His face remains eerily blank.

“I lied,” you whisper. “I had an abortion.”

His entire body stiffens.

“Because the thought of being tied to you for the rest of my life made me sick. And I would’ve rather died from sepsis than deal with you.”

The silence that follows is suffocating.

For a moment, Wittchen doesn’t react. Doesn’t breathe.

Then, without warning, he moves.

His hand goes for his waistband, and in a split second, you see the glint of a gun.

But you’re faster.

Your own weapon is already in your hands before he can fully draw his, aimed directly at his chest.

“Don’t.” you warn, your voice steel.

Wittchen hesitates, his gun halfway raised, his eyes locked onto yours.

For the first time, there’s something close to uncertainty in his expression.

—

The team is listening.

They hear every word.

Spencer’s grip on his gun is tight, knuckles white, jaw clenched so hard it aches. The rest of the team stands tense beside him, ears trained on the conversation happening just beyond the door.

They could go in. They should go in.

But they don’t.

Not yet.

Because this isn’t their battle.

Still, when they hear the shift in the conversation, the moment Wittchen reaches for his gun, every muscle in Spencer’s body tenses, ready to move.

And then—

Silence.

A long, stretching silence.

Then a single gunshot.

—

“You’re lying,” Wittchen snaps, his voice rising as his fingers curl tighter around the revolver’s grip. He pulls back the hammer with a metallic click, the sound loud in the charged silence of the lecture hall.

His arm is steady, the barrel aimed at your chest, but you don't flinch. “You miscarried. You were sick. That’s the truth. I took care of you. I was there when you needed me.”

Your lips curl into a bitter smile.

“The baby was fine,” you say, voice cold and firm. “I just didn’t want it.”

The words hang between you, heavy and raw.

For a split second, something akin to disbelief flickers in his eyes. But he recovers quickly, his jaw tightening as his grip on the gun tightens. The cold, calculating look is back.

The man who used his power over you is right here, still trying to control the situation. But he’s unraveling, and you can see it now—the cracks in his façade.

“You think you can just walk away from all this?” Wittchen growls, his voice a low threat. His eyes dart between you and the gun in your hand, calculating the distance, the time it would take to react.

“You’re going to watch me.” you reply, your voice steady despite the chaos swirling inside you. You take a step forward, gun lowered in favour of a pair of handcuffs.

He lets out a sharp breath, taking a step backwards, his arm still outstretched, but his expression is one of rage and something else—desperation.

“I gave you everything,” Wittchen sneers. “I could’ve given you more. You were a star, you were going places. But you threw it all away.”

“I didn’t throw away anything.” you say, voice sharp, anger curling in your gut. “I made my life what I wanted it to be.”

You take another step toward him. Your hand grips your gun tighter, its cold weight a reminder of how far you’ve come, how much you’ve survived.

“I was a kid,” you say, quieter now, more dangerous. “A kid who wanted to make something of herself. But you? You made sure I’d always be tied to you, that I’d never escape your reach. You took that from me. And now?”

Now, you’re not just angry. Now, you’re done.

“I don’t need you anymore,” you continue, voice quiet but lethal. “And I don’t need to live in fear of you. Not anymore. Just give up.”

Wittchen’s face hardens. His finger moves closer to the trigger, and for a moment, it feels like time stands still. His eyes are cold, calculating—he’s trying to force you to back down, to make you fear him again. But you don’t. Not anymore.

And he knows it.

The silence stretches out, suffocating. And then, without another word, he turns the gun away from you and towards himself.

For a moment, the world is frozen.

The sharp scent of gunpowder lingers in the air.

You don’t flinch.

You don’t move.

Wittchen stares at you, almost smiling.

A slow, dark red stain spreads across his chest. His gun falls from his hand, clattering uselessly to the floor.

Then, his knees buckle.

He collapses.

The impact is dull, almost anticlimactic.

His breath comes in shallow gasps, and for the first time since you walked into this room, he looks small.

Weak.

The man who once held so much power over you is nothing more than a dying, pathetic heap on the floor.

And somehow, there’s no satisfaction in it.

You watch as the light fades from his eyes, as the last breath leaves his lips.

And then—

It’s over.

—

The gunshot sends the team into action.

Spencer is the first through the door, gun raised, eyes scanning the room for threats.

But all he finds is you—standing still, gun loose in one hand, handcuffs in the other, staring blankly ahead.

Wittchen is on the floor, unmoving. Blood pools around him.

For a second, no one speaks.

Then you move.

Without looking at any of them, you turn away from the corpse.

And then, numbly, silently, you walk past them.

You don’t stop when Spencer calls your name.

You don’t stop when JJ reaches for you.

You just keep walking.

Because it’s finally over.

And yet, somehow, it doesn’t feel like a victory at all.

—

The air outside the lecture hall is thick with tension.

Your gun feels heavy in your hands, and at some point, you register someone gently taking it from you. You don’t resist.

The hallways of Stanford feel different now. The ghosts you tried so hard to forget have been exorcised, but their shadows still linger.

You reach the nearest exit and step outside, inhaling sharply as the crisp night air hits you. You brace your hands on your knees, grounding yourself.

Then you hear footsteps behind you.

You know it’s them.

You straighten, forcing yourself to meet their gazes.

Hotch stands with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable but his presence steady. JJ and Emily exchange a look, worry etched into their features. Rossi, as always, watches with quiet understanding.

Then there’s Morgan.

He looks… shaken.

Guilt lingers in his eyes, and when he steps forward, his voice is lower, softer than you’ve ever heard it.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

You blink, caught off guard.

“For what?” Your voice is hoarse, raw.

Morgan exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his jaw with his eyes full of regret. “I didn’t know.”

You swallow hard. You don’t want to talk about it. But there’s something in his voice, in the way his usually confident demeanor falters, that makes you nod stiffly.

“I know.”

It’s the closest thing to forgiveness you can offer right now.

Morgan nods, accepting it.

Spencer is the last to approach.

He doesn’t say anything at first—just stands there, his hands shoved into his pockets. His eyes, though, say everything.

You hold his gaze for a moment before sighing. “What?”

“I don’t know what to say,” he admits. His voice is careful, but there’s an edge of something else—frustration, sadness, maybe even anger. Not at you. Never at you. But at what happened. At what Wittchen took from you.

“You don’t have to say anything,” you murmur.

—

The hum of the jet is steady and low, a constant presence that fills the silence between breaths.

You sit by the window, staring out at the clouds, your reflection barely visible against the dark glass.

You should be exhausted.

You are exhausted.

But sleep won’t come.

Your mind won’t let it.

The seat next to you shifts slightly, and you glance over to see Spencer settling beside you.

He doesn’t say anything.

Doesn’t ask if you’re okay, because he already knows you’re not.

Doesn’t try to fill the silence with empty reassurances.

He just sits.

And somehow, that’s reassurance enough.

Sleep comes a little easier after that.

[luv-lock]

... # ☆ GOLDEN BOY .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ 𝘗𝘈𝘐𝘙𝘐𝘕𝘎 : Robin Dick Grayson x Fem Reader

☆⁠ HEADCANON : 𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘱𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘺 𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘩 (����𝘣𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯).

☆⁠ NOTES : 𝘛𝘦𝘦𝘯𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦. 𝘌𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦. 𝘏𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺!

It starts off innocently enough—just a little crush. You sit near him in class, maybe one row over, and you’re one of the only people who genuinely sees him, not as Bruce Wayne’s ward, not as the golden boy acrobat, but just Dick. The first time you smile at him? Oh, he’s done for. It’s over. That bright, genuine expression you give him after he cracks a dumb joke sends his heart into overdrive. He’s replaying it in his head for weeks. He starts noticing everything about you. The way you twirl your pen when you’re thinking, the soft hum you let out when you're focused, how your eyes light up when you talk about something you love. He starts making excuses to talk to you. “Hey, do you have the notes from last class?” even though he has a perfect memory. “Do you get the homework? I think I missed something.” He just wants to hear your voice, to make you focus on him.

At first, it’s all sweet, dorky teenage boy vibes. But then it starts getting a little intense. He watches you when you’re not looking—not in a creepy way (okay, maybe a little), but in a memorizing everything about you way. He just wants to understand you. What makes you laugh? What makes you frown? Who do you talk to the most? If you mention liking a certain song, you bet he’s listening to it on repeat that night. If you mention a favorite book, he’s reading it in one night just so he can bring it up casually. He adores hearing you say his name. He swears it sounds different coming from your lips. Whenever you do, he fights the urge to grin like an idiot. He gets jealous so easily, but he doesn’t show it in an obvious way. It’s more of a subtle coldness toward any guy you talk to for too long. If someone flirts with you, he’s immediately analyzing everything about them, thinking, What does she see in him?

He’s Robin before anything else, and that means he’s naturally protective. Gotham’s dangerous, and even if you don’t know his secret, he makes it his job to keep you safe. If you're walking home late? He just so happens to be taking the same route. Coincidence? He’d never admit it. He pays attention to how people treat you. If anyone ever makes you uncomfortable, he remembers. Not that he’d ever do anything drastic (yet), but they might find themselves getting mysteriously unlucky.

He doesn’t mean to know so much about you—it just happens. It’s not weird that he remembers your schedule, right? Or that he noticed when you switched shampoos? Or that he can tell when something’s bothering you before you even say anything? He doesn’t mean to follow you home sometimes. He just… wants to make sure you’re okay. Gotham’s dangerous, and you don’t have training like he does. And he definitely doesn’t mean to get distracted on patrol whenever he sees someone who looks like you. But for a split second, he forgets Gotham’s crime rate and thinks, Is she out this late? He’s self-aware enough to know this isn’t just a normal crush. But it’s harmless, right? He’s just watching out for you. If you ever casually compliment him—“You’re really smart, Dick” or “I like being around you”—he malfunctions. Completely. And if you ever initiate contact? Oh, he’s done. Completely, utterly, hopelessly yours.

Dick is a puppy when it comes to you. The second you walk into the classroom, he perks up. If he’s sitting, he straightens his posture. If he’s standing, he suddenly finds something super interesting about the wall just to avoid looking too eager. He lives for those little moments of eye contact. If you catch him staring, he plays it off like he was lost in thought—but inside? His brain is melting. He starts doodling your name in the margins of his notebooks without even realizing it. One day, he catches himself writing “Mr. and Mrs. Grayson” in the corner of his notes and nearly dies on the spot. If you ever say something nice about his eyes? Oh, you’ve ruined him. He will think about that compliment for weeks. Every time he looks in the mirror, he wonders, Does she like them this way? Does she think they’re pretty?

Whenever the teacher asks a question, he needs to be the one who answers it. Not because he’s a know-it-all, but because he wants you to see how smart he is. If you're struggling with something—anything—he’s immediately offering to help. Bad at math? Boom, he's suddenly your personal tutor (even though he secretly hates math). Need a partner for a project? He's already pulling his desk closer before you can even ask. He randomly picks up new skills just because you mentioned liking them. If you say you love guitar players? Guess who suddenly owns a guitar and is watching hours of tutorials? Gym class becomes his personal Olympics. If you're watching, he's running faster, jumping higher, and doing flips that are completely unnecessary just to get your attention.

If you so much as sigh in class, he notices. “You okay?” His voice is so soft, full of genuine concern, and he will not rest until you tell him what’s wrong. He remembers everything you say. Mentioned craving a certain snack? He’s “randomly” bringing it to school the next day. Said you liked a certain brand of lip balm? He notices every time you put it on. If you’re ever sad, he’s ready to drop everything. The moment you look upset, he leans in, voice low and sweet, “Hey… talk to me.” He’ll listen so intently, nodding at all the right moments, just aching to fix whatever’s wrong. He’s a natural gentleman around you. Holding doors open, pulling out chairs, letting you borrow his jacket when it's cold (even if he’s freezing). It’s second nature to him—he just wants to take care of you.

If you miss a day of school? He’s restless. Checking his phone way too much, tapping his pencil, wondering where you are, if you’re okay, if you miss him too. The day you come back? He’s practically glowing. “Hey! You’re back!” His voice is a little too excited, but he can’t help it. He loves when you talk to him first. The moment you say, “Hey, Dick!” in the hallway, he lights up like a Christmas tree. If you touch his arm while laughing? Oh. He’s not getting over that for at least a month. If you’re ever even slightly affectionate with him—resting your head on his shoulder, holding onto his wrist absentmindedly—he’s gone. He replays that moment forever, sighing like a lovesick fool in his room at night.

He has so many little fantasies about you. Not weird ones—just soft, innocent daydreams. Holding hands. Walking you home. Kissing you under the stars like in the movies. He imagines what it would be like if you were his. If he could just tell you how much you mean to him, if he could wrap his arms around you whenever he wanted, if he could finally call you his. But for now, he’s content just being close to you, memorizing every little thing about you, waiting for the moment when you’ll finally see him the way he sees you. Because to him? You’re already his—you just don’t know it yet.

Dick has been thinking about this for weeks. No—months. He’s built up so many little fantasies about it in his head. He imagines it happening naturally, like in the movies—maybe you’ll both laugh at something at the same time, your eyes will meet, and you’ll just know. But no. That’s not realistic. He needs a plan. So, naturally, he overthinks everything. Should he ask casually? Should he write a note? Should he just confess dramatically in the rain? (That one’s his favorite idea, but Gotham’s weather isn’t cooperating.)

He starts dropping little comments like, “Hey, you ever been to that cute café downtown?” or “Do you like Italian food?” If you mention liking a certain place, guess who suddenly loves that place too? “Oh, you like that diner? No way! I love that diner. We should totally go sometime…” He tests the waters constantly. “Would you ever go out with someone from our class?” (Please say yes, please say yes, please say yes—)

He practices in the mirror. A lot. He even tries different tones—cool and casual (“Hey, wanna grab a bite with me?”), nervous but sweet (“I was, um, wondering if you’d maybe wanna go out?”), and even overly confident (“Obviously, you should go on a date with me.”). But the moment he actually sees you? Oh. His brain malfunctions. “Hey—uh—so—okay—hypothetically, if a guy—like me—were to, um, ask you to hang out—but like, not as friends, more like a date—what would you, uh… think?” The second he says it, he wants to die. That was NOT what he practiced. That was awful. But you laugh. Not at him—just at how adorably flustered he is. And oh, if your laugh wasn’t already his favorite sound, it definitely is now.

If you say yes? Oh. He short-circuits. He’s trying to stay cool, but inside? Explosions. Fireworks. The Bat-Signal shining just for him. “Really? I mean—yeah! Cool! Totally cool. Um, how’s Friday? Or Saturday? Or any day? I’m free. Like, always. For you.”

Once you say yes, he goes into full-on mission mode. He has to make this perfect. This isn’t just a date—it’s your first date together, meaning it has to be something you’ll remember forever. He spends an embarrassing amount of time deciding what to wear. He changes outfits at least five times before realizing, “Oh God, I’m worse than Bruce.” He arrives early. He tells himself not to, but he literally cannot be late. In fact, he’s been there so long that by the time you show up, he’s already memorized the entire menu.

When He Sees You… Oh. He’s gone. The moment he lays eyes on you, it’s like the world just stops. “Wow.” He says it without thinking, and then immediately tries to cover it up with a cough. “I mean—not that you don’t always look great! Because you do. All the time. But tonight? Wow.” (He is so embarrassing. And he does not care.)

He’s lowkey flexing. Not in an arrogant way, but in a please find me impressive way. He talks about his training (“I mean, gymnastics is kinda my thing…”), but downplays it like it’s not incredibly cool.

When you least expect it, he gets weirdly soft. He looks at you when you’re not paying attention, like he’s memorizing you. Like he can’t believe you’re real.

When he walks you home, he wants to hold your hand. He wants to kiss you, but he’s too nervous (what if it’s too soon? What if she doesn’t want that?) “I had fun tonight,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. He really wants to ask if he can kiss you. But instead, he blurts out— “So, um. Can I… take you out again?” (His voice is so hopeful—he looks like a puppy waiting for a treat.) Yes? Oh! Congratulations, you have just made his entire year. He’s smiling so hard all the way home, practically skipping. The second he gets home, he flops onto his bed, staring at the ceiling, sighing like a total fool. She said yes. She had fun. She’s gonna be mine. I just know it.

Oh. You have no idea what you’ve just signed up for. Dick is the most devoted boyfriend on the planet. He’s not just in love—he’s obsessed (in the cutest, puppy-eyed way possible). He still can’t believe you’re actually his. Every time he sees you at school, his heart flutters. He gets this dumb, lovesick smile on his face and can’t even hide it. If you so much as look at him in the hallway? Oh, he’s grinning like an idiot. If you say his name? His entire day is made. He constantly reminds himself, She’s my girlfriend now. I get to love her. I get to take care of her. And that? Oh, he will take that job very seriously.

He always waits for you after class. No matter where you sit, what you’re doing—he’s outside the door, waiting with a big grin. “Hey, babe.” (He’s still getting used to calling you that, but he loves it.) He carries your books without you even asking. If you have a heavy bag? He’s grabbing it before you can protest. “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I let you carry all this, huh?” He starts noticing everything about you. Your little habits, the way you fidget when you’re nervous, the way you tilt your head when you’re thinking. He loves memorizing you.

Oh, he is so clingy, but he tries so hard to play it cool. He wants to be around you all the time. He has zero chill when it comes to other guys. The moment he notices some random dude even looking at you? His entire mood shifts. He doesn’t make a scene, but he gets super touchy. Arm around your shoulder. Hand on your waist. Pulling you closer. Just little things to remind everyone— She’s mine. If a guy gets too bold? Oh. Dick doesn’t get jealous—he gets possessive. He won’t start a fight (unless he has to), but his presence alone is enough to make people back off. “Everything okay, babe?” He asks, voice casual—but his grip on your waist tightens just a little.

He is so cheesy. He will literally text you “Good morning, beautiful ❤️” every single day. If you ever fall asleep on him? Oh. That’s it. That’s his favorite thing in the entire world. He’ll sit there, completely still for hours, just so he doesn’t wake you. He keeps every little thing you give him. If you write him a note? He treasures it. If you give him a silly doodle? He tucks it in his wallet. He gets so excited every time you touch him first. If you hold his hand, kiss his cheek, lean against him? He plays it cool on the outside, but inside? Explosions. “I’m gonna marry her one day,” he definitely tells himself after, staring at the ceiling like a fool.

In his mind? This is it. You and him? You’re meant to be. There is no future where you’re not together. He doesn’t just think about your future together—he fantasizes about it. What your life will be like. How he’ll propose one day. How you’ll be his forever. She loves me. She has to. She’s mine. If you ever mention breaking up? Oh. No. That isn’t an option. He can’t lose you. But he’s not crazy. No, no. He’s rational. If you ever tried to leave him, it would only be because you were confused. You just need to see how perfect you are together. And if that means proving his love over and over again? He’ll gladly do it. Because you are his.

You have officially unlocked the most devoted, lovesick, slightly delusional boyfriend ever. He worships the ground you walk on. He adores you. There is nothing in this world he wouldn’t do for you. In his mind? This isn’t just young love. This is forever.

𝒍𝒖𝒗-𝒍𝒐𝒄𝒌 ☆ 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

[heeluvv]

𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐘 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 ݁ᛪ༙

pairing ۶ৎ park sunghoon x stalker!reader

genre ۶ৎ dark romance, smut

warnings ۶ৎ stalking, voyeurism, exhibition, implied noncon(?), masturbation, etc.

natty’s notes ۶ৎ mdni, hate comments will be deleted.

you shouldn't be here.

you shouldn't be watching.

but you can't help yourself.

your heart pounds as you peer through the narrow gap in his window, hidden just enough in the darkness outside. you've followed him for weeks—memorized every move, every habit, every tiny detail about him. but tonight? tonight is different.

because sunghoon knows you're here.

he doesn't look at you. doesn't acknowledge the fact that your eyes are glued to him, drinking in every inch of his perfect form.

instead, he takes his time.

he's fresh from the gym, sweat still clinging to his skin, the glow of his bedside lamp casting deep shadows across the defined muscles of his torso. his shirt is long gone, discarded somewhere on the floor, and his sweats hang low on his hips, teasing, taunting.

he stretches, slow and deliberate, rolling out his shoulders before letting out a breathy sigh.

then—he moves to the edge of his bed and sits, spreading his legs wide.

palms himself through the fabric of his sweats.

your breath catches.

your fingers tighten around the ledge of the window, your entire body going still as you watch him touch himself, completely unashamed, completely unbothered.

you shouldn't be here.

but he's putting on a show just for you.

his movements are lazy at first, teasing himself the way you've imagined doing a thousand times.

“shit..” he exhales softly, tilting his head back slightly, fingers dragging over the thick outline pressing against his sweats.

then, finally—he slips his hand under the waistband.

your stomach flips.

a low groan spills from his lips as he grips himself fully, fingers wrapping around his length, slow strokes making his chest rise and fall deeper, heavier.

"fuck," he exhales, voice barely above a whisper.

he still doesn't look toward the window but you know he's aware of you.

it's in the way he keeps his legs wide open, his body shifting slightly, putting himself on full display.

it's in the way he lets out soft, breathy sighs, his hips rocking into his own palm just enough to make your thighs clench.

it's in the way he starts talking, voice low, hazy.

"baby..." he exhales, fingers tightening around himself. "you'd take me so well, wouldn't you?"

your breath stutters.

your nails dig into the wood of the window frame, your thighs pressing together as heat pools between them.

you shouldn't be here.

but god—he wants you here.

his pace quickens.

his body tenses, the muscles in his arms and abdomen flexing as he works himself harder, chasing the high he so desperately needs.

"so fucking tight," he groans, his free hand gripping the sheets beside him, his hips jerking into his own touch.

your whole body burns.

he's falling apart for you, even if he doesn't know your name.

even if he's never touched you.

even if the only way he's ever felt you is through the heat of your hidden gaze.

he's so close now—his breath coming in quick, uneven pants, soft moans slipping past his parted lips.

“fuck!fuck! s-shit—!”his head tilts back, eyes fluttering shut, lips parting in bliss as he finally lets go.

his body shudders, muscles tightening as he spills over his own fingers, his chest heaving with ragged breaths.

you shouldn't be here.

but the way he sighs your nickname—the one you always left on his daily notes—like a prayer, breathy and satisfied, tells you he never wanted you to leave.

natty’s notes ۶ৎ okay something different that i tried out so let’s see how this goes, also tysm for 100+ follows and all the love <33

[tangents-within-tangents]

Like fr to everyone in the notes talking about headcanons/AUs/"having fun" in the notes: the word you are looking for is REinterpretation. Not to go webster or anything but

-Interpret: explain the meaning of information, words, or actions. (explain, expound, clarify)

-Misinterpret: interpret something or someone wrongly. (misunderstand, misconstrue, mistake)

-Reinterpret: interpret something in a new or different light.

It seems in fandom spaces the word interpretation is often used at times when what they actually mean is reinterpretation (or sometimes just reaction or impression, ex: your opinion of a character is subjective and valid, but that's not the same as an interpretation).

If your "interpretation" is completely divorced from or contradicts the text, it's not an interpretation anymore. It's a reinterpretation. A reimagining. And yeah you can totally have your fun, go off! Just don't act like it IS an interpretation. Because valid interpretations come with supporting evidence, which is the whole point of the og post.

I think this bit from OP's other reblog describes it best:

this is one way it gets messy that fandom is a space for both media analysis and transformative works even though those two things don’t always co-exist comfortably or necessarily serve each other.

This is the crux. Both happen in fandom because both are a form of engaging with a work that you appreciate. But one literally relies upon analyzing what IS presented in the text, and the other upon reinventing and transforming that text (and headcanon sometimes straddles this line in between). So the important thing is recognizing the distinctions and not mixing them up. And it goes both ways:

-“He would never act that way” we know, it’s an intentional recharacterization bc we're exploring something different right now

-“But he's just a poor meow meow” not relevant right now because we're analyzing how the writing actually portrayed him

Textual evidence doesn't matter when we're just having fun and making incorrect quote memes, and headcanons don't matter when we're analyzing thematic content. The distinction helps us to have more productive conversations. And crossing the streams can sometimes take us to harmful or frustrating extremes.

To borrow an example from Rowan Ellis: You relate to a Taylor Swift song and feel seen in your queer identity? That's great, no one can stop you from experiencing the song that way even if Taylor didn't intend it. But if you turn that around and say this is proof that Taylor herself must be secretly queer, or worse that she's somehow queerbaiting? Please stop!

Another example: Someone once pulled the "we're just having fun, you can scroll past" card on me when they were straight up bashing the writing for not going the way they wanted. Please, have your fun, I won't stop you. Write a fix-it au where your blorbo comes back to life. Vive la fanfic! But when you say "the writers should have done [random specific thing] if they wanted me to believe he was truly dead" whilst blatantly misinterpreting the thing the writers did do to confirm it so it can fit into your theories/denial? That's not 'just having fun' anymore, that's flawed/unfair criticism and I'mma push back on it. (I didn't actually, just for the record)

Headcanons by definition are not canon, and I think you'll find most people are totally fine with you having whatever headcanons you want, so long as you don't start claiming that they are canon or that your way is the only way. That's where people have a problem.

But even headcanons that don't contradict canon, that could fit into ambiguous gaps where canon did not confirm or deny the possibility either way, are still headcanons. They aren't presented in the text itself and therefore not useful to analysis and criticism.

And I think this is where the distinction can feel blurry at times. Because some headcanoning is based on evidence from the source material. So some may think it's the same as media analysis, but I'd call it extrapolation rather than interpretation. It uses canon evidence in more of a imaginative/conspiracy theory/inspiration to bounce off type of way. Especially since fanon is often about filling in gaps.

Fanon focuses on the story, and treats it almost as if it and the characters are living. But media analysis relies upon treating it as media. On recognizing it was written by a person who made choices and used literary devices and elements intentionally to convey meaning (even if we can debate on what that meaning is).

Subtext is not just whatever you want to project onto a story. Subtext is an actual literary device. Meaning that is intentionally implied by the author because you shouldn't spell everything out and it's important to let the readers participate. It's what the characters aren't saying but the author is.

Unreliable narrator is also a literary device, that is intentionally crafted and indicated throughout the whole text. It's the author saying something through the character saying the opposite. It's not an excuse to ignore whatever you want to ignore of what the narrator says.

Characters aren't people and they don't actually make any choices. Everything they do, everything they are, was written and crafted by the author.

(In short, when I analyze character arcs or critique writing choices, I'd love for the discussion I get to point out things I may have overlooked or misinterpreted. Not for it to just shove in a bunch of irrelevant headcanons, character personifications, and Watsonian explanations that have nothing to do with my arguments.)

Fanon is very open-world concept (and open multiverse lol), but analysis is about looking at what the author did give you, what they chose to include or not and what it is meant to show us.

Writing is about crafting an iceberg that implies a keel under the water. Therefore analysis is about studying the iceberg to try to interpret that keel. And fanon is about exploring the whole ocean. And transformative work is about idk cutting off chunks and making ice sculptures.

All of them are very cool and fun in their own right but I think we can see how they can definitely clash and get in each other's way.

Not “Only my reading of canon is correct” or “Interpretations are subjective and all valid” but a secret third thing, “More than one interpretation can be valid but there’s a reason your English teacher had you cite quotes and examples in your papers, you have to have a strong argument that your interpretation is actually supported by the text or it is just wrong and I’m fine with telling you it’s wrong, actually.”

[wholoveseggs]

Huhu, it's me again :) Happy New Year to you and Eggs. I have another idea once you are through with what must be a very long list <3 - So, Reader and Elijah had a romantic whirlwind encounter while she was extensively traveling Europe, living her best life. They agreed to keep it on a first name basis and on keeping things casual. One morning, she just disappears on him. Back in the US, she is taking up a new job/ studies where she meets Klaus, and they start dating (semi casual). Once he introduces her to his family for Thanksgiving, she sees Elijah again, and whatever happens after is completely up to you :) Thanks in advance.

Serendipitous

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

{Elijah Mikaelson x f!Reader && Klaus Mikaelson x f!Reader } When your new life in New Orleans collides with the past you tried to outrun, you come face to face with the man you never stopped thinking about. And worse? You are sleeping with his brother.

♡♡ Once again you give me the most brilliant ideas @originals23~ thank you and I hope you enjoy! ♡♡

8.4k words {whoops} - Warnings: so much smut (there are THREE scenes in this one ~lol I may have gone overboard), unprotected sex (I know, I know, vampires can't reproduce... but reader doesn't know they are vampires...) fingering, oral (f!recieving), casual sex with Klaus, little but of angst, lot's of unresolved sexual & emotional tension, reunion sex, semi-public sex, Elijah being intense and possessive in the hottest way, Klaus being a messy but well-meaning && inappropriate use of a side table...

Your arrangement with Elijah was simple. Or at least, it was supposed to be.

You met by chance on a sunny afternoon in Florence, your tables at a café so close your elbows nearly touched. A passing comment about the wine turned into a two-hour conversation about art, history, and the fleeting beauty of life. His voice was velvet, his presence magnetic, and by the time the waiter brought the check, you were hopelessly charmed.

Keeping things uncomplicated was your idea. First names only. No talk of the future. Just two people indulging in the moment. But there was something about Elijah. His poised elegance, the way he made you feel seen. Made sticking to those rules harder every time you saw him.

Tonight was no different. Except for one thing. This was your last night in Europe, and he didn’t know. You hadn’t told him you were leaving and that the version of yourself he had come to know. The carefree traveler. The woman with no roots… she would disappear as soon as the sun rose. A part of you wanted to tell him, but the words caught in your throat every time you thought to speak. You couldn’t bring yourself to ruin the fragile perfection of what you had, even if it was destined to end.

Now, standing outside the door to his suite, you felt that familiar pull, equal parts excitement and dread. The lock clicked, and the door swung open before you could knock. Elijah stood there, immaculately dressed as always, his dark eyes glinting with amusement.

“Second thoughts?” he asked, a teasing smile on his lips.

“Never,” you lied, stepping inside.

The suite was extravagant, warm and rich, but it was his presence that filled the room. He gestured for you to sit, though you barely made it to the sofa before he pulled you into his lap, the contact sending sparks dancing under your skin.

“I was going to ask how your day was,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear, “but I know you don’t tolerate small talk.”

“Not when there are better things we could be doing,” you breathed, pulling him in for a kiss.

A soft sigh escaped you as your lips met, his strong hands holding you steady, your heart beating in time with his. You were in freefall, tumbling down the rabbit hole of his affection, and as he deepened the kiss, the last shreds of your resolve fell away.

He was so, damn, crushingly good in bed. He knew how to take his time, to read the smallest shifts in your body and adjust his rhythm. When he touched you, the whole world faded away, until all that was left was the two of you, wrapped up in each other.

You tugged his shirt out of his pants, pulling on the buttons of his vest in an effort to undress him faster. He chuckled, sitting back, watching you fumble.

"I can do it," you muttered, blushing as you undid his buttons, his skin hot under your fingers.

He shrugged off his jacket, and you ran your hands up his arms, across his chest, his muscles firm and taut under his crisp shirt. He was always so impeccably dressed, his clothing clearly expensive and well-made. You’d noticed it from the start, how he carried himself like a man born to luxury, but never flaunting it—just letting it linger in the details. It made you wonder what he did for a living, how did he earn his money? You knew so little about him, yet you were about to have his cock inside you.

You quickly peeled off your dress, watching his reaction as you tossed it aside. You loved how he looked at you. As if you were the only woman in the world, his gaze filled with admiration.

"I like it when you watch me," you admitted softly.

"I'd rather have my hands on you." He replied, running his palm along your thighs, his fingers trailing dangerously high, stopping just short of where you needed him.

You let out a quiet moan, and he chuckled at your response, moving his hands under your hips and picking you up, placing you underneath him on the bed. You watched as he slid his belt from its loops, tossing it onto the floor.

"Can you keep the rest on for now?" you asked, your voice quieter than intended. "You look so good in a suit.”

"As you wish." He grinned as he unbuttoned his pants, freeing his erection, and your heart fluttered. He reached over to the bedside table, retrieving a condom.

"No," you protested, your brain-to-mouth filter long gone. "I want to feel you."

The moment the words left your lips, you knew you had gone too far. The two of you never talked about this. Hell, you didn't even know if he wanted kids. Or had kids. Or birth control. Or anything personal at all. Yet, there was a part of you that didn't care. A reckless, desperate part that wanted to feel him come inside you, to take whatever piece of him he was willing to give.

He studied your face, and you were certain he would tell you no. Any reasonable man would. But then, he dropped the condom and kissed you, a slow, lingering kiss that made you squirm.

"If that's what you want." He murmured, pulling you even closer.

You nodded, clinging to him. Your hips rose to meet him, and his hands gripped your thighs, spreading you wider, as he slowly entered you.

This was such a bad idea. Having raw sex with a stranger. It was the kind of decision that would've gotten you a stern talking-to from your mother. And yet, you'd never been so turned on in your life.

He moved inside you, a languid roll of his hips, and a whimper escaped you. You wrapped your legs around him, urging him closer. You felt drunk, delirious, overwhelmed by the feeling of his skin against yours, his hard length filling you, stretching you, pushing deeper with each thrust.

It was different this way, more intense, the intimacy heightened. You suddenly regretted asking him to leave his suit on. You wanted more, the need for closeness clawing at your chest. You tugged on his shirt, until he took the hint, leaning back to shed it, his hips still moving, keeping a perfect, maddening, rhythm.

"You don't know what you want today, do you?" he said, his tone playful.

You always enjoyed a bit of dirty talk, but the sound of his voice now. Soothing and authoritative, the slightest edge of teasing… had your head spinning.

"Hush," you chided, trying to regain your composure.

He chuckled, his hands sliding up your sides, his fingers intertwining with yours. "I'm sorry," he said, though he didn't sound sorry at all. "Tell me what you want."

You moaned, the warmth in your belly coiling tighter. The way he held your hands, steady and sure, felt too intimate, too personal. But you didn’t pull away. You couldn’t.

"Do you want me to go harder?" He leaned forward, his lips brushing against yours, curling into a teasing smile. "Deeper?"

You nodded, closing your eyes as he adjusted his angle, his cock hitting the spot that made your toes curl. You were close, and he seemed to sense it, his hips rocking into you harder, the bed creaking under his weight.

"Do you want me to come inside you?" he whispered, his voice rough, his words sending a fresh wave of desire through you.

It was a foolish, insane, stupid idea, but lord, did you want it. You wanted to feel his release, the heat of him filling you.

Your eyes fluttered open, meeting his, the intensity of his gaze overwhelming.

"Yes," you breathed, "please."

The look in his eyes changed, as if a switch had flipped, the gentle teasing replaced by something deeper. It was the thing you were both trying to avoid, the emotion lurking just beneath the surface.

He let go of your hands, bracing himself on the mattress, his thrusts slowed, his pace deeper, drawing out the pleasure, the air between you charged, thick with anticipation.

"Say it again," he commanded.

"Please," you moaned. "I need-"

He silenced you with a kiss, your hands moving to his hips, clutching his ass, urging him deeper, faster.

He buried his face in your neck, his breath hot against your skin, his thrusts growing uneven.

"Please," you whispered, your fingers tangling in his hair, "come inside me."

A groan escaped him, and his body stilled, the feeling of him pulsing inside you making your whole body tense, a white-hot pleasure surging through you as you both came undone, clinging to each other as if the world would fall away without the other to anchor you.

He collapsed next to you, and you curled against him, resting your head on his chest, his heart beating fast and strong under your cheek.

You weren’t sure what this was, the two of you tangled together, basking in the afterglow. He wasn’t usually a cuddler. In fact, he’d never asked you to stay the night. Yet, here he was, running his fingers through your hair, his arms around you, holding you close.

You could hear the traffic outside, the bustle of the city. It felt surreal, as if you were watching yourself from above. The woman who’d begged him to come inside her, who craved his touch, wasn’t you. She was a stranger. A shadow of the person you pretended to be.

The thought sent a jolt through your chest, and you pulled away, sitting up and reaching for your clothes.

“It’s getting late,” you said. “I should-”

“Stay,” he said softly, his hand trailing slowly down your back. His voice was quieter than you had ever heard it, almost hesitant, and the word stuck in your chest like a splinter.

Your eyes darted toward the door, the urge to flee overwhelming. What the hell were you thinking? Reckless. Stupid. You’d never planned for this to go so far, to feel so real. Yet, when his hand slid down your back, the warmth of his touch anchored you, quieting the chaos in your mind.

You found yourself nodding, cuddling back against his chest, as if the heat of his embrace could fix everything.

“Just for a little while,” you said, trying to quiet the voice in your head.

“Mmm,” he murmured, and you could feel him smiling against your hair.

The sun had set, the sky turning a dusky purple, the streetlights casting a warm glow on the buildings below. And the two of you had fallen asleep in each other’s arms, feeling safe, content, and hopelessly in love.

The first rays of dawn spilled through the windows, painting the room in soft hues of gold and pink. Elijah lay beside you, his features softened in sleep, one arm draped possessively across your waist.

You had been watching him for a while, a bit of a creepy thing to do, but he was just so handsome, even with his hair disheveled. You let your mind wander, imagining him being yours, waking up next to him every day, sharing meals and adventures. You wondered what his favorite color was, if he liked cats, his thoughts on politics. All those small details that would help bring him to life.

You also wondered what his life was like, who his family was. Maybe he was married? Cheating on his wife with you? The thought was a cold splash of reality. Of course, he was probably married. A man like him would never be single.

You sighed, running your fingers through his hair. This was such a mistake. You didn't know a damn thing about him, yet, here you were, fantasizing about a future together.

Carefully, you slipped out from under his arm, your heart aching with every movement. You dressed in silence, the weight of what you were about to do pressing down on you. Standing at the door, you glanced back at him, your chest tightening at the sight of him sleeping so peacefully.

You wanted to stay. You wanted to whisper the truth, that he was like something out of a dream. But you couldn’t. Because dreams didn't last. They didn't have roots. And you had a life to get back to.

So, instead, you turned and walked out the door, not letting yourself look back.

The New Orleans heat was relentless, thick with humidity, wrapping around you like a second skin. The streets buzzed with music and conversation, and even after months of living here, the city's energy still caught you off guard. It was a stark contrast to Europe, where everything felt steeped in quiet history. Here, everything moved fast. Loud, unpredictable, alive.

You had built a life here, found a job you actually enjoyed, and for the first time in a long time, things felt normal. A fresh start. And yet, no matter how far you ran, how many new routines you built, the ghost of the mysterious Elijah  still lurked in the quiet moments. Not often. Not intentionally. But in the space between thoughts, his presence would slip in. His hands, his voice, the way he had looked at you…

You didn’t dwell on it…

Or at least, you told yourself you didn’t…

Instead, you threw yourself into your new life. And a big part of that life was Klaus.

Not in a romantic, sweep-you-off-your-feet way. That would be a disaster, and you knew better. Klaus wasn’t a boyfriend, he was more of… a friendly force in your life. Someone you got drinks with, argued with, occasionally rolled around in bed with. He was charming in a way that made people want to orbit around him, and somehow, you had ended up in that orbit.

You met him at an art gallery downtown, where he had been swirling a glass of red wine and smirking at a particularly ugly modern piece like it had personally offended him. You had made some offhanded joke about abstract art being a scam, and he had laughed, a sharp, knowing laugh, like he was having the exact same thought.

After that, he had a way of showing up. Inviting you out, dragging you into conversations about history and art over whiskey, introducing you to the chaotic energy of the city’s nightlife. You got along. He was fun. He had a mean streak, but you knew how to handle men like that. It was easy.

And maybe, if things were different, you would’ve let something more happen between you. But you both understood what this was…Just company, just passing time. Just a friendly hookup until real love came along… If it ever did.

The soft breeze drifting through the open window did little to cool the heavy heat of the room. The sheets were a tangled mess, kicked aside during the night’s events, and beside you, Klaus lay sprawled out, one arm thrown over his face, his body lazy and sated.

You stretched, the slow ache between your thighs a familiar, satisfying reminder of last night. It hadn’t been anything deep or meaningful, just fun. Easy. No expectations, no promises.

Klaus was good company, someone who understood the unspoken rules of this arrangement: pleasure, no strings. He was charming, sure. Attractive, obviously. But you both knew what this was.

As if sensing your eyes on him, he stirred, his hand sliding absently across your stomach. “Mmm, already awake?” His voice was thick with sleep.

“Fortunately, for you,” You smirked, shifting to straddle his hips, your palms pressing against his chest.

He grinned, eyes still heavy-lidded. “Eager thing, aren’t you?”

“Only because you’re so damn easy.” You dragged your nails lightly down his torso, reveling in the way he tensed beneath you.

Klaus chuckled, but it turned into a low groan as you rocked against him, teasing. His hands settled on your hips, fingers digging in just enough to let you know he enjoyed it.

“If you’re going to keep teasing, love,” he murmured, voice rough, “you better be prepared to finish what you started.”

“I always finish what I start.” You reached for the bedside drawer, rolling on a condom before sinking down onto him, the feeling of your bodies connecting making you both exhale.

The rhythm was familiar, something you both knew well by now. You took what you needed, moved together in a way that was more about chasing pleasure than anything sentimental. Klaus let you take control, his hands gripping your thighs, guiding your movements but never demanding.

It was good. The kind of effortless chemistry that kept you coming back to him.

But then. It happened.

One second, it was Klaus beneath you, his sharp smirk, his blue eyes watching you with hunger.

And then. The stranger that you couldn't get out of your mind. Elijah.

His face flickered into focus like a mirage, his dark eyes holding you in that way that had once made your breath catch.

You froze, a jolt of panic hitting your system like ice water.

No. No.

Your pulse thundered in your ears as you blinked hard, trying to shake it. When you opened your eyes again. Klaus. Just Klaus. Watching you with mild confusion.

"Are you okay? Do you want to stop?"

"N-no."

"Are you sure? We don't have to keep going if-"

"No. Just give me a minute," you said, swallowing the knot in your throat, your mind scrambling.

This had never happened before. Never. But there it was. An image of him burned into your memory, overlaying Klaus, taking the place of your reality.

Klaus halted your hips and sat up, his brows knitting with concern. "You're trembling."

"Sorry." You shook your head, forcing yourself to meet his gaze, though it felt like your whole world was shattering. "Just... got distracted."

"By?" He was giving you a look, somewhere between concerned and amused, his curiosity obvious.

You sighed. He was going to push this.

"Promise you won't get weird about it?"

"Of course not, love."

You swallowed, trying to ignore the sick feeling in the pit of your stomach.

"Someone else."

Klaus chuckled, a warm, rumbling sound. "Don't tell me, the thought of me alone isn't enough to satisfy? That will hurt my ego."

"Don't be ridiculous." You rolled your eyes, fighting the urge to squirm. "It's not about you. It's... an old fling."

"Oh?" His expression shifted, his tone more serious.

"Yeah, someone from when I was traveling. Just... popped into my head, that's all." You shrugged, a feeble attempt to make it seem unimportant.

"I see," He studied your face, his gaze unnervingly steady.

You braced for him to ask more questions, maybe to get jealous or offended, but instead, he flipped you onto your back, a wicked grin on his face.

"I guess I must not be doing my job correctly," he murmured, pressing a kiss to the spot on your neck that always made your toes curl. "I think we can remedy that."

He was a bit rougher with you this time, a bit less playful, his movements filled with a purpose. Like a challenge. He wanted to keep your mind from wandering. And, hell, it worked for a while. The way he was kissing you, moving inside you, touching you, it was so intense. So present.

You moaned, tangling your fingers in his hair, and he pulled away, his gaze searching.

"Is that good?" he asked, his voice softer than usual, the hint of a smile on his lips.

"Yeah," you breathed. "Very."

His hips picked up their pace, his lips hot on your skin, the tension building inside you with each thrust.

You came undone, Klaus following not long after, collapsing onto the mattress beside you, his breathing ragged.

"Still thinking about that old fling?"

You chuckled, swatting his shoulder. "Shut up. Don't be jealous,"

"Me? Never."

You sighed, glancing at the clock. "I need to get ready for work,"

Klaus shrugged, rolling out of bed, stretching, and pulling on his clothes. You watched him, the way he moved, the confidence he exuded.

He was handsome, of course. He was the kind of guy you'd notice immediately, his features chiseled and striking, the perfect amount of scruff. But it wasn't just that. There was something else. A certain... charisma. A presence that made you feel as if he could command a room, the whole city, without even trying.

"Are you coming out tonight?"

"Hmm?" You blinked, his question catching you off guard.

"Tonight, to the dinner party." He cocked his head, looking at you expectantly. "Unless, of course, you've decided to spend your evening pining after someone who isn't here."

"Oh. Yeah, sure."

"Well, don't sound too enthusiastic, love."

You laughed, swatting his arm. "Stop, you know I'm going. I'm actually looking forward to meeting your siblings, mostly to get dirt on you."

"That's a dangerous game, darling." He smirked, leaning over to kiss your forehead. "But, if it makes you happy, I'll see you tonight."

"See you."

He gave you one last grin, the door clicking softly as he left.

You flopped back against the pillows, letting out a shaky breath. Trying to erase a specific pair of haunting brown eyes from your memory. You weren't the type to be hung up on anyone, especially a stranger you hooked up with months ago. Yet, here you were, feeling like an absolute idiot.

You shook your head, getting out of bed, ignoring the way your legs trembled.

This was stupid. A minor setback.

You would move on.

You had to move on.

Right?

You knew Klaus was rich. But you were aware just how insanely wealthy he truly was. It was something that should've been obvious, considering the way Klaus threw around his money, but seeing his ridiculously lavish compound in person was a completely different experience.

The place was huge, sprawling, elegant in a way that only an ancient estate could be. The architecture was stunning, and you were fairly certain the entry hall alone was the size of your apartment.

"You live here?" You glanced over at Klaus, taking in his nonchalant expression.

He nodded, "It's not too shabby, is it?"

You laughed, "Not too shabby? This is insane."

You took in the artwork hanging on the walls, the ornate furniture, and the grand staircase that seemed to stretch on forever. It was the kind of place people only saw on tv. You felt underdressed, almost as if you had stepped into some kind of dream.

"Come, the food is almost ready, and I want to introduce you to my family."

Klaus led you through the winding halls and corridors, until you finally reached a large dining room. There was a massive table, laden with food, and sitting around it were a dozen or so people, chatting and laughing.

Klaus cleared his throat, catching the attention of the room. "Everyone, this is Y/N, my... friend."

A chorus of greetings echoed through the room, and Klaus gestured to a particularly attractive group sitting at the far end of the table.

"These are my siblings, Rebekah, Kol, and Elijah."

You froze, the blood draining from your face as they turned to face you.

It was him.

The man you had been trying so hard to forget, the one whose presence had taken over your life. The same dark eyes, the same gentle smile, the same strong, capable hands. Those hands.

The memories hit you in a dizzying wave. The feeling of his skin, the taste of his lips, the way he held you, the way he looked at you, memorizing every detail.

Elijah was a ghost. A shadow. Someone you would never see again.

Until now.

His face paled, his expression mirroring your own shock. The two of you stood there, staring at each other, the rest of the room falling away.

Your heart hammered in your chest, your mind reeling. How? How the fuck was he here? Was this a dream? Some cruel joke the universe was playing?

You opened your mouth, then closed it again, unable to find the words.

The silence stretched on, growing heavier and heavier, until Klaus finally cleared his throat, breaking the spell.

"Sit, please. I have more guests coming soon."

You sank into a chair next to you Elijah, your hands visibly trembling. This was a nightmare. An absolute nightmare.

Klaus walked away to greet some more guests, leaving you with his siblings. You snuck a glance at Elijah, taking in his stiff posture, his jaw clenched, his eyes fixed on the wall in front of him.

The tension was palpable, the air thick with unspoken words. You couldn't bear it, the weight of the silence, the way his presence was overwhelming, intoxicating.

"Y/n, that's a lovely name. How did you meet our brother?" Rebekah asked, her voice slicing through the silence like a knife.

You blinked, struggling to compose yourself. "We met at a gallery. I was, um, critiquing some of the art, and he agreed."

Rebekah chuckled, "Sounds like Klaus."

Elijah remained silent, his expression unreadable. Rebekah gave him a strange look, then turned her attention back to you.

"How long have the two of you been together?" she asked.

"Oh, we're not. Together. We're just friends." You managed a small laugh, trying to hide the panic in your voice.

"Klaus? Friends? Impossible," Kol interjected, his tone teasing.

"Well, we're friendly," you said, avoiding the subject entirely.

A waiter came by and filled your wine glass, and you thanked him, downing half the glass in one go. The alcohol was a welcome distraction, burning a warm path down your throat.

"How are you liking New Orleans?" Rebekah asked, her tone a little more casual.

"It's amazing, honestly. The energy here is unlike anything I've ever experienced. The people, the music, the history." You paused, the corner of your mouth lifting into a small smile. "I can see why people fall in love with this city."

Rebekah smiled, "It does have its charms."

Klaus returned, settling into his seat beside you, his hand resting on the back of your chair.

"So, what have you been discussing?"

"Oh, just the usual. How we're all shocked you've found a friend," Kol said.

Klaus snorted, "Hardly. I have plenty of friends."

"Yes, but they're not usually women," Kol retorted.

"That's not true Kol, he also has Cami," Rebekah chimed in.

Klaus removed his hand from the back of your chair, his cheeks growing slightly pink. He looked down, busying himself with filling his plate, his posture defensive.

Kol let out a laugh and pointed down to the other end of the table. "What's wrong Nik, don't want her to hear?"

You followed his gaze, landing on a pretty blonde who was chatting animatedly with some of the other guests.

"You didn't tell us Camille was coming," Rebekah said.

"It didn't seem important," Klaus muttered, not meeting anyone's eyes.

You had no idea who this girl was, but clearly, Klaus had a thing for her. You could practically feel the awkward tension radiating off him.

He was sweet, but a little rough around the edges. It made sense that he'd be a bit of a mess when it came to his love life.

You couldn't help but smile at that.

"She's beautiful," you said sincerely, nudging him playfully.

Klaus sighed, finally meeting your gaze. "You think?"

"Definitely." You paused, watching his face soften a little. "Why don't you go talk to her?"

Klaus shook his head, a wry smile playing on his lips. "You're not supposed to encourage me, love."

"Why not? Isn't that what friends do?" You grinned.

His eyes narrowed, his expression playful as he leaned in close, his lips brushing your ear. "If I'm with her I'm not with you. Where would that leave us, hmm?"

Before you could respond, Elijah abruptly stood, his chair scraping against the floor. "Excuse me."

All of you watched him walk out of the room, his sudden departure startling everyone.

"Is he alright?" Rebekah asked, her tone worried.

Kol shrugged. "He's been in a mood lately."

"You know how fussy he can get about dinner parties," Klaus said, his tone dismissive.

The rest of the dinner was a blur. You tried your best to engage in conversation, but the weight of Elijah's presence was suffocating, drowning out the noise. He had returned halfway through the meal, his expression stony, his movements stiff and calculated. He didn't look at you, not once, but you could feel his gaze on you, heavy and intense, every time he thought no one was paying attention.

Klaus had taken your advice and made a point to speak with Cami, his body language betraying how flustered he was. He was trying so hard, and it was equal parts amusing and heartwarming.

It was almost enough to distract you from the fact that Elijah was in the same room.

Almost.

As the meal came to an end, the crowd started to thin, people milling about the room, talking and laughing.

Klaus was engrossed in conversation with Cami, his eyes never leaving her face. You smiled to yourself, happy to see him making progress.

You scanned the room, noticing that Elijah was nowhere in sight. Without thinking, you excused yourself, walking through the grand hallways, searching.

You didn't know what you were looking for, or why. But the thought of him being so close, yet out of reach, was too much to bear.

The house was enormous, and as you wandered the hallways, you realized just how impossible it would be to find him. You went up a few floors, finding rooms filled with more art, more artifacts, more history. It was mesmerizing, a window into a world you had never experienced.

Finally, you reached a hallway lined with bedrooms, each one as opulent as the last. You were about to turn around and head back downstairs when a door opened, and Elijah stepped out, freezing as soon as he saw you.

A long silence stretched between the two of you, the air thick with tension.

He was even more handsome than you remembered, his dark hair slightly disheveled, his face flushed. He looked upset, his jaw clenched, his posture stiff.

You swallowed hard, fighting the urge to run. To flee and never look back. But you couldn't. Something in his expression kept you rooted in place.

"Hi," you said softly, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Hello," he replied, his voice smooth, but laced with an emotion you couldn't quite identify.

"I'm, um, sorry to bother you. I was just... looking for the bathroom." You winced, realizing how flimsy the excuse was.

"Right." His eyes searched your face, his brow furrowing.

"Sorry," you repeated, shifting uncomfortably under his gaze.

"There's no need to apologize," he said, his expression softening a little. "I'm sure this is all... unexpected."

"Yeah, it is," you breathed.

Another tense silence passed between the two of you. Elijah looked conflicted, his eyes filled with an emotion you couldn't decipher.

"You didn't tell me you had a brother," you said, the words tumbling out of your mouth before you could stop them.

Elijah's eyes narrowed, but there was a hint of amusement in his voice. "We didn't exactly do a lot of talking about our personal lives,"

Your face burned. "Right, yeah. Sorry, I wasn't... trying to accuse you of anything," you stammered.

Elijah sighed, running a hand through his hair. "No, I'm sorry… That was a poor choice of words."

You nodded, chewing on your lip. The two of you were both obviously uncomfortable.

"Look, I... I don't know what to say, really. This is... weird. Like, insanely weird," you said.

Elijah laughed, a sound that was a mix of relief and nervousness. "Agreed."

You took a deep breath, steeling your nerves. "I... honestly didn't think I would ever see you again."

"I didn't either."

"And now..."

"And now."

You hesitated, your heart thumping in your chest as you took a tentative step forward. "What are the odds, huh?"

"Quite low, I imagine."

You laughed, a soft, breathless sound. "I guess the universe had other plans."

Elijah's expression shifted, a hint of vulnerability breaking through his mask. He looked conflicted, as if he wanted to say something, but couldn't bring himself to.

Instead he took a deep breath, his voice softer, gentler, "I'm glad you're doing well,"

"You too," you managed, fighting the urge to reach out and touch him, to close the distance between the two of you.

"I should probably get back," you said, not really wanting to.

"Of course," he murmured, not moving away from you, his gaze intense.

You lingered for a moment, neither of you willing to break eye contact. It was strange, surreal. A feeling you couldn't put into words. It pulled you in, and before you knew it, you were moving towards him, drawn by some invisible force.

His hand came up, wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer. His lips met yours, soft, but urgent, and you melted into him, the familiarity of his touch making your heart ache.

You weren't sure how long you stood there, kissing him, holding him, your hands tangled in his hair, his body pressed against yours. It was like no time had passed, the two of you falling back into the same pattern, the same rhythm.

He guided you backwards until you hit a side table, your back pressing against the polished wood. He lifted you, his lips never leaving yours as he sat you on the edge, his body caging you in.

His hands slid up your thighs, pushing your dress up, his eyes darkening as his fingers brushed the lace of your underwear.

You pulled back, just enough to look into his eyes, your hands grasping the front of his shirt, needing to feel the warmth of his skin, the beating of his heart.

"I haven't been able to get you out of my mind," he murmured, kissing down your neck.

"Me neither," you admitted, a small moan escaping your lips as his teeth grazed your collarbone.

He lifted your thighs, planting your feet on the edge of the table, spreading your legs wide, his hips pressed flush against yours.

You could feel the hardness of him, the proof of his desire for you, and it sent a wave of heat straight through your core.

You wanted him. Badly. More than you could ever remember wanting anything.

"We shouldn't do this here," you breathed, his lips tracing the shell of your ear.

"I don't care," he whispered, his fingers tugging at the hem of your dress, sliding the fabric up to your hips.

"Someone might see."

"Good," he said softly, his lips curling into a smirk, just inches from yours. "Let them see."

You gasped, arching your back as his fingers found the wetness between your legs, his movements slow and deliberate, teasing you. He slowly circled your clit, drawing lazy patterns, his gaze fixed on your face, taking in every detail, every reaction.

You tugged on his shirt, trying to anchor yourself, to keep from getting swept away. Your heart was hammering, the heat building in your core, the anticipation making you dizzy.

He pushed a finger inside you, then another, his movements firm and steady, his thumb circling your clit. He was taking his time, drawing it out, his eyes never leaving yours, his gaze filled with something raw and intense.

It was that same feeling as before, the one that made you do things you wouldn't normally do. The one that made you feel alive.

Your legs trembled, your body trembling as he brought you to the edge, only to pull back. His fingers teased your entrance, before sinking deep inside you, curling and hitting that spot that made your vision blur.

"Fuck," you gasped, gripping his shoulders, trying desperately to hold on.

He grinned and moved to his knees, his eyes locking on yours, and it was almost too much. The sight of him, kneeling before you, his dark gaze burning into yours, his fingers still buried inside you.

He pulled his fingers from your core, the emptiness almost unbearable, and his tongue flicked over your clit. You cried out, a strangled, broken sound, and he chuckled, the vibrations making your toes curl.

He licked and sucked and teased, his movements perfectly measured, knowing exactly what to do, where to touch. He devoured you, his lips and tongue working in tandem, his fingers sinking back into you, stretching you open, filling you.

You felt yourself hurtling towards the edge, the pressure building, your legs shaking, your fingers tangled in his hair. He looked up at you, his eyes blazing with a mixture of desire and hunger, and it was all too much.

You came, your vision whiting out, his name a strangled cry on your lips. He kept going, working you through the aftershocks, his touch gentle, coaxing, until finally, he stopped, pressing a kiss to the inside of your thigh.

"Beautiful," he murmured, his voice hoarse.

He stood, and you caught a glimpse of the bulge straining against his trousers, before he leaned down, his lips meeting yours, the taste of yourself lingering on his tongue.

He kissed you, deep and slow, and you felt the loss of his touch acutely, the emptiness inside you almost unbearable. You reached for him, fumbling with his belt, desperate to feel him, to have him inside you.

"I can't believe we are doing this," you muttered, laughing nervously as his zipper came down. "Again," you added, the word barely a whisper.

"Neither can I," he admitted, a small, wry smile on his lips.

"This is insane."

"I'm well aware."

You slipped your hand inside his trousers, the feel of his bare skin against yours sending a jolt of pleasure straight through your core. He let out a soft groan, his hips pressing against yours, his body urging you on.

"Don't get me pregnant," you half joked, your voice a strained whisper.

He laughed, the sound rich and deep, the warmth of his breath fanning across your cheek.

"I won't."

You tugged at his trousers, pulling them down just enough to free him. His cock sprang free, hard and throbbing, and you wrapped your fingers around his shaft, stroking him slowly, the velvety skin sliding under your palm.

He pressed the head of his cock against your entrance, teasing you, his lips brushing yours.

"Do it," you breathed, the need coursing through your veins.

He thrust forward, filling you completely, his fingers digging into your thighs. You moaned, the feeling of him inside you, stretching you, consuming you.

He set a slow, deliberate pace, trying not to cause the table to creak and rock. It was sensual and maddening, the feeling of his cock easing in and out of you, his breathing ragged, his hands holding onto you for dear life.

The pleasure was overwhelming, your body tightening around him, drawing him in, trying to keep him there. He pressed his forehead to yours, his lips grazing your jaw, his hips snapping into yours, harder and faster, the filthy sounds of your bodies colliding echoing through the empty hall.

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot and labored, his hands moving down your back and under your ass, pulling you flush against him.

Your fingers twisted in the fabric of his shirt, your eyes squeezed shut, your entire world focused on the feel of him inside you.

It was like nothing else mattered, nothing existed except the two of you, joined together in the most intimate way.

He held you, his movements growing more frantic, his thrusts uneven and jerky, and you could feel him coming apart. He bit down on your shoulder, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your ass, his cock pulsing inside you as he spilled his release.

The two of you stayed like that, awkwardly settled on the table, trying to catch your breath, to come down from the high.

After a moment, he straightened, tucking himself back into his trousers and running a hand through his hair, his cheeks flushed.

"That was..." he trailed off, searching for the right word.

"Intense," you offered, as he helped you stand.

"Indeed," he murmured, a small, satisfied smile on his lips.

He pulled you in for another kiss, his fingers tangling in your hair, his lips soft and warm. You melted into him, losing yourself in the feeling of his body against yours.

After a long moment, he pulled back, his eyes filled with an emotion you couldn't decipher. He cleared his throat, the moment breaking, the reality of the situation crashing down around you.

"Well, I should... um, get back," you said, the words hanging in the air, awkward and stilted. "Before anyone notices we're gone,"

"No need, we all heard you two," Klaus' voice echoed through the hall, startling you both.

You turned to see him leaning against the door frame, his arms crossed over his chest, a smug grin on his face.

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, and you hastily fixed your dress, Elijah stepped in front of you, blocking the sight from his brother.

Klaus let out a laugh, "oh no need for all that Elijah, it's nothing I haven't seen before," he drawled.

"What are you doing here?" Elijah demanded, his tone laced with annoyance.

"Well, I was looking for my Y/n. You wandered off and then I heard these distressing sounds coming from the hallway. So naturally, I came to investigate," he paused, his eyes roaming over your body, his gaze filled with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. "And here you are,"

"I, uh, got lost," you offered weakly, still a little stunned.

"In his pants?" Klaus smirked, his gaze traveling between the two of you.

You were speechless, not quite sure what to say. It was humiliating, being caught like this, exposed and vulnerable. There were clearly a lot of complicated feelings between the two of them, things that had nothing to do with you.

Elijah wrapped his arm around your waist, it surprised you, the way he pulled you against him, as if he was claiming you. You glanced up at him, the look on his face unreadable. He seemed unfazed by Klaus' accusation, his expression carefully neutral.

"If you must know, we ran into each other," Elijah said evenly, his hand stroking the small of your back. "We know each other from... Another city."

"Oh, really? How serendipitous," Klaus replied, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

"Yes, it is," Elijah said simply, his posture relaxed.

Klaus shook his head, his eyes darting between the two of you, the realization slowly dawning on him. "Wait... That hook-up you were telling me about? The old fling you couldn't get out of your head? That's... Elijah?"

You nodded, your cheeks burning so hot they could melt ice.

Klaus began to laugh, a deep, genuine belly laugh. He wiped at his eyes, his whole body shaking with amusement. "This is too much. This is... I don't even know what to say."

Elijah sighed, his jaw clenched, but his eyes amused. "I would prefer it if you didn't say anything."

"Oh, come on, this is funny," Klaus said, taking a step closer. "You're the reason she was all hung up and miserable,"

"Miserable?" Elijah frowned, glancing down at you.

"Klaus, stop," you pleaded, the humiliation making your chest ache.

"What?" He shrugged. "I'm just stating facts. You were a mess because of him."

Elijah's eyes searched yours, his expression conflicted. His hand was still on the small of your back, and he rubbed it in small, soothing circles.

"Niklaus, if you don't mind, I wish to have a private conversation with her," Elijah said, his tone firm.

"Alright, fine, but do try to keep it down, hmm? We have guests," Klaus winked at the two of you, turning on his heel and heading down the hallway.

You watched him walk away, then you leaned up and kissed Elijah on the cheek. "I'll be right back, okay?"

He nodded, his gaze following you as you walked down the hallway after Klaus.

"Nik!" You called, catching up to him.

"Yes, love?"

"Look, I'm sorry," you said, trying to gauge his reaction.

"For what?" He looked genuinely confused.

"For... sleeping with Elijah," you said, a little unsure.

Klaus laughed, his expression light and teasing. "We were never going to work out, love. Our hearts belong to others,"

"I know," you shrugged. “But still... He's your brother,"

"And you love him," Klaus said simply, a small, knowing smile on his lips.

"What? No, I... I don't even know him, not really," you protested.

"You will, and he'll love you, too," Klaus said, his voice surprisingly gentle.

"It doesn't matter. It was just... sex," you tried to explain.

"Was it, though?"

"Yes," you insisted, trying to ignore the nagging voice in the back of your head, the one that knew he was right.

Klaus shook his head, his gaze softening a little. He pulled you in for a hug, his arms wrapping around you, holding you close.

"Listen, it's none of my business. But if there's something between the two of you, some spark or whatever... Don't let it go. Life's too short for regrets,"

You pulled back, looking up at him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. "Thank you, Nik,"

"Of course," he replied, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "And do try to be a bit more discreet, hmm? You two aren't exactly quiet."

You groaned, burying your face in your hands, trying to hide the blush creeping across your cheeks. "I'll try."

He laughed, and then headed back downstairs to rejoin the party. Off to find Cami, no doubt.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself, and made your way back to Elijah, his eyes fixed on you, an intensity in his gaze that made your heart race.

You reached out, taking his hand, his fingers lacing with yours, and he led you to his room, the door closing softly behind the two of you.

You stood in the middle of his bedroom, the air thick with tension, everything was happening so fast.

"So," he began, his voice low and soft.

"So," you echoed, a nervous smile tugging at your lips.

Elijah exhaled, slow and measured, but there was no hiding the tension in his posture. “Are you going to run again?”

The question hung between you, weighted with more than just tonight.

You swallowed hard, your fingers twitching at your sides. You owed him the truth.

“Elijah…” You took a step closer, your voice unsteady. “I ran because I was scared.”

His jaw clenched slightly, but he stayed silent, letting you speak.

“I told myself that what we had was casual. That it didn’t mean anything. But then you started looking at me like I was something more.” Your throat tightened. “Like I mattered. And that scared the hell out of me.”

His expression softened, just a fraction, but his silence pressed against you like a weight.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to keep going. “I didn’t know how to handle the way you made me feel.” Your voice was quieter now, raw. “I thought if I ran, I could outrun it. But I didn’t. I never did. Because no matter where I went, no matter what I did, you were always there.”

A beat passed. Then two. And then his hand was cupping your cheek, his eyes searching yours.

“And now?” he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“And now…” You took a deep breath, your heart pounding in your chest. “I’m standing here. With you. And I don’t want to run anymore.”

His thumb brushed against your cheek, his touch gentle but firm. “Good,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “Because I’m not letting you go this time.”

You leaned into his touch, your eyes closing as his lips met yours in a kiss that was both tender and desperate. It was a promise, a commitment, a declaration of everything you’d both been too afraid to say.

When you finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “Stay,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “Not just tonight. Always.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you nodded, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “Always,” you echoed, your voice steady despite the emotions threatening to overwhelm you.

You kissed him again, slow and sweet, the familiar taste of him flooding your senses. He was everything you'd been missing, everything you'd needed. There was so much more left to say, but it would have to wait. In this moment, there was only the two of you, tangled together, a promise of something more. This was where you were meant to be, you were sure of it.

~Epilogue

The first thing you registered was warmth. The kind that seeped into your bones, wrapped around you like a quiet reassurance. You stirred, blinking against the soft glow of morning light filtering through the curtains. The sheets were tangled around your legs, the scent of him lingering in the fabric.

Elijah's arm was draped over your waist, his breathing deep and steady against the back of your neck. The weight of him, the solid presence at your side, was grounding in a way you hadn’t expected. You hadn’t realized how much you missed waking up with someone... not just anyone, but him.

For a moment, you didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

Because this felt… real. Permanent.

And for the first time in a long time, the thought didn’t terrify you.

You shifted slightly, your fingers ghosting over his forearm where it rested against your stomach. He stirred behind you, his grip instinctively tightening, pulling you closer.

“Second thoughts?” His voice was husky with sleep, laced with quiet amusement.

You smiled, a warm flush spreading through you.

"Not a single one," you murmured, turning in his arms, your gaze meeting his.

"Good," he murmured, his hand sliding up your back, pulling you flush against him.

It felt... Right. Like you'd always belonged here, in his bed, his arms. Like he'd always been the one, waiting for you.

There was no more running.

No more fear.

Just this.

Just him.

[immoral-stranger]

𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐫𝐮𝐞 // 𝐋𝐍𝟒

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟏𝟏. 🍓 “You’ve never done me wrong, except for that one time we don’t talk about.” – Boygenius, True Blue.

Pairing: Lando Norris x fem!reader

Word count: 3k

Warnings: none? maybe they're a little horny? this shit is too sweet. it'll give you cavities. oh and you need to have read linger beforehand to understand the dynamic and characters in this.

A/N: my babies Lando and Bunny make a comeback. takes place like a year after the original fic. please tell me what you think ♡

Summer break for Lando usually consisted of long days on a beach somewhere warm. Yachts, beach clubs, and sand between his toes. After dusk, his summer break consisted of long nights in the VIP section at some club. House music, sweaty bodies, and alcohol. 

Getting up at 8 in the morning to take a casual jog around a suburban area in England wouldn’t have been on his agenda if you’d had asked him a year ago when he was painfully single. 

Now, there was no place he’d rather be. Now, summer was different. It was softer, simpler, an, to his complete and utter surprise, infinitely better.

Because you didn’t like Ibiza, or Saint Tropez, or even Monaco. You would compromise and say that it was fine at times, but Lando could see through you like glass. You tolerated the extravagance, but it never made you light up in the same way being at home did. Would it have been easier if you liked the country he lived in? Sure, but it wasn’t like Lando hated England. With a certain disconnect, he actually loved the place. He grew up there. His family was there. You were there. 

So, as much as his phone pinged with Instagram stories of his friends posing behind DJ booths or lounging on sunbeds, he didn’t envy them. He couldn’t complain. 

Not when he was jogging through the quiet streets of your neighbourhood, the soft morning breeze brushing against his skin, the world still drowsy with sleep.

Not when he knew what was waiting for him when he got back—what he would find as he ran up the pathway to your childhood home, up the stairs, and behind the door with a Moulin Rouge poster blu-tacked to it.

The gravel crunched beneath his feet as he slowed to a walk, approaching the house that had, over time, started to feel more like home than his own place. He jogged up the front steps, slipping inside, already anticipating the comfort of warm, sleepy domesticity that awaited him upstairs.

But first, a shower. He wasn’t an idiot. He wouldn’t crawl into bed with you, still sticky from his run. And he made tea—you liked waking up to tea.

The old wooden floors creaked as he entered your bedroom. He felt himself smiling before he could even take in the full sight of you. You were sat on the bed, a notebook in your lap as you scribbled down something, chewing on your bottom lip in concentration. He loved your bedroom. It warmed his heart over and over again to step into an atmosphere that was you and only you. A white, sheer canopy hung over your bed, twinkling even in the bright summer morning from the fairy lights tangled up in it. 

He recognised the t-shirt you were wearing as one that had once been his, but he didn’t complain. How could he? Beneath it, just visible, were underwear he’d given you as a joke—because buying you expensive lingerie was pointless when your favourite style was always cheeky boy shorts. These, in particular, were innocent enough in white cotton—except for the bold, hot pink Playboy bunny logos scattered across them. 

Lando had developed a habit of getting you things with bunnies on them, and you had developed a habit of wearing them just to humour him.

“Morning, Bun-Bun.” 

Your head lifted, eyes blinking away the haze of deep focus. You still looked newly awakened. He could see the way your mind slowly reeled itself back from wherever it had wandered as you took in the sight of him, freshly showered and shirtless in your doorway.

“Oh, you made tea?” Your voice was soft as you reached for one of the mugs he was carrying, fingers curling around the warmth. “Have I told you how much I love you?”

Lando grinned, climbing onto the bed beside you. He settled against the headboard, careful not to spill his own tea as he stretched his legs out beneath the covers. “Only daily.” 

He had never been one to crave stillness before—his life had always been a constant blur, and he liked it that way. But here, in your childhood bedroom, wrapped in soft edges and familiar scents, he felt something rare; he felt safe. It was almost like make-believe, the canopy overhead and your floral seersucker bedsheets making him feel as if he’d tumbled into a fairytale, Alice in Wonderland-style. And for once, he wasn’t desperate to leave.

You looked over at him as you took a long sip of your tea. Wordlessly, he took your mug when you were done, placing it on the nightstand together with his own. Your gaze flickered down to his bare chest, lingering for half a second too long before your brows lifted. 

“You should really put a shirt on,” you remarked. 

Lando’s laughter was low and unbothered. “We’re alone in this house.” 

“What if my dad comes home? Or Matteo decides to get a ride home with one of his friends?” 

Lando exhaled through his nose, amused. You always found things to question. Even the littlest things. Or things that didn’t even make sense half the time. He was lucky he liked hearing your voice so much. If he had once believed you to be shy and reserved, he now knew the opposite. 

“Your dad is still in Manchester for work, which is fourhours away. And need I remind you that Matteo asked for us to pick him up from his sleepover at one o’clock? It’s only nine,” he explained, smiling. “Admit it, you just don’t want to see me shirtless because it’s distracting.” 

You huffed, rolling your eyes as you tucked your legs beneath you, pulling your notebook closer. “Okay, yeah. I really need to finish this.” 

If you hadn’t been so intent on finishing what you were writing, and if Lando hadn’t revelled in the tranquillity of the morning, he would have already pinned you beneath him, taking you—devouring you—right there under the twinkling canopy. No hesitation. No shame. Just want. Just need.

But it could wait. All you had was time with each other. That was a beautiful thing in and of itself. 

Lando shifted, inching closer, his chin resting lightly on your shoulder as he peered down at your scrawled-out notes. The faint scratch of your pen against paper filled the comfortable silence. He couldn’t really see what words you were writing down, but he knew why you were writing and that it was becoming slightly urgent to finish it.

“I still can’t believe they’re making us do this,” Lando groaned after a moment. “Holding a speech at their wedding? Couldn’t they have asked Oscar’s sisters? Or Jasmine’s overly excited mother?” 

“They wanted one simple, nice, and kind speech,” you reminded him. “Oscar’s sisters would roast him into oblivion, and Jasmine’s mother would never stop crying. You know this as much as they do.” 

Lando huffed. “But still, Bunny… I’m too awkward.” 

“Which is why we’re doing it together. You’re lucky I’m such a good actor.” 

“That you are.”

Lando watched as you scribbled down another note, the glimmer of determination in your eyes something he could never get enough of. 

A simple, late summer wedding in the English countryside. Just mere weeks away, and you and Lando were toastmasters. He hadn’t even known that was a thing before Jasmine had run him over with wedding preparations. You were, of course, also her maid of honour. Lando had already seen the dress she had picked out for you, and while the wedding was an exciting thing overall, he really couldn’t wait to see you all dolled up in a gown. 

“Have you written anything yourself?” you asked him, looking up from your notebook. 

Picking up his phone, Lando scrolled through his notes, looking for the right one. “I, uhm… I wrote down a little joke about the first time he introduced me to Jasmine and how she said she would hang me by my underwear from a flagpole outside the MTC if I ever crashed into him.” 

“Sounds like her,” you laughed, leaning over to see his screen, practically falling over him in the process, making a mess of the ruffled sheets between you. “Wait, you’re writing their wedding speech in your notes app?” 

Lando didn’t understand what was so wrong about it. He would have to memorise it anyway. Or, at least, he thought so. Standing there, in front of an entire wedding reception, with a cue card of sorts would feel insincere. 

“You’re writing your part in a Hello Kitty notebook with a glitter gel pen,” he pointed out, picking up your notebook, looking at your sparkly pink handwriting. 

He found even the smallest things about you completely adorable.

“It’s still more thoughtful than using an iPhone,” you shot back, grinning.

Lando draped his arm around your waist, gently pulling you closer until you were nestled against him, your head resting softly on his bare chest. He glanced down at what you'd written, a smile tugging at his lips as he read about Oscar and Jasmine's first date—one you'd helped plan. It had gone horribly wrong when Oscar got lost on public transport and showed up 40 minutes late. A 16-year-old Jasmine had called you, crying, just as Oscar arrived, catching her mid-rant, snot running from her nose. From that moment on, Oscar had been completely soft for her—and probably never showed up late again.

“I can’t believe those two are getting married. They are younger than I am,” Lando heard himself say, almost sighing at the realisation.

“Mhm, because you’re so old,” you joked, your palm hitting his chest lightly. 

The two-year age gap between you and him didn’t seem like much. But seeing how Jasmine and Oscar, who were your exact age, were already so far ahead in their relationship sparked an undeniable sense of dread in him about ageing. He felt both ancient and a little behind.

“It makes sense, though. They’ve been dating since they were, what, sixteen?”

You nodded. He felt your hair as it moved up and down against his skin. “My parents had me and got married by twenty-two. It’s not that uncommon.” 

Lando’s brow furrowed. “You think Jasmine’s pregnant?” 

“That’s not at all what I said.” 

He looked down at you, catching the sheepish smile on your face. It was probably for the best. He couldn’t handle someone younger than him having kids. Especially when those kids would probably call him uncle in the future. That felt backwards. His own nieces were enough to get the cogwheels turning in his head about that he should probably start thinking about having a family of his own. 

A moment of quiet followed, the weight of his next question pressing before he even asked it. The look on his face made it clear he had something serious to say, his fingers drumming absentmindedly against the bedsheet as he gathered his thoughts.

“Do you ever think about marriage yourself?” he wondered softly. 

Your breath caught slightly at the question, eyes flickering to him as you searched for his intent. “To you? Or in general?” 

Lando huffed a small, amused laugh, but there was a nervous edge to it. “I’d hope it be with me.” 

“Sometimes,” you admitted. Your voice was vulnerable, but there was no hesitation. “I think we could make it work.” 

Lando’s lips curved into a small, genuine smile, one that made his dimples dip into his cheeks. “I want Matteo as ring bearer,” he mused, his tone lighter now, “and we’re getting revenge on Jasmine and Oscar by making them do a long-ass speech. Maybe a choreographed dance.”

You snorted. “Mhm, and what would that speech be about?” 

“Definitely how you got a nosebleed the first time I tried to kiss you.” His grin widened as he glanced at you, eyes alight with mischief. “Or how they heard us have sex through the walls of that Italian villa.” 

Your cheeks burnt at the memory, heat crawling up your neck. “Lando!” you groaned, shoving at his arm as he burst into laughter, the sound filling the space with just as much light as the sun filtering through lace curtains.

He nudged his knee against yours beneath the sheets, his laughter softening into something more affectionate. “Maybe they’ll just roast me into oblivion, because they like you more than they like me.” 

“That’s not true,” you murmured, your fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest. “I don’t think they have many bad things to say about you.”

“I’ve been an idiot so many times.” 

“Nuh-uh.” You shook your head firmly. “You’ve never done me wrong… except for that one time we don’t talk about.” 

Lando blinked, confused. “Wait, what? I don’t know what moment your talking about.” 

He was forgetful and sometimes a little ignorant. In reality, he probably thought he’d done you wrong about a million different times. But he couldn’t think of a single defining moment that you would’ve deemed as the most fragile in your relationship.

“Was it when I forgot your birthday?” he guessed. 

“You’ve never forgotten my birthday?” you said, almost like a question, as a crease formed between your brows. 

“Oh, you didn’t realise? Our weekend to New York that was totally planned and not at all because Jasmine called me the night before your birthday to ask what I had gotten you?” Lando couldn’t help but let out a little pathetic laugh. 

In his defence, no one had mentioned that it was your birthday to him. And he also hadn’t thought about asking or remembering the date. He was lucky to have had time off when it did happen. One private jet and a hotel stay later, you’d had a perfect birthday in New York City, seeing a Broadway show for the first time. 

“I didn’t know about that!” you exclaimed, a look of mock horror painted on your face. “But no matter what, I still had a lovely time there, so I would never say that was a wrongdoing from your side.” 

“I guess Jasmine is better at keeping secrets than I thought,” Lando mumbled to himself, still thinking about what you could be thinking of. “Was it when I accidentally stood Matteo up? You cried and yelled at me because of that.” 

That was the first and only time you’d yelled at him out of anger. Out of sadness or anxiety, you’d done it multiple times before. But you weren’t the angry type. So when it slipped his mind that he should’ve taken Matteo to an England football game instead of Max, you had uncharacteristically lashed out on him. It wasn’t necessarily because of the game, but because of the principle of letting down an 11-year-old little boy.

“I didn’t yell,” you corrected him. 

“No, you did.” Lando smiled gently. “I deserved it, though. You were being protective of your baby brother, and I was being a muppet for not remembering what I’d promised him.” 

“It’s still not what I had in mind,” you said, shaking your head.

“Okay, you’ve stumped me. What are you talking about?” 

You bit your lip, watching him carefully before whispering,“After Brazil last year.” His face softened at the realisation. “You were awake for like two days straight and refused to speak to anyone.” 

Lando exhaled through his nose, gaze flickering down, hands fidgeting now. He was letting you continue, although he found the words difficult to hear. 

“We never really talked that through,” you continued, meeting his gaze. “And you feeling so bad and not letting me help you made me feel like the worst girlfriend in the world.” 

His hand found yours beneath the sheets, thumb stroking over your knuckles in silent apology.

“And I’ll always understand that your job is nothing like anything I’ve ever experienced, and I’ll never blame you for being distant at times or closed off because of it.” You squeezed his hand gently, grounding him. “But for two days straight? Yeah, do that again and… I’ll be the one to hang you from a flagpole.”

A breath of laughter escaped him, but it was almost out of embarrassment. “I’m sorry, Bun-Bun.” 

“I know you are,” you murmured, leaning in to press a kiss to his shoulder, lingering just long enough for him to feel the warmth of your lips against his skin.

A beat passed before Lando cleared his throat, picking up your notebook to stare at the messy handwriting again. “What do I get if I finish this fucking speech?” 

You smirked. “Naked cuddles?” 

“Sold.” 

“Do I not get anything? I feel like I’ve written most of it anyway,” you teased, quirking a brow at him.

Lando studied you for a moment, his lips twitching. “I think your hopeless romantic ass secretly adores doing this for them.” He kissed your temple, his breath warm against your skin. “But sure, I can give you a reward,” he added, pressing another quick kiss just below your ear.

A third kiss was placed on your neck, and a fourth on your collarbone. You felt the wetness from his lips as he started to gently suck on your delicate skin, his hand travelling under your shirt to cup your breast in his open palm. 

“Can I play with it soft?” you whispered under your breath, swallowing down a moan. 

Lando groaned dramatically, letting his head fall back against the pillow as he momentarily stopped touching you, acting appalled.

“Anything but that, Bunny. Anything but that.” 

Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think ♡

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Taglist: @koko-mei @anamiad00msday @lucyysthings @yelenam5 @firefirevampire @alexxavicry @emails-i-can-send @freyathehuntress @supergraphicgirl81 @irisesinthegarden

[blackcrystalball]

I find this take really interesting, I also feel like a part of my doesn't fully understand what's off-putting about self-centred social media.

I was born in 2004, so when I was growing up, self-centred social media apps were on the rise and then at their peak. I didn't use any of it until I was like 14 because I didn't really care and I had books to read. I only really became earnest in my usage of Instagram during lockdown and I downloaded tiktok from the first time in 2022.

I started making tiktoks in 2023 because I was in university, away from home and finally in an institution that didn't have a uniform. So it was a lot of fashion and hair content. Near the end of last year and all of this year so far, it has been a lot of dancing and edits of celebrities and characters I like.

Overall my social media accounts are centred around myself and the things I like, 2 parts because I want to have a space to store those things that isn't just my phone in case something happens to it, and 1 part I just think I'm really pretty and I like looking at myself.

I find self-centred social media to be really fun because then you can easily find people you have things in common with and make friends, I live in a relatively small town and I was one of three alternative kids in my school. Since posting online I've made a bunch of alt friends in my area and the vibes are immaculate.

Self-centred social media kind of feels like having a communal diary with your mutuals and I love that about it. It's really fun to share the vibes.

But at the same time, I literally went through all my formative years with this type of media at its peak, it was literally every. Every piece of media tried to brute force social media into their stories and in general kind of normalised it to people my age. So my stance is coming from a person that literally knows no other way of life. I think my stance might have been different if I was born in the 90s instead because in general I'm a pretty private person. All my super personal information stays completely under wraps. The only things I put on social media are things I would comfortably talk to a stranger about irl.

Overall, I feel like it might be because of a bit of a generational gap and different influences.

I feel like I kind of meandered off topic a bit, but yeah, the idea of this type of social media being off-putting has never once crossed my mind, and maybe that's a bad thing. Being perceived on such a large scale really isn't a normal experience and it is probably doing some weird stuff to our brains.

social media has evolved into such a voyeuristic spectacle over the last five to ten years its truly shocking to me like excluding tumblr 90% of the explore pages on other apps is just videos of peoples faces set to music or people talking directly to the camera etc etc......by contrast on tumblr there is still a sort of sheen of anonymity based on how its formatted and usually when you interact with a post you read or watch the content first and then learn the users identity second by clicking on their profile ie the dash is not just a wall of people filming themselves unless its a repost......i remember even only a couple of years ago there was a distinction between people who were influencers and got paid to film themselves 24/7 for instagram but now its like every average person on reels/tiktok is performing the same kind of theater for free......i cant imagine what that would do to your psyche long term

[sinnabarmoth]

A Pair of Plushies

Pairing: Sylus x Fem|Reader

Summary: I got this cute interaction playing the claw machine and it just screamed Sylus wanting to make two of MC. AKA, Sylus wants to be a girl dad.

Content warnings: Adult language. Breeding kink. P in v. Porn with feelings. Pregnancy fic. Tooth rotting fluff!

Length: 9500

It is strange how such profound changes in your life can come from the most mundane of instances. You were having a pretty normal day, you had just gotten off of work and were relaxing with your boyfriend at the arcade. Sylus was braving the afternoon to come out and see you. Your schedules were pretty different since he was awake almost exclusively during the night and you worked during the day.

But you were together today and were at one of the claw machines trying to get even more plushies. You had accumulated an impressive collection but there were always more that you wanted. Today you were at the machine giving Sylus directions to help him get the hearty hearts plushie.

The plushie fell into the bin and you clapped happily as he retrieved it and handed it to you.

“Two little cuties together are definitely twice as adorable!” you said, holding the little heart plushie to your chest.

Sylus shook his head. “Aren’t you tired of seeing something that looks exactly the same?”

“Never! That’s what makes it cute. Just imagine waking up to two little plushies right beside you--” You paused, noticing the way Sylus’s gaze focused. “Why are you suddenly staring at me?”

He smirked. “I’m looking at the mirror behind you. Having two of you wouldn’t be too bad, actually.”

You rolled your eyes, thinking that he had meant that in some salacious way and turned back to the machine. The rest of your afternoon passed, after you left the arcade you stopped by a cafe for drinks and you noticed Sylus was still staring at you much in the same way he was back at the arcade.

You were used to Sylus staring at you but there was something off about it. Usually when he stared it was because he had something dirty on his mind. It usually meant the second you were alone he would be crowding you against the nearest flat surface. But you didn’t get that from him today. He looked almost wistful, a small serene smile on his face.

You gave his leg a tap under the table. “What are you so smiley about?” you asked. “Do I have something on my face?”

“No. Just thinking about something.” he leaned back in his chair, giving you one more complete glance over and nodded. “Yes. I think that will do very well.”

“What are you talking about? Do I get to know?”

He only smiled. “Remember when you told me to imagine waking up to two of the same plushies every morning?”

“Yeah…I think I see where this is going.” Either this was going to be a sex in front of a mirror request or possibly a desire for more plushies. You had a feeling you knew which one he was referring to though. “And I will say I am open to it.”

His eyes widened slightly. “Really? I only just decided to ask and you’re already on board?”

“It’s not like it’s that big a request. I feel like I’ve done far stranger things, especially with you.” you shrugged.

“Not a big request? And what exactly have you done that is stranger?”

“Well I’m not going to talk about that in a cafe.” you said. “Isn’t this something that should wait to be discussed at home?”

“We can, of course. If that would make you most comfortable.” he was grinning even wider, “There is a lot more to discuss about it that we are going to need to get into.”

“How much more could there possibly be?” He was being very intense about a mirror kink.

“A lot more. Like when you want to start trying, what kind of doctor do you want to go to, how is living arrangements going to work? Are you moving in or were you going to be adamant about keeping your own apartment? Do you want us to get married first--”

“Whoa! Whoa! WHOA!” you held up your hands. “What in the world are you talking about? What does any of that have to do with this?”

Sylus paused, his brow furrowing. “Sweetie, what do you think I’m talking about?”

“I mean, I thought you were talking about--you know--” you leaned in closer, your voice a whisper so not to be overheard by anyone else “having sex in front of a mirror? Two of me. That kind of thing.”

Sylus snorted, his shoulders shaking slightly as he held in a laugh. “What? What’s so funny? What were you actually talking about?”

“Oh my beloved,” he sighed, taking your hand over the table. “When I said two of you I meant a mini-you.”

“A mini-me? Like a doll? Why would you--” it finally dawned on you what he meant. Your face heated as embarrassment flooded in. “Oh. I see. A mini-me.”

“Finally get there, did you?” he cocked his head at you. “So, what do you think?”

“I mean…” you didn’t know how to respond. “Just to make sure I’m not misinterpreting again. You are talking about…”

“Getting you pregnant and starting a family. Yes.” Sylus nodded.

“Got it.”

“Now that you know what I was asking you don’t seemed at all enthused about it.”

“I mean, I don’t know how to respond to that out of the blue. It came on so suddenly and while I would like to be a mother one day I guess I didn’t expect it to get brought up quite like this. Usually when people decide to have kids it’s something they do after they get married. We’ve only been dating for a little over a year now. Are you sure you want to have a kid with me? God forbid we break up one day we’re still going to have an entire person connecting us.”

“Bold of you to assume I’d ever let us break up.” Sylus said. “I’m afraid you are stuck with me, sweetie.”

“And bold of you to say we’re stuck together when you haven’t put a ring on it.”

“Do you want me to? I will. We can go down to the jewelry store and buy a ring right now. Depending on how big of a ceremony you want we can be married by the end of the day. Then again, if we do get married I’d like to make a spectacle out of it complete with you in a pretty white dress I get to tear off after the reception.”

“Sylus!” you hissed, hiding your face behind your hands. He always talked so brazenly with you about his desires. It flustered you to no end when they were just carnal desires but this sudden need of his to marry and impregnate you was a thousand times worse. You could barely look at him. Everything he said was too open. Too honest. It made you self conscious thinking about how sincere and direct he was being.

“What? Is it embarrassing to love you? Is it embarrassing to let you know exactly what I picture for us? Since meeting you, this has been what I’ve dreamt of one day having. And today, when you mentioned two of something I realized I didn’t want to wait any longer. I want that life with you. Say you want that life with me too.”

“I…I…” everything screamed in you that this was moving too fast. You did love him but marriage? A child? You didn’t even live together and he was proposing things with a much bigger commitment right now!

Sylus could see you fumbling for an answer and sighed, the light in his eyes dimming a bit. “It’s a lot to ask all at once. I see that. Take all the time you need to respond.”

Wow. Okay.

You finished at the cafe and you started making your way back to your apartment with Sylus. The ride back was quiet. You were thinking about a lot. You knew that you definitely loved Sylus and the idea of marrying him and having a family with him one day was something you wanted. His offer didn’t scare you for that reason. You were in this relationship for the long haul. It was the fact that it all just got put out there so quickly.

Usually when girls get proposed to they can sometimes see it coming. Their partner tells them to go get their nails done, they plan a really romantic date out of nowhere, you get to dress up in something super pretty and nice. All of it to make sure the moment is a picturesque as possible. Sylus dropping that he wants to get you pregnant and then basically proposing in the middle of a cafe after you confused his wants for mirror sex was not how you would have ever imagined this happening!

It was a lot to take in. And maybe you should have been more scared by the idea. But the longer you sat with the question you realized you already knew the answer. You wanted to spend your life with Sylus. You wanted to create a life with him, both metaphorically and literally. It was daunting to think about but it didn’t scare you.

You pulled up to your apartment and you invited Sylus up. Once you got inside you kicked off your shoes and pulled Sylus closer, pushing yourself to your toes to loop your arms around his neck and kiss him. He didn’t miss a beat and kissed you back softly.

“Yes.” you said when you pulled back.

“Yes?” he repeated. Eyes searching your face, “Tell me what you are saying yes to, sweetie.” his grip on you got a little tighter.

“I want to marry you.” you smiled brightly, “And I want to start a family with you.”

A small breath of relief left him and he rested his forehead against yours. “You had better mean that.”

“I do.”

“Perfect.” he closed the distance to kiss you. You melted into his embrace as he kissed you over and over. The moment you ran out of breath and pulled back to breathe he was pulling you in again. Your knees were losing their ability to keep you standing and Sylus placed his hands on your ass and hauled you off the ground, wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Care to start trying now?” he asked. You were still standing in the living room but he was waiting to point you towards the bedroom.

“You want to start right now?” you asked, breathless.

“Why not?”

Maybe it was the emotion of the afternoon or maybe you were hormonal but you ended up nodding. “Okay.”

He started turning towards the bedroom. “Say it, sweetie. What do you want?”

Your face heated again. “I want to start a family with you. I want you to put a baby in me, Sylus. And I want to do it now.”

He carried you back to the bedroom and laid you down on the bed. Considering everything you knew about Sylus and past experience in the bedroom you expected something hard and feral. You had just told him to put a baby in you. You thought that he was going to tear your clothes off and bend you into a mating press for the rest of the night. You were surprised when he stepped back and slowly started peeling out of his clothes.

You started to take off your own clothes but Sylus stopped you. “Let me do that, sweetie.” he pulled the shirt off over your head. You watched as he carefully helped strip you out of your clothes, pressing small kisses to each new inch of skin that was revealed.

“You’re so beautiful.” he whispered, staring at your naked form. “I can’t wait to see you pregnant. Can’t wait to see you swell up with our kid.” he ran a hand along your stomach. “You have no idea how happy you’ve made me today, sweetie. Happiest I’ve ever been in my life.”

“Sylus…” you reached out to cup his face. “I love you. I love you so much.”

He bent closer to kiss you again. “I love you too.”

While maintaining the kiss his hand slid between your legs and started playing with your pussy. He teased your clit, rubbing it in slow circles. He swallowed your moans the moment they left your lips. Instinctually your hips moved up into his touch. He used the heel of his hand to hold your hips down.

“Stay slow, kitten. I want to savor this.” he murmured against your lips.

He pushed a finger into your heat, drawing more sweet moans out of you as he began to help stretch and prepare your body.

Knowing that you were currently having sex with the intention of getting pregnant was surreal. It felt like any other encounter you had but pleasure was not the only goal. You were going to create a life together. A whole new person, one made up of a little of you and a little of him was going to be in the world. And then you just had that new person for the rest of your lives. You’d be parents. You were going to be in charge of raising a kid.

How was raising a kid even going to work with your lives? Sylus was the leader of Onychinus and lived in the N109 zone. He wasn’t going to leave but you also didn’t want your kid to be deprived of Linkon blue skies and a normal life. There was so much more for you to think about that you hadn’t considered.

“I would love to know where your mind has gone when I have a hand between your legs, kitten.” Sylus said, breaking you out of your thoughts.

“Sorry. I was just thinking about how we are going to raise this kid once they’re born.” you said.

“We haven’t even attempted to get you pregnant and you’re worrying about that already?” Sylus scoffed. “At least I know you’re not thinking of backing out if you’re thinking about all of that.”

“I can’t help it. I want our kid to have the best life but also a normal one. Do you think they can have that in the N109 zone?” you asked.

“For our child, I’ll make anything possible.” he cupped your cheek. “Now, do you want to start?”

You nodded. “Yes. Please.”

Sylus smiled and kissed you again. He withdrew his hand and lined himself up with your pussy before slowly pushing in. Twin breaths of satisfaction left you as he sunk in. He stayed close to you, his body pressed on top of yours as his hips rolled against yours. It was such an even and steady unhurried pace. You couldn’t believe it took you till now to realize that he wasn’t just having sex with the intention of getting you pregnant, he was making love to you.

He wanted this first act of you two coming together to make a baby to be done with love, not just lust. No matter what interaction past this got you pregnant, this was your first honest attempt and it was done with nothing short of unending love and adoration.

“Can’t wait to get you pregnant,” Sylus panted as he steadily drove into you. “I’m going to lock us away and fuck you every day until I know you’re knocked up. Fuck, I want to put a baby in you. I want to knock you up so damn bad, kitten.” his pace got a little faster as the need for release drew closer.

“Sylus! Please!” your nails scratched into his back. “I want you to. I want you to knock me up. Please!”

“Fuck kitten!” he groaned, biting into your shoulder. “You’re gonna be so damn pretty all big with my kid. Gonna fuck a baby into you and then I’m gonna put another one in you and another. I want to have as many babies with you as I can get!”

Good god above. How many kids did this man expect you to pop out?

“You’re gonna be such a good mom to our kids.” he lathered hot wet kisses along your throat. “And I’m gonna make you my wife. Our whole lives are ahead of us, and we’re gonna spend them together just like this. Happy, in love, and fucking each other senseless.”

“Yes! Please Sylus! I want it! I want it all!” your legs were locked tight around his hips, wanting to keep him as close to you as humanly possible.

“Come for me, sweetie. I want you to come when I get you pregnant.” he pressed a finger to your clit, rubbing it furiously to help get you there.

“Sylus!” you moaned, nails digging into his back as you came. Blinding little white dots danced before your vision as you came. A buzzing warmth vibrated from the tips of your toes to the ends of your hair. Sylus gave one final thrust into you and stilled as he came inside you, breathing heavily and moaning your name.

You loosened your grip on him and rubbed your hands along his back. “Sylus…” your head was foggy in the aftermath.

“Right here, sweetie.” he pressed a kiss to your temple. “How do you feel?”

You smiled, pulling him down for a proper kiss. “Amazing. I think we actually made a baby today.”

“I hope so.” he touched your stomach. “But, it can never hurt to be thorough.”

“You are insatiable.” you rolled your eyes.

“Only because it is you, beloved.” He pulled out and laid down next to you, one of his hands still resting on your stomach. “I already can’t wait to meet our little one.”

~~~

The next month was filled with nothing but you and Sylus having sex so you could get pregnant. It didn’t really matter that you were sure you had gotten pregnant that first day you started trying, Sylus wanted to make sure your pregnancy was a certainty. He also loved the excuse of locking you up all for himself.

You hadn’t told anyone about your plans yet. No one outside of you and Sylus even knew that you were trying to have a kid. Except maybe Luke and Keiran but that was because Sylus had already set them on the task of baby proofing the mansion. He never said baby proof but suddenly telling the twins to do stuff like sand down table edges to not be sharp and put covers on unused electric outlets was a bit of a tip off.

After a month of constant sex though you decided to go out and buy a pregnancy test. You weren’t feeling any symptoms yet but you were too impatient to find out if it had happened yet or not. You had bought an assortment and took them home. After a long time in the bathroom and what felt like an even longer wait you had the results.

Positive. All of the tests in their own way said the same thing. You were pregnant.

You were pregnant!

Oh god you were pregnant. It was actually happening. It wasn’t just a fun little roleplay in the bedroom. It was real. There was an actual life growing inside of you.

You immediately grabbed your phone to tell Sylus then put it away. This was an in-person announcement. You sped over to the N109 zone as fast as you could and pulled up to the mansion. You knew at this early an hour Sylus would still be asleep but you couldn’t wait.

Luke and Kieran were in the living room moving a bunch of breakable objects to higher shelves. “Hey there, what are you doing here so early? Boss man is still asleep.” they said.

“I know but I have something important to tell him.”

“Oh thank god,” Luke sighed, “Does this mean we can hang out here when you both are here again? We don’t have to keep ourselves busy outside while you’re going at it?”

“I knew you two knew what was going on.”

“It was fairly obvious. Do you think boss man would be having us redecorate like this just for the fun of it?” Kieran said. “Congratulations though.”

“Thanks. But remember, if Sylus asks you two don’t know a damn thing. I told him first, got it?”

“Yes ma’am.” they gave little salutes and you skipped down the hall to Sylus’s room.

You opened his door and found him asleep as the twins had said. There was too much excitement in your body. You closed the door behind you and sprinted for the bed, throwing yourself across Sylus’s lap. He woke with a start, automatically grabbing you before realizing that it was you and not any kind of threat. He let out a sigh and rested his head back against the headboard.

“Sweetie, I was sleeping.”

“I know. But I figured you would want to know that I was pregnant as soon as possible.”

His eyes snapped open again, staring at you. “Repeat that for me.”

“I’m pregnant. I took a bunch of tests and they all came up positive.” you took his hand and placed it over your stomach. “We’re having a baby.”

He rolled you under him and kissed you then pulled up your shirt and kissed your stomach. “Sylus!” you laughed, his kiss tickling you slightly.

“It’s actually happening,” he murmured, resting his head on your stomach. “We’re actually going to have a child in a few months.”

“Yep.” you ran your hands through his hair. “I’m a little scared but mostly excited.”

“I cannot wait to meet you, little one.” he spoke to your stomach. “Don’t worry, you have a wonderful mama who’s going to make sure you grow into a healthy baby and daddy is going to be here to make sure she has anything she wants.”

“Anything I want? Really?”

“You’re doing something incredible. Of course I would do anything for you.” he looked up at you. “I just have one favor to ask in return.”

“A bigger favor than grow an entire human?”

“Move in.” he said. “I don’t want to miss a moment of this. Move in with me, please.”

“But what about all my stuff and my apartment? I can’t just break my lease.”

“I’ll take care of your apartment and we have more than enough room for all of your stuff.” Sylus assured you. “What do you say?”

“I mean, it had to happen sometime.” you shrugged with a smile.

And so you moved in with Sylus. He sent the twins to your house to pack up and move your things out. It was strange to just pick up and move but it was also strange to just in an instant decide you were going to become a wife and mother with the leader of Onychinus as your husband and father of your child.

Moving in when you did turned out to be a good move because soon after everything had been moved over the pregnancy symptoms started up in earnest. You were tired, your boobs hurt, you learned morning sickness was something that hit at every hour of the damn day and not just mornings as the name suggested. In a word, it was miserable.

Thankfully Sylus was very attentive to your needs, rubbing your back and making sure you had water to drink after you threw up, making sure you wouldn’t be disturbed whenever you needed a nap, and massaging the aches out of your body. He had told you to go on maternity leave but considering you were only in the first trimester of your pregnancy you didn’t see the need to take off of work just yet. However, you did need to let them know that you were now expecting.

That brought on a lot of questions from your co-workers as to how far along you were and who the father was. At this point everyone kind of knew that you had something going on with Sylus, or they knew him as “Skye” the fruit seller. Some were shocked but others were excited and looked forward to being able to throw you a baby shower.

It was a lot going on. Your body was changing, you moved, everyone at work was looking at you differently now, it felt like a lot to navigate and the stress was tarting to get to you. One day you had called off of work because you were just too damn tired to do anything. Your body ached all over, you woke up crying because you missed hearing birds in the morning, Sylus’s shampoo smell was making you gag, and you had a sudden craving for the most artery clogging cheesy corn dogs you could find.

You were lying in bed, curled in a tight ball quietly sniffling. Sylus had tried to comfort you but you snapped at him and now he was gone. You missed him even if he smelled bad. You wanted him back. You rolled to your other side and stared at the bedroom door. “Sylus?” you called out. “Are you out there?”

The door opened but you were disappointed to see the twins and not Sylus. “Hi, boss man stepped out a while ago to pick something up. He’ll be back soon.”

“He didn’t tell me he was leaving.” you muttered, fresh tears brimming in your eyes. “Why didn’t he tell me? He always tells me when he needs to go.”

“Uh…” the twins looked at each other, not knowing what to do. “Can we get you anything? Boss man told us to get you anything you needed.”

“I want Sylus.” you shimmied under the covers, hiding yourself from view so they couldn’t see you break down.

You could still hear the twins outside talking. “You have to call him.”

“Me? Why do I have to be the one to call him and tell him his baby mama is having an emotional breakdown cause he left?”

“You think I want to do that?”

“Rock paper scissors for it.”

“No. Just call him.”

“You call him!”

“Both of you get the fuck out!” you snapped from under the covers.

“Sorry!” they shut the door and disappeared. You felt a little peck at your head and groaned, rolling away from Mephisto. You had forgotten that damn bird was still here. He landed on your shoulder and pecked you again.

“Go away! Leave me alone!” you tried to swat him away.

“He’s just trying to get your attention, sweetie.” You heard Sylus’s voice. You bolted upright, scaring Mephisto off of you. You looked around but saw no sign of Sylus. That’s when you realized his voice was coming out of Mephisto.

“Mephisto can take calls now?”

“Think of him more like a baby monitor.” Sylus said. “He alerted me that you weren’t doing well and wanted me home. Don’t worry, I’m pulling back up to the house now.”

“Where did you go?”

“I went to pick up some food for my tired and hungry girlfriend.” he said. “Be with you in a second.”

You waited a minute and sure enough Sylus walked in with a large take out bag in his hands. It smelled heavenly. “Miss me?”

You nodded, holding out your arms. He set the food down and collected you in a hug. “Sorry I didn’t mention I was leaving. You didn’t seem keen to see me and I thought I’d be back before you wanted me again.”

“I was fine…” you muttered, embarrassed by how needy you were being.

“It’s fine that you weren’t. I like that you want me around.” he kissed the top of your head. “Do you still want cheesy corn dogs? I bought a lot from that one food truck you love.”

“Oh my god, yes!” you were salivating already.

Sylus handed you the bag full of hot and fresh cheesy corn dogs. You scarfed down three in record time, the cheese and carbs hitting in a way that made you moan as you ate. “Can I eat just these for the rest of my life?”

“Oh, I think you may end up craving something new in a week so we’ll see how long it lasts. But for now you can have whatever it is you want.”

You wiped some of the grease from your mouth. “I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier.”

“It’s alright.” he bent his head closer. “Is this a better shampoo? I showered again to wash it out.”

“You didn’t need to do that.”

“You didn’t like the smell of the last one so I got unscented shampoo and used that instead. I also put in an order for some birds that we can keep nearby so you can hear them sing in the mornings like you’re used to.”

“Oh my god, Sylus.” you rolled your eyes. “You didn’t need to buy an entire aviary of birds. You could have just put bird songs as an alarm or something. Buying actual birds to keep in the house is crazy.”

“I like to think they can also keep Mephisto company.” Sylus shrugged. “The house could use some more cheer anyway.”

“My collection of plushies didn’t already do that?”

“This is your home now as well as mine. Whatever you want it to be, we will have it made. Gut the entire house and remake it as your own if you wish. I’ll only ask that I keep the vault as it is now.”

“I’m not gonna gut the entire house.” you leaned against him. “Well, maybe one room. We still need to figure out where we’re going to put the nursery.”

“Ah, I’ve actually already thought of that.” he stood up. “Care to come take a look?”

You took his hand and he led you a little bit down the hall. One of the rooms that you knew had just been a guest room had been cleared out of everything and the walls repainted to a blank white. “I was waiting for you to mention the nursery so you could pick out whatever furniture you wanted to decorate it with. I also didn’t know if you wanted to wait until we knew the gender to go shopping so I’ve been putting it off. But we have this room and it’s not too far from us so we’ll always be close by when they need tending.”

You looked around the blank room, “It’s perfect.”

Soon enough it was time for your first ultrasound. You were excited and a little nervous. This was the first time you were going to actually see your baby. And despite Sylus saying that the doctor’s in the N109 zone were just as good as any Linkon doctor you insisted on going to Linkon for your appointments.

You laid back on the exam bed and rolled up your shirt to expose your stomach. At this point in your pregnancy they said you’d be able to see the baby, hear their heartbeat, but gender would still be a few weeks away. The cold jelly was applied and the technician moved the wand around for a moment before finding the baby.

“And there they are.” the technician turned the screen to you to see. On the screen was a blurry little blob in the shape of a bean. Your baby.

You gripped Sylus’s hand tighter, tears gathering in your eyes. “That’s our baby.” you said breathlessly. “Oh wow, there really is a baby in there.”

“Yes there is.” the technician laughed. “Feels a lot more real now, huh?”

“Yeah.” you let Sylus wipe the tears from your eyes. “Oh wow. I didn’t think I’d get this emotional.”

“It’s perfectly normal, especially for first time moms.” the technician said. “How are we feeling, dad?”

“They’re perfect.” Sylus said.

“About as perfectly healthy as an eight week old bean could be--oh.” the technician paused and moved the wand around some more. “Well then, hello to you too.”

“What? What is it?” you asked.

“Your baby has a roommate in there.” the technician pointed out on the screen. “Baby one, and just over here, baby two.”

“Baby two?” your mouth dropped open. “I’m having twins?”

“Looks like it. Congratulations! Since you are carrying twins there are some more details to go over for multiple fetus pregnancies.”

“Uh huh…” you turned to Sylus. “Twins. We’re having twins.”

Sylus’s smile threatened to split his face in half. “This is amazing.”

“Of course you’re excited, you don’t have to push out two babies at once.” you continued to stare at the screen. “Oh my god.”

After the initial shock wore off the technician found the heartbeat for you and that was when the emotions of the day started to bubble over. You started sobbing hearing those steady little thumps over the monitor. Two strong healthy heartbeats for two tiny little beans. When you looked over at Sylus you saw that he was crying too. You hadn’t expected him to get so emotional over this as well but it was comforting in a way. He was just as excited for this as you, probably more excited honestly.

You got your due date from the doctor and your follow up appointment made and a copy of the ultrasound picture before leaving. In about seven more months you were going to have not one but two babies. Sylus was over the moon. The second you returned home he had put the pictures in a scrapbook he had bought to catalog your pregnancy and happily announced to the twins that they were not going to be the only twins in your life anymore. Luke and Keiran were ecstatic hearing the news that you were having twins and gave you huge hugs.

Time kept moving ever forward and you were growing larger and larger as the babies grew with you. You were officially into the second trimester and you looked it. Carrying twins made what would have already been a big pregnancy belly even bigger. It was also at this time that you learned what exactly you were carrying. You had debated keeping the gender of the babies a surprise but knew you were too impatient for that.

Girls. You were carrying twin baby girls.

“Guess you really are getting a mini-me, huh?” you said when the doctor announced the gender to you.

“Not just a mini-you. A pair of mini-yous.” Sylus said, his smile brighter than the sun as he stared at the screen. “What was it you had said a couple months ago at the arcade? ‘Two little cuties together are definitely twice as adorable.’ I believe it was.”

“Yeah, I think that was it.” you sighed. “I didn’t think when I said that it would lead to us actually having two little cuties though.”

“Winning that plushie was the best thing that could have happened that day. It led to all this.” he kissed you soundly. “

Sylus had already been a little over protective of you when you were just carrying one baby but now that he knew you were growing twins he was getting to be a little overbearing. He wanted you to rest as much as you could and to just focus on growing the twins but you were getting bored just sitting around all day.

Eventually you were able to convince Sylus to let you go out shopping for furniture for the nursery. He was more than happy to take you to the most expensive baby store in the city and told you to ignore price on everything and just get whatever you wanted. You rolled your eyes but didn’t try to fight him on it. You wanted the best for your babies after all. You certainly weren’t going to say no to a very nice but stupidly expensive recliner to put in the nursery either. You had a feeling you were going to be in it a lot and you wanted it to be as comfy as possible.

It was as you were looking at cradles, debating whether to get connecting ones for the twins or not that you felt something in your stomach. It was strange and you weren’t sure what you felt until it happened again. It was little and fluttery and you realized with a start that the babies were moving! You could feel them moving!

You paused, a hand over your swollen stomach as you let yourself focus on the fluttering inside.

Sylus noticed you stop and immediately concern etched into his face. “Something wrong? Are you feeling sick? Do we need to go home?”

“No. Nothing’s wrong.” you assured him with an easy smile. “I just felt the babies move for the first time and it caught me off guard.”

“They’re moving?” Sylus gasped, touching a hand to your stomach.

“I don’t know if you can feel them from the outside yet.” you told him. “But they are definitely kicking around a lot in there from what I can feel. It feels really fluttery, like I have actual butterflies in my tummy.”

“Our little butterflies growing in their cocoon.” he said, rubbing your stomach affectionately. “Make sure you grow even stronger girls, daddy wants to be able to feel you kick too.”

“Not too strong, I don’t want them bruising my insides or each other.”

“A little sibling rivalry is good but yes, keep in mind not to hurt your mother when you move around my little butterflies.” he said.

You smiled, your eye catching a spinning mobile. The charms on the mobile were colorful butterflies that spun around while a soft lullaby played. “I think I have an idea on what kind of theme to make the nursery now.”

By the end of the week Sylus had the nursery walls painted to resemble a beautiful flowering garden. The furniture you had picked out was being assembled by the twins and arranged around the room per your instructions. You had even gotten the ceiling painted to resemble a brilliant blue sky with fluffy white clouds in various fun shapes. It didn’t matter if the N109 zone wasn’t like Linkon, your kids could have a beautiful blue sky and garden from the comfort of their room.

It was all coming together so perfectly. With each passing day the house was looking more like a home safe for babies to crawl around in and you were one day closer to being parents.

You were lying in beed one evening as you entered your third trimester. Sylus was next to you talking to the twins since they decided to stay awake all evening and not let you get any sleep. Seems they were taking after their father’s nocturnal habits.

“And remember girls, your mother is going to say that I can’t sing but you need to know that she is wrong. I am a perfectly capable singer and she’s just jealous, that’s why she doesn’t take me out to karaoke anymore.”

“Don’t listen to him girls, he is actually tone deaf.”

“Stop contradicting me in front of the children.”

“Stop lying to them then.”

“I’m not lying.”

“You are tone deaf though. It’s actually kind of amazing.”

Sylus frowned, whisper conspiratorially with your stomach. “I’m going to let her think she’s won but in truth you two know the truth. Daddy can sing.”

You gave Sylus a nudge with your foot. “Be glad it takes too much energy to sit up so I can’t properly chastise you.”

“If it keeps you here in bed where I know I can keep an eye on you and the kids then I will plenty glad of it.” Sylus scooted back up the bed next to you. “Getting close now, how are you feeling?”

“I’m feeling like I’m about ready to pop. I think if I plug my nose and you blow into my mouth the girls will just pop out of me. Can we test it?”

“I think it’s best to let them pass organically but I can accommodate part of your request.” he leaned forward and kissed you.

“Sylus, can I ask you something?”

“Anything?”

“If my body doesn’t snap back to what it was like from before the twins, will you still think I’m beautiful?”

His brow furrowed. “How dare you think I would think you were less beautiful for anything. I don’t care what your body looks like, kitten. Right now you are the most beautiful I have ever seen you. Your body is swollen with our children. You practically glow from the inside out. And after you have the kids you will still be the most gorgeous woman in all of creation. Never doubt that. In fact,” he whistled to Mephisto and the mechanical bird flew off to grab something out of a drawer and came back to deposit it in Sylus’s hand. “I think now is the perfect time to give you this.”

He held out a small velvet box to you. You opened it to find the most beautiful ring you had ever seen inside. “Is this…?”

“I meant what I said, beloved. You are the most beautiful and amazing woman that has ever been. You fill every day of my life with joy and light and music. From the moment I met you I knew that I wanted you to not only be my wife but the mother of my children. Now that our kids are nearly born I think it is about time I make this official as well.” he took the ring out, “Will you marry me and be my wife?”

“Yes. Of course I will!” you nodded, tears in your eyes.

He slipped the ring on your finger and kissed you again. “You make me the happiest I have ever been every single day.” he murmured against your lips. “After the girls are born we can start wedding planning?”

“You don’t want to get married before they come?” you asked.

“We can, but I’d like it if we could have them in the wedding pictures. Not that I wouldn’t love to see you as a pregnant bride but I think having them dressed as little flower girls would be far cuter. What do you think?”

“I think I like that idea.” you looked down at your stomach. “Hear that girls? After you’re born you get to be flower girls in mommy and daddy’s wedding.”

The girls had finally stopped kicking around for the night so you didn’t get any kind of answer back. But at least you could go to bed now. You looked at the ring on your finger and looked back at Sylus. “I love you, my fiance.”

“Fiance,” he tested the word on his tongue, “I like the sound of that. And in a couple months after the girls are born and we’ve had time to settle into parent life I’ll be able to call you wife.”

“Fiance. Wife. Mother. I’m collecting a lot of new names.”

“That reminds me,” Sylus said, “We still haven’t talked about what we are going to name the twins.”

“Oh fucking hell…”

~~~

Sylus was away. He had a business deal that he needed to go see and no matter how much he tried to get them to do it remotely the seller refused adamantly that it could only be done in person. This was a problem for Sylus in many ways, the first and biggest being that you were now three days past your due date and he was very anxious about being apart from you.

He was about to cancel the whole thing but you had assured him that if the twins hadn’t popped out already the chances they were going to come during the twenty four hours he wasn’t home wasn’t going to happen. So with much nagging from your part, and a little honesty about needing some time alone to relax without his hovering, he left.

That was the first mistake. The second mistake was deciding to take a trip over to Linkon without anyone there to assist you. You were in the supermarket looking at snacks when you felt a powerful and painful cramp that made you drop the bag of chips you were holding.

“Oh no. Oh no no no no no no no no no!” Was that a contraction? Please no! You couldn’t go into labor while Sylus was gone!

Maybe it was just Braxton Hicks contractions. There was no way the babies were coming right after you assured Sylus that there was no way it was going to happen while he was gone. No way!

You tried to bend over and pick up the chips but your belly wouldn’t let you so you just kinda left them there on the ground and grabbed a fresh bag from the shelf. You were standing in the checkout line when another contraction hit, just as intense as the last. Shit!

“Ma’am, are you alright?” the friendly cashier asked.

“Oh, I’m fine. I think.” you breathed through the pain. “But I may be having contractions.”

“Oh dear, do you need us to call an ambulance?”

“No. No, I’m sure it’s fine. Thank you though.” you grabbed your groceries and took them out to the car.

You sat down inside the car and cursed. These were not Braxton Hicks. They were too powerful to be fake. You were actually going into labor. You were going to give birth today. And Sylus wasn’t fucking here!

“Oh he is going to kill me.” you started the car. You were only a short distance from the hospital so it didn’t make sense to call for an ambulance or anything like that.

As you were driving over you got another contraction. The time between them felt like they got a lot shorter. You cursed and hit the call button on the car. “Call Sylus.” you said.

There was a single ring before Sylus picked up. “Hello sweetie, what are--”

“The babies are coming.” you cut him off.

“Are you serious?” his light tone immediately sobered up.

“Yes. I started having contractions and I’m on my way to the hospital now.”

“Okay. I’m leaving now I’ll be there as soon as possible.” you heard someone in the background say something followed by a single gun shot. “Tell Luke and Kieran to get you there safely and--”

“Actually I’m driving myself. I left Luke and Keiran back at the mansion.” you winced.

“You--” he sighed. “Right. Fine. Be careful. I’ll be there soon. Try not to give birth until I get there.”

“I’ll do my best. Sorry for making you leave. If I hadn’t insisted--”

“You thought you had more time before the babies were coming. It’s alright, kitten. I’ll see you soon, I love you.”

“Love you too.” you hung up as you pulled into the hospital.

You were immediately taken back to a room and changed into a hospital gown. Thankfully the doctor said that you were still a ways off from being ready to deliver so Sylus had time to get over but it didn’t make the experience any less frustrating. You were in pain, you were alone, and you were also really hungry but the doctor said you couldn’t have anything other than like ice chips since you were birthing twins.

You were laid up in bed, your water had broken an hour ago and your body was getting steadily closer to being ready to deliver. The doctor had just checked how far you were dilated and you were still not at the ten centimeters you needed to be but you were getting close.

“Girls, you gotta listen to mommy.” you told your stomach, “You have to wait until your dad gets here to come out, alright? Please just hold on until your dad gets here. Please. He’ll be heartbroken if he misses this.”

Just as you were saying that the door to your room burst open and Sylus scanned the room before his eyes landed on you. “It hasn’t happened yet, has it? I didn’t miss it.” he asked.

“No. You’re just in time.” relieved tears started streaming down your face. Sylus came up and kissed you.

“Sorry for taking so long, I got here as fast as I could. Are you alright?”

“Outside of the fact that my body is preparing to push two babies out of my vagina, I’m doing pretty good now that you’re here.” you pressed your sweaty face to his arm. “Can you clean up first though? You’re kinda covered in blood.”

“Shit.” he cursed and went to the bathroom to wash the spatter of blood off of him.

The labor was long and painful but with Sylus by your side it made the pain bearable. You were glad he was so strong considering anyone lesser may have had their hand broken by how hard you were squeezing. It was the greatest joy and relief when the screams of babies filled the air in the delivery room.

“And there they are, two perfectly healthy baby girls.” the doctor and nurses wiped them off and Sylus cut the umbilical cords. Once the babies were clean they handed them off to you. Their cries quieted down in your arms.

“Hi babies,” you sniffed, trying to catch your breath. “You are the most precious things in all of creation.”

“They are absolutely perfect.” Sylus stroked one of their downy heads. Tears were falling from his eyes. You rarely ever saw Sylus cry but the birth of your daughters was a more than worthwhile excuse to let go. You yourself had been crying since you started pushing.

“The new little loves of my life,” Sylus said, bending closer to kiss the babies and you on top of your heads. “You will want for nothing.”

“Don’t go spoiling them rotten already, they literally just came out of me.”

“I can’t help it. They are my little princesses, they deserve to be treated as such.” he turned to you, “And you did such a good job, sweetie. How are you feeling?”

“Exhausted, but happy.” you nuzzled your face against one of the twin’s heads. “We’re parents now.”

“That we are. Now we can plan the wedding and get started on having even more kids.”

“For goodness sake, the babies aren’t even an hour old yet and you’re already talking about pumping me full of more? Give me some time to breathe at least.”

“Right. I know.” he sighed, taking one of the twins into his arms. “This has been the best day of my life and all I want is for it to keep going on forever.”

“But now the best part comes, taking them home.”

~~~

The first couple of weeks were the most chaotic with the new babies in the house. The day you brought them home you introduced them to Luke and Kieran who started bawling over them. It was actually really sweet. Sylus had even introduced Mephisto to the babies.

“These two are your number one priority from now on, Mephisto.” he had told the bird. “Watch them like a hawk.”

Mephisto squawked indignantly at being compared to another bird but followed diligently when you took the twins back to the nursery.

One evening you woke up in the middle of the night. Ever since the twins had been born your sleep schedule had been messed up and getting through the entire night in one go was hard. You sat up and noticed that Sylus wasn’t in bed. That wasn’t so strange since he did a lot of business at night but he had said he was refraining from deals and auctions until the babies were a bit older.

So where was he?

You got up and shuffled down the hall. Sure enough, he was in the nursery laid back in the recliner, both the babies fast asleep on his chest.

You waved at him and he gave a small nod of his head to show he saw you. You crept closer, careful not to make any noise. “Were they fussing?” you whispered as quietly as you could, not wanting to wake the girls.

“A little.” he whispered back. “But I sang them a lullaby and they went right back to sleep.”

The fact that Sylus’s tone deaf lullabies actually worked to soothe the girls back to sleep was baffling and infuriating. “You need some help getting them back in the crib?”

“No. They’re fine just like this. I’ll move them back to the crib when I’m sure they’re not going to wake up again.” he said.

“Meaning you just want to stay cuddling with them.”

“Also yes.”

“Well, I’m going to go abc to bed. Don’t stay in here all night, okay?”

“I won’t.” he said but you knew it was a lie. He’d move in here just to be that much closer to them every hour of the day.

~~~

As time passed and the twins grew life evened out. There were many late nights soothing their cries and days spent changing dirty diapers and teaching them how to sit up and crawl. Sylus spent as much time with them as he possibly could. It almost made you jealous seeing how absolutely obsessed he was with your daughters. But seeing him taking care of and playing with them only made your heart swell with affection. He was such a good dad.

Right now Sylus wasn’t around though. Right now, the girls sat with you in your bridal suite, dressed in their little flower girl dresses while you got dressed in your wedding gown.

“So, girls, how do I look?” you turned to the twins who burbled and tugged on their little tulle skirts. “Lyra, Opal, please. Can you look at mommy?” Typical of six month old babies, they continued to ignore you.

“Alright, time for first look with daddy. You girls ready?” you asked the twins. They kinda just looked around, not really understanding anything you were saying but they weren’t fussing or crying so you took it as a win. “Great! Let’s go show him how pretty we all look.”

You placed the twins in the little wagon that had been decorated to match the wedding decor and pulled them behind you out of the suite.

The photographer was going to do your first look first and then bring in the girls. You saw Sylus at the end of the hallway, haloed by afternoon light and wearing a crisp handsome suit. His hands were behind his back, fidgeting slightly as he waited. You could see him tense up when he heard you approaching.

You deliberately slowed your steps just to tease him a little more before tapping his shoulder. He turned around, tears already misting his eyes as he took you in. “You look…breathtaking. I actually get to marry this angelic woman?”

“You look very handsome as well. The suit is crisp.” you smoothed out his tie.

“Can I kiss you or would that ruin your makeup?”

“If it smudges I’ll fix it.” you wrapped your arms around him as he kissed you passionately. You pulled back with wide matching smiles. “You want to see the girls?”

“Yes. Where are our little princesses?” his eyes lighted even more.

You turned around and motioned for the staff to wheel your babies over. “Oh there are the rest of my girls.” Sylus said, stooping down and hoisting either child on his hips. “You look so pretty in your little dresses. My precious little flowers.”

“Look at the little booties they have on. Isn’t that the most precious thing you’ve ever seen?” you wiggled one of their feet to their tiny sparkly shoes.

“They look every bit as beautiful and perfect as their mother.” he kissed both their heads. “To think, that after today I not only get to wake up to these two every morning but next to my wife as well.”

You stood there, watching your soon to be husband coo and fawn over your daughters as they giggled and tugged on their father’s expensive new suit. This was everything you had ever dreamt of having. It wasn’t a dream though. It was real. This beautiful life you were living was all yours. You glanced down in the wagon and saw a pair of hearts plushie that you had won at a claw machine over a year ago nestled inside. It had been wore down by the twins in recent months but seeing it, even with its stains and slightly misshapen stuffing filled you with joy.

You looked back at Sylus and the girls. Even all this time later you could remember what brought on this beautiful life. Two little cuties together are definitely twice as adorable. And you knew it was true.

“Ready to go get married?” you asked Sylus, taking one of the girls from him.

He smiled, taking your free hand. “As ready as I have ever been.”

[cleoselene]

don't doomscroll, DO SOMETHING. Don't complain, TAKE ACTION. here are things you can do:

call your Congresspeople. If you are living in a Democratic district, this is so easy! Tell them how YOU want them to fight! Don't just sit back and complain that "Dems in congress aren't doing what I want." CALL THEM AND TELL THEM WHAT YOU WANT. EMAIL THEM. And be nice about it, lead with the illusion that you trust them to do the right thing. "I know you don't really want this to happen, you're a good person!" methodology.

If your reps are like mine and horrible horrible monsters like Byron Donalds, then you have to make your phone calls differently. You gotta strategize these. There are two ways to do this: 1) be incredibly angry and aggressive, but filibuster about it. Don't give them any ability to get off the phone. Don't curse or insult, just properly outraged. The key here is to WASTE THEIR TIME. I spend about 45 minutes on the phone with one of Rick Scott's people once. The other way, i think is more effective, but this is better than nothing. The other way, 2) is to frame the specific issue you're calling about from the most conservative angle possible. If you're calling to support Ukraine, cry about how your daddy fought in 'Nam to stomp out communism, now you want to let a KGB guy like Putin bring back the Soviet Union? Act super fucking scared of communism. Say the words "KGB" and Putin together over and over. Talk about how America doesn't roll over for Russia, not now, not ever. This is just an example of a particular issue, but it can apply to any. My mom calls it the "sandwich technique." Lead with a compliment, then say what you really mean, and end with a compliment. People get tricked into changing their minds.

I realize this is tumblr so if you are really really that phone-phobic, apply this to email. But really, this is worth making the call for. The call cannot be fully ignored. An email can.

Join the class action lawsuit against the government for Breach of Privacy if you have Social Security or Medicare, and tell people you know who do to join it.

get involved at the local level. Agitate at city council. hell, RUN for city council. I promise you that no matter how unqualified you think you are, less qualified people have run and won. There was a town that had a golden retriever as its mayor for a while. You have to start thinking locally. You have to start doing things ALL THE TIME, not just every 2-4 years. This isn't just voting, but making your voice heard. That tumblr post about ten people showing up at a council meeting being able to change thing significantly? True. "But I live in a red area!" yeah, so do I, and that makes it even more important, since they're doing shit like banning books in schools here.

Run for office!! I just said that, but seriously, run for office!! AOC was a bartender before she got where she is now!! If I were not completely disabled, I'd do it. If you don't feel like it's for you, think of the people in your life who are capable who might be persuaded!

Focus on the real enemy. It's Republicans. It's not Democrats. Like I said, if you're unhappy with the way your Democratic rep is doing things, TELL THEM. Sitting outside the party and criticizing accomplishes nothing, it only weakens our only opposition party in this country. If you want to talk about third parties, MAKE ONE THAT'S VIABLE. But realize that will probably be decades of work. Stop complaining and start doing, start reaching out to the people who at the moment have some ability to do things and influence THEM. You can say a lot of things on the internet and expect to change the world, but you won't. (Yes, I realize the ridiculousness of me posting this on the internet, but I will be doing things, too, not just shouting into this void)

[organic-bloodbath]

hello! could I request literally anything w chishiya x pregnant!reader? maybe how he (and the rest of the group) would take care of reader during and in between games? thank you sm!

Child of Hearts

Chishiya x Pregnant!Reader

Summary: Chishiya takes care of you after you two have been separated from the rest of your friends.

A/N: Please request me more Chishiya i need this man so bad. I hope this is alright 🫶🏻 (mind you, i have never been pregnant myself so i might not know what the hell i'm talking about)

♤♡♧◇

Running away from a man shooting every person in sight with a huge rifle was a big challenge when you were 7 months pregnant. You didn't know what the gun was called, but when the bullet hit its target, it would basically cut your body in half. Hiding behind a car would be useless, as the car would be in pieces as well.

Running fast enough was already difficult, almost impossible, but your heavy stomach, bearing another human being, was making it a lot harder. It didn't take long to be out of breath and your legs were going to betray you any moment. Chishiya's hand was pulling you forward and you could barely keep up. He would soon have to drag your body against the ground, and then you'd both be dead.

This was it. You had played several games, somehow been able to beat them all with the help of your friends, which was a miracle itself. Especially without Arisu, Usagi, Kuina and Chishiya you would have died ages ago.

Before your pregnancy, you had been quite a fast runner and could run fast for a long period of time. Now? The total opposite.

Finally, you could sit down on the ground, leaning against a car. You had to only hope that the shooter had passed you and wasn't going to blow it up.

"You doing okay?" Chishiya looked at you with concern when you closed your eyes and threw your head back, breathing loudly.

"Yeah, yeah, i'm fine," you nodded, barely being able to talk. "Just can't run anymore."

Seeing a massive airship floating in the sky almost right above you, a large playing card hanging from it, you finally came into a conclusion what was going on.

"Well, he must be the King of Spades," Chishiya said next to you, leaning against the car.

Absolutely amazing - now the entire Tokyo was a game arena?

The shooting had stopped for a moment, but the shooter – or more specifically the King, should you call him – could come out from any corner at any second, surprising you completely.

Ann arrived with a car, telling all of you to hop in. However, Chishiya was left behind, because of a grenade that had been thrown between him and the car.

As were you with him.

♤♡♧◇

The others were gone now, driven away with the car. You and Chishiya were left alone to find a way to survive on your own. You were relieved to have Chishiya with you, he was extremely smart and knew how to survive different situations.

Previously many of your teammates had helped you, but now it was just the two of you. For a second you were slightly afraid that taking care of you alone would become too much to Chishiya if the King of Spades found you out of all people and started chasing you. You could tell that running with you was challenging to him.

You were starving, not remembering when was the last time you got proper food, and eventually found a small grocery store which windows had been shattered.

Chishiya started browsing for food while you waited, leaning against the counter. Soon, he came back with the most suitable and edible food he could find in this situation.

"Cash or credit?"

"Aren't you a little too pregnant to be working?"

"Don't underestimate me, Doctor Shuntaro," you teased him.

You pretended to scan each item like you had worked here for years.

"Thank you for shopping with us, please come again," you said with your best customer service voice.

"You definitely deserve the best worker of the month award," he praised you, almost impressed, and clapped his hands a few times.

"Finally someone gives my work credit," you said, hand on your chest.

There was a small table and two chairs by the window. You and Chishiya dragged them away from the window, so you could sit down in the back of the room and not be seen to anyone possibly walking past the store.

"Here you go," Chishiya said and offered you food and a plastic fork, along with a bottle of water, as you sat down. "It's not much but it's the best i got now without any electricity to heat it up."

"Thank you," you said quietly.

You ate in comfortable silence. You hadn't realized how dizzy you had started to feel after all the running and having not eaten or drank water in hours.

"Are you sure you're feeling alright?" Chishiya asked when he was finished with his meal and put his hand gently on yours, looking concerned.

"Yeah, i'm fine," you mumbled and stretched a little. "My back just hurts."

"Let's take a break and lay down for a while, okay?"

"But shouldn't we stay on the move? The King of Spades might come back and-"

"We'll be safe enough here for a while. Take a short nap, i'll keep an eye on the surroundings," he insisted. "You need more rest than me."

You were sleepy, so you weren't going to resist too much. You hadn't slept properly in a while.

Chishiya watched you sleep on your left side, your head on his lap to use as a pillow. You clinged on his leg with both of your arms, and he gently brushed your hair with his fingers to soothe you to sleep.

You were so beautiful, and he knew that he didn't say it to you often enough - as often as you would have deserved.

Chishiya was terrified every second of being in this world, having to play the games with you on his side. He wasn't afraid of many things, but you? If he lost you, he'd also lose your baby. His unborn child. And that was easily his biggest fear.

You had been in a relationship together for the past three years, and the pregnancy hadn't been planned, at all. Chishiya wasn't sure if he would ever want children, and when you told him that you were pregnant, he didn't know what to think. But it didn't take him too long to get used to the idea of becoming a father. And having you as the mother was everything he could have wished for.

You, however, hadn't considered becoming a mother at this age and had cried in the bathroom for an hour after seeing the two lines on the pregnancy test. Now, as the months had passed, you had gotten used to the idea of having a child and were more ready with Chishiya's constant support, who you loved and trusted with all your heart.

You just had to finish the rest of the games and hopefully, you could then return home - before you'd start delivering the baby.

♤♡♧◇

You entered a new game with Chishiya inside an old prison.

Jack of Hearts - Solitary confinement.

This was absolutely the ideal game for you, since all you could do was just chill and sit around until it was time to go into your little prison cell to announce the correct symbol on the back of your collar. And for that, you had Chishiya revealing it for you. As long as Chishiya was there for you, you had nothing to worry about.

People formed groups, telling each other everyone's symbols, so other people could confirm they were telling the truth.

"Hi," a girl in a blue dress greeted with an eager smile, approaching you. "Want to join our group?"

You glanced at Chishiya, unsure, but nodded your head.

"Sure, why not," you shrugged. Mom always told you to try and be more social.

Slowly, as the rounds went by, people started to lie and betray each other, which ended up more and more people being eliminated. This was a Heart's game, after all, it was supposed to mess with both your head and heart.

"Listen, let me worry about the game, you just remember your symbol and rest, okay?" Chishiya had said earlier, giving your hand a squeeze.

Chishiya had been eyeing the other people and trying to study any hints that could lead him to reveal someone as the Jack of Hearts. He hadn't told you much about his thoughts, probably still trying to decide his opinions on the players.

Right now, you sat at the table, looking towards the group which was sharing their symbols with each other. It was like watching a high school drama all over again, except now people were getting killed.

"Here," Chishiya said, sitting next you, and laid food on the table in front of you. "You need to eat."

He had grabbed two different kinds of crackers, a bottle of water, some orange juice, and a can of soup.

"I just did, i'm fine," you tried to refuse, even though you knew you could have eaten a little bit more. Chishiya just stared at you with no expression on his face.

"Yes, but you need to eat more, since you're eating for two," he insisted and wasn't having a 'no' for an answer.

You rolled your eyes, and he noticed it, giving you a look.

"Fine, fine, Doctor Shuntaro," you smirked.

After you had finished eating, you went to the bathroom again - you were sure you'd have to pee every hour. Washing your hands and your face, you heard someone arriving to the bathroom.

"Hello," a young girl greeted you nervously, taking careful steps towards you. "Sorry to bother you, but could you tell me the symbol on my collar? I don't really trust my group anymore and, well, you seem nice."

"Um, sure," you mumbled and looked at the girl's symbol. "It's a diamond."

"You sure?"

"I have fully functional eyes."

"Thank you so much," the girl said, giving you an excited smile.

You didn't bother to include yourself in that drama club and lie for no proper reason, you had decided to keep your distance to them since you didn't need help with your symbol. You doubted any of them would be the Jack, but who knew - the Jack could be a girl too, after all. If they started manipulating and lying to each other, that was on them.

A few more rounds passed, and you were starting to become really sleepy. By now you had been at the prison for 8 hours and you had no idea how much longer all this would take. Chishiya had been feeding you crackers and other snacks almost every hour, now that you had food available a lot easier.

You wondered if your friends were alright, though you knew all of them were strong and if they had survived this far, they must be able to handle anything. Still, of course you couldn't help but to worry.

You walked around the place and tried to search for a corner to take a quick nap, there was 36 minutes left until you had to go back to your cell.

Then, you had to stop walking when you felt sudden pain and pressure on your stomach. You let out a loud gasp, startling any few people nearby and make them look at you. You leaned against the nearest wall, so you wouldn't fall on the floor.

No, no, no, no. You weren't going to start delivering your baby a month or two early. Especially in the middle of the game where there was a time limit and a chance to be killed. Of course they wouldn't stop the game for a moment if there was a woman on labour.

Chishiya had heard you and instantly ran towards you. His eyes widened when you were holding your stomach in pain.

"Y/N? What's happening?" Chishiya asked, trying to hide his panic so you wouldn't start to freak out even more.

"I-I don't know," you mumbled and truly started to panic. "It just hurts. I don't know. Oh my god, Chishiya, I-"

"Okay, calm down. You're having contractions, it doesn't necessarily mean the baby's coming, okay?" he tried to reassure you, his hand on your cheek. "Look at me. Just breathe, take a deep breath."

You did as he told, taking deep breaths and squeezing Chishiya's hand every time the waves of pain took hold of your stomach. If this hurt, you didn't want to know how much it hurt to push the baby out of you - your pain tolerance was extremely poor.

"I can't do this, any of this, i'm-"

"Yes, you can, darling," Chishiya said softly.

After some time, it stopped. You sat on the floor, back against the wall, for the next twenty minutes, Chishiya holding your hand the entire time and gently rubbing your back.

"See? Everything's fine," he said calmly and put his arm around you, keeping you close against him.

"You know," you started, eyes starting to water. "I haven't felt any movements from the baby in a few days. What if something's wrong?"

"Listen," Chishiya said. "Contractions are normal, even when the baby won't come yet. The baby might not move every day, it's normal. You'll just have to stay calm and try to avoid too much stress. And i know that's a lot to ask for in our current situation."

You nodded, unsure, but trying to believe his words as well as possible. He was a doctor after all, right?

"Next round, we'll get you a place to sleep for a moment," Chishiya promised. There was 9 minutes left to announce your symbols.

"You know, when the baby will be born, we'll have a lot more different story on how the pregnancy went than other expecting mothers," you chuckled. "Like, not many moms can say that they've run away from a shooter while being on their third trimester of their pregnancy."

Chishiya smiled. "Or spent a day in a prison with no actual guards around."

An older man walked past you, still sitting on the floor, leaning against Chishiya.

"My God. Are you okay? How on earth have you survived this far being pregnant like that?" he asked in shock, surely seen the scene just a moment ago.

"Well, i've had a lot of help," you shrugged.

You had been used to people commenting on your pregnancy. Every time you met someone knew, they just stared at your stomach for too long, feeling bad for you and considering you the weakest player of the group. You stood out from the rest of the people around, it was understandable. At first it had bothered you, but now you were so tired of it you just felt numb.

Arriving to the Beach for the first time, the entire pool party had quieted down for a moment when people saw you.

"Here, it is required to only wear a swimsuit," they had announced, but looking at you, they let you wear more clothes. Thank god for that. You weren't exactly very fond of showing off your stretch marks and everything. You had been given shorts and an oversized t-shirt - it was the same shirt you still had on.

In the end of the current game, only four people came out from the cells alive, after the Jack had guessed the wrong symbol, and left the prison, two of them you and Chishiya. It had been the first game where you could have actually relaxed and sat back for a while.

If there had been a proper bed, you wouldn't have minded to stay a bit longer too.

"So, what now?" you asked.

"We'll try to find a place to spend the night."

It was becoming the night and you had been walking almost half an hour on the streets, trying to find a good place to hide and sleep.

You found a small hostel, completely abandoned and empty, and found your way into one of the rooms. The door was locked, but Chishiya could easily pick the lock open. You were able to sleep on a real bed again, you could have started crying from even the thought of it. The sheets weren't fresh at all and the blanket was really thin, but you couldn't complain.

You laid yourself on the bed, it felt so good to feel an actual mattress and a pillow under you, you felt like your body could melt there like a cotton candy in water. Chishiya came to lay down next to you after removing his shirt, warming you better with his bare skin. He cupped your cheek and pulled you in a sweet kiss.

Suddenly, you winced when you felt a kick inside your stomach. Chishiya immediately sat up, concerned.

"What's wrong? Did the contractions start again?"

You grabbed his hand and put it on your stomach, trying the correct spot to find any movements, and when he felt a kick right against his hand, he flinched and a smile spread on his lips.

You started laughing, with a few tears of relief and happiness, and he laughed a little too.

"We'll be alright," Chishiya whispered. He hugged you and kissed your forehead.

"I hope so," you said quietly.

"I love you," he whispered and looked you deep into your eyes. "You know that, right?"

"Are you saying that in case the King of Spades comes to shoot us in our sleep?" you teased. "Honestly, that would definitely be cheating."

"I doubt he's going to find us here," he assured you and pressed a kiss on your hair. "Good night."

"Good night," you answered and turned on your side. Chishiya's arm wrapped around your stomach, pulling you against his chest.

[nonasuch]

I’m about to say something no one is going to like:

No one deserves to die. Ever. Yes, really. Under any circumstances.

No one deserves to die. Not Palestinians, not Israelis, not Americans Jews you disagree with, not goyische leftists you disagree with, not milquetoast liberals or both-sides centrists, not tankies, not Trumpers. Not even people who have done terrible things, people who have actively caused direct harm to others, people whose actions have made the world measurably worse.

No one deserves to die.

This is the bedrock of my moral philosophy. I firmly believe that every person deserves the following:

a life lived in safety and peace

a roof over their head

enough to eat

adequate medical care

freedom from harm

I am very aware that many, many people do not have these things. They still deserve them. That’s the goal to work towards.

That means I genuinely do not give a fuck about the supposed moral injury incurred by choosing the ‘lesser evil.’ When there is no way to get the morally pure outcome you actually want, you choose harm reduction and start pushing again from there. I’m not interested in smashing the system and starting from scratch.

Yeah, it’s incremental progress. You are not obligated to complete the work, but neither may you desist from it.

If you believe there are categories of people who are acceptable targets of harm, there is a fundamental weakness in your morality. That weakness can and will be exploited to point you at new targets. This will inevitably undermine your ability to form coalitions and be in solidarity with people who are different from you.

I’m not saying you can’t be angry at people you disagree with, or that their actions don’t cause harm. You’re gonna feel how you feel about it. Their actions are going to have outcomes you want to prevent. I’m saying that you have to learn how to divorce people’s beliefs and actions from their status as human beings deserving of life.

You can look at an action and say: this was harmful. I don’t want this to happen anymore. I want the person who’s doing it to stop. You can talk about the outcomes you want and the changes that might lead to that outcome.

If your strategy begins and ends with ‘get rid of the people who are doing the things I think are bad’ you are never, ever going to build anything positive in the long term. You’re just not.

As long as you have a category in your head labeled ‘people who deserve to die,’ your ability to do the work of repairing the world can and will be hijacked by people who want to use your desire for positive change as a blunt instrument against their enemies. In my view, this is a far greater moral injury than any amount of compromise or cooperation with ‘lesser evils.’

And from a purely practical standpoint, the work will not get done. Do you want the world to be better than it was, or do you just want your enemies gone from it?

This is so funny now im seeing people talking abt "imperfect allies" and how we can't afford recriminations and "i told you so"s and how we need to really come together and build community now.

It's too little too late. Oh NOW we want to talk abt imperfect allies, when earlier you called me a zionist cunt who deserves to die for DARING to suggest that kamala would be a better president for marginalized people in this country? NOW we need to look past differences and embrace our shared humanity?

No. You just need my labor again, you just need black and jewish and women and trans labor to do all the hard work of building a backbone of aid and solidarity again, because you're feeling the loneliness and vulnerability of a fractured, losing movement.

[starlightkun]

➺ word count: 9.3k ➺ genre & warnings: sci-fi, near future, fluff, falling in love without seeing each other, minor hurt/comfort, coworkers au (but in space), space traffic controllers; brief blood/injury mention ➺ synopsis: in which you go to your job as a space traffic controller every day looking forward to your shifts with one specific coworker who you might be falling head over heels for. and sure, you don't know quebec’s real name, nor what he looks like, but you two talk for hours a day between guiding landings and take-offs, and you know him better than anyone else. you’re perfectly happy, until his end of the comms falls silent one day and won’t reconnect ➺ extra info: i recommend being aware of the existence of the icao alphabet so ur not thrown for a complete loop by ppl’s nicknames in here lol. u don’t need it memorized but i swear i didn’t pull these words out of thin air ok. also, in aviation, the number 9 is pronounced niner, ur not going crazy and neither am i ➺ author’s note: agh i had so, so much fun with this one! i know i say that with every new fic, but it’s true! also, i don’t know a whole lot about being an air traffic controller, so this was only loosely based off that (and reader and kun’s jobs are made up anyway), but my dad used to have his pilot’s license and take me flying with him when i was little and i took aviation classes in hs, so i do have a bit of knowledge/experience from that so there’s definitely a lot of influence from american aviation jargon in here (whether or not it’s used correctly is an entirely different thing... we’re in space in the future, after all)

You didn’t immediately see any sign of injury and grabbed his wrist to try to find a pulse. It was faint, but there, and when you put your hand under his nose, you could feel his shallow breaths against your skin. He didn’t rouse, though, and that was when you saw a drop of blood trailing out of his ear.

“Hey, Quebec?” You spoke into the mic, knowing that only one other person could hear you.

“—eah, Zulu?” A familiar man’s voice came through your headset, the very beginning of his sentence cut off as he hadn’t let there be enough still air before he started speaking.

One might think your job lonely or heroic or an opportunity to travel and see some of what the vast Milky Way had to offer. Space Traffic Control was by no means glamorous, and you certainly didn’t feel like a grand figure of mythology in your standard-issue orange jumpsuit that all employees wore on duty, sat at your desk with your feet crossed under you and your mic in one hand as you used the other for leverage against the counter to spin yourself around and around, the various lights on your control panel turning into a starshower before your very eyes. But you quite liked your job. You had the same shift almost every day, so your schedule was predictable, and while the landings and takeoffs that you oversaw were pretty regular thanks to the advancements in space travel, every so often, something fantastic did happen, and you did get to save the day with your quick thinking and directions. You were very rarely thanked or even acknowledged for it, all of the credit and glory going to the pilots, of course, but you didn’t mind—keeping your head down had always best suited you.

And you could never feel alone, even if you were the only person in your control tower. Not when you had Quebec. It was policy to have two controllers on duty at all times, in case of medical emergency (or non-emergency, since even Space Traffic Controllers had to use the bathroom). While you and Quebec weren’t always on shift at the same time, the shifts that you shared with him were by far your favorite. You’d never met in person, nor seen his face, nor even knew his real name, only his call name (Quebec Kilo). But other than that, you knew everything about each other. It wasn’t against any rules for STCs to know each other’s names, but since you only ever used call names on shift, it was pretty pointless to give out your real names.

The landing dock had two towers facing each other, and while they technically did have windows so you could see outside at the approaching spacecraft, even when the lighting was perfect, you could make out no more than a fuzzy, shadowy outline of a person in the window opposite you.

“What did you bring for dinner?”

“Don’t tell me you’re eating your dinner already.” His voice was clearly exasperated.

You hurried to swallow the chip in your mouth before replying. “No…”

“I can hear the food in your mouth.”

“Just a snack!”

“And now you’re going to get hungry again right after dinner and have to go to the vending machine down the hall for another snack and leave me alone with everything.”

“For like five minutes.”

“Remember when that Class-III Tanker came in for an emergency docking while you were on a snack break?”

“Remember every single other time when that didn’t happen, and it was perfectly uneventful?”

He kept his mic on to sigh directly into it, letting you know exactly how he felt. “Just go ahead and eat all of your dinner, why don’t you?”

“Maybe I will,” you bickered back.

“I just brought a rice ball from the convenience store in Sector II,” he answered your question anyway. “And an iced tea.”

“You like to warm your rice balls up or do you eat them cold?”

“I’ve got a salmon one today.”

“Question still stands.”

“Who eats warm salmon and mayo rice balls?”

“Plenty of perfectly normal people.”

He laughed, his disgust from earlier fading away. “You warm up your salmon and mayo onigiri, don’t you?”

“What’s weird about that?” You immediately defended yourself.

“Nothing, I suppose,” he gave in. “I’ve just never thought to try it. Pork, sure. Beef, absolutely. Salmon or tuna? Never.”

“You should try it today. I know that tower has a microwave.”

“Our towers are exactly the same.”

“Almost.”

“What are you leaving me this time? And where?”

You tried to imagine his grin, despite knowing nothing about what he looked. You had decided long ago that he had dimples, one deeper than the other, because that was obviously cuter. And probably straight teeth, since he spoke like he was well educated, which meant his family probably had the money to afford braces if he needed them.

“You’ll find out,” you replied in a sing-songy voice, having already stashed various gifts somewhere around the office. Days in the towers were long and boring, so you’d been teaching yourself more and more complicated origami, always leaving pieces in hiding spots around the tower for Quebec to find the next time he was in there.

The ten STCs were split into two teams of five. Since the station was so large, it was a chore to commute back and forth between the towers every shift. So, each team of five was assigned to one tower, then you’d swap every two months. This meant that your cabin also moved every two months to the opposite side of the station, but you didn’t mind—crew cabins were impersonal and barebones anyway, and different sectors had different offerings in the convenience stores, cafeteria, food court, and just different people. It was a change in scenery even if you were still stuck in the same corner of space.

“And what do you have for dinner, Zu?” He hummed, imitating your tune.

“Well, I just finished my chips,” you sighed with disappointment, tossing the wrapper away. “They were salt and vinegar. But I still have some fruit—honeydew, it’s my favorite—and a leftover sandwich from the caf from yesterday.”

“The fruit—is it imported? From Earth?”

You scoffed. “Pfft! I can’t afford that! You know how much we make! Wait—Unless you’re making more than me. Bec, are you making more than me?”

“No, no, no,” he reassured you with a laugh. “I just thought you might have saved up, since it’s your favorite.”

“It’s my favorite, but I still can’t justify spending that much on something that I’m just going to digest.” You shook your head. “Ag-bubble-grown is perfectly fine for me, thanks.”

“Practical.”

“It’s what I grew up eating. I don’t have a spoiled palate.”

“Like I said, practical.”

A blip appeared on one of your screens, at the same time that all the information on the craft appeared on the screen beside it. “It’s that civilian craft we’ve been waiting for,” you said. “Rock paper scissors?”

“Because that’s always been great via audio,” Quebec chuckled.

“Hundredth time’s the charm.”

“Rock paper scissors, shoot—Rock!” “Paper!”

“See?” He said pointedly, and you imagined him rolling his eyes. “The person who says it always has the disadvantage because of the delay.”

“No, I think you almost had me that time. Really.”

He sighed and cleared his throat, which you took as your cue to turn your mic off. There was another distinct crackle of him turning his outgoing signal on before he started speaking to the incoming spacecraft.

“Space Traffic Control to civilian Sparrow, November-One-One-Niner-Six-Whiskey. Do you copy?”

“Civilian Sparrow November-One-One-Niner-Six-Whiskey, we copy, Space Traffic Control.” The voice of the pilot was even more garbled than yours and Quebec’s, typical not only of civilian spacecraft, but judging by how short the N number was, he had a much, much older craft as well. There had been so many made by now that some N numbers were over 10 characters long and included letters too. After the initial identification was made, the N number would typically be abbreviated to the last three characters to save time, unless another craft was in the area with a similar N number. “We are approaching your portside slightly positive on your z-axis, but we’ll sort that out before we get there, about five minutes out. Do we have permission to land?”

“Control to Sparrow, you are all clear for landing. We’ll see you in a bit.”

“Roger-dodger. Thanks, Control. Fair winds. Sparrow over.”

“Fair winds,” Quebec echoed. “Control over.”

Quebec had hardly turned off his outgoing feed when you caught another blip on your screen, this one you weren’t expecting, approaching quickly. You frowned as Quebec cursed under his breath, the information on the spacecraft once again reading out underneath the information on the Sparrow. This was also a civilian craft, slightly larger than the Sparrow, and definitely newer, the N number at least 10 digits long by the look of it.

“Space Traffic Control to civilian Hummingbird, November-Zero-India—”

“Yeah, copy,” the pilot of the new spacecraft cut Quebec off.

“I need to finish identifying your craft,” he said through gritted teeth. “Civilian Hummingbird, November-Zero-India-Zero-Zero-Seven-Four-Two-Zero-Juliet-Foxtrot-Niner-Eight-Delta. Do you copy?”

There was a long bout of silence, so Quebec asked again, “Hummingbird Niner-Eight-Delta, do—”

“Yeah, I copy, didn’t you hear me the first five times?” The pilot was clearly irritated now, and so were you and Quebec.

“Were you holding the button to turn your mic on the first five times?” Your coworker asked.

“I’m landing in like, two minutes. It’s clear, right?”

“No.”

“What?!”

“We don’t have your flight on file, and there’s another spacecraft that did put their landing request in ahead of time that we’re expecting to land within the next five minutes. So, no,” Quebec reiterated with no sympathy. “Do an orbit. An eccentric one.”

The pilot sputtered indignantly before declaring, “This is an emergency!”

“All readings from your vessel indicate that it’s in perfect condition. Brand new, even. What is the nature of your emergency? Please give us specific details so we can assist.”

You, meanwhile, were glad that your mic was muted, because you were keeled over at your desk laughing, wiping at the tears being forced from your eyes.

Clearly unable to think of a specific emergency scenario, the Hummingbird pilot gave up. “Fine! I’ll orbit and land in ten minutes.”

“We will process your landing request and let you know if you have permission to land.” There was no response from the pilot, but Quebec nevertheless said, “Control over.”

“Hummingbird over,” he finally replied, not hiding how peeved he was.

The dot signifying the Hummingbird changed course, beginning an oblong orbit around the space station that would thankfully take it out of the path of the incoming Sparrow.

“Asshole,” Quebec muttered over your internal frequency.

“Just because we’re not near any major planet doesn’t mean they can show up unannounced and expect to land whenever they want,” you scoffed. “Nobody seems to get that we’re the last station around for light-years, so everybody stops in. Which is why they’re trying to land in the first place.”

“You would think they’d think about that, but no,” he sighed. “Everybody assumes nobody exists outside their own ship. Including us. We’re just disembodied voices to them.”

“I wonder how many people think they’re talking to an automated system when they talk to us.”

“Lots, I’m sure.”

A few minutes later, the Sparrow landed with no issues, and you waved to the quaint ship of various patchwork panels of tan and browns as it came in, despite the pilot being unable to see you. It was just something you liked to do.

“Bec?”

“Yeah, Zu?”

“You want me to let the Hummingbird know their landing has been approved?”

He groaned. “No, but better you than me.”

You snickered, composing yourself right before turning your external comms on, establishing a connection to the Sparrow with a flick of a switch. “Space Tower Control to civilian Hummingbird Niner-Eight-Delta, do you copy?”

“Where’s the other guy?” The pilot asked, surprise evident in his tone. He was clearly ready for a round two.

“Control to civilian Hummingbird Niner-Eight-Delta, do you copy?” You repeated in your most neutral, artificial customer service voice.

“As long as he stays gone,” he grumbled. His time-out imposed by Quebec had clearly done him no good. “Yeah, this is civilian Hummingbird Niner-Eight-Delta. I copy, Control.”

“Your landing request has been approved. In the future, please submit your landing requests at least twelve standard Earth hours prior to arrival in non-emergency cases.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“What’s your ETA, Hummingbird?”

“1743.”

“Copy. Fair winds, Hummingbird. Control over.”

“Fair winds,” he repeated unenthusiastically. “Hummingbird over.”

The Hummingbird was of course a sleek ship, slightly larger than the Sparrow in size, but all smooth, thin, long shapes and a glossy scarlet red paint job with chrome accenting. You flipped it off as it glided by to dock with the space station.

After coming back from your late-night vending machine break, you catapulted yourself back into your rolly chair with enough momentum to roll back up to your station with no extra movements needed. Putting your headset back on, you announced into your mic, “I’m back!”

“No disasters,” Quebec reported dryly. “This time.”

“You’re never gonna let me live that down, huh?” You clicked your tongue.

“No.”

“Anyway, I got cookies, in case you were curious,” you told him cheerily. “And information!”

“What sort of information?”

“There was a paper on the bulletin board by the vending machine advertising skiing lessons on Nixu for this upcoming snow season. Starts in just a couple months. You know what that means?”

“We’re about to get all their tourists coming through here on their way to go ski and snowboard and whatever else,” he sighed. “For the next three Nixiun years.”

“Yup!” You confirmed through your bite of cookie. “How many standard years is that? Five? Ten?”

“Too many.”

“Well, Nixiun summer was peaceful while it lasted. For the whole six months.”

“God, have we really been working here for that long?”

“We started within a couple weeks of each other, I think. My one year’s coming up.”

“My one year was a few days ago.”

“Aw, and you didn’t tell me?” You gasped in betrayal. “I would’ve done something!”

“It’s fine, Zulu. I think I was on shift with Pops anyway.” Pops—another one of the Space Traffic Controllers on your team, an older man who happened to be assigned the call name Golf Papa (shortened to Pops).

“Yeah, but you and me are like—” You gesticulated wildly as you scrambled for the right word. “You know?”

“No, not really,” he laughed. “I need you to elaborate a little bit more.”

“We’re Quebec and Zulu, you know? Bec and Zu.” You could see your pout in the reflection of the glass window as you looked out at Quebec’s control tower across from you. “I know we’re all close but you and me are like extra. Right?”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Quebec agreed without a hint of sarcasm or jest. “When’s your one year? I want to make sure I don’t miss it.”

“In six days. I expect fireworks,” you teased.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“We’re working together that day, I think.” You pulled up the schedule on your computer connected to the ship’s intranet. “Yeah, the 1600 to 2400 shift again. It’s starred, we’re going to have a VIP that shift.”

“What about the day before?”

You hummed as you looked it over. “Wednesday… I’m off, and you are on the 2400 to 0800 shift with Uni. You have a lot of time between shifts on Wednesday and Thursday at least. Ooh… never mind.”

“What?”

“You’ve got alt shifts Tuesday-Wednesday. You’re on 0800 to 1600 Tuesday with Uni.”

With 8-hour shifts and two controllers needing to be on shift at a time, your supervisors tried to give you at least two shifts—16 hours—off between when you were scheduled to allow for adequate rest and downtime. Being scheduled for alternating shifts, on, off, then back on (or god forbid, double shifts), was a nightmare for trying to get any rest, errands, or other personal time in.

“Let me see this,” he mumbled, presumably pulling it up on his own monitor. A few moments later, he groaned. “Kill me now.”

“Hey, I’ve got the 1600 shift Tuesday with Indy,” you scoffed. “I’ll kill you if you kill me.”

“Ah, he’s not so bad…”

“You interact with him for all of five minutes when you swap, I have to deal with him for the whole eight hours.”

“Our crew quarters are near each other, actually. We’ve grabbed lunch.”

You clutched your chest as your jaw dropped in horror. “I thought we were friends, Bec, and now I find out you’ve grabbed lunch with my archnemesis?”

“Normal people don’t have archnemeses, Zu.”

“Well I—” A blip popped up on your screen and you quickly switched your comms over to address the incoming ship. “Space Traffic Control to military Wasp, Kilo-Five-Five-Eight. Do you copy?”

Military ships didn’t have N numbers like civilian crafts, instead they had a much shorter ID number. The first letter indicated the classification of the vessel, while the numbers after were unique to that ship.

“Military Wasp Kilo-Five-Five-Eight to Space Traffic Control, we copy,” the pilot replied automatically. “We’re not looking to dock, just requesting a conditions report.”

“Nothing major in the past twenty-four hours and nothing expected in the next forty-eight. Sending the full specs to your ship now,” you said, quickly doing so on your computer.

A few moments later, she confirmed, “Received. Thanks, Control. We’ll be heading out now.”

“Fair skies. Control over.”

“And following seas. Wasp over.”

It seemed a bit silly to you when you started as an STC, to say an old Naval blessing every time you ended a conversation with someone, considering that you were in space so there were no skies or seas to speak of. But soon it became second nature to you. You found that most civilians just echoed ‘fair skies’ back to you, but military personnel would actually complete the phrase.

As soon as you had turned your outgoing feed off, you got right back into it with Quebec, closing your eyes and putting a hand over your chest as you went on with your impassioned opinion, “I think having an archnemesis livens things up. Especially around here.”

“I thought that’s what I was for?” He teased.

“Do you want to be my archnemesis instead?”

“Could be fun.” You imagined him shrugging with a lopsided grin on his face. “Are you taking applications?”

“Only for you.”

“Ooh, I feel so special.”

“Yeah, well I’m tired of wasting time and brainpower on Indy of all fucking people.” You kicked your feet up on the desk, eyes focused on the other tower now as you grinned at it. You always left shifts with Quebec with sore cheeks. “I need someone more on my level anyway.”

“Are you saying if I become your archnemesis then you’ll think about me all the time?” His voice curled around your ear, still playful but not quite the same friendly banter as before. You weren’t sure when it started, but there were moments like this, between your taunting, and poring your hearts out to each other, and rousing games of audio rock-paper-scissors, and actual work, that the mood… shifted.

You bit the tip of your thumb to keep from literally screaming, taking a second to compose yourself before answering. “Mm… maybe.”

“Because then you’re already my archnemesis.”

Muting your mic, you then literally screamed and pumped your fist into the air victoriously. After a deep inhale, you turned your mic back on, unable to contain your giddiness in your one-word question, “Really?”

A hand landed on your shoulder, and you let out an embarrassing yelp directly into the mic, whipping around to see the STC who was taking the next shift from you. “Fucking—Delta! What the fuck, man?”

Quebec was now laughing directly in your ear over the headset, and you took one ear off to hear what Delta said back to you.

“I’ve been here for the past two minutes. I thought you saw the light.” He indicated to the red light above your station that flashed when someone opened the door to your tower. You must’ve had your eyes shut when Delta came in and missed the signal. Delta looked entirely unamused and a little disgusted as he looked down at you, continuing, “Anyway, I’m ready and I can’t listen to you and Quebec do… whatever that is anymore.”

Your stomach dropped out of your ass at his words. What the hell did your conversation with Bec sound like to other people? Apparently bad. You barely knew Delta, only interacting with him during shift hand-offs, and, yeah, he seemed a bit uptight, but still, this was embarrassing.

Quebec was no longer laughing, now coughing and sputtering on the other end of the line too. You meekly put the mic back on the desk and took the headset off, handing it over to Delta. He took disinfectant wipes to the headset, waving them in the air for the solution to dry before putting them on and taking the seat which you had just vacated. You shuffled over to the table by the door where your bag was, as well as the IN/OUT log, which you signed before hurrying out.

Returning to the hall where your crew cabin was, you walked by an open door and stopped to poke your head in, beaming at the woman sitting on her bunk. “Hey, Uni!”

“Hey, Zulu,” the STC on your team—Uniform Lima was her full call name—lifted her hand in greeting. “Just get off shift?”

“Yeah, I was going to grab something to eat and head to the gym before sleeping. Want to come?”

“I already worked out, but I could eat,” she agreed.

“Let me get out of my jumpsuit then we can go. You pick.”

Indy was the only STC who was a gym rat to your knowledge, but being in space, working out and supplements were just a fact of life in order to prevent muscle atrophy and other deterioration of your body. You were used to it, having spent plenty of time on spaceships growing up. Going to the gym with a buddy made the mandatory exercise regimen go by a lot quicker.

After changing into casual clothes appropriate for the gym, you grabbed Uni and headed out. She was a few years older than you, not nearly Pops’ age, but you knew she had been here for a little while before you started. Uni was a tall woman, tall enough that you had to crane your neck a little to look up at her, with dark black hair that she kept cropped close to her head. There were a few premature specks of grey at the back, which you never mentioned to her in case she hadn’t noticed.

“You were on shift with Quebec today?” She asked casually.

“Hm? Oh, yeah,” you answered. “You… checked the schedule?”

“Just to see when I was working. You had your dopey little smile on, so I figured.”

You covered your mouth with both your hands, squinting at her over them. “What are you talking about?”

“No, I think it’s cute. You guys are so cute when you talk about each other.”

“He talks about me?!”

She burst into laughter, fondly patting the top of your head. “Gotcha.”

“You’re mean,” you huffed, swatting her hand away. “Mean and awful and a liar—”

“I wasn’t lying!” You friend defended herself. “He does talk about you when we’re on shift. And it is very cute, too. I just also gotcha by bringing it up.”

The two of you had arrived at the food court that never closed, and she started towards one of the options. You followed, not caring where you ate right now, and also desperately needing to continue this conversation.

“What does he say, Uni?” You pleaded, shaking her by the arm as you got in the short line. Time was pretty meaningless on a space station in the middle of nowhere, constantly getting travelers arriving and departing, so people ate whenever they pleased. The only ones who tended to keep a pretty regular schedule were the crew—except STCs, of course.

“He talks about you the most, out of all the STCs. It’s always Zulu this, Zu that. He knows we’re friends, so he asks about how you’re doing if you guys haven’t been scheduled together for a while, stuff like that.”

You dug your toe into the metal panel under you as you thought about it. Suddenly, your friend was pinching your cheek and cooing at you, “Cute!”

“Uni!” You whined and smacked her hand away, cradling your now-tender skin. She laughed as the two of you shuffled up in line.

The days all tended to blur together on the space station if you weren’t careful. Time was pretty meaningless in the middle of nowhere with no seasons or daylight to give your body cues. STCs mostly relied on shifts and tower cycles as units of time—the duration of a shift, and how long you were assigned to one tower before you moved to the opposite side of the station.

You were back on shift with Quebec, and so far, it had been a busy one. You’d barely had time to breathe between arrivals and departures, much less chitchat. Finally, during what seemed to be a lull, you pulled out your bag of food from your bag.

“Alright, that’s it,” you huffed. “I’m eating dinner.”

“What do you have tonight?” He asked.

“Didn’t have time to run to the convenience store today so it’s just some snacks and stuff I had in my room. Might have to make a vending machine run, sorry.”

“Look in the minifridge.”

“What? Did you rig it to explode?” You pushed your rolling chair back to grab the edge of the fridge, pulling the door open to peer inside.

“You’ll just have to find out.”

A plastic container greeted you, and you grabbed it, already spotting something green inside. Setting it and your mic back down on your desk, you took the lid off with a pop, eyes bugging out of your head as you looked at the green and white cubes. The color and shine alone told you that these weren’t grown in an ag-bubble, these were imported straight from Earth.

“Quebec…” You breathed out in awe. “You did not.”

“You can’t justify spending that much on something you’re going to digest, but I can,” he replied kindly. “Go ahead, eat. Happy one year at the station.”

“I didn’t even remember that was today,” you admitted.

You grabbed a cube between your fingers, not bothering to find utensils. The best part was licking your fingers after, in your opinion. The fruit was juicy and sweet, no bitterness from the rind at all, and so much more flavor than ag-bubble fruit could ever develop. You felt tears well up in your eyes, embarrassingly.

“God, it’s so good. Thank you,” you mumbled through your half-eaten honeydew. “I wish I could share it with you right now.”

“No, don’t worry about me,” he said, and you heard a faint pop of another plastic lid opening on his end of the line. “They were selling it by weight. I had them send some to your tower and some to mine.”

You smiled at the tower across the landing dock. “We are sharing it right now.”

“Yeah, we are.”

“Have you ever been on a picnic, Bec? Like, a real one, outside on a blanket with a picnic basket on the grass with fresh air and food and your friends and family?”

“Once, when I was really little. I don’t remember much about it. My mom showed me a picture,” he mused. “Have you, Zu?”

“No, never. I was born on a mining colony. Never breathed fresh air in my life, or been to Earth. Always been in ships, stations like this, or firmaments.” Firmaments—man-made structures on the surface of planets whose conditions were not naturally habitable for humans. Within the firmaments, the air quality, pressure, temperature, and planet’s surface could be regulated in order to allow for human survival. The actual mining typically happening outside of the firmaments, however, and that was only one reason that it was so dangerous—and lucrative.

“What about your parents?”

“They weren’t born on Earth either, never saw the big deal about going to visit.” You shrugged, popping another piece of melon in your mouth. “What about you?”

“My parents were born on Earth. They wanted me to be born there too, but I came a little early while they were on a trip to a nearby resort planet. The closest hospital was on its moon…”

“Did you grow up on Earth then?”

“Visited after I was born, went back and forth for a good bit of my childhood, but my parents just liked traveling too much to stay in one place.”

“My family moved around a lot too. Mining pays good, but you have to move with the materials. There’s always some hot new mineral in vogue that’s paying more than the last thing everyone wanted. You never want to stick around until a mine dries up.”

“How long does that take? Like, how much did you move around?”

“Depends. Sometimes we were there for a few weeks or months, sometimes years.”

Quebec was quiet for a moment, and you took the opportunity to eat two more pieces of honeydew. Then, he said, “Zulu?”

“Yeah?”

“Why did you take this job? All the way out here?”

“I didn’t want to work in the mines with my parents my whole life. Saw the opening and figured I might as well give it a go,” you answered simply. “What about you?”

“Kind of similar. More desperate, I think,” he admitted. “I was in med school, actually, and I was absolutely miserable. Just at rock fucking bottom. I told my parents I was going to quit and they said I couldn’t unless I either enrolled in law school, or got a job. This was the first one I found.”

You blinked, watching the dark dot in the window across from you. “Wow. I don’t think you’ve ever told me that.”

“Haven’t talked to anybody about it since coming here.”

“Why’d you ask me that then? You had to have figured I would’ve turned the question back on you.”

“I… don’t think I knew I was going to tell you that until I said it.”

“You know you can always talk about whatever with me, Bec.”

“I know,” he replied warmly. “Same for you. I’m all ears.”

“So you quit med school, took the first job you could find and just happened to find something you liked doing?”

“No,” he chuckled. “I did not take to being an STC at all initially. I wanted to quit after my first week. I was on this stupid station in the middle of nowhere starting all over again at a job that paid considerably less than the surgeon I was supposed to be. I was miserable, and lost, and kept thinking that they were right and I should just put my head down and be a doctor or a lawyer or whatever. It felt like I could’ve disappeared from the universe and nobody would notice.” He sighed, and you felt your heart twist in your chest. “Then during my second week, another new STC started, and we ended up on a shift together. And you said—there’s no way you remember this, Zulu, it’s so… but—What do you remember about that shift?”

You rifled through your memories desperately for something, anything specific, but came up empty. “Not much, I mean, it was like my second one, I think. So I was still pretty nervous about doing everything right, and I remember meeting you, but I don’t think we even talked much outside of small talk, right?”

“That’s great. I mean it, I love that you’re just like this, that you weren’t trying to do it,” he laughed with his whole chest, and you smiled fondly, not feeling like he was laughing at you at all. “Anyway, it was pretty dead that shift, and in one of the quiet times, you got on the mic and you told me to look outside. I thought there was a ship or something going on. But then you said, ‘I’ve never seen these stars before.’ Which made me realize I hadn’t even looked at the stars since arriving at the station. At the end of the shift, you said, ‘Talk to you next time, Quebec.’ And I decided ‘sure, I’ll stick around until next time, see what else she’ll say.’” His words made you snicker softly, and he continued, “And then you just kept saying these little, interesting things, or things that made me smile for the first time in years, or you’d ask questions and let me talk about whatever I wanted… I kept putting off quitting until I wasn’t half-bad at being an STC and didn’t hate living at the station anymore.”

“Bec…” You murmured, fidgeting with the wire of your headset. “Do—”

A dot popped up on your monitor then, and Quebec said, “Ah, there’s the ambassador.”

Because of where you were in space, the last station for a very long while along the intergalactic travel routes in this region, it wasn’t unusual for you to receive special arrivals. Politicians, ambassadors, military leaders, celebrities, you’ve seen a lot in your one year as an STC. Today, an ambassador from Earth was stopping over on their way to an intergalactic peace conference. You and Quebec had received the briefing for the landing in advance to your crew emails, so the ship information that appeared along with the dot was already familiar to you. When the VIPs were of this caliber, all of the higher-ups on the ship would be at the docking port to greet them. The protocols for landing were also slightly different, meaning that having two STCs was necessary for much of it.

“Space Traffic Control to military Heavy, Papa-Zero-Four-Niner. Do you copy?” Quebec took over the initial paging.

“Military Heavy, Papa-Zero-Four-Niner to Control, we copy,” the pilot’s voice came back quickly. “Sending out recognition codes…”

An incoming message from the Heavy flashed up on your screen, and you accepted. Quebec read his out first, then you got on the mic to read out your three-number code.

“Great, thanks,” the pilot acknowledged. “Are we clear for landing?”

“Yes,” Quebec confirmed.

The two of you seamlessly worked through the pre-landing protocols with the Heavy’s pilot. Finally, you just had to wait for the craft to get closer before you could begin the next phase: landing. The pilot dropped off the comms momentarily to address something internally, promising to get back on when it was time to begin the landing. That just left you and Quebec again.

“Wonder why they even keep having these intergalactic peace conferences,” he mused. “They only invite the factions that are already at peace, never the ones with any tension.”

“It’s symbolic, I guess,” you shrugged. “Maybe they talk about how to go about achieving peace with the ones that aren’t there? Or to promote continued peace among the ones that are there?”

“It’d probably be worse to stop at this point, huh?”

“Yeah, might not look good if they stopped holding the intergalactic peace conference that’s been going on for the past couple decades.”

“Still, Th’irin always has something to say about—” A heavy clunk punctuated the end of his words, followed by silence. Not fuzzy silence, like when the mic was on but the person on the other end was quiet. Dead silence, like the mic had been shut off entirely.

“Bec?” You said uncertainly. Someone must have come into his tower, and he was addressing them off-mic.

When he still hadn’t responded a minute later, even to tell you to hold on or wait a minute, you started getting nervous. Sitting forward in your seat, you futzed with cover on your microphone as you called into it again.

“Quebec? You there?”

Nothing.

You paged him properly this time, hitting the button to flash the lights in his tower as you enunciated as clearly as possible, “Space Traffic Control Tower One to Tower Two, Quebec Kilo, do you copy?”

At the same time, your hands rushed to send a message to him via the STC system.

[TOWER1: Q? DO YOU COPY?]

Your heartbeat was thudding in your ears as you desperately went to send another message via the ship intranet to your superiors instead. As soon as you had started drafting it, though, you cursed under your breath and deleted it. They would be down at the dock waiting to receive the ambassador, not at their usual stations with monitors ready to receive emergency alerts from the STC towers.

“Military Heavy to Control, do you copy?” The pilot’s voice cut through the sound of your heartbeat, and you banged your fist on the desk in frustration. You quickly went into the system and switched it over to be a dual STC setup on your monitors since Quebec apparently wasn’t going to be able to help.

Turning your outgoing feed back on, you confirmed, “Control to Heavy, we copy.”

Now with both set of STC controls, you had to move twice as fast to input everything and go through the landing protocols with the pilot. All the while, in the back of your mind, the black put of worry in your stomach only grew and grew.

In between operations, you were drafting a new message, this time to the other STCs. You doubted any of them were going to be checking their staff emails not on duty, but you needed some kind of help. It was a succinct SOS, and you had to focus back in on landing the ambassador’s ship again, and sent it off without another thought.

“Your partner’s quiet,” the pilot commented, their tone light, and you knew they meant nothing by it. “Did you guys rock paper scissors for who would take what parts?”

“Mm, yeah,” you forced out a laugh through gritted teeth, smacking the page button for Quebec’s tower again—just in case.

The light in your tower flashed, and your heart nearly exploded with hope that it was Quebec signaling back to you, that something had just gone awry with his mic and he was still there. Then a hand tapped your shoulder, and you were thrown back into despair again.

It was Pops, the lines on his forehead clear as he furrowed his brows in confusion. He held his digipad out to you, your SOS message on it. You held a finger up to gesture for him to wait a moment as you were receiving pertinent information from the pilot.

“Seven-Five, Two-Zero,” you echoed, entering the numbers as you said them. “Copy.”

Taking one ear of your headphones off, you switched your outgoing comms off before immediately rambling, “It’s Quebec! He dropped off the mic like five minutes ago and he’s not answering, Pops!”

The older man held his hands out in a ‘calm down’ motion. “You’re sure he’s not just getting a snack?”

“No, no, he’d tell me! It was in the middle of his sentence, and we’re literally landing an ambassador’s ship right now!” You sputtered out, gesticulating between your controls and the large ship right outside your window. “He wouldn’t just leave! Something’s wrong!”

His jaw set and he gave one solemn nod. “How far are you?”

“The rest is automated now. But I can’t—”

“I’ll monitor,” he cut you off. “You go check on Quebec.”

“He’s all the way—”

“Now, Zulu!”

You shot to your feet and threw your headphones off and onto the desk. Running from the control room, you didn’t even stay to see Pops take over the station like you’re supposed to.

The space station was huge. It was a thirty-minute walk on a good day from one side to the other, but now that you had fully been overtaken by panic, all of the worst-case scenarios playing in your mind, your stomach consuming itself in fear and anxiety crushing your lungs, it felt insurmountable. Probably your only saving grace was the fact that word had gotten around about the ambassador’s arrival, so lots of people were down on the observation decks above the landing bay to watch the ship dock rather than milling through all the halls that you were currently sprinting through. Even the crew-only shortcuts that you had access to—which you knew were faster—felt like agony to wait for. Standing around in the elevators felt like standing in lava despite the fact that you knew they were moving 100x faster than it felt. The crew corridors were narrower, and you cut corners too close, banging your shoulder or elbow a few times. In your impatience, you lost the location of Tower 2 a couple times on the directory when selecting your destination in a transporter, screaming and kicking the wall in frustration. The pain distracted you from all the what-ifs, and grounded you back into this moment, so you didn’t actually mind it much.

You clutched the handles of Tower 2’s elevator so tightly your fingertips went numb, gnawing on your bottom lip until well past the point you tasted blood. Finally, you were at the control room, and you damn near pried the doors open yourself. Pushing yourself through the doors as they opened, you probably bruised your shoulder again, but you hardly registered it.

Under the red light that flashed to announce your arrival, a man was sprawled on the floor between the chair and the control station. You ran over, pulling the chair away to reach him. He was face-down, and you took his headphones off to roll him over.

“Quebec!” You shook his shoulder a little less than gently.

You didn’t immediately see any sign of injury and grabbed his wrist to try to find a pulse. It was faint, but there, and when you put your hand under his nose, you could feel his shallow breaths against your skin. He didn’t rouse, though, and that was when you saw a drop of blood trailing out of his ear.

“Oh, God,” you muttered, scrambling to your feet to lunge for the bright blue medical emergency button by the door. The button lit up, and you ran back to grab his headphones and mic.

“—ation EMTs will be at your location in less than two minutes. Please communicate the nature of your emergency if you’re able,” the dispatcher’s voice requested.

“I just found the STC in this tower passed out. He’s got blood coming out of his ear and he won’t wake up,” you said.

“Do you know how long he’s been in this state?”

“Twenty minutes?”

“Okay. Any sign of injury?”

“No, nothing. He was fine, he was talking and just, I don’t know, collapsed I think!” You didn’t mean to snap at the dispatcher, but you were freaked out by how little you knew.

“Alright, okay. I understand. The EMTs will be there very soon. Can you stay on the line with me in the meantime?”

“Yeah.”

“Who is the patient?”

“An STC—call name Quebec Kilo.”

“And who are you?”

“I’m an STC too. Zulu Echo. We were on shift and he just dropped off the mic in the middle of a landing.”

“Got it, got it.”

“Where the EMTs?” You asked, feeling for Quebec’s breaths again.

“They’re in the elevator now.”

The elevator door opened then, and your throat seized up anxiously. “They’re here. Thank you.”

“I’ll hang up now. Goodbye, Zulu Echo.”

You took the headphones off as the two EMTs swarmed Quebec’s body, watching them start evaluating his vitals with their field scanner.

“We have the information you gave dispatch,” one EMT informed you. “We’re going to take him to the infirmary in this sector.”

You grabbed the edge of the desk to pull yourself to your feet. “I’ll—”

“Elevator isn’t big enough for all of us,” the other informed you regretfully as they had started loading him onto a stretcher. “You can take the next one.”

“Right. I’ll be right behind you.”

You watched them take him out, and as soon as the elevator doors closed behind them, felt your knees buckle under you. Barely catching yourself against the desk, your eyes filled with tears, which you barely saw the flash of a red light through. The elevator wasn’t opening again, though, so you figured it must be a page.

Picking up the headphones and mic, you kept it on the internal system as you croaked, “Pops?”

“Oh, Zulu, there you are,” his relief was evident in his voice. “How is he?”

“Bad, I think,” you confessed, tears slipping down your face. “He was out cold, and there was blood coming from his ear. The EMTs took him—”

“You know where?”

“Sector 2 infirmary.”

“So what are you doing still talking to me?”

“Right. Bye, Pops.”

Your hands were trembling as you set the headphones down on the desk. With a trembling breath, you recalled the elevator. It was empty when you stepped on, and you numbly selected down. The infirmary was close by to the tower, and you wiped your eyes in the hall outside before entering.

It was eerily empty, and your stomach dropped. You dug your nails into your palm to try to get control of yourself again. Finally, a nurse came out of the hallway and into the main hallway where you were, clearly surprised when he spotted you.

“Sorry about that.” He focused a frazzled smile on you. “How can I help you?”

You were sure you were mirroring his expression. “I’m here to see somebody. He should’ve just come in with the EMTs…?”

“Yes, the doctors are working on him.” He pointed over his shoulder. “I’ll take you to where you can wait.”

You were put into a small patient room with a bed and one chair. After pacing for who knows how long, your feet finally got tired enough that you sat down in the chair. You didn’t sit for very long before you were back on your feet, pacing again. That repeated at least three times before you finally heard something from the hall.

Your eyes were already on the doorway when a gurney was pushed in, Quebec laying atop it. Stepping out of the way of the two nurses who transferred him from the gurney to the bed and started hooking him up the monitoring equipment, you were then pulled aside by the doctor who had come in with them.

“Are you a friend?” She asked.

“Yeah, we work together,” you confirmed. “I called it in.”

“Good timing,” she commented lightheartedly. She filled you in on the issue—most of the specifics went over your head, but it didn’t sound good—then gave you the prognosis, “We plugged everything back up. He’ll have a headache for a few days, and needs to take it easy for the next week. But other than that, he’ll be fine.”

“Really?” You couldn’t believe your ears.

“How far medicine has come, huh?” She chuckled. “Something like that would’ve killed him a decade ago. But he can go on like it never happened now.”

You looked over at where Quebec’s eyes were still closed, still unable to calm your panicked heart despite the doctor’s reassuring words and relaxed demeanor. “When will he wake up?”

“An hour or so.” She nodded towards the door. “If there’s nothing else, I’ve got a couple other patients to check on.”

“Oh, go for it.”

“Push the call button if you need anything, or just holler. Small infirmary, someone will hear you.”

With her departure, it was just you and Quebec. You pulled the chair up to his bedside, gathering your knees to your chest in a self-soothing grasp. His heart monitor beeped steadily in the background, and you noticed that his hand was hanging off the bed a little bit, so you reached forward to pick it up and rest it over his abdomen like his other one. There was a small piece of gauze affixed under his ear, and you recognized it as the ear that had been bleeding earlier.

“I’m never letting you live this down, Quebec,” you stated through a sniffle. “Every time you bring up that Tanker showing up while I was at the vending machine, I’m going to bring up you passing out while we were in the middle of landing an ambassador’s ship.”

He continued resting, chest rising up and down.

“So you better wake up soon, so I can start teasing you.” You poked his shoulder before taking your hand back and wrapping your arm around your knees again.

For the first time since you entered Tower 2, you took a moment to process what Quebec actually looked like. Dark brown hair, bangs falling out of the way of his forehead and pieces curling around his ears, and a freckle under his right eyebrow.

You sighed, chewing on the inside of your cheek. Of all the times you’d let yourself daydream about finally meeting Quebec in person, this was absolutely not how it went. Usually, it was something like bumping into each other while you were switching crew cabins, or you just so happened to go to a more centrally located place to eat and started talking to a handsome stranger and found out that it was him. Funny enough, you never thought of actually asking Quebec to hang out off-shift. You were more than happy with what you had, fully content with the knowledge that nobody in the universe knew him better than you, and vice versa. So what if other people knew what he looked like or knew his real name? That never felt important.

Before you realized it, your eyes were fluttering shut, your ears continuing to listen to the rhythm of the vitals monitor. Eventually, a confused grunt caught your attention, and you looked up quickly.

Quebec was hesitantly squinting one eye open, rubbing his other as he seemed to be struggling to adjust to the bright lights in the room. You stayed quiet as you let him wake up a little more and acclimate, getting two eyes open and blinking as he registered first the hospital gown he was wearing and infirmary bed he was laying in, then did a sweep around the room, brown gaze landing on you.

“Hey, Bec,” you greeted him gently, offering a small smile. “How do you feel?”

“Zu?” His voice was hoarse, gaze unblinking as he reached a hand towards you.

“Yeah, it’s me,” you confirmed, taking his hand between both of yours. “You had uhm, a problem. The doctor can explain—But you’re better now.”

He clutched his head, and you winced sympathetically.

“Your head will hurt for a bit, but other than that, all better,” you corrected yourself. “You feel okay?”

He nodded, sitting up a little straighter. “You came all the way here?”

“You passed out in the middle of us landing the ambassador’s ship,” you told him frankly, a hint of teasing in your tone. But your voice wavered as you added, “I was worried sick. Found you on the floor of the tower.”

“Ah, sorry. Thank you.” He squeezed your hand.

“No way I was going to let you die, Quebec. I mean—What if they started putting me with Indy instead?”

He was just staring at you, mouth parted, before a soft smile came across his features, two dimples marking his cheeks. “I knew it.”

“Knew what?” You chuckled nervously.

“That you’d be the most beautiful person I’d ever seen.”

You covered your face as you laughed and shook your head. “Quebec—”

“Kun.”

“What?”

“That’s my real name,” he hummed. “Qian Kun.”

“Kun,” you sighed fondly. “I knew you’d have dimples.”

“What?” He giggled, touching one of his cheeks. “You could hear my dimples?”

“It was a hunch.”

He looked down at the IV in his arm. “They’ve got me on some good stuff.”

“Yeah, they do,” you agreed.

“I mean it, though.”

“Mean what?”

Kun turned over on his side to face you. “You’re beautiful, Zulu.”

You traced the lines of his brows, his freckle, his eyes, his nose, the curve of his smile, his cupid’s bow, and his jaw with your eyes. “Y/N. That’s my name. Y/L/N Y/N.”

He mouthed it to himself first, slowly, then said it aloud, “Y/N. Thank you.”

“I’m really glad you’re okay, Kun.” You pressed a fleeting kiss to his hand that you were still holding. “Really.”

You kicked your feet up on the desk, tapping your toes in the air along to an imaginary beat. Clicking your internal comms line on, you asked, “So what are you doing after this?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Kun immediately teased back.

“Yeah, that’s why I asked, asshole,” you scoffed.

“Ouch, first day back on the job and this is how I’m treated?”

“Doctor said you’re fine, no need to throw yourself a pity party.”

He laughed, but answered your question nevertheless. “Gym and then dinner. Missed enough required exercise thanks to that little incident I’m going to start withering away.”

“I’ll have to find another archnemesis if you do.”

“So I am your archnemesis.” His grin was audible, and you could perfectly imagine it now, bright and dimpled. “Well, I can’t have you thinking about anybody else.”

You looked over your shoulder before offering, “Want some company?”

“Sure. Sector 1?”

“Damn, you really that afraid of withering away you’re willing to come all the way over here?”

“I was being a gentleman—”

“Wait, your favorite restaurant is in the Sector 1 food court,” you said knowingly. “Would that have anything to do with it?”

“It’s a win-win—you don’t have to come all the way over here, I get to see you…”

“And eat at your favorite spot,” you snickered. “Smart, Bec.”

“I would’ve offered even if I hated all the food in Sector 1, Zu,” he declared dramatically. “Hand on my heart.”

Despite knowing each other’s real names, it was still habit (and technically proper) to use call names on shift. You checked on him every day during his recovery over the past week, so you’d gotten used to calling him Kun as well.

“Uh-huh,” you agreed mildly. “I’ll meet you in the gym at 1630 then.”

“It’s a date.”

After getting through your mandatory workout for the day, you and Kun meandered over to the Sector 1 food court. Despite your teasing, you also got food from the same restaurant as him. He didn’t move to take a seat in the food court, however, jerking his head for you to follow him. With your bag of food in one hand, you did so, intrigued. Kun apparently had a destination in mind, weaving through the crowds with intention and reaching back to grab your free hand to not lose you.

Soon, you arrived at a crew-only observation deck devoid of other people. You couldn’t recall if you had been to this particular one before, but the door slid shut behind you two and the sounds of the rest of the ship faded away. This particular deck was pointed directly at a large plasma cloud, glowing with energy and all sorts of swirling pinks, purples, and greens.

“Oh, this is beautiful,” you gushed, sitting on the ledge under the window.

“I like seeing how the cloud has changed whenever I’m in Sector 1,” Kun said, sitting next to you. “It’s different every time.”

You drew your gaze over to him, eyes catching on the faint line under his ear, marking where he’d been operated on just last week. It had healed very fast, of course, as all surgeries now did, and you reached out to touch the skin under it with a fingertip. “Do you feel okay, Kun?”

“Brand new.” He took your hand from the incision and laced your fingers together. “I promise, Y/N.”

“Good.” The two of you ate your dinner like that, hand-in-hand, watching the plasma cloud and stars, sometimes talking, and sometimes in silence. And that was more than enough.

⤷ masterlist

TAGLIST

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[247-diaperboy]

Friends house

Story of high school friends reunited after several years of not seeing each other.

Max had been my best friend when i was young. We stayed friends all though eliminatory school and high school. After graduation, we went our separate ways.  He went to college on the west coast and i went to college on the east coast. 

He went to school studying to work in cooperate finance. He wanted to be a cooperate vice president of finance for a big compony. He was ambitious and determined. I had a feeling that he would succeed. 

I went to law school and graduated from law school. I prepared for my bar exam.  I decided to start my own law firm.  It was silly but I wanted to try to make a go of it. I actually kept my day job. Just in case. 

My law firm did take off. I was able to get clients. I developed a reputation. I was still young and could make a life for myself. I would have money. I had a purpose. That was what i wanted.  

Max too was going up the letter. He got a job in an accounting department at a fairly well-known company.  He was able to move up to mid-level management.  Then he was offered vice president of finance after his predecessor was moved up in position.  

We had tried to keep in touch after we graduated. We had for a little while. We talked on the phone and email.  Then we got busy and had our own lives. We tried to keep in touch, but it did not work. 

It seemed we had moved on. We were in a different place. Our lives no longer intertwined. Over time we were fine with it. We were so fine with it that we did not notice that we were apart. It was not a major factor in our lives. 

I made a comment on his social media page. He wrote a response.  I followed up with a response of my own.  Then he commented.  We ended up having a long conversation on his wall. The conversation moved from his social media page wall to messenger. We had quite the online conversation. It went on and on for quite some time.  

After a time, I got a call. I answered my phone.  “Hello this is matt. I said. "Matty its Max.” he said. I was thrilled to hear from him. We ended up talking on the phone for an hour in a half. It was like old times. 

We ended up talking on the phone back and forth. we had numerous phone calls. He had suggested that i come visit him and stay over for a week or so. I did not think that he would really happen. I was pretty sure that he did not think it would happen either. I said, sure that sounds great. We did continue to talk about it.it seemed like a pipe dream. It hardly sounded like something that would really happen.  

He kept talking to me about coming to visit him. Over time it became a real possibility. We decided that we were really going to do it. We made arrangement for me to come see him for ten days. I would stay with him in his home. 

I held out my enthusiasm at first. I refused to get excited. Then as we cemented our plans, I got more and more excited.  Then as i got closer to my vacation, I got really excited.  I wanted to see Max again.  I knew that Max wanted to see me. 

I worked my last day before my vacation. I had packed though out the week. After I completed my last shift before the vacation, I went home and finished up the packing. I went to bed and the next day I got ready to go. 

A friend of mine drove me to the airport. I was there in plenty of time. Until I actually boarded the plane, I still did not totally feel that it was real. As the plane neared the airport near Max, I knew that indeed this was really going to happen. 

The plane touched down. We were allowed to disembark. We got up from the plane. I was exhilarated as I departed from the aircraft. I looked for my friend. After a few seconds of canvassing the area, I found him. 

I walked over to him. I gave him a great big hug. I got in his car, and we headed to his house. We arrived. He took out his grill. We got caught up on what we had doing.  We reminisced about our crazy activities as a kid. We laughed a lot. 

It was like no time had passed. We both had a lot of fun. I was enjoying myself. I could tell that he was as well. 

After a long day of hanging out and catching up, we were both tired. We both decided to call it a night. 

“Hey, I am going to have you stay in the guest room. It is the first bedroom up the stairs to your right. Max said. “Oh ok. Sounds good. I answered. “I have another request. I was taken a back. I had no idea what this ‘request’ was. “What is this request? “I asked. 

“I want you to wear a diaper to bed. “A diaper?” I asked. “Yes. I waterproofed the bed but just as a precaution, I want you to wear one. I was totally shocked. I was not expecting that. 

“A diaper? Really max! I have not had a problem with bed wetting sense i was eight. I don't have any problem with incontinence. I assured him. 

“I remember your issues when you were younger. I have not seen you in a while. I think it is a wise precaution knowing your history Matty.

I did not want to fight with him over this. This was his house. I agreed. We went upstairs.  He took out a diaper.  I pulled down my pants.  I took off my underwear. I laid on my back on the bed. He put a diaper under my bum. Max pulled the diaper up between my legs and fastened the tapes. As strange as it may sound, I slept great.

I woke up. I had not peed myself. I hoped maybe I would convince him that I am fully potty trained and wearing a diaper is really not necessary.  I woke up and went downstairs. He was making breakfast.

“How did you sleep?” he asked. “I slept great. I told him. I noticed he was wearing a diaper. I asked why are you wearing a diaper?

I wear diapers at night now.  It feels so good.  Did you soil yourself?” he asked. “No i did not. “I said. 

“You should. It feels so good. “He said. I was stunned. After breakfast he asked me to help him take off his diaper.  We went to his room. I took off his diaper. It was really wet. I threw it away. 

He told me it would be a shame to waste a diaper.  He told me to pee myself.  I tried and tried. I could not do it. He told me to relax. He told me to picture a toilet.  He told me to tell my brain it was ok to let go. Finally, the urine leaked out. It felt weird. It also felt good. I liked it.

 That night he suggested we sleep in the same bed. I liked that idea.  We laid in bed.

Neither of us was gay.  We both liked girls.  We had had girlfriends.  We were both busy with careers, so we were not dating as of late. We were one of those friendship where we made people wonder. We did not care. 

We hung out all week. We played basketball. We ran together. We watched tv and movies together. At one time he leaned on me. I put my arm around him.

One night we cuddled.  I hated when the vacation was over. He came to visit me a few months later. We continue to correspond.  I started to wear diapers at night.  I wet my diaper at night. I wore regular underwear in the day. I never had an issue.  However now I had an entire stock of diapers in my bedroom.

Max and I kept in touch.  He started his own compony in my town. Eventually we decided to move in together. We sleep in the same bed.  Are we a couple?  It is not clearly defined at least not yet. 

[lieutenantbatshit]

CHAPTER 08 - once you go in, there's no turning back (hwang in ho x reader)

>> MASTERLIST

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You nearly passed out after the six-legged pentathlon game. You didn't realize as soon as you went back to the dormitory, you were fast asleep on supposedly on Hyun-ju's bed, but she didn't mind.

You felt your throat starting to sore, probably from the screaming you did earlier. You were in need of water so much. Plus, you felt your head throb a bit as you realized that you haven't had any breakfast yet.

"Oh, so that's how you got yourself those too?" You heard Guem-ja asked, but you didn't listen that much. It seemed she was talking to Hyun-just, hearing her deep, raspy voice close to... a man?

You didn't judge. In fact, it wasn't a problem at all. She still seems nice, and whatever made her decide to press O probably had something to do with her transforming. You knew how expensive those procedures were, yet you can't help but feel a sense of admiration for her as she continues to embrace herself, one where she's confident and feels true to her.

You head the door open as footsteps thudded to the ground. You slowly open your eyes, noticing a blanket tucked over you. Hyun-ju turned her attention to you and gave you a smile. Realizing you were sleeping on someone's bed, you quickly sat up and bowed. "Oh, I'm sorry for sleeping here. I felt so dizzy after the game."

"It's alright," Hyun-ju assured. "Did you have a good nap?"

You nodded, tucking away the blanket. "Very much so. I feel better now."

"That young lady made it!" You heard Geum-ja say excitedly.

"Who?" Yong-sik asked, scanning the room.

"The tiny young lady," Geum-ja replied. You quickly looked at the group of people walking, seeing Gi-hun, Jung-bae, Dae-ho, In-ho, and Player 222.

You rose from the bed and climbed down, waving your hand at Jung-bae who saw you. "Hey!"

Geum-ja and Yong-sik waved as well, seeing the relief in their faces, especially for Geum-ja. You knew how she must probably care for Player 222 so much, and you couldn't help but feel the same. You sighed in relief as you realized that they survived.

"I'll just go with them for awhile," you bowed to the group. "They're my friends. Are you guys going to be okay here?"

Geum-ja held both of your hands and caressed them with her thumb, feeling some sort of motherly care in the place. "Yes, yes. As long as you take care of yourself, alright? Please also tell me if that young lady needs anything," she pointed to Player 222 whose back was already turned, motioning for Gi-hun's group position. "I used to care for pregnant women, so please, please let me know if she's feeling anything, okay?"

You nodded and gave her a reassuring smile. "I will. Thank you, eomoni."

You gave Yong-sik, Hyun-ju, and Young-mi a bow before turning away, making your way towards Gi-hun group. They seemed to be in the middle of conversation, hearing Dae-ho explain about his father fighting in the Vietnam war. You noticed In-ho smiling, his aura light and expressive that was completely different when you first saw him, and how he dismissed you earlier.

Dae-ho stood up and looked at you, noticing you were already there. He excitedly waves his hand, motioning for you to join. Jung-bae and Gi-hun smiled at you, and Player 222 motioned a space for you to sit. You avoided your gaze from In-ho, noticing how he was looking at you intently again.

"Listen, perhaps we should learn each other's names," Dae-ho said eagerly. "I still don't know your names, gentlemen. Or yours, miss," he looked at Player 222. He took a deep breath and held out his arm. "I'll start. I'm Kang Dae-ho. Dae means 'big', Ho means 'tiger'."

"Wow, big tiger. Cool name," Jung-bae chuckled as he motioned his hand like a claw, imitating a tiger. He then turned his eyes to everyone. "My name is Park Jung-bae. Righteous and twice. My parents wanted me to be twice as righteous."

Player 222 spoke quietly. "My name is Kim Jun-hee. I don't know what it means though."

"Hmm," you placed your hand on your chin as if to think. "I think it means something related to a lucky charm."

"That's right!" Jung-bae exclaimed. "She flipped the ddakji on the first try. It was so cool!"

You chuckled and gave Jun-hee a small pat on her shoulder, her face lighting up as she smiled. Just then, you heard In-ho speak up, looking at Jun-hee. "Jun-hee, when you get out of here, go see a doctor right away. You've been under a lot of stress. You need to get yourself checked out."

Jun-hee nodded in agreement. You rubbed her back as you felt her tense a bit, probably not used to the attention that much. She gave you a small smile as she held her belly.

"I'm Oh Young-il."

Your hand stopped as you looked at In-ho, or Young-il, as he introduced himself. You raised an eyebrow in confusion, wondering why he didn't give his real name. He seemed to avoid your gaze as he spoke, his lips twitching a bit. Your instinct tells you that he was lying, but at the same time, you started to question yourself.

Was he really not the In-ho you knew? Is that why it seemed as if he dismissed you? Were you just dreaming when you saw him hear you call his name? Was it all just a dream?

"Young-il?" You asked confusingly. He looked at you abruptly then turned to his tracksuit, now avoiding your gaze. You knew he was lying.

"Young-il sounds like 'zero one', and that's my number," he chuckled, still avoiding your gaze as he looked at Jung-bae instead. "Easy to remember."

"Oh, that's true!" Dae-ho exclaimed, pointing his finger at Young-il's tracksuit. "Your name is your number."

Young-il looked at Gi-hun and proceeded to ask. "Oh, Gi-hun. What's your last name?"

"My name is Seong Gi-hun," Gi-hun replied, looking at everyone.

"Seong literally means last name," In-ho laughed, much to everyone's confusion. Each of you stared at him weirdly as his laughter continued. You eyed him as you noticed him looking at everyone, the only exception was you.

He was clearly lying, and him avoiding his eye contact with you was enough to determine that he's under a fake name. You decided to stay silent, but planned to confront him after when everyone isn't around.

You snapped away from your thoughts when the alarm buzzed, the doors opening to reveal the group of guards.

"Congratulations to all of you for making it through the second game," the square-masked guard announced. "Here are the results of the second game." He motioned his arm with a remote in his hand, pointing it to the piggy bank.

The lights dimmed, the piggy bank now acting as the light in the room. The TV displayed the growing number of the prize money as money rained inside the piggy bank, much to everyone in awe.

"In the second game, 110 players were eliminated. The prize money accumulated up to this point is 20.1 billion won. Since there are 255 players remaining, each person's share is 78,823,530 won."

"Wait, what?" Another player exclaimed, seeing his patch with the O sign. "It's still under 100 million? It's not even 80 million."

"Only 110 people died? Is that all?" Another player asked, much to your disbelief. "Did you count them right?"

Only 110 people? If this was held in the outside world, this was already considered a massacre. In just 2 days, 110 people already died by just playing children's games. This was madness. The world was a scary place indeed.

"Fuck. I almost died twice, and that's all I get?" You heard another player say near you. "I'd get more money than that if I let somebody beat me up!"

You looked at him in disbelief, trying to make sense of how these people can be okay with people dying here at the expense of money.

"I completely understand your disappointment," the square-masked guard said. "However, we always keep the door open for you to pursue new opportunities. You will now take a vote to decide whether to continue the games or not." The circle-masked guards from behind brought the voting machine consisting of the O and X buttons. You didn't realize how it looked more like a gift box, with a ribbon wrapped around the top. "Whether to continue the games for a bigger prize or to stop here is entirely your choice."

You scoffed. "We're being manipulated in this game. Trying to not take any accountability, huh." You muttered to yourself.

"Please feel free to exercise your right to choose in a democratic manner."

You shook your head in disbelief as Gi-hun looked at you, the worry on his face so evident. You knew how he wanted to save everyone and leave this place. He seemed to have a plan for everyone after leaving this game, and you wanted to trust that.

You noticed Jung-bae looking at the piggy bank more than usual, probably rethinking his decision. You looked at Gi-hun as he stared at In-ho's O patch. He seemed to notice this as he touched his patch briefly. "Don't worry. I want to stop here too. I should go and be with my wife at the hospital."

That didn't add up again. His wife was dead, as far as you can remember. Nothing was making sense at all.

"I'm telling you. We'll get out this time," Dae-ho said with determination. He touched his O patch and cursed at it. "A Marine should think strategically and know when to retreat. Isn't that right, brother?" Dae-ho grabbed Jung-bae's shoulder.

Jung-bae turned around and nodded, though he seemed to be reluctant. "Yeah, you're right. Marines aren't invincible. We should get out."

"We have to end the games here," Gi-hun said. "I will help you guys out when we get out."

You stepped forward, giving them all a smile. "I will too." You saw Gi-hun look at you confusingly as you continued, "I'm not in debt. Far from that. Jun-hee, I can go be with you at the hospital to help with your check-up."

"Unnie," Jun-hee said quietly, eyeing you. "Why are you here if you're not in debt then?"

You sighed deeply. This was it. There's no way out for you to lie on this one. Unlike In-ho, you decided to come clean. "I played ddakji with the recruiter on the subway because... well, I wanted to try and see if I was still good at playing the game," you placed your hand on the back of your head, feeling a bit embarrassed. "Guess I made the wrong choice, huh?" You chuckled sheepishly. "I left Seoul when I was a kid and moved to the States for a long time. I came back here for good because well, this is my home. It's where I belong."

"You seemed to have a good life back in America if that's the case. Why did you have to come back?" you heard In-ho ask from behind, his eyes fixed on you.

You gulped before speaking, your gaze not leaving him. "I came to look for someone." For a second, In-ho's eyes flickered. You couldn't tell if he felt regret or some sort of recognition, but he was able to mask it well.

Dae-ho leaned in with a mischievous grin, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he dragged out a tease. "Is that someone your boyfriend, Y/N? That's so romantic!"

"He's... not my boyfriend," your eyes lingered on In-ho as you spoke. "But he's someone important in my life. I grew up with him when I stayed in Seoul. We were inseparable. But, I had to leave. I left without saying goodbye," you paused as the memory of you leaving flooded back as if you were back to that scene. "I knew we'd always be connected. No matter where we were, no matter what happened, we'd always be there for each other - always and in all ways."

In-ho's stare was unwavering, sharp, and deliberate as if daring to acknowledge the unspoken tension between you two. Your gaze clung to him as your eyes glistened with unshed emotions as if begging him to see how you missed him. You knew right then and there that it was In-ho you were looking at, not the Young-il he pretended to be. For a moment there, he looked like he might actually say something.

Then, just like that, he laughed. It was sharp and bitter. Like something was jagged to this throat, the hurt coming out as you felt it pierce your heart.

"People do that a lot, don't they?" In-ho mused, tilting his head slightly. "They all come back hoping to find something... only to realize it was never there to begin with."

"Yeah," you whispered, holding back your tears as you nodded slowly. "I guess so."

You hoped that something, or anything, that the boy you had once known would still be there. But in his eyes, you only saw a stranger. "If you're looking for something that's long gone, maybe you're wasting your time."

Your gaze locked on to his, and for a moment, everything seemed to slip out from your hands - your heart, your memories, your In-ho. It was all just gone, replaced with the avoidant and cruel Young-il.

"Young-il, you can't just shut her down like that," Gi-hun took a step forward, his brow furrowed with concern. "That's harsh."

"It's not a big deal," you spoke up, your voice trying not to crack. "He said maybe. He has a point."

Gi-hun, still caught in the confusion, glanced back at you, his face softening with empathy. "You'll find him soon, once we get out of there, hmm?"

You nodded, feeling thankful for Gi-hun's efforts. "I guess I'm the only one holding on," you murmured. "But he's right. It doesn't matter."

You turned away, the finality of it hitting you like waves. You didn't want to dwell too much on your feelings, thankful for the fact when Dae-ho held out his hand for everyone to stack theirs. "Let's huddle up."

You stacked your hands up along the others while In-ho stacked his on top of yours. You tried to ignore his touch, remembering how he dismissed you earlier.

"In one, two, three. Victory at all costs!" Dae-ho exclaimed with determination, as all of you cheered.

"This time, the vote will begin with Player 001," the square-masked guard announced. "Player 001, please cast your vote."

Everyone's eyes turned to In-ho, or so he introduced himself as Young-il. His eyes darted over you before walking towards the buttons. The room was thick with anticipation, his every step echoing in the silence as he walked. You notice his head facing upward, seeing the TV up. He was the first to vote, and you trusted that he would press X this time.

The red light shone on his face as he pressed X, a sigh of relief coming out of you as did the other players. He removed his O patch and replaced it with the X patch, walking towards the X area.

"Player 002."

You walked towards the voting machine, moving with a quiet, measured pace, your footsteps steady but purposeful. Your gaze flickered to the buttons, X or O, ready for you to decide. You didn't hesitate as you pressed the X button, the red light shining on your face as you saw the X results come for 2. You took a step back, walking towards the X area near Young-il.

The silence between you and In-ho was almost oppressive as the quietness of the room amplified the tension that clung to your skin. You both stood there, still and composed. You took a quick glance at him, only to find him already looking at you, making your heart skip.

"Player 007."

It was a brief eye contact, seeing a brief of the In-ho you knew than this In-ho he claimed to be. But the longer he looked at you, the more it hurt. In those seconds, you knew that even if he may have remembered something in the past, he wasn't going to let it through.

You abruptly looked at the TV as you saw the O results come up with 1. Your jaw dropped seeing Yong-sik vote for O, replacing his X patch with the O patch. You looked at Geum-ja, who seemed to be surprised with her son's decision as well. Knowing Geum-ja, she probably warned her son first before voting, only for Yong-sik to choose a completely different path.

You noticed more and more players voting for O, much to your horror. The more you stayed in this place, the more feelings of regret continued to stick through you.

"Player 095."

You were confident that Young-mi would press X as a sigh of relief came out from you when she did so. She walked towards next to you, giving her a reassuring smile as you held her hand for a bit, trying to calm her down.

Your eyes focused on the TV as you see more players vote, your emotions feeling as if they're on a rollercoaster as the votes alternated with X and O. Your hopes crushing as you see the O votes leading.

"Player 120."

Hyun-ju took a while to decide. When you noticed her hands flicker to the O button, you stared in horror a she pressed it, the blue light shining in her face as the O vote increased.

"Unnie," Young-mi mumbled as she looked at Hyun-ju, seeing them lock gazes for a while. You could sense Hyun-ju's hesitation as she went to the O area, her 0 patch remained in her tracksuit.

X - 33, O - 36

"Everyone!" Gi-hun shouted from behind the crowd. Though you felt a movement on your side as you saw In-ho moving towards the middle.

"Are you all out of your minds?" In-ho exclaimed in disbelief, his eyebrows furrowed together. "You still want to keep going after watching all those people die? Who's to say you won't die in the next game?" He walked towards the back, eyeing each and every player. "We have to stop. We'll all die if we keep going! Come to your senses, and leave with that money." He gritted his teeth as he spoke, his words spewing out with frustration. "You've got to survive first, or there won't be a next step."

"What do you think we can do with a mere 70 million?" Jeong-dae walked towards In-ho, raising his voice. "I don't know how much you owe, but for most people here, that doesn't even cover 10% of their debt. Am I right?" He yelled as the other players nodded in agreement. "There's no next step for us! That money won't change anything!"

"With that amount of money, I won't last long," Player 043 shouted, pointing at the piggy bank.

"It was 25 million after the first game," Jeong-dae continued. "And now, it's 78 million. After one game, the amount more than tripled! If we play one more game, the prize will be at least 240 million!"

"But I can't do this anymore," Young-mi cried out, tears forming in her eyes as her breath trembled. "Please. Please let me out of here. I really want to go home. I don't want to die."

"Young lady," another player spoke, his face pleading as he almost sobbed. "You're young, so you'd probably have another chance. But I don't. My family and I have no future. My business failed, and now I owe over 500 million. I've got to make at least half of that there if I want a real shot at a fresh start."

"What if you die?" You called out, questioning his statement as you walked towards the middle. "Then it would be the end for you and your family! Can you carry on living knowing how you get all the prize money at the expense of everyone's lives?" You raised your voice as your fingers pointed at him, seeing him look down as if he considered your words.

Just when you think you made your point, another player at the back shouted. "Don't get fucking scared! Ddakji, Red Light, Green Light, Spinning Top - it's not like the games are that difficult," he pointed at the TV. "Look, there are still 255 players. Way more than half of us survived! We've made it this far, so let's do this one more time!"

You felt your throat dry up, realizing how morally wrong that seemed, but he still made a point. You looked at In-ho, your eyes asking for support. But he only stared at you, his gaze seemingly unreadable.

You felt your heart pounding hard in your chest as your hearing started to become distorted as you heard the other players chant one more game, much to your fear. You felt suffocated as the air felt thick with... greed. You felt your migraine coming back, your pulse following the beat of each chant.

You felt a hand grab you from behind, pulling you from the crowd. You were too fazed, questioning humanity every second as the O votes increased more. Each tick of the counter felt like a hammer to the chest, each number driving the reality of the game deeper into your bones.

Your gaze drifted towards the hand that held you, realizing it was from In-ho. His fingers were cold and firm, pressing it gently as you felt your pulse harder. You could feel the ripple of human desperation in the air, your stomach twisting as nausea built on to you, realizing how greed, survival, and human nature laid bare. You stared at his hand made you more feel suffocated, as if it reminded you that you were tethered into this place, with no chance of escape.

There was no escaping it. If you wanted to get out of this place, you had to kill your way in. You were caught in a web of human greed.

"The results are 139 for O and 116 for X. Based on the majority vote, we'll proceed to the third game tomorrow."

You removed your hand from In-ho as you walked away, heading toward your bed as you lay down, staring at the ceiling, your thoughts blank. You weren't silent - you were silenced. It was no longer about the game, survival, or the people in the room. It was about the slow unraveling of human nature.

You turned over, burying your face in your pillow. You wanted to go home. You missed when you had no knowledge of this place. Why did you have to throw your life away for this cruel mess? Were you brought in here to question humanity? To reveal the true course of human nature? In this place, there was no salvation. You were surrounded by people who decided to fight, even if it meant leaving others behind.

Your heart ached as the cruelty in this place started to crawl into you, remembering more of how In-ho dismissed your feelings yet he continued to give you mixed signals, trying to weigh in if it was In-ho or Young-il you were talking to. He transformed in front of your eyes, and you couldn't help but wonder if it was because of the game, or if it was just his true nature finally breaking through.

----

You felt a light shine on your face. You noticed the players lining up for food, but you didn't feel like eating. You felt your stomach twist, though it wasn't from hunger - just mere emptiness. The food was there just waiting for you to be claimed, but you couldn't bring yourself to at least stand up.

"It's mealtime," you heard someone say, a voice you didn't want to hear, or at least expect.

You turned your back on him. "Not hungry." The flash of his words echoed through your mind, "If you're looking for something that's long gone, maybe you're wasting your time." The words had cut through you like a knife, a cruel reminder of how easily he had dismissed everything. And now, here he was, trying to coax you into eating.

"You need to eat," he firmly said. You turned to face him, seeing his eyes searching your face, with worry this time.

You scoffed. "You're wasting your time."

In-ho looked at you for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly as if he couldn't understand. He let his hand fall back to his side as he quietly walked away, while you stayed still on your bed. Instead, you closed your eyes, deciding to sleep and skip mealtime instead.

Just as you were about to drift off to sleep, you felt someone nudge your shoulder again. You sighed in annoyance, sitting right up as you turned to face In-ho, only to be surprised when you saw him holding two breads and two milk cartons. He placed a piece of bread and milk on top of your bed.

"I said eat," In-ho said, his voice commanding. He turned away and sat on the staircase near the others as Gi-hun, Dae-ho, and Jun-hee ate together in silence.

You can't help but feel your stomach growl, finally confirming that you are indeed hungry. You didn't want to let pride run over you just because it was In-ho who gave you your food. You reluctantly opened your bread and took a bite of it, savoring its cloudy texture to your mouth.

"Brother Jung-bae!" Dae-ho called out to Jung-bae, who was eating a bit away from your group. When he didn't budge, Dae-ho sighed and walked over to him, dragging him back to the group as Jung-bae reluctantly looked at everyone. "It bugs me seeing you sitting there all pathetic."

You only gave a small laugh as you continued to munch on your bread. Despite the awfulness in this place, you can't help but think how this place makes the best food you've ever tasted in your life, as if it was your last meal on earth.

"I'm sorry," Jung-bae said as he looked at all of you, his hands trembling a bit. "Jun-hee, Young-il, Y/N, I'm sorry," he bowed at each of you, then turned to Gi-hun. "Gi-hun, I'm sorry. I borrowed some emergency cash, and the creditors are harassing my ex-wife and kid. If I play one more game, I think I'll be able to settle my debt."

"Jung-bae," In-ho interrupted, looking at him steadily. His voice was low but you could hear the amusement in his voice. "You of all people shouldn't have done it. It's not twice as righteous," he pouted, much to your surprise.

You hated how your heart skipped a beat upon seeing him pout, a rush of warm feeling spread through your chest as your cheeks flushed. You quickly looked away, trying to avoid his eye contact as you noticed him glance at you as he pouted.

In-ho sighed and continued. "But, looking at the results, even if you had voted against, we would still have been outvoted."

"Right? It's not entirely my fault," Jung-bae said quickly, his breath hitching as his face lit up. You could see the comfort in his eyes as if his vote was justified, adding more when Dae-ho agreed.

"To be honest, I understand why you did it. The money isn't enough for me either, so when I went up to vote, I did think about playing one more game," Dae-ho admitted.

"You did?" Jung-bae asked, grabbing Dae-ho's shoulder.

Dae-ho grimaced and pushed Jung-bae back. "I said I get it."

Jung-bae sat beside In-ho as he bowed, sighing as he sat down. "Thank you for understanding. But I voted in favor partly because I feel confident. We did so well as a team, didn't we?" He looked at everyone, expecting an agreement. "If we stick together one more time, I'm sure we'll be fine," he moved towards Jun-hee. "Jun-hee, I'll make sure we survive the next game--"

"The next game?" Gi-hun sighed, staring into space as if his life flashed before his eyes. "In the next game, we might have to kill each other."

Jung-bae was clearly taken aback, staring in horror as Gi-hun spoke those words.

"Gi-hun, that's a bit much," In-ho replied, his voice light trying to ease the tension. "There's nothing we can do now, so let's try to stay positive."

"That's... not impossible," you spoke, much to everyone's surprise. You opened your milk carton, ready for you to drink yet it remained in your hand. "Every life here is valued at 100 million won. There's a high chance they would let us kill each other knowing how the O team was determined to continue the games, clearly not caring if they had to kill for the prize. They even have an estimate on how much the next prize money would be."

In-ho only looked at you as he ate his bread, chewing it as he gave you a nod as if he just analyzed you. "If that's the case, then we should eat, pull ourselves together, and try our best again."

You took a sip of your milk, only to find it to be chocolate milk instead. You glanced at the other milk cartons that your group had, and everyone had plain milk. You checked the label on yours, confirming it to be actually chocolate milk. You stared at it confusingly, wondering how you got a different milk than the others. You checked the other players' milks, all of them with the same flavors.

"Here, Jun-hee," In-ho handed his plain milk carton to her, waiting for her to take it. "You can have mine. Hang in there until the next game."

Jun-hee reluctantly looks at it, clearly shy. "No, it's okay."

"Take it," In-ho insisted. "I don't drink plain milk."

You blinked, caught off guard as you realized they all had plain milk. You were confused as to how that happened. How was he able to retrieve chocolate milk from the guards?

For a moment, you were caught between the instinct of continuing to drink and enjoy every sip of it. You noticed In-ho looking at you and the milk you were drinking, his gaze unreadable and neutral. At the back of your head, you wanted to believe that he hadn't forgotten. The In-ho you knew always remembered how you preferred it than plain milk, as you liked your milk sweeter. The milk felt out place, yet comforting.

You stared at it, you swear you've seen it. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he saw you drinking your milk. It was so simple, yet the weight of it felt heavy. Did he remember?

Your mind raced, trying to make sense of it. There had been no warmth in his actions before, especially when he easily dismissed your feelings. And yet, here was this. A small, seemingly insignificant gesture. But in the context of everything else, it felt like a distant echo of something real, something from the past that couldn’t exist here, not in this place.

You needed to know what In-ho was trying to do, and why he was acting this way. You needed to find the answer as to why he chose to hide behind the facade of Young-il in this place. At this point, the one who gave you the milk, was it really In-ho, or just another game that Young-il wanted to play?

----

A/N: I hope you like how I added more of the reader and in-ho's moments together. As much as possible, I try to still include the dialogues from the actual show and add some from Y/N to not disrupt the whole story. With that, feel free to leave out your thoughts here, and I'll gladly interact with each and everyone of you. 🫶

Don't forget to leave a comment in this post to be tagged on the next chapter! ✨

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TAGS: @machipyun @love-leez @enzosluvr @amber-content @kandierteveilchen @butterfly-lover@1nterstellarcha0s @squidgame-lover001 @risingwithtriples @fries11 (p.s. if i forget to tag you, please let me know)

[blxxmingrose]

the movie was a blur for hans too, though he wouldn’t admit it out loud. there were movements on screen that captivated his eyes, but his being was somewhere else, encapsulated in this moment, fully aware of june’s presence near him. fully aware of how that presence made him feel. 

it made hans feel like he had been given permission to sit back and figuratively let his hair down, like nothing else would happen. he felt safe in the knowledge that they were all here, he wouldn’t worry about june while the snowstorm raged on, and he wouldn’t worry about june worrying about them either. he didn’t need to worry at all. he smiled to himself, allowing himself to bask in this feeling of safety and belonging, letting it chase away the coldness of the night. 

“i have a lot of free time to think when you and sunny are at school,” he said jokingly, and even how that sounded felt different to hans. he didn’t feel lonely being alone in his flower shop anymore. even in those moments, he could feel june’s presence, and the way they found the time to talk to each other when they could, made him feel like he truly existed in someone else’s life. that he mattered. 

“and if you’re easily convinced for future movie nights, then i have a lot more thinking and preparing to do.” he wanted june to stay, in so many words. he felt brave in that moment, and he gave a wink as he ended his words, though the gesture made him chuckle as he did so. it was so unlike him to be this carefree around someone, but that’s what june brought out in him. and, if he was being honest, he never wanted to lose that feeling.

sunny’s small frame leaning on him was starting to feel heavy, and it could only mean one thing. he moved slightly to see her eyes fighting the urge to close, a yawn escaping her lips just at the right moment to confirm hans’ suspicion. as the ending credits started, he gave june a quick look and mouthed, “i should put her to bed. but you can pick another movie if you want.” 

and with that, he carried sunny in his arms, her tired arms circling around his neck as her final attempts to keep her eyes open scanned for june in the room, making sure he was still there. “he’ll still be here tomorrow when you wake up,” hans whispered reassuringly, taking careful steps toward her room as she closed her eyes completely. 

hans laid her down gently and made sure she was wrapped up nicely in her covers, planting a kiss on her forehead before he straightened up. he kept her door open wider this time, so he could hear her even from the living room, where he headed back with his heart feeling full.

“she was fast asleep as soon as i put her down. i wonder how long she’s been trying to stay awake,” he said, still whispering as he returned to his seat. with sunny vacating the space between them, hans felt even more conscious of their closeness, and it filled him with a cocktail of emotions all at once. as he repositioned the blanket around him, he turned to glance at june, taking in the moment and smiling fondly, “ready for one more movie?” 

june accepted the other end of the blanket without hesitation, pulling it over himself and adjusting it slightly so it covered his shoulder. the warmth was immediate, seeping into him in a way that had almost nothing to do with the fabric itself and everything to do with this*. the closeness, the way hans had thought to prepare for tonight, the way sunny nestled so easily between them, content and secure.

“you really did think of everything, huh?” june murmured, his voice carrying the kind of fond amusement that settled low and comfortably in his chest. his gaze flickered to hans briefly before returning to the screen, though he wasn’t really watching the movie anymore. he could hear it, the dialogue blending into the soft rustle of the blanket and the occasional sound of sunny shifting, but the details blurred.

because the thing about a moment like this was that it held you. it wrapped itself around you like the blanket over their shoulders, tugging you deeper into its warmth. it didn’t need to be spoken about, only felt.

and june felt it.

he exhaled, sinking further into the couch, allowing himself the luxury of letting go. of not needing to be anywhere else. he wasn’t used to this — this quiet contentment, this ease of existing with someone else without worrying about when it might slip away. but hans comment made something tug in june’s chest, a promise he wanted to believe in. “you know,” he started again, tilting his head slightly toward hans, a small, thoughtful smile tugging at his lips, “if you ever need an excuse to have more nights like this… i’m not exactly hard to convince.”

it was a quiet offering. a way of saying i’d stay if you let me.

[savourandswell]

Dude you dissapeared just few months and you blew up!! What the hell did u do this time? So hot and inspiring! Congrats!

HAHA I knowwwwww. I can honestly say it just kind of… happened. I wasn’t trying, the weight just keeps coming. Thinking about my routine though, there are a few tips I have for anyone aspiring to or struggling to gain. So here they are…

WEIGHT GAIN TIPS FROM SAVOURANDSWELL

#1. 🥛MILK���:

I love milk. The value of milk to growing and maintaining my weight cannot be overstated. I consider it the most important aspect. A litre of whole milk contains anywhere from 650-850 calories, nearly double that if it’s Half&Half. SODA DOESN’T COME CLOSE TO NUMBERS LIKE THAT‼️ That’s not even to mention how nutritious milk is, you’ll get fatter, but somehow feel fitter. Trust me- if you want some easy gains, drink less soda and more milk.

#2. ❌No Small Snacks❌:

Small snacks will sabotage your appetite. If you’re hungry but all you have available is a packet of chips or some fruit? Leave them, stay hungry. Let that feeling grow- let your mind be consumed by the thought of food and wait until you have the chance to eat a real meal. You’ll eat far more calories then than if you’d given in for a paltry couple hundred.

#3. ⬆️BIG Meals & Eat Them Quickly⬆️:

If you can handle it, cut out snacks completely and eat 2-3 big meals a day. Your stomach will struggle to feel a difference between a huge amount of calories eaten far apart and a small amount eaten regularly throughout the day- but the scales will notice. 6000 calories spread across 3 meals will leave you feeling no more full than 2500 spread through small meals and snacks.

When you do eat your meals, EAT FAST. None should take much longer than 15-20 minutes, if they do, your body will start to feel it and your appetite will fail. I love to savour my food- but I save that for fancy dinners and sessions with a partner. If you want to gain, eat quickly and without very much thought at all. That leads me to my next point-

#4. 📱Eat Mindlessly📱

Don’t think too much when you eat, not even about how much you’re enjoying the food. There’s a real and powerful connection between mind and body- if you’re truly aware of how much food you’re eating, you will feel more full. Try not think about it, distract yourself by watching a movie, or YouTube, or talking to someone. Have all your food ready next to you, and shovel it in while you focus on something else.

#5. 💤Eat Your Biggest Meal Just Before You Sleep💤

Conventional wisdom states that eating before you sleep will make you fatter because your body is more sedentary- that doesn’t really make much sense, a calorie is a calorie regardless of when you eat it. HOWEVER, much of my previous advice will be perfectly applied by eating at this time. You will have had to wait quite a while between meals to eat at this time, making you very hungry. You will be tired, helping you to eat mindlessly. Besides that- you will get the pure bliss of descending into a sweet food coma every night, and leave just enough time for you to wake up hungry all over again.

Well, that’s it. Some quick tips from savourandswell. They may not feel applicable to you, they may even seem undesirable for the kind of lifestyle you want to live… HEY, that’s fine, no problem. This is just one fat guys tips, there are tons of ways to gain weight and mine may not work for everyone- but it’s worked for me, and that’s worth considering. Good luck ;)