#them hitting identical poses

[percussi0ngun]

📸 christy bush

[cutestanomaly]

certified freak of a sea angel has breached containment

she has joined the function against people's better wishes - do you shoot your shot or accept she's out of your league

[kingdomvel]

Steve and Eddie, who are both in a city for some music awards the next day, who both decide to go out for a couple of drinks the night before, who entirely thanks to destiny sit next to each other at the bar, who hit it off quickly and start talking and go on and on and on and on...

Steve knows that he recognizes Eddie from somewhere, but he is not entirely sure where from until a guy approaches them asking for a picture with him, that Steve takes very amused, and he realises he's the metal guy Dustin had asked him to take a picture with if he saw him at the awards.

Eddie, on the other hand, doesn't recognise Steve at all, even though he is objectively way more famous than him. It's just that Steve always wears a wig and sunglasses, a moustache that is sometimes fake. It's not like his identity is a secret, he does some interviews without the costume. It's what robin has called his 'drag persona' and not his hannah montana. Gives him some peace in the way that only dedicated fans recognise him when he's out.

The night is coming to an end and Eddie gets a brilliant idea to see Steve again. He asks him to be his date to the award show, like a full date, stand at his side at the red carpet and pose with him and everything, he thinks it will be fun and a very amused Steve agrees.

Eddie is very confused and surprised when the photographers ask to take pictures of his date alone at the red carpet, when some interviewers call out to him and he goes to them easily, but he is too caught up on his own interviews with his band to really pay attention to whatever shenanigans his very hot "anonymous" date has decided to pull.

Eddie is absolutely shocked when his hot "anonymous" date wins artist of the year and kisses him before going on the stage.

[tuliptears]

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU WEARING!?”

Halloween was such a freeing holiday.

getting to dress-up as anyone or thing that tickled your fancy, as long as it was funny and recognizable.

it's refreshing to see others also partake in the festivities with the exchanging treats and the abundance of tricks played on unsuspecting victims.

not to mention the absolute kick you’re getting as Katsuki seethes at what you'd chosen to wear.

“My costume!” You grin widely with pride, puffing your chest out and putting your hands on your hips.

sure, he’s seen plenty of dynamights roaming the streets as he went about patrol, yelling kiddy swears and mimicking his move sets to the best of their abilities.

it's a whole different ball game when his partner decides to dress up as him; the fact that it was identical to the one he wore back during his UA days makes it worse.

“Midoriya helped with the finer details,” you casually named drop your accomplice, gave an uncharacteristic twirl, and let Katsuki bask and relive his glory days, “what do you think?”

“It fucking sucks.” Is all he manages to get past his tightly gritted teeth.

as he makes an expanding list of ways he plans on getting his revenge, you change your pose to one you'd seen him do a dozen times.

“I’m sorry, but I’m pretty sure I absolutely nailed the ‘Lord Explosion Murder’ era perfectly.” the chunky styrofoam gauntlets were a bit of a hassle to haul around and you weren't even going to mention how heavy the mask/headpiece was.

“Don’t fuckin’ stand like that!” He’s pointing now, bright-red eyes narrowing at the protruding curve in your spine as you dramatically slouched into yourself.

"please, you stood exactly like this. I have the pictures!"

Katsuki's growling now, chest heaving with each angry breath he took, "you and that shitty nerd are so gonna get it."

“What’s crawled up yer ass, ya damn extra?” you try to closely match the gravelly, rough draw of his voice, which stokes the fire from deep within him even more.

the embarrassment hits him at full-force when your lips curl into an intimidating snarl, thinned-out brows making nearly perfect ‘v’ shapes as you do your best ‘dynamight’ glare, “cut it the fuck out!”

that's when he sees it.

a mischievous glint you get in your eyes when you'd come up with something you knew he'd absolutely hate.

tension only seems to thicken as you open your mouth and attempt to speak.

you’d barely rasped your first ‘oi!’ before he’s finally had enough and charges at full-speed.

costumed kids and adults alike looked on in confused horror as two Dynamights went barreling past them, one letting out boisterous fits of laughter and the other looking like he was seconds away from tearing his doppelgänger’s head right off.

[fullfriendnerdclutch]

Revolving Door

When Tate McRae said that "I keep comin' back like a revolving door" in her hit song, I guess that aptly described my relationship with my ex-boyfriend, Kentaro, or Ken for short.

He's a toxic, manipulative, trustfund gym junkie that is completely a red flag through and through, but how can I resist him when he always fashioned himself in an entirely different manner after every single time he fucked up? What I'm about to tell you is absurd but it really is the truth, but aside from being crazy rich due to his parents work, that work done by his parents also enabled him to shapeshift into any human being on Earth as long as he physically touched them. So, imagine my frustration (and obviously massive surprise that almost sent me to cardiac arrest) that after my first breakup with him, the person I have a big fat crush on because of his interest to me that came out of nowhere as I noticed him from ages before but not receiving any signal in return until after my breakup turned out to be Kentaro in disguise!

How did I found out about it? Well, he revealed himself by shifting right in front of my eyes after he fucked me. He explained that the people he decided to shift into would fall asleep as soon as he shifted into their form and so all the flirting I received from Grant was actually his. I obviously called him a fucking creep right then and there and started to throw any stuff I could find at him, until he shifted into my own fucking boss back then and styled that man in his posing brief as we knew him to be a bodybuilder and even watched his shows as he invited all the employee to support him. He grabbed me with my boss fucking muscular arm and leaned closer to me with a smirk before ravenously kissed me, using his knowledge over my fantasies that I shared with him about my boss as a weapon to attack my defense, which of course unable to resist my own wildest fantasies that came to life at that time

And that's been the dynamic ever since. Every time after our breakup and even when I already dated steadily with my now-boyfriend Lin, or Linford based on his English nickname, Ken would tease me from time-to-time for a quick fling here and there. My younger sis jock boyfriend......

the fucking plumber that worked in my house......

and even a random jogger I bumped with became a string of his identity theft victim and also my passionate lust and no matter how disgusted or wracked with guilt I was, I always returned with fascination to his different kind of embraces and deep obsession with me

He seemed to keep track of me rather obsessively, or maybe I let him track me deep within my psyche as I desired his bold moves, like shifting into my favorite coffee shop barista and sent me a crude message through HIS PHONE offering a fucking during his shift break as a reward for my loyalty to the indie coffee shop!

Or when he shifted into the fucking priest that officiated the wedding of our mutual friend, his eyes probably noticed how long I kept my eyes shut and lulled to the priest's fatherly baritone that enchanted everyone and when I caught seeing for too goddamn long at the priest taking off his suit jacket to reveal an insanely tight shirt that hugged his splendid figure. Ken used all that knowing full-well how much a man that pious turned out to be corrupted and want to fuck another man really stirred my groin with excitement

He seemed to really understand me in a molecular level, at least when it comes to my lust and sexual desires, and he utilized it in ways not a single boyfriend of mine after him managed to do.

So, after one of my escapades with him just a few months ago, this time he was in the form of my CEO's asshole son, he asked me

"What are we, really? I won't keep doing this with you, Evan. I have a life I want to build too and as much as I enjoyed your company with all your ideas and kink, this needs to be put to a stop if you really don't want to end with me. You always returned to me no matter how far you go, why can't you just stay with me then if I'm that irressistible for you?"

I was stunned........but I have no answer back then so I ran right away and leaving him to dust. I ghosted him by blocking all contacts of his because I was surprised he took all of the flings deeper than it should when I treated it as something shallow.

Nowadays, I really enjoyed Linford's presence and I've not cheated from him ever since. He's quite the gym junkie too in the past few months, I told him to bulk up and be strong and he took the advice really well and even more devoted compared to my working out hours as he has the flexibility of remote work. Things are also more exciting as Linford also shown me his shapeshifting power that makes everything so much more exciting in our bedroom, but I love his original look as it is.

[scapegoated-if]

DEMO (128K) SOUNDTRACK PINTEREST BLUESKY Chapter 1 Release Date: 14th Mar 2025

All the leaves are brown, and the sky is grey.

18+ This interactive story includes graphic violence, sexual content, alcohol and drug use, profanity and more.

Disclaimer Gender and race-locked IF due to discussions of gender and racial politics throughout.

Take centre stage as a former-rockstar turned actress navigating your new career and the chilling grip of fan-obsession. Your once-famous band may be nothing short of a ghost of the past to you, but the rest of the world cannot seem to let go. The split in 1968 was scandalous, abrupt and mysterious. And although you’ve thrown yourself into acting and secured your first major role with a big time Hollywood director, whispers of blame have been on your tail ever since.

While most of Hollywood sees these rumours for what they are--empty gossip--a darker current takes precedence and poses a much more sinister threat to your life and the lives of those around you.

✼ Shape and mould into your truest ‘70s self. Perhaps you’re a mod-girl or a hippie? ✼ Interact with '60s and '70s icons on the Sunset Strip. ✼ Help uncover the identity of the 'Ampersand Killer' terrorising the West Coast. ✼ Decide which career path is more fitting for you. Are you made to live on the silver screen or stadium stages? ✼ Maintain and better your physical health and self-defence skills. ✼ Pick from a selection of love interests (including two gender-choice options). ✼ Includes an array of potential flings. ✼ A catalogue of original songs for fictional musicians.

Vincent "Vince" Buscemi, the ex-bandmate ⇢ You were part of one of the most renowned bands of the '60s together. Vince is a jaded soul, harbouring deep-seated reservations about many people--most notably the band's keyboardist--but he has always had a soft spot for you. Despite his guarded demeanour, he exudes effortless charm and impeccable manners, a testament to his healthy upbringing. Though widely celebrated as a pop-culture heartthrob, Vince defies superficial stereotypes. His truest passion lies in music, and it's clear that nothing in the world brings him greater joy.

Penn Hausler, the filmmaker ⇢ Though still considered an up-and-coming filmmaker, Penn has already made a name for himself as a creative force in the industry, thanks to his latest hit starring Faye Dunaway. He radiates charisma, with a shining personality and a sharp sense of humour. He's unmistakably a nerd--passionately devoted to his craft. He's also prone to being a bit of a square, often finding himself tangled in bouts of nervous awkwardness. Despite this, his unwavering commitment to his vision sets him apart, and he's not afraid to take bold creative risks. Case in point: he has cast you as a supporting actress in his next film.

Kai/Kaya Anahareo (m/f), the folksinger ⇢ Although they haven't yet broken into the mainstream, K is a highly skilled musician deeply respected by their peers. Their artistry intertwines seamlessly with their role as a political activist, with much of their protest powerfully conveyed through their music. K is the embodiment of levelheadedness, exuding an aura of calm and balance that draws people to them. Their presence is steady and reassuring, much like the songs they sing--thoughtful, impactful and unwavering.

Dorinda Fisher, the journalist ⇢ Dorinda is a sharp, driven and fiercely dedicated journalist. Relentless in her pursuit of a story or a hard-to-find answer, she doesn't back down easily. Hailing from a small town, she's well-read and possesses a no-nonsense approach to life. You first crossed paths through your bandmate, whom she dated earlier in your career. During the US leg of your tour, she joined the band on the road while freelancing, documenting the whirlwind of your band's journey during a fair few defining months in your rise to fame.

Please note: You will have the option to decide whether the two of you had a romantic connection in the past while you were on the road. If you choose not to follow through with this backstory, you can still romance her as a new connection.

Phillip/Phyllis Wright (m/f), the movie star ⇢ P is a Hollywood icon, a name already as timeless and celebrated as the likes of both Hepburns, Cary Grant and Sidney Poitier. An Academy Award-winning actor, they embody the pinnacle of cinematic stardom, capturing Penn's admiration and dream of collaboration. Known for their charm, striking good looks and effortless sophistication, P commands every room they enter.

Lesley Nielsen, the detective ⇢ Detective Inspector Nielsen is a man married to his work. His guarded and disciplined demeanour can often make him seem laborious, but beneath the tough exterior lies a dry wit and the ability to crack a well-timed joke. A strikingly handsome gentleman, he's adept with a handgun and keeps one at his side at all times. A seasoned veteran of the force, Nielsen only crosses paths with you once he's assigned as the lead detective on the high-profile Ampersand Killer case. Whether you share much in common is up in the air, but one thing is certain: your mutual determination to bring a cold-blooded murderer to justice.

[better-setterv2]

𝒱𝑒𝓁𝓋𝑒𝓉 𝒱𝑜𝓁𝓉𝒶𝑔𝑒

Authors Note: Hey lovelies! Here is another Met Gala one-shot with Lewis. I absolutely bombed the exam I did today for a subject, so I think I’ll stick with ranking 2nd in Advanced English…Anyway hope you enjoy. Lots of love xx

Summary: When a rising starlet and Lewis Hamilton share a charged encounter at the Met Gala. One stolen night spirals into a whirlwind of intimacy, headlines, and the possibility of something real behind the glamour.

Warnings: sexual content

Taglist: @hannibeeblog @nebulastarr

MASTERLIST

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

The Met Gala had always been a spectacle. But this year, it pulsed with something else. Intention.

The theme “Superfine: Tailoring Black Style” was already being heralded as one of the boldest and most meaningful in recent memory.

It wasn’t just fashion. It was reclamation. A symphony of threads and tailoring that spoke of history, joy, diaspora and resistance. Art. Identity. Legacy. This wasn’t a red carpet. It was a runway of remembrance.

And for you, it was your first time attending.

Not your first time being photographed, fame had wrapped itself around you quickly and unapologetically over the last two years.

Your debut album went platinum within months, it’s sound hailed as both sultry and sharp, a new voice shaped from old soul. Then came the film that earned you standing ovations from Cannes to TIFF, your name whispered like a secret the world had just learned to pronounce. You were no stranger to flashbulbs.

But the Met Gala was different. It didn’t care who had a box office hit. It didn’t need a Billboard number one. The Met asked for presence, for interpretation, for myth-making and tonight - you answered.

You arrived alone, by choice.

Your car pulled up to the entrance beneath a wave of glowing cameras, the hum of anticipation already thick in the air. Your stylist gave you one last nod as the door opened, and you stepped out. Planting your heels onto the plush carpet like you were anchoring a story that had waited generations to be told.

The media gasped around you.

You didn’t walk. You glided. Every inch of your obsidian velvet gown caught the light like liquid stone.

It was sculpted, with a high neckline and shoulders sharp enough to cast shadows. The sleeves tapered into long, almost glove like silhouettes and the skirt spilled behind you in organza waves - sheer in certain angles like smoke curling through keyholes. Tiny gold beads were hand sewn into the velvet in patterns that resembled constellations, though only those who knew would recognise them as symbols from African diasporic mythologies. Wisdom. Protection. Transformation.

You were both a woman and a monument. You knew it.

The cameras didn’t stop. They roared. Names were shouted. Flashbulbs erupted like lightning strikes against the buildings facade. You paused mid carpet perfectly and deliberately. You turned your head slightly, and gave them the look. The one they’d put on Vogue’s Instagram within seconds. The one that said, “I’m not here to be seen. I’m here to be remembered.”

And then. you felt it.

Not the flashes, not the crowd. Something else. A shift. Like gravity realigning.

You didn’t see him immediately. You felt him.

It was the kind of awareness that travels through skin before it reaches your eyes. A pull. A hum. Like your name was being whispered in a language you’d never heard, but somehow understood.

And when you turned slow, cautious, like you were afraid it might not be real - he was already watching you.

Lewis Hamilton.

He stood beneath the museum’s lights, mid pose just off centre in a halo of fashion editors and photographers. But he was still. Still in a way that made the rest of the world feel like it was moving too fast.

He wasn’t smiling. But his lips curved like he might. Just for you.

His look was lethal in its elegance. The bespoke cream suit by Wales Bonner hugged his frame like second skin, fluid in cut but firm in posture.

A poetic structure. Gold pins traced the lapel like medals of honor, each representing a Black British. His stack of rings glistened in the light, leaving a spark throughout the room. The chainlink detail around his collarbone caught the light just once as he shifted slightly. Subtle, powerful.

But it was the beret that made him dangerous.

Tucked over his dark braided bun with effortless defiance, it crowned him with quiet authority. He looked like a man who had studied revolution and then tailored it to fit.

And his eyes? They never left you.

For one suspended moment, time held its breath. The sound of voices blurred. The flashes faded to static. There were only two people in the museum’s grand entrance now and one unseen string tying them together across a sea of velvet and marble.

You didn’t look away.

Your chin lifted slightly, just enough to acknowledge him. Just enough to say, “I see you, too.”

His jaw shifted, a slight clench. Not tension, just focus. Like he was memorising you. Like he’d wait through a hundred other introductions just to reach yours.

And then, your cue came.

Your name was called by a nearby handler. The moment still thick with heat shimmered, stretched and finally broke as you walked toward the steps, the hem of your gown dragging galaxies behind you.

You felt his eyes follow.

Even as stylists gathered around him. Even as Anna Wintour herself passed nearby. He watched you ascend the carpet, like you were a prophecy walking into frame.

And for the rest of the night you felt it. Every glance across the exhibit floor. Every quiet step he took in the corner of your eye. The air between you never cooled.

It just waited, patiently for the moment it could ignite.

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

The rest of the carpet blurred into motion and noise.

You posed, pivoted and smiled on instinct as if your body was moving like a trained rhythm. Your angles memorised from a hundred other carpets.

Yet tonight, every flash of the camera, every shouted question from the press or every click of a stiletto heel beside you felt muffled. Like the world had been draped in velvet too. You floated through the chaos and somewhere beneath it all, his presence still anchored you.

You didn’t have to look to know it, Lewis was still watching.

Across the carpet, he hadn’t moved much. Just a few steps, a brief handshake, the kind of pauses required by social expectation. But even in the blur of celebrity arrivals and camera flashes, the shift in his focus was obvious. Deliberate. Palpable.

"Over here, Lewis!"
“Lewis, give us a smile!”
“Look left! Look left!”

But he wasn’t really looking at them.

His gaze, unbothered by the frenzy around him kept finding you. Kept staying on you. There was no pretending otherwise.

And social media, as always had clocked it first.

@f1fashiondaily: Is it just us or is Lewis Hamilton absolutely mesmerised by [Y/N] tonight? 👀🔥 #MetGala2025


@celebwatcher: This year's Met Gala couple we didn’t know we needed??? Hamilton hasn’t stopped staring at her 😭


@vogueupdates: The velvet, the gaze, the tension. We’re witnessing something ICONIC unfold between Lewis Hamilton and [Y/N].

You stepped inside the museum with a final camera flash at your back and a steadying breath in your lungs. But his eyes, those warm steady eyes, followed you like a hawk.

Inside, the chaos softened.

Candlelight flickered from golden sconces and low arrangements of wildflowers in jewel tones. The museum air hummed with jazz and murmurs and the exhibit hall glowed with reverence. It felt holy, almost. A sanctum of style and ancestry.

You moved slowly, letting your fingers trail near but not quite touching, a hand embroidered kaftan displayed behind glass.

Everything in the exhibit was curated like poetry. Lewis’s touch as co-chair was everywhere. Each mannequin and spotlighted detail whispering something about roots, revolution and remembering.

You were lingering by a Zoot suit, its lapels embroidered with subtle resistance when you felt him again.

Not a sound. Not a brush of fabric. Just a change in the air behind you, warmth.

“That one was my grandfather’s era,” a voice said low and deep behind you. “He used to say that wearing a sharp suit was like putting on armor.”

You turned slowly.

Lewis Hamilton stood just behind you, close enough that you could see the gold threadwork gleaming along the edge of his collar. Close enough that your breath caught before you could stop it.

He was impossibly composed, yet somehow charged. Electricity in human form.

The soft lighting kissed the sharp cut of his jaw, the smooth cream of his tailored suit. That same gold Ghana pin gleamed on his lapel simple, potent. And his scent - spiced vetiver with something rich underneath, wrapped around you like silk smoke.

“Was he into fashion?” you asked, your voice quiet, but steady.

Lewis tilted his head. “He was into dignity. Suits were part of that. Velvet, especially said it looked like royalty if you wore it right.”

His eyes drifted over your dress, deliberate. A slow, admiring pass from collarbone to train. It wasn’t crude. It was reverent.

“He would’ve loved your gown,” Lewis said. “No question.”

You exhaled a small laugh, part surprise, part delight. “Is that a compliment from you, or from him?”

His grin was instant, slow and confident. “Both. But he’d have said it first.”

Something bloomed between you then, not quite flirtation. Something weightier. Deeper.

You turned back toward the exhibit, but he stayed beside you your steps falling into sync. He pointed out pieces with the casual ease of someone deeply involved but never showy. He told you about the designers, the silent icons and the Black tailors who shaped red carpets without ever stepping on one. His knowledge wasn’t performative, it was passionate.

“I’ve never seen someone wear history so casually,” you murmured, eyes still on a piece.

He looked at you, sharp and sudden.

“You’re doing the same,” he said.

The words wrapped around you with a softness that sank straight to your skin. They weren’t a line. They were recognition.

You tried to respond but found yourself tongue tied in a way you hadn’t been in years. So instead, you just walked. Letting the silence between you say what your words couldn’t.

Occasionally, a flash would break through from the corners of the room, photographers grabbing what they could. A few guests glanced over, murmuring as they passed.

But in the space you and Lewis had created, the rest of the world barely existed.

By the time dinner began and seats were assigned, you found yourselves separated. A table and two clusters of celebrities between you. But he found you across the room. Every time you lifted your head, his eyes were waiting.

It became a silent rhythm; Look. Find. Hold. Release.

Like a game. Or maybe a warning.

By dessert, you’d stopped trying to talk yourself out of it.

Later, as music swelled and guests began to migrate toward private afterparties, rooftop lounges or secret downtown clubs. You drifted toward the museum exit. The cool of the evening air was beginning to pull you back to earth. The night had been more than you expected. More than you were ready to let go of.

And then you heard him again.

“Leaving already?”

You turned, and he was there. Framed in shadow and golden hallway light. Hands tucked into the pockets of his cream trousers, his braided bun slightly tousled now beneath the soft dip of his beret. Jaw sharp. Gaze sharper.

You tilted your head. “Thinking about it.”

His eyes skimmed yours for a long moment, unreadable. Then -

“Come to mine instead.”

Your breath caught, not from surprise but from the calm certainty in his voice. There was no arrogance in the offer. Just the same quiet focus you’d seen in him all night.

“To…?”

He stepped a little closer. Not touching. Just near. “My suite. It’s quiet. No cameras. Better view. Champagne that doesn’t taste like regret.”

You raised a brow. “That your standard pitch to everyone tonight?”

His smirk was lazy as he tilted his head, knowing. “Just you.”

You should’ve said no. Should’ve laughed and shaken your head, disappeared into the waiting black car outside.

But instead, you stared at him.

At the way his eyes held yours like a promise. At the way the air between you had already decided.

And then, you nodded. Once.

“I’ll come,” you said.

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

Inside, your body was a riot.

Thoughts blurred into pulses, heat coiling low in your stomach, every glance from Lewis replaying like a highlight reel.

Your skin still burned from the way his hand had brushed your lower back exiting the Met. Or from the slow way his eyes had swept over you during dinner, like he hadn’t already memorised every inch.

Now, in the plush darkness of the SUV the silence between you pulsed with thick tension, magnetic and growing louder with every breath. The soft hum of the engine was the only sound until a curve in the road made your knees brush.

Neither of you moved.

He turned his head slightly, eyes catching yours in the shadow. He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. There was something loaded in that look. A question. A promise.

When the car pulled into the private entrance of the hotel, it felt like crossing an invisible threshold.

The flashbulbs were gone. The red carpet miles behind you. Here, it was just shadows and soft light and the heavy thud of your heart echoing in your ears.

He held the elevator door with a hand pressed to the metal, letting you step in first. When he followed, the space felt smaller than it should have. Your back was to the mirrored wall, his broad frame taking up too much air. His scent of amber, smoke, something expensive wrapped around you.

Still, no words.

Just that look.

The doors opened with a soft chime.

The penthouse was warm and modern dark wood, creamy walls, floor to ceiling glass revealing a skyline full of flickering lights. Candles flickered along low tables, already lit by some thoughtful assistant. A single jazz record played softly in the background, the needle slipping through honeyed saxophone.

You stood at the window, arms folding in front of you needing a second to breathe. Your reflection shimmered faintly in the glass, gown still clinging to your frame, makeup still pristine. But inside? You felt undone already.

Behind you, you heard the pop of champagne.

Then his voice, low. “Here.”

You turned.

He was holding a glass out to you, the golden liquid catching the candlelight. You took it, fingers brushing, and the contact sent a flutter down your spine.

You sipped.

“I didn’t think you were the afterparty type,” he said, eyes not leaving your face.

“I’m not,” you answered honestly, lips brushing the rim of the glass. “But you’re not a party.”

His smile came slow, like honey spreading across warm toast. A smile with weight, and heat. “I like the way you say that.”

He stepped closer. Two feet between you. Then one.

“Tell me something real,” he said. “Just one honest thing.”

You didn’t even hesitate. “I don’t let people in like this. Not fast. Not ever.”

He nodded, gaze dropping briefly to your lips before lifting again. “Me neither.”

That look held. Lingering. Wanting.

You stepped into him, fingertips grazing the front of his jacket. The fabric was structured, precise, but beneath it was the steady rise and fall of his chest. “You looked” you murmured, fingers brushing the silk lapel, “unreal tonight.”

His hand found your waist. The heat of his palm burned through the velvet. “So did you. From the second I saw you.”

Then quieter, like he didn’t mean to say it out loud “I couldn’t stop watching you all night. You walked in and it was over.”

You didn’t say anything.

You just kissed him.

His lips met yours with a restraint that lasted all of three seconds. Then it gave. Like a dam breaking, like breath being held too long. His hand slid up your back, then into your hair, tilting your head just right. You moaned softly into his mouth, parting your lips, letting him in. The taste of him was warm, rich and darker, something distinctly Lewis.

When he pulled back slightly, your lips barely apart, you whispered, “Do you want me?”

He exhaled roughly. “I’ve wanted you since the second I saw you. Do you know how hard it was not to touch you all night?”

“Then touch me now.”

That was all it took.

He kissed you again, deeper now walking you backward slowly. You felt the edge of the window behind you. Cool glass against the backs of your arms but the rest of you was burning. His hands found the zipper of your gown. “Let me see you,” he said, voice thick.

You nodded.

He undid the dress with excruciating care. The zipper slid down your spine with a hiss. The velvet pooled at your feet. You stood in heels and delicate lingerie, soft blush rising to your cheeks but not from shyness. From power. Because of the way he looked at you.

Like you were the only thing in the world he wanted.

“Fuck,” he whispered, stepping back to take you in.

Then he was on you again, lifting you easily mouth at your throat, hands firm on your thighs. He carried you toward the bed with ease, laying you down onto the plush sheets like he was setting down something precious.

You reached for his jacket. “Your turn.”

He let you undress him piece by piece. Jacket, shirt, chain and belt. Each new inch of skin revealed made you ache. His body was lean and muscled, inked and golden under the candlelight. When you slid your hands down his chest, he made a sound - low, guttural.

“You drive me insane,” he murmured, lips trailing down your stomach, tongue tracing just under the edge of your bra.

His mouth found your breasts first kissing, teasing, worshiping with slow and deliberate attention. He sucked one nipple into his mouth, rolling the other between his fingers and the sound you made pulled a dark smile from him.

“More,” you whispered, arching into his touch.

His hand slid between your thighs, stroking you through the fabric of your lace underwear already soaked. “I haven’t even touched you properly yet,” he groaned, “and you’re this wet?”

“For you,” you gasped.

He kissed down, tongue finding your inner thigh teasing you until you whimpered. Then he slid your delicate underwear down with both hands and buried his face between your legs.

You cried out, thighs clenching around him.

He moaned into you, slow firm strokes of his tongue that had your back arching off the bed. He held you in place, one hand anchoring your hips while the other splayed over your stomach as he worked you open. You came against his mouth breathless and gasping, fingers in his braided hair with your hips trembling.

But he wasn’t finished.

He slid up your body again, kissing you deeply letting you taste yourself on his tongue. “I need to be inside you,” he rasped. “Now.”

“Yes. Please, yes.”

He entered you in one smooth aching thrust and you both froze for a second, the stretch, the fullness, the pressure of it all hitting at once. His forehead dropped to yours.

“You feel like heaven,” he murmured.

Then he began to move.

Slow at first. Deep. Intentional. Then faster, harder, matching your rhythm as you met each thrust with your own. Your name left his lips again and again, broken and reverent. His hands never stopped moving gripping your waist, your hip, your breast, your throat, his touch everywhere, like he needed to feel all of you at once.

When you came again, it was loud. Shaking. Almost overwhelmed.

He followed with a groan so deep it felt like it echoed in your chest.

You stayed wrapped around each other, trembling and sweat slick, his breath ragged against your collarbone. One arm held you close. The other stroked down your spine.

After a while, he tilted your chin up.

“That wasn’t just the gala,” he said, voice quieter now, eyes softer. “That was something starting.”

You brushed your thumb along his lower lip. “Feels like we’ve been waiting for this a long time.”

“Maybe we have.”

You curled into him. His arms pulled you closer like he had no plans of letting go.

Outside, the city glittered like a thousand unspoken promises. But inside, wrapped in his warmth was something rare.

Not just sparks. Not just heat.

Something real. Something beginning.

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

It wasn’t the sun that woke you, it was warmth. The kind that wasn’t just under the blankets, but wrapped around you in the form of a body which was strong and still asleep beside you.

You blinked your eyes open to golden light filtering in through the tall windows. The city had softened overnight. No longer glittering with chaos just glowing. Quiet.

You turned your head.

Lewis lay on his side, one arm flung across your waist with his face buried against your shoulder. His braids were slightly tousled, one soft strand falling across his forehead. The sharp, regal lines of his face had softened in sleep. No cameras, no crowd, no mask. Just him.

Your chest swelled with something that almost hurt.

This was the realest he’d ever looked.

You shifted slightly, and his arm tightened around you instinctively, like his body already knew you belonged close.

“Don’t move,” he mumbled, voice rough with sleep. “You’re warm.”

You smiled. “You’re clingy.”

“I’ll be clingy as hell if it means waking up to this.”

You turned to face him fully. His eyes opened slowly, warm brown still heavy with sleep but focused. On you.

“Hi,” you said, voice low.

He smiled, lazy and boyish. “Hi.”

A beat of silence passed, stretched by the weight of what last night meant. Neither of you had said it yet, but you both felt the shift. This wasn’t just a fling. This wasn’t a drunken mistake blurred by champagne and candlelight.

This was the start of something. And that realisation made the air feel sacred.

“Did you sleep okay?” he asked, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“I did,” you murmured. “Better than I have in a long time.”

“Good.” He traced a finger down your arm, eyes drinking you in like he couldn’t quite believe you were real. “You looked unbelievable last night. But now? Like this?” He shook his head with a breathless laugh. “I think I’m in trouble.”

You leaned in, kissing his jaw gently. “You are.”

He rolled onto his back, pulling you with him, your body draped across his chest. “I was scared it would feel different in the morning,” he confessed quietly. “Like the night would wear off, and I’d wake up and I don’t know. Panic.”

“Do you?”

“No,” he said. “I feel like I’m exactly where I should be.”

You were quiet for a moment, resting your chin on his chest, eyes on his. “That scares me, too.”

“Yeah?”

You nodded. “Because I wasn’t looking for this. But now that it’s here, I don’t want to pretend it’s not real.”

His fingers slipped under your chin, tilting your face toward him again. “Then don’t.”

He kissed you slow, morning sweet, lazy in the best way. It was a kiss that didn’t rush. A kiss that said we have time. We have space. We’re not running anymore.

When he pulled back, he smiled. “Stay today.”

“I have meetings - ”

He cut you off with another kiss. “Cancel them.”

You laughed against his mouth. “That’s easy for you to say.”

“I’ll make it worth it.” His hands slid under the sheet, finding your waist. His touch was soft, but promising. “Stay in bed with me a little longer.”

You bit your lip, already melting. “Just a little?”

His lips brushed your throat. “I’ll take what I can get.”

And so you stayed.

Wrapped in sheets and skin, exchanging stories and slow kisses, hands tangling under sunlight and soft murmurs. He told you about the gala the nerves, the weight of the night. You told him about how you almost didn’t go. How you weren’t supposed to fall for anyone.

And how quickly, he changed that.

At some point, he sat up to grab a room service menu, glasses sliding onto his nose. You didn’t think it was possible to fall harder until you saw him reading options aloud like he hadn’t just wrecked you twelve hours earlier.

You lounged across the bed in one of his shirts, watching him with a smile.

“I can feel you staring,” he said without looking up.

“Good,” you replied.

When breakfast arrived, you sat cross legged on the bed, eating pancakes and fruit while he fed you bites off his fork and wiped syrup from your lips with his thumb. At one point, your foot tangled with his under the tray and the shared look between you was all heat again.

“Careful,” he warned with a smirk. “I’m trying to behave.”

“Are you?”

“Trying. You’re making it hard.”

You laughed, and he pulled you into his lap, kissing you again. This time, deeper. Hungrier.

The plates were forgotten. The sheets shifted again.

And the day stretched on not in obligations or headlines, but in moments. In touches. In whispered confessions. In the kind of morning you don’t just remember, you relive in your mind a hundred times after.

Because it wasn’t just the night that changed everything.

It was the morning that proved it wasn’t just a dream.

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

You didn’t expect it to happen that fast.

By the time you stepped out of the penthouse elevator just past noon wearing sunglasses, Lewis’s jacket draped over your shoulders and yesterday’s heels in your hand. It had already begun.

Your phone notifications pinged. Then again. Then again.

A missed call from your manager. Three texts from your stylist. Dozens of notifications lighting up your lock screen like fireworks. You didn’t even need to unlock it before seeing the words

TRENDING #1: Lewis & [Y/N] — Met Gala’s Most Unexpected Couple

“Oh no,” you muttered.

Beside you, Lewis still cool, composed, but scanning his own screen with a growing furrow in his brow just hummed low in his throat. “Well,” he said. “So much for subtle.”

A black SUV waited outside the private entrance. Paparazzi hadn’t spotted you yet, but it felt like only a matter of time. You ducked into the car beside him, silence swelling between you like a held breath.

Inside, your phone kept lighting up. And you couldn’t look away anymore.

Your name was everywhere.

Photos from the Met Gala red carpet. Zoomed in screenshots of Lewis staring at you from across the steps. A slowed down clip of him offering his arm during the exhibit walk through. The shot of him standing too close as you gazed at a velvet zoot suit. Headlines screamed it -

“A New Power Couple? Lewis Hamilton Caught in Candid Moments with [Y/N]”

“Velvet, Stares, and That Kiss: Sources Claim Hamilton Left Gala With Rising Star”

“‘He’s Never Looked at Anyone Like That’ Fans React to Hamilton’s Rumored New Flame”

And then came the more…invasive ones.

A blurry, grainy shot taken from god knows where Lewis’s hand on your lower back, the hem of your dress peeking out as the two of you stepped into the penthouse elevator. Not scandalous. But intimate. Enough to set fire to the speculation.

“Jesus,” you whispered.

Lewis glanced over. “You okay?”

“I don’t know.” You leaned back into the leather seat, heart pounding in your throat. “It’s a lot.”

“I know,” he said gently. “I should’ve warned you.”

“It’s not your fault.” You looked down. “I just I wasn’t ready to be dissected like this.”

He reached over, took your hand in his.

His grip was steady. Grounding.

“They’ll move on in a few days. They always do.”

You swallowed. “Unless we give them something real to keep watching.”

His thumb brushed over your knuckles. “Is that what we’re doing? Giving them something real?”

You met his eyes. “Aren’t we?”

He nodded once. “Yeah. We are.”

Your phone buzzed again this time, a DM from someone you hadn’t spoken to in months. The kind of message that only came when people sensed the air shifting around you. Fame had always been a double edged sword. Now, it felt like you were holding both blades.

You turned the screen off and placed it face down.

“I don’t want to be part of a spectacle,” you said quietly.

“You won’t be. Not if we control the story.” He exhaled. “You’re not a fling. This isn’t gossip. If people are going to talk, let them talk about how I respect you. How you own every room you walk into. How I’ve never met anyone like you.”

You looked at him, stunned by the honesty, the weight of it.

“But that means stepping into this with me,” he added. “Even when it gets messy.”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you reached for his hand again, lacing your fingers with his.

“I’d rather it be messy and honest than perfect and fake.”

He smiled, the tension in his jaw softening.

“Then let them talk.”

The car pulled up to your original hotel downtown - a discreet location, but even from inside the tinted windows, you could see it. A small crowd forming. Photographers with long lenses. Fans holding signs.

You hesitated.

Lewis turned to you. “Want me to walk you in?”

“I think - ” You adjusted your sunglasses, sat up straighter. “I think I want them to see me with you.”

A beat passed. He nodded once.

And when you stepped out, the flashbulbs exploded. Voices shouted your names. Questions flew.

But all you could feel was his hand in yours.

He didn’t let go.

Not when the flashes got too bright. Not when a reporter yelled something about “rumored romance.” Not even when a gust of wind blew your hair wildly around your face, catching your laughter in the chaos.

Because in that moment, standing beside Lewis Hamilton in front of the press, the world watching and spinning madly around you -

And you, weren’t afraid anymore.

[bearforcecaptions]

Alex and Bryan had always been close, the kind of friends who made a pact over soda and pizza to turn things around, to finally hit the gym and build some muscle. They’d been nerdy, skinny guys their whole lives, and they felt awkward and out of place as they stumbled into the gym’s locker room after their first workout, faces flushed and sore from the exercises. Both of them wore cheap workout clothes they’d picked up from Walmart just that morning — faded T-shirts that hung loosely on their frames and ill-fitting, generic sneakers.

“Dude, my arms feel like noodles,” Alex groaned, shaking out his skinny limbs as he looked at Bryan.

“Right? I think I pulled something just trying to lift those dumbbells,” Bryan chuckled, but his laughter quickly turned into a grimace as he rubbed his shoulder.

Their voices echoed in the empty locker room, and the fluorescent lights flickered slightly as if the room were stretching itself, adjusting to accommodate these two new, inexperienced bodies. They walked over to the sink, looking at themselves in the mirror, barely recognizing the sweaty, tired faces staring back at them.

But then, almost imperceptibly, something started to shift. Alex leaned closer to the mirror, and he noticed his reflection looked… different. Just a little. His face seemed somehow sharper, his cheekbones a bit more defined.

“Hey… do I look weird to you?” he asked, glancing at Bryan.

Bryan squinted at him. “Maybe? Or maybe I’m just so tired everything’s blurry.” But then he stopped, staring as Alex’s T-shirt started to tighten around his chest, like it was shrinking or his chest was expanding. He looked down at his own shirt and noticed the same thing happening. The fabric stretched and then almost melted away, like it was dissolving into thin air.

Underneath, their chests were broadening, muscles slowly forming in places they’d never had them before. Alex stared, mesmerized, as his pecs seemed to inflate, one solid inch at a time, swelling until they were firm and full. He was startled to see a dark line beginning to etch itself over his right pec, the beginnings of a tattoo forming. Bryan looked over, his eyes widening as he saw the same tattoo mirrored on his own left pec.

“You’ve got the same one!” Bryan pointed, his voice trembling slightly, as he stared down at his own chest​. Both of them were transfixed, watching the tattoos slowly darken, bold lines taking shape, though Alex’s tattoo was slightly clearer and etched on the opposite side of his chest from Bryan’s. Their bare chests shone under the locker room’s bright lights, and it felt almost surreal, as though they were watching themselves transform from afar.

As their chests solidified, so did their arms. Alex flexed instinctively, watching with wide eyes as his biceps bulged out, the veins snaking along the surface like thick cords. Bryan mirrored him, mimicking the same pose, even though he wasn’t sure why he was doing it. Their shoulders broadened, traps rising like hills beneath their skin, framing thick, muscular necks that hadn’t been there moments ago.

The cheap Walmart sneakers they wore started to warp, reshaping into sturdy gym shoes, and they felt a strange tickle as white athletic socks rolled up around their ankles. Their old, ill-fitting shorts slowly lengthened and changed texture, becoming soft gray sweatpants that clung to their powerful, thickened legs.

Bryan felt a sudden pressure on his head, and reaching up, he realized he was now wearing a black baseball cap. He turned to Alex, who was wearing the same cap, the brim low over his eyes, shading his gaze in a way that felt… different. He felt his thoughts slow, like they were softening, melting into something simpler. He wanted to look good, feel strong, and—

“Yo, dude, check it out,” Alex said, his voice deepening, each word sounding slower, less articulate.

Bryan grinned back at him, an identical expression on his face, as his mind began to echo Alex’s excitement. They stared at each other, an odd tension hanging between them as their minds dulled, syncing up, their personalities flattening into something singular, something almost blank.

At some point, Bryan found himself staring at Alex, watching him flex. His own arms lifted in the same way, though he wasn’t sure why he was doing it. He felt a strange compulsion, a need to mirror Alex’s actions, to match him move for move. As he flexed, his mouth moved of its own accord, saying the same thing Alex was saying, their voices blending into one deeper, dumber tone.

“Lookin’ good, bro,” they said in unison, their gazes fixed on each other, and yet somehow, only on their own reflections.

The locker room seemed to shift, as if walls were moving subtly, altering to create the illusion that there was a mirror between them. Bryan blinked, realizing he was standing opposite Alex, but his own reflection now felt hazy, as though he was losing himself in it, becoming less real, less independent. The only thing he could think was how good it felt to flex, to see his thick muscles rippling beneath his skin.

With each passing moment, Bryan’s sense of self faded further, and he became more of an image, a reflection. He could feel his mind flattening into a mere echo, a shadow of Alex’s thoughts, his individuality dissolving as he mimicked Alex’s every action and word. Soon, there was only one real man left in the room, looking into the mirror.

“Lookin’ huge, bro,” Alex grinned, his voice a low, slow rumble.

And Bryan, now only a reflection, grinned back, saying the same words at the exact same time, a perfect mimic. The tattoo on his pec was a mere shadow, reversed and less distinct, as if to signify he was nothing more than Alex’s reflection. With one final flex, Alex turned to leave, leaving the locker room behind, and the reflection vanished, leaving nothing but an empty mirror.

[frost-queen]

🆃🅷🅴 🆅🅸🅿❜🆂 // part 12 (Reader x Young-il / player 001)

Tag: @slythetic, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr @noiyaaa, @filmedbyharkness , @uniquecutie-puffs, @r3va-dwme, @annasnape7, @starkeyszn, @bonelessghoul, @carrotjuicepdf, @imenekiki, @gay4hotmilfs, @yummycement, @sooyasya, @nerdytif, @hollxe1, @venavanup,

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Summary: Confronted with who is behind the mask, you feel betrayed. A new identity is revealed as he tries to do everything in his power to make you hate him less. Moments between In-ho and you interupted by a new task. The frontman needing to welcome the pigs hiding behind masks. [series]

The mask still pressed against his face as your eyes widened with fear. Slowly it lowered, showing you a saddened face.

His gaze batted up to meet up with your eyes. Your eyes staring wide with horror at the person in front of you. Young-il. Mouth slowly dropping in shock, gawking at him. The cogwheels in your head turning and spinning rapidly.

Gaze drifting down to the black mask in his hand. The frontman’s mask that he had been wearing to hide his face. Blinking rapidly, you weren’t sure if you were tripping from the fever or if this was real.

Gaze flashing back at him, staring hard at his face. His expression neutral, yet you could see the shame or guilt in his eyes. Keeping a hand on your wound, you reached out with your other hand. Seeing his expression soften up ever so lightly.

Your hand reaching up towards his cheek. – “Y/n…” – he whispered out. Seeing the delight in his tiny smile. Awaiting your touch with tenderness. Feeling himself close his eyes to absorb your touch. Hand coming near, hovering by his cheek.

Fingers stretching out in a firm pose. Smack. Your hand whacked his face. He felt the impact of your hand hard, catching him off guard. Setting his hand to prevent himself from falling to the side. A trembling hand went to his cheek, hovering over it.

Feeling the impact of your anger vivid. In shock, he turned his head back at you. Not even sure what he was expecting. He knew you’d be angry, but some part of him still wished you’d be gentle with him.

He took a deep breath, moving his hands calmingly down. – “Y/n…”– he spoke. – “No!” – you responded in a shaky voice. Keeping your hand out so he wouldn’t come near. Shaking your head slightly trying to uphold your tears. Face contracting with pain and sorrow.

“How can you be… I mourned you Young-il!” – you shouted, panting loud. He lowered his gaze, too ashamed to look you in the eye. – “In-ho.” – he spoke making you furrow your brows in confusion. – “Hwang In-ho.”  - he spoke fully, moving a hand to his chest.

The name crashing down at you. In a fit of rage, you raised your hand at him. Hitting him on the cheek as he had turned his head away. – “You lied to me!” – you yelled at him, hitting him firm. Repeatidly. – “I did.” – he responded quietly. – “You made these games.” – you continued hitting him hard on the shoulder and back. – “I did.” – he whispered quietly with remorse. – “You told me you'd protect me.” – sobbing loud as your strength died out.

 “Because I do!” – he said in a firmer tone. Speaking loud and clear. Taking both your wrists to keep them off him. Shaking your head, you wouldn’t believe it. Tears streaming down your cheek from exhaustion. In-ho’s gaze fell on your shot wound.

Seeing how your bandage had the colour red. His jaw tensed knowing it must hurt like hell. He lowered your hands, coming nearer to you. – “No! no! no!” – you shouted at him. Shoving him away as he kept coming closer. Forcing his arms around you.

“You need tending!” – he called out, caring too much. Ignoring your pushing hands as he wrapped his arms firm around you. You started to call it out in protest and kick your feet. In-ho grabbed you firm by your cheek. Palm pressed deep onto your jawline. – “You are bleeding Y/n! I don’t mean you any harm.”

Blinking surprised at the sudden roughness in his voice made you fall silent. In-ho picked you up from the ground. Getting up to his feet to carry you back to his room. Remaining quiet. He carefully laid you down on the bed. Exhaling deep, you took a deep swallow.

Feeling the hotness once more of your vivid fever. In-ho touched your neck, feeling how hot you were. He knew you needed tending and care right now. Not caring in this moment how you thought about him. He turned on his heel, storming out of the room.

Returning later with bandages, medicine and glass of water. He set the water on the nightstand, coming to sit on the matrass with you. Handing you a medicine and the glass of water. You looked sceptical back at him. – “Please Y/n. I only want you safe.”

You looked away, pressing your lips together to prevent them from quivering. – “Please.” – he offered it once more. After some hesitation you took it. Taking in the medicine. With a loud exhale, you let yourself fall back into the pillow. In-ho pulled your shirt up, revealing your bare stomach. Unwrapping the bandage from around you.

With care and swiftness he tended to the wound. Providing you with a new clean bandage. Keeping a tending eye on you. The medicine had given you a minute or two before getting knocked out. Succumbing to your tiredness. His gaze remained on you, hesitating. His fingers curled up at his chest.

Debating whether or not he should. His desires overtook him. Touching your cheek and chin in a tender way. A way he had done before. Smiling faintly. Letting his touch drift off you, he remained for a moment. Watching you sleep peacefully till he had reassurance enough. Leaving you along.

Your eyes fluttered open. Slowly you got up, waiting for the dizziness to wear off. Tossing your feet calmly over the side of the bed. Getting up. Leaving his room. Looking both ways in search of him. Taking small steps to not overdue yourself. Shuffling into a larger room, gaze falling on him sitting down in a sofa.

Then your gaze fell onto the large screens. Overseeing the game rooms and the sleeping quarters. Staring in shock at them that he had been watching all this time. In-ho felt your presence in the room, making him turn his head to you. – “Y/n.” – he said getting up. It felt too much, waving your hand dismissively, ready to turn back around.

“Y/n!” – In-ho repeated, getting up to hurry over. Holding you back by your elbow. Not wanting you to leave. – “You have been watching. Watching these games like it’s a thrill ride.” – you called out, turning away from him. In-ho pulled harder on your elbow, making you face him once more. Taking your other elbow as well to keep you in place.

“Y/n…” – he began. – “Stop!” – you let out not wanting to hear it. – “Tell me… did you see me…” – you wanted to know. A burning question on your lips. – “Did you see me mourn you… lose myself at the loss of you? Tell me did you Young-il… ani… In-ho.” – you quickly corrected yourself at his name.

Still getting used to the change. In-ho lowered his gaze. Looking back up to you with something new in his eyes. Reaching out to touch your chin. – “I hated myself for it. Hated myself for choosing my duty over you.” – his thumb brushed a tear away, you hadn’t even noticed had rolled down.

You took his hand, moving it down. – “Then stop this.” – you let out. In-ho took a step back, slightly shaking his head. – “It’s not that easy.” – he responded. It was you that sought out presence. Nearing him. – “You are the frontman In-ho.”

In-ho looked away with shame. – “I can’t interfere with the games.” – he told you. Stepping up to him, you cherished his face in your hands. Wanting him to look at you. – “You did for me.” – you moved a hand to your wound. Seeing his eyes widen.

“It was you wasn’t it. Calling out the order. I was going to be shot in the head. The pink suit hesitated. It was you wasn’t it In-ho?” – you spoke. In-ho nodded. – “Then interfere again.” – you begged. In-ho took your hand, raising it to his lips to leave a tender kiss on the inside of your hand.

“I…I… can’t…” – he whispered out. – “I’m not asking you to save all, just save our friends.” – you asked. Wanting nothing more than your friends to be alright. Your gaze going towards the screens. Watching them in the sleeping quarters. All gathered around your bed in silence.

Sudden static made you turn your head. The walkie going off till a voice came through. – “They are here waiting for you to greet them.” – the voice announced before it went back to static. You stared confused back at In-ho, wondering to who he was referring to. In-ho visibly sighed loud. – “There is something I must do.” – he said bothered with the heavy task.

He stepped away from you, returning to the small table to collect his black mask. – “What are you going to do? Who are you going to greet?” – you asked standing a bit lost on the spot. In-ho walked up to you, letting his knuckles slide down your cheek with a tender touch.

“Stay here… please Y/n. Do not leave this room.” – his voice serious with a tone of begging in it. You nodded to reassure him. In-ho took a deep breath before putting the mask back on. Taking on a new persona as you noticed the change in his posture. Shoulders back and posture stiff. He went past you, heading for the door to leave his room.

An emptiness wrapping around you once he had stepped out. Swallowing nervously, you let your gaze go around the room. A coldness and loneliness harbouring in the walls. Hiding a man, shifting between personalities. He might have become lost over who he truly was. Buried somewhere deep below. You moved closer to the screens.

Pressing a hand against the screen. – “Gidalyeo.” – you said to encourage them. Needing them to hold on.  Curious to the man behind the mask, you started to wander around his rooms. Hearing the door open, you moved quickly to it. Heart fluttering at the thought of In-ho’s return. Yet you were greeted with disappointment.

Eyes widening in shock at a man in a lion’s mask. He looked around bewildered. – “This is not the toilet?” – he called out. His gaze then falling onto you. – “But you are quite the plaything.” – he pointed in your direction. Backing up, he kept coming nearer. Rushing over to you. Grabbing you firm by your wrist. You called it out, punching his hand to get his grip off.

“Someone is feisty.” – he let out with a chuckle. – “I’ll keep you by my side for the games.” – he pulled hard at you, dragging you out of the room. Ignoring your shouting and cursing to let him go. Nearly stumbling over your own feet a few times. Leading you to somewhere new. – “Did you find the bathrooms?” – a man’s voice came out. A chuckling undertone.

“No.” – the man in the lion’s mask responded entering the room. – “but I found this nice plaything.” – he finished pulling you into the room with him. Your eyes widened, swallowing frightful at a room full of man in golden animal masks. If Gi-hun was right, these might be the VIP’s he had talked about.

“Where did you find her?” – the golden deer mask asked. The lion’s mask turned to you. – “You have been hiding haven’t you, pup.” – he brought his hand up to you. Tickling you under your chin with his thick fingers. It made you slap his hand away. – “Gaesaekki.” – you cursed at him. The man only laughed. – “Were there any others?” – the golden buffalo mask wanted to know. – “No and this one’s mine.” – the lion roared out, claiming his prey.

He gave you a tug, pulling you along with him. Forcing you to go further into the room. Looking frightful around at girls painted with animal prints. Dancing. Not one sight of In-ho. He shoved you down to sit. – “What is your name pup?” – he wanted to know, touching your chin with a slithering finger.

Your eyes widened hearing the clicking of a gun getting off the safety lock. Watching the lion’s mask move his hands slightly up by his chest. A person shifting slightly to the side to come in your sight. The frontman. In-ho. Pressing the tip of his gun against the back of the lion’s head. – “This one’s mine.” – he said firmly.

“I…I…I didn’t know.” – the lion whimpered in order to save his own skin. – “I stumbled upon her. She was eager to come with me.” – he responded. Clearly a wrong answer as the frontman pushed the gun harder against the back of his head. The frontman motioned with his head for you to move.

You got up with shaky knees, stepping away from the man. The frontman moved, going to the front, pointing his gun at his forehead. Knowing he needed to keep his decency, yet feeling deep down the urge to blow his head off.

The gun got lowered as the frontman motioned for the lion’s head to move. He crawled back to the others with his tail between his legs from the laughter all around him. The others laughing at him. You gasped when the frontman turned round to you.

Not needing to see his face, to know he was glaring angrily at you behind the mask. You lowered your gaze not sure how to respond. In-ho took you by the elbow. Taking a step closer to you. His posture sending you a different message. Gwencha-na? Nodding as minimum as possible.

In-ho noticed you started to look un-easy around at the display. At the welcoming room for the VIP’s. Looking over your shoulder to red thick curtains. Not sure you wanted to know what was behind them. – “When are the games beginning? I’m eager for some action.” – The buffalo mask shouted out. – “These suckers are no fun.” – he laughed loud, looking over at the others.

The golden pig mask threw some popcorn at him with laughter. Snorting loud like a pig with hiccups. Watching them act like childish adults, made you stare with disgust at them. Feeling sympathy for In-ho to have to deal with them. – “Patience, the players are being prepared.” – the frontman addressed them. Eyes widening at the thought of your friends having to endure another game.

“I’m betting on player 056.” – the golden owl mask called out. Waving some flaps of money in the air. – “Nah player 249 will for sure make it to the end.” – the golden bear mask shouted. – “Ha! That puny player will not even survive the first five minutes.” – the golden pig mask pitched in.

The room turning into a playground of trying to get their right. – “I’m taking you back.” – In-ho whispered to you. Not wanting you to be around such filth. He started to pull you with him till a golden mask came blocking his path. – “You aren’t leaving yet are you frontman?” – he said tauntingly.

“Yeah, you can’t miss out the fun.” – the golden buffalo mask spoke. – “Your pup can stay.” – the lion called out. Feeling In-ho’s grip tense on you. You tugged him on his sleeve. He slightly turned his head to you. – “It’s alright… I’ll be saver here with you…” – you whispered to him. In-ho remained silent.

Waiting a moment, hearing the VIP’s bicker about him needing to stay. You knew he was fighting a war to remain civil for he had a duty to do. You took the first step as In-ho followed. You came sitting in the sofa at the side. In-ho coming to sit beside you.

Exhaling shakily, you felt uneasy. Surely with those VIP’s around. Forced to watch the next game for their entertainment. Hearing the lion making kissy sounds at you. Turning your head, you looked at In-ho.

Seeing him keep staring in front of him. His hand taking yours from your lap. Giving it a firm squeeze before hiding it in the small gap between the two of you. The red carpets opening to reveal a new playground. Gasping at the sight of it. A parkour for players off the ground.

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

Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!

[sylvieisoffline]

Saw this pose template on X and came up with a headcanon for the bad ending of Innocent Birdcage

word count: 1.2k words

tags: MDNI, spoilers for Innocent Birdcage's bad ending (kind of), mentions of blood, mild dubcon, implied smut/implied loss of virginity, mentions of restraints (chains, captivity), fading in and out of consciousness, choking, predator/prey dynamics

note: I honestly don't know how my work-fried brain managed to conjure this one. This is my first fic on L&DS so please be kind. Notes, comments, and reblogs are highly appreciated 🥹🙏🏻

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Pain laced through your body the moment you regained consciousness, your skin burning where Sylus had bitten you. The metallic taste of blood lingered in your mouth, your breath shallow and ragged. The world around you swayed, the dim glow of the headquarters casting eerie shadows over the metal bars that trapped you inside this formidable cage.

Sylus stood before you, crimson eyes glowing with something feral—hunger, desperation, something unhinged. Chains wrapped around his wrists, but they did little to restrain him. You knew this wasn’t him. Not truly. But that didn't change the fact that you needed to escape.

With a burst of adrenaline, you lunged, hands moving on instinct. In a desperate act, you managed to loop the heavy chains around his upper body, twisting them up toward his throat. His breath hitched, a low growl rumbling from his chest as he staggered. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

Enough for you to scramble out of the cage.

Your hands fumbled with the lock, your pulse hammering as you slammed the door shut behind you. The last thing you saw before you turned to run was the glint of his crimson eyes—wild, unfocused, burning into yours as the chains rattled violently in protest.

You didn’t stop. You didn’t look back.

Bursting out of the HQ, your vision blurred as the cold night air hit you. The world outside felt disorienting, the pavement tilting beneath your feet. Your body wasn’t just weak—it was failing. Blood loss, shock, exhaustion. It all hit you at once.

A blaring horn jolted through your skull just before headlights flooded your vision.

You struggled to grasp at the last strains of your consciousness as everything faded to black.

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When you woke, everything smelled sterile.

The rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor echoed in the quiet hospital room. Bandages wrapped around your arms, a dull throb pulsing through every inch of your body. The last thing you remembered was the feeling of pavement scraping against your skin as strangers rushed to help you.

Sylus.

Was he still trapped? Had he broken free? Had he gone on a rampage, blinded by the bloodlust that had taken over him?

The thought lingered even as you were discharged days later, still weak but well enough to be sent home on recovery leave. The solitude of your house offered little comfort. Just silence and memories you couldn’t shake.

That’s when you found them.

The air in your home office felt suffocating then, thick with the weight of everything you’d uncovered. Pages upon pages of classified research on Ever lay scattered across your desk, but your focus had honed in on a single red folder.

Tartarus' file.

The name alone sent a shiver down your spine. He had always been dangerous, always teetering on the edge of something primal. But that night, the night you escaped, he had been something else entirely.

More beast than man.

Your hands trembled as you flipped it open, eyes scanning the classified documents detailing his condition, his planned containment, the terrifying reality of what your Sylus become. You mull over the blank spot where his photo would've been had the LCBI known his true identity. Fingers tracing the edges of the folder as your mind replayed the last moments before you fled. The way his carmine eyes had burned into yours, the way his breath had hitched when you tightened the chains around his throat. Had it been pain that flashed across his face? Or something else?

You never got the chance to find out.

Too caught up in your thoughts, you didn’t hear the patter of footsteps approaching from behind.

Not until it was too late.

The folder was ripped from your hands in an instant, yanked away with a force that sent your heart slamming against your ribs. You barely had time to gasp before a strong grip caught your waist, pulling you back against something unyielding, something warm, something alive.

Your breath hitched. A scent too familiar filled your senses—dark, heady, tinged with the sharp edge of something untamed.

"No…"

A slow, satisfied chuckle ghosted against your ear.

"I bet you thought you'd seen the last of me, kitten."

Your blood ran cold.

Sylus.

Before you could react, he spun you around, forcing you to face him.

You barely recognized him.

His usually sharp, composed features were wild with something feverish. His sanguine eyes glowed in the dim light, darkened by something you couldn’t name. His grip on you was bruising, fingers digging into your hips as if grounding himself—as if keeping himself from devouring you whole.

"You ran," he murmured, voice smooth yet dripping with something dangerous. His free hand came up, fingers grazing over your throat, lingering just enough for your breath to falter. "Learned from the best, haven't you?"

He tilted his head, watching you like a predator sizing up its prey.

"But you shouldn’t have left me alone."

Panic coiled in your stomach as he pressed closer. The heat of his body seeped into yours, his presence overwhelming, suffocating. Your hands flew to his chest, pushing, struggling—but he didn’t budge.

He exhaled sharply, almost amused.

Then his fingers tightened around your throat.

Not enough to hurt. Not yet. But enough to make your pulse stutter beneath his touch.

You swallowed hard, meeting his gaze with defiance. "You weren’t in your right mind. You—"

"Needed you," he cut in, voice low, almost a growl. His thumb pressed lightly over your pulse, feeling the frantic beat of your heart. "I needed you—and you left me."

His grip loosened, only for his other hand to slide lower, gripping your hips with possessive force. Your breath hitched as he leaned in, brushing his lips along your jaw, your throat—pausing where his teeth had sunk into before.

"I don’t think you understand just what your presence does to me," he murmured against your skin.

His teeth grazed over the sensitive flesh, a silent warning before he bit down.

A sharp gasp tore from your lips as pain bloomed, electric and dizzying. Heat shot through you, something raw and unfamiliar pooling in your stomach. You barely registered your knees giving out, your body slumping against him as the world blurred at the edges.

Sylus caught you easily, growling as he pushed you back and up against your desk. His hands were everywhere—rough, desperate—holding you in place, claiming.

Your breath came in shallow gasps as he pulled back, licking the wound he’d left. "Still so fragile," he murmured, almost reverent. "Yet you've never failed to put up a fight."

His hands trailed down, fingers brushing over the waistband of your shorts. A shiver racked through you as he slipped his hands beyond, and for the first time, you felt something shift in his intensity—something darker.

"You’ve never been touched like this before, have you?"

The sound of slick from where his fingers disappear in you was answer enough.

Sylus groaned, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. "I should stop," he muttered, his voice strained. "I should."

But the way his fingers coaxed your clenched walls said otherwise.

The way he dragged you closer, his body pressing into yours, said otherwise.

You felt lightheaded, fading in and out of consciousness due to the bleeding on the side of your neck from where he's bitten again, but his touch was an anchor—his grip, his heat, the possessive growl rumbling in his chest as he slowly undoes the growing knot that's swirling in your stomach.

He wasn’t going to stop.

And deep down, you know you didn’t want him to.

[the-kr8tor]

Into the Eye of the Needle

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 11.6k

Summary: Billie and Ramona falls back in time during the 90s, meeting the younger versions of their parents and finding that your relationship with their dad is in shambles. Will they be able to help in repairing it before they cease to exist?

Tags: no specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), use of Y/N sparsely. Mum! Reader, Dad! Hobie, twin au, dad au, Billie and Ramona au, TTN au (but you don't need to read it to understand this one), time travel au, cw food mentions, fluff.

A/N: Behold! One of the silliest fic and most self indulgent fic I ever wrote lol enjoy

Navigation

Dad! Hobie Masterlist

Octobie🎸

“Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!” Billie and Mona's voices echo around the house as you and Hobie clean the living room before you start setting up for Halloween.

“Damnit!” Billie's unmistakeable frustrated tone floats from upstairs down to the living room.

Hobie sighs and meets with your eyes across the room whilst he's holding up the entire sofa with one hand and with a vacuum on the other. “They got your vocabulary.”

The feather duster pauses in your hand and the picture frames on the wall that you're dusting stop swinging. “And they got your love for doing chores.” You say sarcastically.

Hobie wants to abandon the cleaning and snog you right there and then. Which might prove your words right if he does. With a promise and a wink towards you, he calls the girls. “Mac and Cheese!”

The sounds of bounding feet reverberates, and a moment later, their almost identical faces pop up from the top of the stairs. “Yeah?” They say at the same time.

You smile at them with fondness. But you show them that you mean business with your hands on your hips. Hobie calls it your mum pose, and your children call it the ‘we’re in trouble’ pose.

“Your mum asked the two of you to grab the boxes from the attic, not just one of you. Stop playin’” He glances at you briefly, and he gets a nod of approval from you.

“But playin’ rock, paper, scissors is an old age tradition on who gets to do the chores!” Billie answers back.

“Didn't you and uncle Ned used to do it when you were roommates?” Mona, being Mona, backs her sister with a smart rhetoric.

Teenagers, you sigh in your mind. “Well when me and your dad were roommates, we did all the chores together. That made it more fun.”

“Ew, mum!” They say simultaneously, groaning and acting like they're about to vomit.

You cross the distance towards Hobie, and he in turn puts the sofa down gently as he abandons the vacuum to hold your waist instead.

“Wait, what did I say?” You ask the three of them.

“We didn't need to hear what you and dad were up to back then, mum!” Billie even covers her ears dramatically as Mona fakes a gag.

Hobie chuckles next to you as realization hits you. “I didn't mean it by that—”

“If you gremlins don't go to the attic in the count of ten you're goin’ to hear a lot more.” Hobie cuts you off, and you play by his bit when you send him a sultry wink. “One…” they're already running up the stairs and up the ladder before you could even smooch Hobie. “Works like a bloody charm.” He says as he pecks your cheek lovingly, all the while chuckling against your soft skin.

—

“Why is it so dusty in ‘ere?” Mona coughs, while Billie sifts through the numerous boxes in the small attic.

The attic smells of old clothes left in the wardrobe for far too long and mildew clinging on wood. The place is big enough to fit dozens of boxes and bags but small enough to let the girls crawl and not stand up lest they want to get a full face of cobwebs clinging on the ceiling.

“I think they're just spider webs, Mon.”

“That is not better, Bee.”

“Our dad is literally part spider—ohh!” Billie holds up a pair of old jeans with white lace sewn into the ripped parts. “This is so cute!”

“Looks like mum's.” Mona checks it for any damage, she finds none but she does find Hobie's name scribbled on the tag. “Nope, it's dad's.”

Billie scrunches her nose. “Doesn't look like dad's.”

“You never know what kind of fashion he had back then.” Her sister shrugs, taking her attention away from the jeans to a wooden box that looks more enticing. “We're talkin’ ‘bout the 90s ‘ere. Dad probably had a leather jacket for every day of the week—” she hears shuffling behind her and Billie's already rifling through the entire box without a care. “And she's gone.”

Billie doesn't hear her, “this one suits you, Mon!” Lifting up a long sleeved blouse with a hummingbird embroidered on each collar, Billie brings it on Mona's chest to see if it fits her. “Hmm, a bit small but nothin’ like a pair of high waisted jeans couldn't fix it!”

“I like this one actually,” Mona smiles, tracing the colourful stitched bird on the collar with her thumb. “This was definitely mum's. Dad would never wear somethin’ with a collar like this.”

“Good find, huh? Say ‘thank you,’ Bee.” She shuffles, dancing excitedly.

“Yeah, yeah, Bee.” Mona rolls her eyes before folding the blouse neatly and then placing it on the floor next to her. “We still need to find those decorations. I can feel my allergies acting up.”

“Fine, but 'm gonna take this entire box with us.” Billie closes and kicks the box towards the attic exit, it skids on the dusty floor and then plunges down from the ladder down to the hallway. “Whoops!”

Ramona gasps, “You gotta watch your strength, you might break somethin’!”

Billie winces when she hears your familiar footsteps frantically walking up the stairs. You don't sound mad, probably concerned about them. Your eldest crawls towards the hole in the ceiling to look down apologetically at you. Mona shuffles on her knees, following behind her sister.

“We're okay!” They both yell the second you reach the last step.

You visibly relax, shoulders sagging as you see them both fine atop the attic. “I thought you two fell!” You hold onto your chest, “They're alright, Hobs!” You yell down to inform him.

“Told you! Spider senses don't lie, love!” His muffled voice echoes up the house.

Crossing the small distance, you look at the crumpled box that's spilling old clothes. “I remember these!” You chuckle, bending at the waist to take a familiar white shirt splattered with graffiti designs. “I made these! Too bad it doesn't fit your dad anymore.”

“I told you it was dad's!” Mona nudges her sister by her shoulder.

Billie nudges back, pushing Mona playfully. “But it fits us, mum! Can we keep it? We'll share, promise!” Billie acts cute, fluttering her lashes towards you with a sweet smile.

Mona huffs, hand pressed on her sister's cheek to push her away as she continues to jab her. “Yeah, can we?”

“Stop pushing, you'll actually fall this time.” You chuckle, they remind you of Hobie and Ned when they were younger, always pushing each other but more than ready to pull the other back up. “Are you sure? They're not too old school?”

“Nah!” They simultaneously say.

“Old school is actually in these days, mum!”

“Oh I know, sweetheart, my design assistant keeps yammering about trends just going around in circles.”

They smile at you, “you should hire us instead then!” Billie half teases.

You get a light bulb idea, “Tell you what, dad and I are going to pick up your brother from band practice. When we come back— and if the house looks ready for the Halloween party tomorrow then I'll bring you both to work next Friday, deal?”

They shriek excitedly. You hear Hobie downstairs copy their high pitched shrieks, making their guffaw ring around the house. “Only if the house looks nice.” You laugh at their antics, “just be careful with the streamers, okay? And leave the string lights to us.” Walking closer to the ladder, you look up at them sweetly. “I know you're not used to your abilities just yet, so be extra careful with each other, okay?”

“Don't worry, mum, I've got Mon-mon.” Billie mocks salutes.

“And I've got Billie. I'll catch her when she falls.”

“Oi! That was one time!”

Your phone rings in your pocket, the ringtone is one of Hobie's old songs. “Good,” leaning up, tip toeing, you pat each of their cheeks. “That's your brother, love you both so much.”

“Love you too, mummy.” Mona replies, sending you a flying kiss that she hasn't shaked away since she was five. You wouldn't have it any other way.

“Love you, mum!” Billie responds more enthusiastically, waving at you while you climb down the ladder.

“No love for me?!” Hobie, still downstairs and getting the keys based on the soft jingle of metal, yells back at the three of you.

“Love you, dad!” The twins yell back happily. You're glad that even though they're already fifteen, they're not embarrassed to say the three words back to you and Hobie.

“Love you, gremlins!” Hobie screams back, this time much clearer as he stands on the bottom of the staircase while waiting for you. “C’mon, love, let's get ice cream without them.” He teases.

You giggle, hand reaching towards Hobie as you both run away. A resounding sound of disapproval rings out while you and Hobie run off towards the garage.

“I want rocky road!” Billie calls back as she hears the engine start. “What do you want, Mo—” when she turns towards her twin, she finds her spot empty. “Hey!”

“What? ‘m doin' my task. Go look in the other corner.”

“Fine, don't blame me if they don't get your coconut ice cream, yuck by the way.” Billie heads off towards a red bag, unzipping it to find old rolls of fabric. “No Halloween stuff here.”

“Coconut ice cream is refreshing.” Mona explains while she rummages through a box full of multicoloured wires. The whole box got her intrigued, why would her parents keep this junk if it's not important?

“Ooh more clothes! Jackpot!”

Something shiny catches Mona's eyes, pushing through mountains of wires to get to the bottom of the chest, she finds something circular and metallic at the end. “What's this?”

Billie looks over her shoulder while she holds up a pair of plaid pants. “I don't know but that doesn't look Halloweeney.”

Mona takes it out of the chest, thumbs rubbing along the front, the dust has settled on the glass, caking it with grey itchy dust. “Looks like a watch.”

“Oh shit what if it's one of those vintage watches that's actually worth thousands of pounds?”

Ramona cleans the watch face with her jumper sleeve. Billie tilts her head, curious at why her sister is so intrigued by an old watch when she can't even get her attention whenever they watch a movie.

“I've never seen dad wear a proper watch, not even at uncle Ned’s weddin’.”

Mona's breath hitches in her throat, remembering her father's stories during his time at the spider society. “I don't think it's a regular watch, Bee.” Her eyes widen at how advanced it looks technology wise, with a touch of Hobie's personal style.

“Shit is it a million dollar watch?!” Her twin scooches closer, knees dragging along the floorboards unbothered that it's probably scratching her precious corduroy.

Mona turns her head towards Billie, “I think it's—!” Before she could finish her sentence, a bright light encapsulates them both. Plunging the twins into a kaleidoscope of colours.

—

“Ramona! I don't want to die!” Billie grabs hold of her sister while they're plummeting down in a multicoloured tunnel of lights and sounds that echo in their ears like a wind turbine.

“We're not gonna die!” Mona hugs her twin tighter, eyes shut closed to keep out the bright lights. “Mum and dad's gonna kill us if we die!”

“Fuck!” Billie shields Mona's head, bracing for impact once she spots the end of the colourful tunnel.

With roll and a groan, they land on a sea of grass. Mona lifts her head up from the tall grass, checking and patting herself if all her fingers and face are still intact.

“Billie!”

A hand raises from the bushes. “‘ere!”

“Oh thank fuck.” Standing up, Mona scans her surroundings. It looks like their neighborhood, except there's fewer houses in place, and there's a large oak tree standing in the middle of where their house is supposed to be. “What?”

Billie spits out a piece of grass stuck on her lip gloss. “What, what?” While she picks out blades of grass from her sister's braids.

Mona walks over to the metal fence where the picket fence that she remembers painting with her family was supposed to be. Her eyes roam all over the neighbour’s house. She's sure an older lady and her husband live there, not a middle aged couple with three kids running around the porch. The couple look spry while they're both tending to their bountiful garden.

“What the fuck?” Mona curses under her breath while Billie takes out her phone from her pocket to check. To her surprise, the device doesn't even open no matter how many times she taps it.

Billie turns her attention towards what's causing her sister to curse, brows creasing together at the sight in front of her. “Mon, tell me what's happening and why old Eunice looks gorgeous in that sweater vest.”

“I don't think we're in the same universe anymore.” Mona grips the metal fence tightly, the sound gathering the attention of the children, who awfully look like the people she sees visit the house every holiday. “Psst!”

All three children glance towards them, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Mon, don't do that, you look like a bloody creep.”

“It's the only way I can get their attention!”

“Hello, excuse me, do you two need help?” Surprisingly, a much younger Eunice walks over to them. She roams her brown eyes all over the twins, concern and confusion flitting over her expression.

“Yeah, uh…” Ramona realizes that she can't just ask what year it is, or even ask what universe they're in. So she plays it casually. “Who's the top artist this year?”

“Excuse me?”

Billie sighs and closes her eyes from the sheer embarrassment. “We're from the local radio conductin’ a survey and we'd love to hear what you think of the… top artist this year.” She tries her best.

Mona nods enthusiastically, chuckling nervously, “what she said.”

“Oh I love nirvana and Mariah Carey!”

Mona gasps, “late 90s!”

“What?”

Billie grabs her sister by her arm. “Yes, thank you for answering our survey! Bye!” She yanks her away, dragging her towards the street and out of the suburban area.

“Wait, aren't surveys supposed to be more than one question?!” Eunice yells back, “I want to tell you how much I love ‘Always be my baby!’”

“Walk faster.” Billie walks briskly with Mona right next to her. “‘Top artist?’ Really, Mon?”

“Well it's either that or ask how Diana is!” She huffs, keeping up with her sister's strides. “Well at least now we know what year we're in!”

“Yeah, what if we're in a different dimension? Remember what dad taught us?”

“I know! Fuck!”

Billie stops mid stride, holding out her arm to stop Mona from walking. “Wait, where's the watch.”

Mona's eyes widen like saucer plates, “oh shit!” Patting her pockets frantically, she feels the circular shape of it in her jean pocket and she sighs in relief. “It's ‘ere.”

“I can't fucking believe dad's old watch still works.”

“Not anymore.” Mona winces at the cracked screen with the glitching numbers that read ‘138’

Billie sucks in her teeth. “At least now we know we're in the same dimension. But we're not in Kansas anymore.” She says with a transatlantic accent. Mona side eyes her with her nose scrunched up. “What? I always wanted to say that.”

Mona huffs, “Yeah, we time traveled.” She rubs her eyes with the heel of her palms. Groaning and body deflating. “I didn't even know it could do that.”

Meanwhile, Billie walks up and down the street with her hands buried in her hair. “Fuck, what if Miguel comes after us?”

“I think that's better, at least he can take us home.” Mona sits down on the curb, pocketing the watch for safe keeping while she thinks of a solution. What would you think when you get home to an empty house? Would their dad figure out where they are?

“Uh no, I don't want that vampire runnin’ after us!” Billie continues to pace around, anxiety pooling in the bottom of her stomach. “They're gonna go bonkers when they find out we're missin’”

“He's cool now, I think.”

“How are you so calm?!” Billie shakes her sister's shoulders.

“‘m not! ‘m freakin’ the fuck out, Bee!” She yells, cracking under the pressure, lips wobbling. “What if we can't go home because of my curious arse?!”

“Oi! Not your fault, alright?” Her eyes grow soft despite the tears brimming. “You were just lookin' at it, not your fault that it went haywire, ‘kay?”

Mona nods slowly, rubbing her clammy palms on her leg. “Okay, I'll get us home, bee, I promise.”

“I know, Mon, I'll help.” She gently punches her bicep playfully.

Mona scoffs with a smile, “you better.”

Billie chuckles, reminiscent of their dad's smile. “I think I've got an idea.” She sits down next to her sister on the curb. “Remember that one old movie we watched with mum and dad?”

“The time traveling one?”

“No, Tarzan.” She answers back sarcastically. “Of course the time traveling one, ‘back to the future.’

“Okay, so what about it?”

“We can't tell people we're from the future. But at the same time we can't fix that watch ourselves.” Billie points at where the watch is stored.

“What if I can? You don't know that.” Mona scoffs.

“Just lower your damn ego for a minute, Tony Stark.” Billie huffs, “my idea is that we go to someone who can actually fix it.”

“Well we obviously can't go to dad. You know what happened to the movie when the kid met his mum.” Mona shivers from the thought.

“Ew, I know, also I do not want to see dad and mum makin’ kissy faces at each other.” It's Billie's turn to shiver.

“So the second smartest person we know who can handle tech?” Mona understands what her twin meant.

“You read my mind, we're goin' to go to uncle Ned's—”

“Aunt Riri—!” They manage to say simultaneously. Sometimes twin teleplay fails.

“Shit, your idea is better actually.” Billie agrees.

Mona throws her head back, groaning at the realization. “Yeah, but if I remember correctly, she hasn't met mum and dad yet during the 90s. They met sometime during 2003, I remember because That's when Aunty moved ‘ere for her doctorate.”

“Fuck!” Billie stands up abruptly. “So uncle Ned then? Since Aunt Riri is still in the US. Unless we get on a bloody plane and manage to convince her.”

Mona stands up, shrugging. “We have no choice, it's either him or dad. Besides, he helped dad make his gadgets. We'd be in good hands.”

“Yeah, if he knows us! He doesn't know us, remember? He might not help a couple of strangers.” Billie follows Ramona towards the city. She can see the light from where she's standing. The sun shines down on them on a rare sunny day in London, making the back of their necks sweat and agitating them even more.

“We can convince him, if that doesn't work we'll tell him we're aliens. He's obsessed with ‘em, remember?”

“This is why you have the higher grades, Mon.”

“I don't know if that's sarcasm or not.”

Billie giggles, hand placed in her pockets. “Guess.”

“Arse.” Mona's lips curls into a smile, while Billie loops her arm around her sister's. “By this time, Uncle Ned has already moved to Richmond so we'll take a bus to his place.” They walk into the busy city with its buzzing sounds and lights flashing all over. Passing by a graffiti, Mona holds Billie's hand to reassure herself that she's not alone in the strange yet familiar city.

“Thank god for your ironclad memory. I don't even remember what we ate last night.” Billie nudges Mona with her shoulder.

“It was lasagna—” Mona stops halfway, eyes glued on someone sitting on the bus stop. She has Billie’s lips and face shape. And with Mona's eyes and smile. “Mum?”

Billie follows her line of sight, palms suddenly clammy at the sight of a younger you. “Holy fuck.” You look amazing in your high heeled boots, and blouse that Billie herself saw while rummaging through the boxes back home. You're unmistakably you. “What are we gonna do?”

“We just walk away— oh fuck, she's cryin’” Sure enough, your casual façade fades into sadness. You hold your face in your hands, shoulders shaking and tears seeping through your fingers. “What the fuck happened?” Their heart aches for you.

“I don't know, but that's our mum, c’mon.” They don't hesitate to walk towards you. Damn all the time traveling rules they got from movies, you're their mum and they can't bear it when you cry.

Their shoes click against the pavement, eyes trained on your shivering form. “H–hi,” Billie starts with trepidation. “Are you okay?” She tilts her head, making sure to give you enough space so as to not frighten you.

You swallow thickly, hands immediately rubbing along your eyes to wipe away the tears. But your red eyes stay despite your gentle smile. “Hello, sorry, am I blocking the bench?” You say with a broken tone, acting fine while you gather your bag.

“No, mu—” Mona's lips wobble at the sight of your tear stained cheeks. “No, you're not blockin’ the way. We're askin' if you're okay.”

You nod your head with hesitation. “Yeah, I'm okay, sorry to bother you.”

“I don't think you're okay.” Billie says bluntly. “Sorry, that was a bit rude. ‘m—” she pauses, thinking of another name so that she doesn't accidentally change her actual name in the present. “Milly, that's my name. My sister…Eunice and I were just a bit worried ‘bout you.”

Mona winces at the name her twin chose for her. “Yep,” she says, side eyeing her sister. “Are you hurt?”

You chuckle wetly, “does being heart broken count?”

What the fuck did dad do? Both Billie and Mona think at the same time. They look at each other knowingly.

Mona sits next to you while Billie leans on the bus stop. “You can tell us.”

“I'm sorry but I don't like bothering strangers with my sad loner story.”

“Nah, bother us.” Billie smiles gently at you.

You manage to crack a smile. “You both remind me of him actually. You have that confident nonchalance that he also has.”

Oh fuck. Billie and Mona glance at each other knowingly. They should tone down the Hobie–ness they got from their dad or else you'll suspect something is amiss.

“Uh do you guys really want to? My bus won't be here for…” you check your watch. “ten minutes. And you two must have plans tonight.”

“Nope, no plans!” Mona says nervously. “No parties no nothin'.” Billie narrows her eyes towards her sister.

“Ah same, I was just about to go to my friend's house to ask for advice since he knows him as much as I do.”

Mona flits her eyes towards Billie, silently communicating with her. She's going to uncle Ned's. Well that complicates things.

“Or you could ask us for advice instead. No bias ‘ere since we don't know both parties. Just calculated thoughts.” Billie thinks quickly.

“You sure? I don't want to keep you guys away. Your parents might get worried if you two don't come home on time.”

How ironic, Ramona thinks. “We're actually on…an errand. So they don't expect us until later.” She chuckles wryly, hoping that her lie is convincing. “What's botherin’ you?”

You sniff, tears already brimming in your eyes. “I—” inhaling, you look at their concerned faces, finding that their empathy is genuine from their expressions. For some reason, you feel relaxed in their presence. “I'm in love with my best friend. And long story short, I thought he was too. He was saying such sweet words that no friend would say to another friend and I…I thought he fancied me back.”

Billie looks away briefly, refusing to stare at your brokenhearted face. Ramona wants to hold your trembling hand, but she takes her hand back in case her touch is unwanted. You gaze at Mona softly, eyes glancing briefly at her hand before staring at the pavement.

“I h–heard someone at his place.” You stare at your shoes, hands fisting your trousers when you remember her voice ringing out from inside his houseboat. “I know I don't have a right to be jealous or feel like I'm being cheated on, but I can't shake the feeling that he wasn't genuine. That our relationship was just that, a friendship. A one sided love.” Wiping away your tears with your sleeve, you mindlessly play with your cherry earrings, helping yourself calm down. “Especially after what he said yesterday, I just thought,” you shake your head. “That he loved me back. It's stupid, isn't it?”

A looming migraine tugs at your head, you feel like there's a woodpecker poking a hole in the middle of your head, right in between your brows. You push that spot with the heel of your palm, one eye closed to shield yourself from the sun beaming at your right.

You inhale sharply. “And I have this project that could determine my future. And I'm so afraid of failing it just because I decided to ruin my friendship with him.” You gather all your remaining strength, inhaling and exhaling to suppress the headache. Surprisingly, Mona shifts to your side to shield you from the glare of the sun. You look at them, their eyes and soft smiles reminding you of him. “I love him beyond belief. That's a crazy fucking thought.”

Both girls don't remember this part of your love story whenever you or Hobie recall how you two got together after being friends for more than ten years. Billie swallows down her nerves, she leaves the side of the bus stop to crouch down in front of you, looking directly at your tearful eyes.

“‘m sorry that happened to you. And that's not a mad thought.” Mona gently grasps the back of your hand, kneading your palm with her thumb just like how you always did for them back in the present. “You're under a lot of stress, everythin’ just feels like it's all coming down on you, yeah?” You nod, “but it's not, the world's not crumbling down on you.”

“We don't have the right words to help you but—” Billie continues, reaching for her sister's hand that's wrapped around your own. She holds onto you and Mona with a tender touch. “We do know one thing, you'll be okay.”

Mona nods, smiling sweetly at you. “We know you'll be okay.”

You chuckle through the tears, frown replaced with a smile. “Thank you for hearing me out. I think I just needed to vent. I'm sorry that you had to hear all of that.” You joke. “I feel lighter,” squeezing their hands, you grin wider as a tear slides down your cheek. “I feel better, thank you. For a bunch of kids, you two seem to know more than I do.”

“Mum and dad taught us well.” Billie almost chokes on her words when a lump in her throat appears. She wants to go home and see her family.

The bus arrives, and the door opens with a hiss. You pat each of their hands before letting go. “I think I'll go back to my dorm, it's better to finish my project than travel an hour away and bother my friend.”

“Again, you're not a bother.” Mona stands up from her seat, she follows Billie, who's already in the bus’s doorway. “We're glad to lend you an ear.”

“Tell your bloke that he's bein’ a prick, yeah?” Billie jokes, making Mona slap her arm.

You gather your things, already walking away. “I think I will. I'll see you two around. Oh, and uh, nice pants. I have something similar to it, you have a good fashion sense.”

Both girls beam, looking down at their matching corduroys but in different shades. Mona waves at you, almost throwing you a flying kiss, good thing she stopped herself before she blew it.

Meanwhile, Billie waves more enthusiastically even with the tears still clinging to her lashes. “Thanks! It was our mum’s!” As the doors close and they watch your retreating form smile and wave at them goodbye, they feel closer to you than ever.

—

Mona and Billie finally arrive at their uncle Ned's place. It's a simple flat with a bike parked up front, and a flower bed that's been abandoned judging by the dead leaves clinging to the pots.

“I think it's this one. I remember the whole band took a picture in front of it before uncle Ned moved away.” Mona walks up the steps, hand reaching up the door to knock. She pauses, suddenly shy at the thought of talking in front of someone who doesn't know them like they know him.

“You want me to do the talkin’?” Billie asks wholeheartedly without malice or a condescending tone. “I'll try my best not to scare him. Not like the time we sold cookies.”

Her sister nods, “okay, just don't tell him that…” she leans in closer to whisper. “We're from the future.”

Billie chuckles, mirroring her sister. “I won't.” Leaning back, she clears her throat. “Trust me I can handle it.” Holding out her fist, she knocks on the door with a rhythm that both girls made up to recognize each other through the door.

“Hold on!” Someone's muffled yells call at them. “just a minute, Y/N!”

“Oh, he's expectin’ mum.” Billie says, “should I tell him that we ran into her?”

Mona whips her head towards her twin. “I–I don't—”

The door swings open, and out comes Ned in a pink fluffy bathrobe with a toothbrush still in his mouth. “Can I help you?” He raises a brow, looking at their faces like he's trying to place where he last saw them.

“Ned Leeds?”

“Yeah? If you're selling stuff, I don't want it.” He starts to close the door but Billie stops it from closing with her boot in the doorway. Thank goodness for steel toed boots. “I already paid the down payment, now leave me alone.”

“We're not ‘ere for… whatever that is. We need your help.” With Billie's words, Ned opens the door again just a smidge.

“Oh, you lost? I can call your parents for you.”

“That's the thing though, we heard that you're good with tech?” Billie looks at her sister, she nods quietly in place. “And we're looking for someone who can fix our watch.”

Ned's face morphs into annoyance, thinking it's one of those modus operandi for scams. “Call a horologist.” He moves to close the door again before shoving Billie's foot out of the doorway with his fluffy slippers.

“Wait!” Mona shouts, hands grasping the door to keep it open. Billie's eyes widened, afraid for her sister's fingers. “We're aliens!”

A silence hangs in the air for a second while Ned glances at them with an unreadable expression. Then, he laughs amusingly. Both girls look at each other desperately.

“You? The both of you are aliens?” He asks sarcastically.

Billie sucks in her teeth, pushing the door further to open it more, still very careful of her strength lest she doesn't end up meeting uncle Ned in the future. “You sleepwalk at night, and when you do, you always prepare a sandwich in the kitchen, that's why you have that scar on your palm from that one time you used a knife.”

Mona gasps then tamps down a giggle when she realizes what her twin is doing. She remembers when their dad told them that story while the rest of the band were blackout drunk in their old backyard. He had to dodge the knife just to take it from Ned while you were afraid that it would nick either of them.

Their uncle flicks his eyes at his palm, sure enough the scar stares back at him. “How'd you know that? Only two people know about that—”

“You didn't know how to ride a bike until you were sixteen.” Billie continues, slowly walking inside the flat. Mona follows closely, hands placed on her hips to intimidate their poor uncle. He backs down with a terrified expression. “Your friends doesn't know that you're datin’ again. And that you're highly allergic to limes.” Ned looks pale, looking like he's about to faint on the spot. For the cherry on top, Billie shows her ‘hightech’ phone, causing Ned to blink at what the brick shaped object is.

“And peanuts!” Mona adds, and Billie gives her an approved nod. Ned walks backwards into a wall, toothbrush falling from his agape mouth.

“Holy shit,” His chest heaves, wide eyes staring at their faces, waiting for it to turn into bug eyed green creatures from mars. “I'm gonna call the cops now.”

Billie side steps and blocks the only phone in the room, “nuh uh, Ned Leeds. Mon, show him.”

“Oh god I don't want to see your true forms!” He cowers back into a corner.

Mona takes the watch from her pocket, practically shoving it in his face. He jumps away, shoulders shaking. “Sorry, we really just need your help in fixin’ this so we can go home.”

“Y–you’re not gonna hurt me? Or tell me how I die?”

“D’you want us to tell you?” Billie is clearly having too much fun with him.

“...no.” Ned sniffs, trying to calm his nerves while taking a look at the cracked watch. His expression shifts, eyes blinking at the tech. “This looks futuristic.”

“Can you fix it, unc—” Billie clears her throat, “Ned Leeds.”

He furrows his brow at her, “I think so, it might take some time though.”

Both girls look at eachother, they sigh, anxiety rolling around in the pit of their stomach. “Please fix it as fast as you can. Our—” Mona spares a glance at her sister, finding that she has the same expression as her. “Parents are looking for us, they're worried. And we miss our brother too. So please, fix it.”

Ned nods, staring at them empathetically even after what transpired. “So your planet needs you then?”

“...sure.” Billie says with a lopsided smile. “Can we trust you, mortal?” Mona hides the roll of her eyes by closing her eyes.

“Absolutely. If you spare me and my planet.” They don't know whether he's playing them too or he genuinely thinks that they're aliens.

“Better yet,” Mona adds, “you get to learn about our technology while you're at it. Win/win.” Yeah, that definitely won't change anything in the future. Or so she hopes.

“Deal!” Ned walks towards his dining table, already getting all his tools out from his pile of boxes. “Let's get started then. But before that, you guys don't have ray guns right?”

The twins have a long day ahead of them.

—

The sun was beginning to set when Mona woke Billie up from her nap on Ned's couch which was surprisingly comfortable despite it still covered in plastic. After a few hours trying to crack the watch open, Ned has finally figured out what's wrong with it. The bad news is that he needs parts, lots of it, to get it up and running the sooner the better. The good news is that he knows where to get most of the parts, the other bad news is that it's three hours away from his flat. So the three of them decided to split off, the girls will be going back to London to get the new set of lens and power supply from a shop. While Ned drives alone to get the rest. He even left them a copy of his flat keys so that they got somewhere to stay after shopping.

Billie yawns, joints cracking as she stretches her arms up. “Uncle Ned's too trustin’ of people, no wonder he fell for that scam a few years ago.” She jingles the set of keys around her finger, twirling the carabiner around.

They walk on the sidewalk that faces a preppy looking university. A few people walk about, some frantically run inside the campus. Billie guessed they might be late to class, or just needed to take a dump. Her mind wanders off as Mona sighs next to her with the plastic bag of spare parts clanging against her leg.

“I think he's just awfully nice, Bee. It's either that or he knows who we are.” She places her cheek atop her sister's bicep, tired bones creaking as they walk slowly. She wonders if you and Hobie got home already, and if you're freaking out once you see the empty house.

“Literally impossible, how would he know?”

“His best mates are mum and dad, he has known them since they were young. And he's smart, he might've figured it all out—”

“Holy fuck is that dad?!” Billie yells out of nowhere, startling her sister. “Christ, he looks awful.”

Mona follows her gaze, stopping to see a tall disheveled man standing next to his bike at the campus parking lot. His hair and leather jacket stands out amidst the crowd, and his demeanor screams lovelorn. His shoulders slump, hands moving about like he's about to take a leap of fate. When Mona follows what he's looking at, she's not surprised that he's staring at you.

“And mummy too.”

“What–?” Billie peeks behind a car, gasping when she sees you talking to a friend in front of your campus building. “Talk about drama.”

“Billie, I think we're in trouble if we don't help them get back together.”

“What do you mean? I think we already helped by talkin’ to mum.” Mona starts to walk towards the university entrance, eyes trained on the younger version of their dad.

“Yeah, but not dad.” They stop right next to a parked car, hiding behind it to watch whether or not Hobie would walk towards you. Or do something, anything to keep the peace between the two of you. “Look at him, I've never seen him this nervous since our brother was born.”

“Correction, I've seen him this nervous during our recital.” Mona just stares at her with a flat look. “What? ‘m just copyin’ you.” She teases with a chuckle. “You said it yourself, we can't talk to dad.”

“Yeah, ‘bout us bein’ his kids, but that doesn't include us givin’ him advice.”

“What are we even goin' to tell him? He's gonna eat us whole, Mon, look at him!” Both girls turn their attention towards Hobie. “Ew, he's all sweaty—okay, not that but, he looks like he's gonna bully us.”

“This is the exact same time he got bit by the spider. Give him some slack, Bee.” Mona rolls her eyes, in her peripheral vision, she sees you walk towards your dorm building with a couple of classmates. “Besides, he's not gonna bully us.” She takes the opportunity to cross the distance towards Hobie while you're occupied with your friends in the lobby.

“Yeah, but remember uncle Ned tellin' us that he wore a cardigan with loafers one time and dad never let him hear the end of it?”

“Yeah, but mum wears it all the time and he says that it looks cute on her!” They walk briskly when Hobie gets on his bike. “Not in those words, ‘fit’ is the word he used, but he doesn't bully people!”

“That was mum! Not us who are a couple of almost identical strangers—” Billie tries to grab Mona by her shoulder but she's faster than her, dodging her hand and standing in front of their dad's motorcycle with an intense look.

Mona inhales deeply, nose flaring up, index pointing at their dad. When she opens her mouth, no words come out.

Hobie blinks at them, eyebrows furrowed with a questioning look. “Is there somethin' on my face?”

“Nothin’! My sister ‘ere thought you're somebody else.” Billie tries to save face, pulling Mona out of the way but she stands firm. “Let's go, Mon.”

“You!” Mona starts tentatively, Billie groans, hiding her face with her hands from the second hand embarrassment. “I– you better apologize to mu— Y/N! Yeah, apologize t–to her.” She puts her hands on her hips, trying to act intimidating. Billie curses under her breath.

“You’re friends with Y/N?” Hobie leans atop the handlebars of his bike, confused about the whole ordeal. “I don't remember her talkin' ‘bout a couple of teenagers bein’ friends with her. Didn't your parents teach you manners?”

Mona swallows thickly, looking back towards Billie for help. Her twin sighs, stepping forward to fix the situation. “Well,” she chuckles nervously, his pointed stare reminds her of his look whenever they break curfew. “We're—” she's at a loss for words when Hobie raises a brow at her. Her palms are suddenly clammy. “Just apologize to her please.”

Hobie chuckles lightly, hands rubbing along his face tiredly. “That's what ‘m tryin’ to do, mate.”

The girls glance at each other briefly, sensing their father's frustration and sorrow behind his words.

“I don't know where to start, she wouldn't answer my calls, it was a misunderstandin’, I—” He sniffs, eyes staring off in the direction of where you are. “Is she alright, at least? She eatin’, sleepin’?”

Mona purses her lips, “we don't know but she misses you.”

Hobie's eyes shines in the orange afternoon glow. “Yeah, same over ‘ere.” He taps his brake mindlessly with his thumb, a nervous tick of his that the girls are familiar with. “Don't worry, I'll talk to her. I think she just needs some time away from me.” He chuckles without humour. “Ten years with me will do that to you.”

They both shake their heads. “We don't think so,” their hearts break for their dad. In the present they know how much he loves you, but now they know that he loves you just as much as in the past. “Just please talk to her.”

“And remember she has that fashion show.” Billie adds, frowning as she fights the tears in her eyes. If they fail, they wouldn't be born, she wouldn't have met her sister. She wouldn't have met their younger brother no matter how annoying he can be sometimes. “Don't make her wait or she might not come back for you.”

She recalls the story that she knows like the back of her hand. Where you come back to London after years of being apart, only connected with him through letters and late night phone calls. If he doesn't cross the line that he's been tethering over for the past ten years, or if you don't take that leap of fate you always wanted to, their family wouldn't exist. Their love would cease to exist.

Hobie swallows down his nerves. “I'll keep tryin', and I remember her show. I'll be there.” With a nod, he puts on his helmet.

Both girls back away. “And we'll make sure that she gives you the outfit.”

Billie smiles, “we think you'll like it.”

Hobie grins under the helmet, eyes staring briefly at you, as if saying goodbye for now. “If she made it, I already like it.” He revs his engine, “thanks, uh?”

“Milly and Eunice!” Billy says with her whole chest while Mona side glances at her with a scrunched up look.

“Milly,” he repeats, smiling, “wait, have I seen you two before?”

The twins widen their eyes, quickly walking away before he could ask any questions. “Maybe at a gallery or a concert? Anyway, bye, da— Hobie!”

As they walk away with their heads down, they hear Hobie drive away from behind with more questions swimming in his mind. Sighing, they see themselves in front of your dorm building. Before they could leave, the door opens and your head peeks over the crack.

Your eyes are clearly brimming with tears, nose relentlessly sniffing. “That was him.”

“Oh, mu— Y/N.” Mona opens the door, and without thinking, she hugs you. To both of their surprise, you hug back. Billie joins in after the shock, patting your back gently as you cry on Mona's shoulder.

—

“Where'd you guys learn how to stitch? You're both pretty good at it.” You say while you put the last safety pins on the red blazer you made.

The girls found themselves in your dorm with snacks and drinks around them. You all sit on the floor in a circle while they help you put the finishing touches on your project. Aka, what their dad will wear on the runway. After you cried buckets full of tears in front of them, you insisted that you pay for their dinner as compensation for making them hear all your woes. Which they declined, instead they asked if they could lighten the load for you by helping with your project which was probably fifty percent of your problems. So, with slight reluctance, you ordered food to go and the three of you clicked together like you've known eachother since childhood. Well, that was the case for the girls.

“Our mum did. Dad helped too.” Mona smiles, hands pausing from the lace she's stitching together.

“They sound like cool parents then.” You smile back sweetly, “sewing is a necessary skill.”

“Oh we know.” Billie says, referring to all the times you had to sew Hobie's wounds close even before they were born. Mona nudges her, giving her a ‘shut up’ look.

You smile gently at them, and they miss you dearly from that smile. The second they get home they're gonna hug you immediately. And maybe their dad too after they glare at him for a minute.

“You two are twins right?” You laugh awkwardly, “I didn't want to ask back at the bus stop, it might've been too obvious.”

“Yep, unfortunately I didn't absorb her in the womb.” Billie jokes while she paints the white t-shirt with a graffiti style design.

“Oi!” Mona scolds her sister but her grin betrays her. “You stole my joke.”

Giggling, you lay the blazer down flatly to double check your stitches. “I've always wanted a twin you know, it's like having a forever best friend. You two get along so well.”

“I think you already have a forever best friend.” Billie says softly.

You mirror her smile, hands playing with your cherry earrings. “Yeah, I guess I do have one already.” You look like you're in deep thought. “I saw you two talking to Hobie, how'd you know the guy I was talking about was him?”

“Uh,” Mona sucks in her teeth. “He seems like your type? I mean judging from how you talked about him.” She sounds unsure.

“Was I that obvious?” Thankfully, you buy it. They sigh in relief. “What did you three talk about? If you don't mind me asking.”

“We don't mind.” Billie leans back against your bed, grabbing her soda cup to sip while you wait for them to speak about the conversation they had. “We just talked ‘bout you, nothin' bad don't worry. We just told him to apologize, and he asked about you actually.”

Your eyes light up before faltering, “he did?”

“Yeah, he looked apologetic. He says he's gonna keep tryin' to talk to you, but he also says he'll give you some time for a bit.” Mona continues for her sister. “He was askin' if you were alright, if you were sleepin’ and eatin' okay.”

Your cheeks heat up while your eyes brim with tears again. The girls can tell that you missed him a lot. “If you see him again, can you tell him that I'm trying too? And that he's right, I think I need a bit of time to gather my complicated thoughts.”

“You can say it yourself durin’ the show.” Billie's smile grows into a smirk, knowing what happens during the said fashion show. “He said he'll be there.”

The perks of having enhanced abilities is feeling what people's emotions are like. Kind of like their spidey senses telling them if the person in front of them is angry enough to attack or when exactly to comfort someone. But this time it's neither of those things, they sense that your heart is thudding loudly against your ribcage, and that your hands are suddenly sweaty, and that your cheeks are practically on fire from the simple words, complete with butterflies flying in your stomach.

They felt the same thing with Hobie while talking to him. They chalked the quick heartbeat and sweaty palms were from the new powers that are still taking hold of him. But the butterflies and how he tenderly looked at you do not lie. He's unquestionably, unequivocally in love with you just like how you're absolutely lovestruck by your best friend.

Both girls think that there's no danger of them fading away into nothingness knowing that you two won't let go of your feelings for the other. All they have to do now is to help you finish your project and wait for Ned to complete their watch. For now, they'll keep you company in your cramped dorm that they've heard a lot of stories about during their childhood.

“Now let's finish this masterpiece for the love of your life, hm?”

—

You try to sneak out of your dorm room at the crack of dawn. The three of you chatted until Billie fell asleep on your desk, to which Mona apologized on her behalf. She was about to wake her up but you stopped them, telling them that it's alright for them to stay the night if they called their parents beforehand, and that they'd stay quiet so that your R.A wouldn't kick them out. You didn't want them commuting this late at night. You even considered calling Yuri to borrow her car and drive them back home, which the girls refused since if they see another person they care about in the present here, they would've balled their eyes out.

Mona, with her quick thinking, dialed a ‘fake’ number in your landline, your number in the present. She imagined that she was talking to you even though you're technically in the same room with her. She even asked how her dad and brother were in the so-called conversation. She missed her family dearly. Billie heard it all while she was half asleep, her head hidden on her arms cushioning her head, eyes starting to blur as she remembered your promise to them before they fell back in time.

As the girls slept in your bunk, you tiptoe over all the mess the three of you made. Scraps of fabric lay about, various colours of thread roll around the floor as you quietly pack the finished outfit in a box. With one last look at the leather vest you painstakingly made, you shut the box closed, tied it with a ribbon and wrote your message on the back of a starbucks reward card.

You almost made it out without waking either one of them, but the creaking door woke both of them up with a start. Ramona thinks that it's their spidey senses rousing them from their sleep.

“Where are you goin'?” Mona blearily asks, one eye cracked open.

“Sorry,” you wince, “I was just dropping this off at Hobie's place. Go back to sleep, I'll get breakfast for you two as thanks for helping.”

“Nah, we're comin' with.” Billie, forgetting that she's on the top bunk, falls face first.

“Oh fuck!” You panic, walking quickly towards her while Mona helps her sister up. Billie's giggles echo around the room, and you're definitely sure that the whole building heard the thud.

“‘m okay,” she yawns as Mona rolls her over to face the ceiling. “Jus’ fine, mon-mon.”

You and Mona both sigh in relief. “You sure? I can take you to the hospital? Quick, how many fingers am I holding up?” You hold up a fist in front of her.

“None, that's your fist.” She swipes your hand away. Sitting up, she blinks all the sleep away while Mona tamps down her laughter. “You said breakfast right?”

—

After eating a breakfast sandwich, the three of you walk and chat as you cross the street towards Hobie's houseboat where it’s currently docked.

“Our brother's a little shit sometimes but we love him.” Billie sips at her cooling tea, letting the warming air flutter her lashes.

“Mm-hmm,” Mona is still chewing on the last bite of her sandwich. “He likes monster trucks and playin’ the drums. On his 7th birthday, our parents got him a drum kit with monster trucks painted on it.”

You giggle, box in hand that feels heavier with every step you get closer to Hobie's place. “He's definitely not gonna regret the monster truck design when he's older.” You say with sarcasm.

“I think he's already regrettin’ it, Y/N.” Billie isn't used to calling you by your first name, it feels wrong but it's inaccurate (and weird) if she calls you mum when she's only a few years younger than you. Technically.

You stop mid step, eyes roaming around the houseboat docked on the side. Both girls remember it from old photos of when they were still toddlers waddling around the houseboat. They remember that they used to love the place, no matter how small it was. To them, it was their castle. Their home on the water where they said their first word, and celebrated all their firsts.

“Oh,” Billie seems to have the same nostalgia brought sadness when she sees it floating. She grabs Mona by her arms, face placed on her bicep. “Is it just me or do I suddenly miss this boat?” She whispers.

Mona pats her back, “not just you, Bee, I forgot how much I missed this place.” She blinks and you're gone from her side. “Wait, where's—?”

Billie turns around, spotting you hiding behind a tree, and clutching the box to your chest. You lock eyes with her, shaking your head and pursing your lips.

The twins look at each other before walking towards you. “You okay?” Mona asks you, brows knitted together at your sniffing.

“I don't think I can face him.”

Billie understood your feelings. She has an idea as she peeks behind the tree to take a look at the houseboat.

“How ‘bout I do it for you then? I won't talk to him, I'll just leave the box at his doorstep, no problemo.”

“Can you? Please?” You're already handing the box with shaky hands.

Billie meets with Mona's eyes, her sister nods, agreeing that her idea was for the best.

“Right, don't worry I'll do it quickly he won't even hear me.”

“Be careful, the floor is very slippery when wet. I don't want you to fall in the water.” You say with a wobbly smile. “And thank you, Milly.”

“It's alright.” Billie walks briskly towards the boat, making sure not to make any sound with every footstep as you and Mona watch from behind the tree.

Billie leaps over the boat effortlessly, boots barely making a squeak. As she tiptoes over to the door, her senses perk up. The hair on the back of her neck stiffens, while her ears pick up the unmistakable sound of her dad's footsteps. With wide eyes, she makes her escape.

Mona senses it too, silently beckoning her twin over to their hiding spot before Hobie could open the door.

Just as Billie’s hand grasps Mona's, yanking her behind the tree, the door opens with a creak. And out comes Hobie stumbling on his feet as he skids to a stop, almost trampling over the box. His eyes roam around the area, flicking left and right for your familiar face. Finding no one, he sighs and picks up the box gingerly. Once he reads the note you left, his eyes soften, glimmering in the early morning light as he gets back inside with his shoulders slumped over.

You finally exhale when you heard the door closed. You didn't have the heart to peek behind the tree to look at him, lest you run to his arms and let out all the words you wanted to say.

“I'm sorry you had to do that for me.” You say and you see them whispering amongst each other. “Oh, do you two need to go?”

“Yeah,” Billie closes the distance, “we need to check on somethin’ but we'll be back to see your show.” She hugs you suddenly, and you hug back before she lets go of you, but not without her signature smile.

“That would be great, you get to see the clothes you helped make.” You pat her back kindly.

Mona waits on the side, you see her casually waiting and you immediately open your arms to her. “Thank you, Eunice.” Her lips wobble for a second, she embraces you before you could see her tears flow that she immediately wipes away.

“You're welcome. I know you'll kill it.”

“I hope so, before it kills me.” You joke as you hold her at arm's length. “I'll see you two at the show then?”

Holding each of their hands, you beam at them. And both girls have the urge to hug you again. They don't, knowing that they'll be home before they know it and embrace the real deal by then.

“We'll see you there.” They say simultaneously.

You giggle, “twin telepathy.” They wave goodbye to you, now knowing a different side of you.

—

Billie and Ramona got the right parts for Ned to fix the watch which needed an entire day for him to finish. Mona helped in assembling the parts while Billie made sure everything in the interdimensional watch worked by poking and prodding each individual screw and notches if it sparked or not. If there's sparks, the power is working normally in that section of the watch, if not, Ned and Mona had to rearrange the whole thing again.

Shadowing over their dad's work table while he assembles gadgets since before they could even talk actually helped. They can't wait to show all the work they've done and accomplished to their dad. Hobie would be proud of them persevering through all the shocks and mechanical hisses the old watch emanated.

Ned was terrified out of his mind though, there was real danger of him accidentally blowing up his new flat together with a couple of strangers that he has grown to know through the assembly of the ‘intergalactic’ gadget.

“Shit!” Mona wakes up from her nap in the guest bedroom that the twins have called their own for the past day or so. “Bee!” She pats her side, finding her sister snoring under the covers. Flinging the blanket, she shakes her awake. “Wake the fuck up! We're gonna miss mum's show!” With a kick to Billie's leg, she sits up with a startle.

“Oi! What the fuck!”

“Get up! We need to see them before we go!” Mona's already fixing her appearance in the mirror, and then she quickly folds the blanket and makes the bed while Billie groggily walks around the room to grab her shoes.

“Calm down, uncle Ned still hasn't finished the last bits. D’you want us explodin’ in the portal?”

“No, but I don't want to miss the show. It's the event that started it all, Bee.” Mona walks in front of Billie to fix her shirt for her. “Besides, we need to make sure it goes as planned. If dad doesn't show up and confesses backstage we're basically fucked.”

Billie yawns, “yeah, I forgot all ‘bout the space time continuum.” Her sister grabs her hand as she yanks the door open, almost breaking its hinges apart. “Careful!”

“Sorry!” As they leave, Ned does a double take.

“Wait, where are you going?” He asks, jittering from the fifth cup of coffee he had in the past twelve hours.

They stop in their tracks, “uh, we're gonna go see a fashion show?”

“Huh?” Ned makes a face, “without your watch?” He fishes the finished watch from his pocket, showing it off to them.

“No shit?” Billie guffaws, taking the watch gingerly in her palms like holding a precious stone.

“Yes shit.” Ned grins, “just finished it a few minutes ago. You're good to go.”

Mona laughs, wide eyed at her uncle. “You're bloody brilliant, Ned Leeds.”

He shrugs, “I should say the same thing to you two. I guess it runs in the blood eh?” The twins look at him with their mouths agape. “I would drive you but I can't see straight right now. There's three of you.” Laughing, he sits down on the couch with a groan, eyes growing heavy.

The girls smile kindly at him, Ramona puts on the watch on her wrist, its metal is shiny and new but Hobie's stickers and design still remains in the wrist strap. It blinks and boops on her wrist, more than ready to go home.

“Thank you, mortal.” Billie still plays with the bit, even making a peace sign at him while they leave.

“Yeah yeah,” Ned grins tiredly at them, waving them out of his house. “say hi to your mum and dad for me, yeah?”

They turn their heads towards him lightning quick. But by the time they stare at him with surprised faces, he's already snoring on the couch.

“We need to give him a really nice gift on his birthday when we get back.” Billie says with a laugh. Shutting the doors closed, they make their way to the bus stop with one destination in mind.

—

They make it in time. The venue was packed, and the runway was in full swing with various models strutting their stuff on the raised platform.

As they push through the front towards the backstage, they see another familiar face in the audience, your old professor that always sends them gifts during their birthdays without fail. The girls only met her one time during their fifth birthday, and they only heard stories about her from you but they feel a kinship with her ever since the old professor was in your life. Without her near impossible project, you and their dad wouldn't have gotten together and pushed through the boundaries to be together.

Billie waves at her with a grin, followed by Mona who even greets her politely. Mrs. Williams creases her perfect brows together at the two strangers, but thinks nothing of it as she continues to grade her students.

With a push of the curtains, they see you pacing along the floor alone, clearly nervous out of your mind while you keep looking back at the double doors. Hoping to see Hobie suddenly appear.

“Shit, did we fuck up?” Billie grasps her sister's shoulder while they peek their heads through the curtains.

Mona heaves, panic settling in her stomach. “I—”

She gets cut off before she could even say another word. The doors burst open, flying off the hinges to reveal Hobie in his outfit that you painstakingly made. The twins almost squeal in place, but they clamp down their mouths shut in case they disturb you and their dad.

“This is it.” Mona grabs Billie's hand, and they look at eachother with an excited grin.

“Hobie?” You ask, chest heaving, palms clammy.

Instead of Hobie grabbing your face and kissing you until you're breathless, he passes by you to get to the runway. The girls sees your posture deflate, face in pure disbelief and confusion.

“What?” Mona watches you in place while Billie can't believe her eyes while she follows where her dad is heading.

Hobie struts down the runway like he owns the place. Billie had to move her sister's head to make her look at their supposed silly dad making the runway his. Their eyes grow wide while camera flashes go off around him, which doesn't even faze him one bit, not while you're waiting at the end of the runway. As he heads back towards you, his fake model façade fades.

“Hobie, I—!” You say, and you're met with his lips upon your own.

With the closing of the runway, Hobie finally crosses the line he has been threading through for years.

When you kiss back, both Billie and Mona back away with their eyes closed but smiles on their faces.

They laugh with tears in their eyes, then with a hug, they leave the venue out into the sun. Hand in hand, they punch the right codes into the present.

“Ready?” Mona asks.

“Just press the bloody button, Mon-mon.”

A kaleidoscope of light appears, showering them in warmth, and down they go without wasting another second.

—

“Do you have your sisters’ ice cream?” You pat your son's head, and he hums against his ice cream cone, cheeks painted with caramel while showing you the plastic bag in his other hand. “You need a haircut, baby.” Giggling, Hobie opens the front door for you. “What a gentleman.”

Hobie points at his lips with a playful glint in his eyes. “Payment.”

You feign a sigh, “chivalry is dead, I guess.” And yet, you still give him a chaste kiss, tasting the cherry he plucked from your sundae.

A thud interrupts your tender gazes, and you instinctively look at your youngest, finding him all wide eyed and ice cream forgotten as he looks at the house.

“You okay there, little man?” Hobie asks, crouching down. He rubs his back and follows his gaze. Whistling out, he sees the entire house perfectly decorated for Halloween. Orange and purple streamers were strewn about the staircase, pumpkins and blackcats are placed in the same spot you always put them in. Plastic bats, gaudy string lights and knitted skeletons that you made while pregnant with your youngest, decorate your shared home. The girls definitely did their job perfectly, but they're nowhere to be seen.

You clutch onto Hobie, cheek pressed on his bicep, gawking at the decorated living room. “They even found the skeletons we thought were missing.”

Hobie chuckles, pecking the top of your head while his arm wraps around your middle and his free hand placed atop his son's head. “And even dressed the skeletons in my clothes.”

“They found Bilbo!” Your son runs off towards the mechanical witch that cackles when it detects movement. Somehow that one is his favourite.

“Mac and cheese, where are you?” Hobie calls for them, hand in hand with you while you two search the first floor of the house. Reaching the kitchen, roaming his eyes around, he just sees empty pumpkin shaped bowls on the counter and not a sign from either one of his girls. “Where—?” He jumps when he sees someone crawling on the ceiling towards him. “Fuck!” Yelling, he pushes you behind him to shield you from the ‘danger.’

Guffaws echo as Billie reveals herself, flinging her hair away to show her face. “I got you!” Giggling, she drops down on the floor, landing elegantly on her feet, and then beelining to embrace you and Hobie. She can finally hold you, the you that she knows and loves.

“Takin’ advantage of my lack of spidey senses for you and your sister, huh?” Hobie says, hugging her back with a heavy peck on the crown of her head.

“You and your sister did such a good job, Bee!” You rub her back while she hides her face on your shoulder, hiding her tears from you. Your mum senses tingle, “you okay, baby?”

Billie sniffs, leaning away briefly. “Yeah, I just missed you both so much.”

“We were only gone for an hour, Mac. Did somethin’ happen?” Hobie wipes away a stray tear from her cheek, worrying more when Mona is still nowhere to be found. “Where's your sister?”

An upside down face suddenly pops down from the ceiling in front of Hobie's face, making him jump away. “That's for mum!” She points accusingly at Hobie while she somersaults back on the ground.

Hobie holds his chest, “what did I do?!”

Ramona ignores him for a moment. “Hi, mum.” Embracing you, she rubs her face against your shoulder, trying hard not to sob in front of you.

“Hi, baby, why is everyone crying today, huh? You're gonna make me cry too.” You hold her cheeks, and then you kiss her forehead sweetly. Reaching for Billie, she immediately latches herself onto you, and you smother them both in kisses.

Hobie watches on with a tender smile, Mona beckons him over and he obliges as Mona detaches herself from you to hug him properly. He cups her jaw, looking at her eyes that's near identical to yours. “You okay, my toyota corolla?”

Ramona giggles, sniffing, and hugging him again with her arms around his neck. “Never better, dad.”

You smile, meeting Hobie's eyes, with your own shining with happy tears. He walks over to you and Billie with Mona in tow, hobbling over to you while he doesn't let go of her.

“Aww group hug!” You say, making it a mission to smooch each of their cheeks including Hobie's, who's always glad to receive them.

“We still haven't decorated the outside yet!” Billie shrieks as Hobie blows raspberries on her temple.

“We'll do that later, yeah?” Hobie leans away, admiring you and his girls with a tender smile. He wraps his arms around everyone as best as he can, almost carrying the three of you as he slowly twirls the group in place in the home that he made with you.

You and Hobie will ask about what happened later, and maybe they even have a story to tell for you two. But for now, you hold them in your arms, squeezing them affectionately.

There's clattering behind you, and you see your youngest covered in fake spider webs, with a confused look on his face that's a carbon copy of his dad's face.

“What did I miss?”

Support banner by @/cafekitsune

Custom banners by @mushroom-graphics-allotment

[hotchshands]

Somebody's Watching Me | Chapter 2

Masterlist| Taglist | Other Chapters

Summary: The BAU continues their investigation into your stalker. As the unsub grows bolder, they grow closer to uncovering your identity behind all the grainy images and videos the unsub left behind. You are completely obvious to the fact that someone is watching you.

Word Count: 1k

Contains: slow burn, semi-nudity, and possible plot holes cause idk where this is going anymore

A/N: Be sure to check out my other series, Teacher’s Pet!

The team went home to rest before yet another busy day, but Hotch couldn't leave just yet. Gracia hasn't gotten a single hit on this woman, and the team was nowhere close to building a profile. Hotch knew that the faster they got through all the images, the faster they could build a solid profile. So, he sat in the screening room alone, drinking crappy coffee, hoping to see something helpful.

He eventually got bored of whatever video he was on and decided to skip to the more recent videos the unsub posted. He clicks on a video dated October 12. The angle was the same as before. The camera pointed at her window, but this time, it was different. Hotch could see you or at least your figure getting dressed. He froze, pressing pause on the video.

The idea of watching a stranger undress felt wrong and perverted. A part of him was unsurprised by the video, knowing that this kind of thing is what stalkers live for, but it felt wrong. Nevertheless, Hotch had to watch it in order to profile both you and this unsub. He resumes the video and continues watching.

You lift your shirt up before turning slightly away from the window and peeling it off. Hotch peered at your hair, falling against your bare back. The light from the window shined on you and your brown hair. You were comfortable enough to have your curtains pulled back as you undressed but not comfortable enough to put on a show. Hotch couldn't understand that, but then again, he knew all about the world's most twisted and sick people. This unsub was one of them.

After watching that, Hotch decided to call it a night, leaving the screening room and heading for the elevator.

You were rushing to get ready for work when you felt off. Peeling off your pajamas to get into appropriate work attire, you felt a shiver run up your spine. Is someone watching me? Growing up in a small neighborhood, you had no problem undressing in front of a window; you did it all the time. However, as you removed your shirt, you couldn't help but feel like this time was different.

You brushed it off and chalked it up to paranoia, but truthfully, this isn't the first time you suspected something awry. For the past few months, every time you stood in front of a window, you felt it as if it were Big Brother, but you knew that was not the case. Somebody was, in fact, watching you, but you were clueless.

The next day, the team gathers bright and early to investigate this unsub. Hotch got their first, sorting through and organizing all the photos the Cyber Alert Team left. Once the entire team was there and ready to work, Hotch began, "Thank you all for being here on time. Let's get to work. What do we know so far?"

"Well, we know this is his first and only victim," Emily said.

"We also know that stalkers are deeply insecure, and this particular stalker is likely to have a personal connection to our Jane Doe," JJ said.

"Don't forget those stalkers snap when anything gets between them and their victims. This guy's no different," Rossi added.

"So this unsub's a ticking timebomb. The closer we get to finding out who this chick is, the more danger she's in," Morgan said.

"We know how they met. In the unsub's correspondence, he said they work together but never mentions it again. After that, he's more careful not to expose any details about her," Spencer said.

"Why keep her identity a secret? From his vantage point, he could easily get a clean shot of her face. Why doesn't he?" Hotch poses to the team.

"Could it be a counter-measure?" JJ responds.

The team grows silent, taking in all the clues and piecing them together to solve the puzzle. During this time, Hotch remembers what he saw in one of the videos last night. He couldn't get that image of you undressing out of his head, and he didn't know if he should tell the team or keep it to himself. He knew it was a significant detail but was embarrassed to share it. He just didn't know why.

Rossi could see the wheels turning in Hotch's head. "Something we should know, Aaron?" Rossi asked.

Hotch shook his head and told the team about what he saw. "Last night, I watched some more of the tapes, and I think you should see them. Gracia, can you-"

"Already on it!" Gracia works her magic and pulls up the videos on her computer.

"It should be dated October 12," Hotch said.

Gracia finds the video and turns her computer to show the team. The team watches as you undress, unaware of being watched. After you change, the video cuts to you leaving your apartment. Hotch didn't see that before...

"This guy's getting bolder, that's for sure," Morgan says.

"Gracia, show us the latest upload. Would yuh? I wanna see just how bold he's gotten," Rossi said.

Upon his command, Gracia pulls up the latest video, dated April 18, months later. The video is drastically different from the others. The footage was taken from inside rather than outside.

"So now's his in her house? Why the shift?" Emily ponders.

Hotch wasn't sure why he hadn't thought to look at the latest video or why the thought of some creep sneaking into your house and setting up a camera made his blood boil. He was off his game and determined to get his head straight. He pinched the bridge of his nose before speaking, "Ok, we need to rethink strategy. Something caused him to shift the camera. He needed to get closer to the victim, but why? That's what we need to find out."

The team nodded in agreement, having started to see a shift in their boss. He was usually so level-headed during every case, but this one was different. The BAU rarely investigates stalkers; on those rare occasions, those cases go over smoothly. So far, this particular case has been all sorts of special.

Taglist: @uselessnewt @lalaehlaa @de-duchess @targaryenswhxre @mrs-ssa-hotch @reidfile

[cluelessteam]

Whispers Through Time: {~A New Arrival~}

Summary: After being mysteriously transported into the world of House of the Dragon, a modern-day woman poses as a seer to gain entry into the Targaryen court. Armed with knowledge of the future, she secretly warns Rhaenyra and Daemon of looming dangers while hiding her true identity. As she grows closer to both, romantic tension builds, but so do the risks of her deception. With Daemon's suspicions rising and Rhaenyra’s trust deepening, the reader must navigate her lies while trying to alter their tragic fate—before everything unravels.

Characters: Rhaenyra & Daemon

Pairing: Rhaenyra x Fem!Reader x Daemon

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1293

Chapter 1 --- Chapter 2

The biting chill of the wind gnawed at your skin as you stumbled through an unfamiliar landscape, its vastness stretching out before you. It was hard to pinpoint exactly when the world around you had shifted, but the change was undeniable. Your memory still clung to the familiar buzz of the modern world—the sound of car engines, the hum of streetlights, and the constant tap of your shoes on concrete. But now, all that was gone, replaced by a stark silence that only heightened your disorientation. The horizon before you seemed endless, filled with tall hills covered in thick mist, and in the distance, a looming structure—a castle—stood proudly, its towers piercing the dreary sky.

This couldn’t be real. It felt too surreal, like a dream pulled from the pages of some historical fantasy novel. You had always been fascinated by the medieval period and Westeros in particular, but that fascination never prepared you for this. And yet, everything felt too vivid to be a dream—the sharpness of the cold, the heavy scent of damp earth, the distant call of gulls swooping down from the cliffs nearby.

Your breath caught in your throat, and a familiar panic began to rise. You could almost feel your heart pounding, each beat growing louder in your ears. Logic screamed that this couldn’t be happening. You were walking home after a long day, when—there! That light. The blinding flash that enveloped you and carried you here. You clenched your hands into fists, grounding yourself, and let the question form properly: Where am I?

Slowly, as you took in your surroundings, the faintest flicker of recognition sparked. That castle, those towers—it looked eerily familiar. The realization hit you hard, and your knees weakened. This was not just any castle, but one you had seen countless times in books, on screens. Westeros. You had somehow, impossibly, been transported to the world of the Targaryens, Velaryons, and the Seven Kingdoms.

"Gods…" you whispered, though you weren’t sure if you were calling to them or cursing them. How could this be possible?

Panic began to bubble up in your chest, but you bit it down. Now wasn’t the time to lose your head. Whatever force had brought you here, it clearly didn’t care about your confusion. You were stranded in a world you had no right to be in, with no clear path home. But you were nothing if not resourceful, and survival instinct kicked in fast. First things first: you needed a cover story.

You looked down at your clothing—your jacket, jeans, and shoes entirely inappropriate for this world. You’d stick out like a sore thumb if you didn’t do something, and quickly. And then, as if fate wanted to test you immediately, you noticed a figure making their way toward you—a villager, maybe, wrapped in furs, their weathered face twisted in confusion at the sight of you.

Without hesitation, you pulled the hood of your jacket up, hiding as much of your appearance as possible, and let an idea form. You needed to be someone important, someone with a skill that would grant you entry into the castle ahead. You thought of the people in this world—superstitious, often lacking in medical knowledge, and prone to reverence for those who claimed to possess sight beyond the ordinary.

A midwife. A seer.

That was the way in. You straightened up, quickly rehearsing a story in your head. You could remember enough of the history of this time—enough about the impending conflicts and players involved—to convince someone of your abilities. And if you could do that, you might just survive.

The villager had reached you by now, his eyes flicking over your strange attire, suspicion evident in his gaze.

"You… you lost, stranger?" His accent was thick, the words harsh against the wind. He looked you up and down, frowning deeper as he noticed your modern shoes.

Clearing your throat, you adopted the air of someone who belonged here, someone important. "I’ve come from far away," you began, your voice steady, "I am a midwife, and a gifted seer. I’ve been summoned—by fate itself—to serve the realm."

His eyes narrowed. "A seer, eh? And who exactly called ye?"

You squared your shoulders. "Not who. What." You let the pause linger, allowing the weight of your words to sink in. "There are things at play in this world that go beyond your understanding. I see them—glimpses of what’s to come. And I’ve come to ensure the safety of those in power, to warn them of the dangers that await if they do not heed my counsel."

The villager hesitated, doubt still clouding his expression, but he seemed unsure now, weighing your words. Superstition held great power in this world, and the idea of turning away someone who claimed to have foresight was a dangerous gamble. Finally, with a curt nod, he motioned to the road leading toward the castle. "You’ll want to speak to the men at the gates, then. They'll decide if yer needed."

You gave a small nod in return, keeping your expression controlled, though relief washed over you. You began to walk, your thoughts racing. You had taken the first step, but getting into the castle was just the beginning. Once there, you would need to convince people far more powerful and skeptical than a simple villager. Rhaenyra, Daemon, the Velaryons… the very people who would shape the future of Westeros.

As you approached the castle’s towering gates, the sheer size of the fortress became overwhelming. The walls stretched upward, casting long shadows over the ground. Your breath quickened as the guards came into view—men clad in armor, their hands resting on swords as they watched you approach. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself.

One of the guards stepped forward, his face stern beneath his helmet. "State your business," he demanded, his voice rough and authoritative.

"I am a midwife," you repeated, keeping your voice steady. "A seer. I have been sent here to serve the realm, to offer counsel to those in power." You met his gaze directly, hoping to convey confidence. "I see things—glimpses of what’s to come. And I know that there are dangers on the horizon. I must speak with those who rule, for their own safety."

The guard raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. "A seer, eh? You’ll forgive me if I don’t take your word at face value. We get all kinds at these gates."

You expected resistance, and you had your response ready. "I understand your doubt, but let me offer you this—" You leaned in slightly, lowering your voice. "There will be an attempt on the life of someone in power here soon. It will come from within, not without. If I am wrong, you may throw me to the wolves. But if I am right, you will have failed in your duty to protect this castle."

The guard’s expression faltered for just a moment, a flicker of uncertainty passing across his features. He glanced at his fellow guards, then back at you. Finally, with a curt nod, he stepped aside. "I’ll let the master-at-arms know. If you’re lucky, you’ll get your audience."

You stepped through the gates, your pulse quickening. Inside, the castle was a maze of stone corridors, each more imposing than the last. Servants moved quickly through the halls, and you kept your head down, trying to appear as if you belonged.

Your mind raced with the enormity of what lay ahead. You needed to get close to the right people—people who would believe your story. And the first name that came to mind was Rhaenyra Targaryen. The heir to the Iron Throne, a woman of strength and ambition. If you could win her trust, you’d have a chance.

[nemesis-is-my-middle-name]

updated and improved "all the fears want arthur lester carnally" list

(part 2/john-focused list here)

just a general tally of influence/Marks arthur would have received if you were playing by TMA rules. enhanced with further contemplation and with some peer review from @luci-z-wont-shut-up thankyouuu

the eye

VERY dedicated private investigator. consistently more invested in Solving The Mystery than, like, Remaining Alive

has not had a single moment of privacy since the series started bc there's this other asshole parked in his eyes watching and judging him 24/7. granted this never seems to like, bother him overmuch, bc he's usually got bigger problems than whether john is watching him strip, but still

was magic-stalked by the KIY and his cult throughout season 1

also kayne was watching his whole life and taking notes to roast him about his trauma later. apparently

something something metanarrative implications of an audience gathering around just to watch you suffer

scratch in The Nightmare watching his dreams and bad memories with fascination?

the spiral

possessed by a god of madness (twice) (three times?) (possibly more depending on how you count?)

was held hostage in a fake dream-realm mental institution with fucked up architecture so one of the aforementioned madness gods could pry information out of him (which also gets cryptically described as "Here, there, everywhere, nowhere. Anywhere." which is sooo the spiral-coded)

the king’s interference/manipulation in part 18, similar to above

scratch and lillith’s nightmares?

relies on someone else to be his eyes so there's always the lingering background awareness that he may be missing or outright misrepresenting information & consequently he can't trust what he sees

the end

he's died.

multiple times.

there's also the omnipresent threats on his life but mostly just that. like. he's been The Ended. doesn't get much more direct than that

the stranger

i still think "losing parts of your body to another consciousness while they are still attached to you" is VERY the stranger type activities

the king in S1 turning any weak-willed bystanders against him so any stranger could turn into a threat without warning

also, the king and scratch posing as normal people, even people he knows sometimes!

a lot of addison gave the sense of being surrounded by people who saw him as Other and could not be trusted

orbited by a cast of nonhuman Entities remaking their identities into something closer to humanity for one reason or another (john, yellow, scratch, kayne) and frequently not quite hitting the mark (ty luci)

the lonely

general sense of alienation from his peers that started young and—just vibe checking here, just taking a general temperature—doesn't seem to have gotten much better over time

"I want him safe." / "You want him back." / "...Yes." <- guy who can totally handle being alone

john left and he went fully off the deep end in the span of like, a day

it's just one of those things that i think he hates and is terrified of but also is constantly haunted by

the desolation

the whole vibe of the death/destruction specifically of things that could have brought meaning to the world, or people who had a lot to live for and could have touched other lives and had an effect on others, is... um. (gestures vaguely at the. all of them)

the whole “boy playing with matches, escaping unscathed while the house burns down” thing in part 20… also v v desocore both symbolically and literally

will do LITERALLY ANYTHING to avoid losing anyone else.

also pain. i feel like pain takes a thematic backseat but it is still a part of the desolation and good lord is this man in so much pain basically all the time

physically burning an object with emotional significance to a friend and in doing so burning their relationship to ashes out of anger at said friend's happiness (william)

physically burning an object with emotional significance to himself after having intentionally cut someone he cared abt out of his life, sacrificing that last connection to save himself (oscar's letter)

one time he did an arson at an in-progress building site and left a guy bleeding out in the ruins!! desolation come get your juice

also independently invented molotovs so he could use them to kill a different thing which was perhaps divine inspiration straight from the lightless flame itself??

the slaughter

start with parker's death and just work your way down from there tbh

the butcher confrontation "Whose life did you take without provocation, without threat? Who did you kill that was innocent?" vs the slaughter's "random, senseless, unmotivated violence"

also knowing that pain and death are coming but not where or when or how. Yup 👍

just. in general. he has been wading through his own and other people's blood in equal measure since the start of the damn show

got. slaughtered. the s5 finale feels. pretty slaughter aligned. imo.

the vast

timelines! go confront how meaningless your entire life is in the face of the uncaring multiverse! have a quick crisis about it! fuck meaning!

i still don't have a whole lot for this one tbh

he can't stop falling off things obviously but i don't think he's particularly scared of that. i think he's resigned to it. balance is a fickle beast and he has accepted that it does not return his affections.

one time a kraken almost drowned him?

the buried

known claustrophobe!

almost got pinned in a cave, unable to move, on multiple different occasions!

this man and caves in general have a very very bad relationship. they keep making him be underground and then terrible things happen to him down there.

the GUILT. suffocating life-destroying inescapable guilt. that’s buried af

drowning goes here also :)

the dark

"Funny. Before all of this, I used to fear the dark. Not in any crippling way, but – but now it’s… well, now it’s no different." (part 12)

used to be unnerved by the dark and now he is blind. checks out

the whole forest with the dark young in part 49

also, the dark world. it's in the name, baby. that's more john's fear but i think it has to rub off on him at least a little bit

the corruption

eeeeverything that happened with the witch. she tried to use him to breed maggots. now that's what i call Corrupt™

horig, also

mother darkness calls him “pestilence” and “spoils from a rotten tree” when they talk, which. hm.

obsessive, almost self-destructive levels of devotion to an entity that killed his friend and wrecked his life. listen i'm supportive i think they're perfect for each other in an ESH way i'm just saying this probably also falls into the corruption's purview (ty luci)

ESPECIALLY considering john lives in his body like a parasite. not trying to be derogatory here but like, on an objective level. he is stealing his body parts. and arthur loves him. again, incredibly on-brand for the corruption

the web

he Doesn't Like Being Told What To Do >:[

ongoing vendetta against cult shit for this exact reason. the idea of not having fully free will seems to be very actively and deeply concerning for him

"I am the captain of my soul" and so on and so forth

john's (variably successful) attempts to manipulate him over the course of the show

more materially, having your body parts physically taken and moved by another is also sorta the web

patreon decisions... what if the web was a fuckton of tiny lil spiders that just sorta nudged you in one direction or another on occasion

got literally brainwormed by The Creature back in addison (twice!)

the flesh

Michael Fucking Faust.

also, had to bite his own finger off before that. in case you needed or wanted some bonus points

kind of also the witch again, in terms of having your personhood disregarded in favor of simply being Meat to other beings to feed on

the hunt

HOO BOY has he ever been Hunted. so many times by so many different things. take your fucking pick

also: "You are hunting." / "Predators need to be hunted." <- basically an active prayer to the hunt

this man is prey animal rage incarnate honestly. go!! lose yourself in the bloodlust!! kill them before they can kill you!!!!

john would really appreciate it if he was a little Less cozy with the hunt tbh :(

the extinction

i'm actually not counting this one bc it doesn't take avatars and also doesn't rrrreally exist yet

he's lived through a world war and a pandemic. how's that. i think that's as good as it gets.

CONCLUSION: i still think arthur should go shake hands with the vast and get carried off by a bird and hope that gets the rest of these assholes to fuck off. i think it's his best bet atp.

[devildomwriter]

Here We Are As In Olden Days | Diavolo x Reader

.6K Word Count | GN! Reader | CW: broodmare kink mention, big family

You sat on the cushioned loveseat next to your husband of many years, flipping through a photo album of Christmas days past.

Diavolo smiled as you opened the book and the first page was the picture you’d snuck of him trying on a Christmas sweater because you thought it was cute. You had decorated the page with holiday stickers and wrote about how Diavolo quickly discovered the picture and had it printed for you as a joke gift.

As the pages flipped more memories rose to the surface. The first Christmas you’d spent as an exchange student. Santa had thrown out his back or something similar and you and the brothers scrambled to deliver gifts to the Devildom instead.

The second Christmas you’d spent—when your personalities were drastically affected and you’d become a sadist. Diavolo had been very amused and Lsvitahn had been very turned on which kept distracting you from solving anything.

The third Christmas you spent—the brothers’ bodies had been taken over by strange little demons who you still had never identified. You had many pictures of them acting strangely and Diavolo posing in the background as chaos unfolded.

Your fourth Christmas in the Devildom—when dark Santa had gone afoul and people began blaming Satan due to their names being similar. This was the same year Diavolo, Mephistopheles, and you helped deliver some gifts for Santa when his reindeer appeared in Mephistopheles’s yard.

Diavolo laughed at the memories as you continued to flip the pages. You shared what you remembered of those days long gone, and the sense of nostalgia was overwhelming.

Finally, you arrived at the most special of Christmases; the first one you’d spent together as a couple. Diavolo had made it as extravagant as possible.

The tree nearly hit the ceiling of the ballroom, every inch of the castle was decorated and even the staff had holiday-themed clothes. You’d felt bad for them at the time but it was a nice memory to look back on, seeing how much your future husband planned just so you’d be stress-free for the holidays.

You held Diavolo’s hand tightly in yours and flipped to the next year. In the photo, you sat posed in front of the camera in all your regalia. Diavolo had taken the throne that year and nothing was holding him back from spreading as much Christmas as he wanted to, so he’d called in professionals for a couple’s portrait of you in holiday-themed royal attire.

On the following page you had framed a Christmas postcard, the first family holiday card you’d sent to all your friends and family. You sat on Diavolo’s throne next to him as you both cradled your son, only a few months old.

As years past another child appeared and another and another again.

Diavolo hadn’t insisted on this many kids, you just happened to have a convenient broodmare kink and his DNA was incredibly strong. It just made every photo more interesting as everyone crowded into the photos.

You flipped more and more pages, memories piling up. Your children’s first Christmas. The first cards they’d made you. The postcards they’d sent you of their own families.

How many years had it been now?

The castle was never quiet but the sound of children running no longer echoed through the halls like it once did.

Everyone was grown with lives of their own and you and Diavolo remained as you originally did, side by side in each other’s arms.

You flipped to the last page of the album, the one you were still working on, and asked your husband for ideas.

He grinned and handed you two photos he’d been holding on to.

Unbeknownst to you, Diavolo had it arranged that the photo you took together this year was identical to the one you first took.

Despite all that time, you hadn’t much-aged thanks to your magic and his. It was funny seeing the two pictures side by side.

Despite all the changes over the years, it was evident in these photos that one thing would always remain the same—a merry Christmas with your prince.

[gatheringbones]

[“While for some, it did not matter how others viewed them, Gee explained that he would feel bothered if others viewed him as anything other than heterosexual. Gee stated, “Yeah, ‘cause I don’t want a man coming up to me on the street and being into me and hitting on me and being gay with me, because then Ima have to set him straight.” I asked Gee what he meant by setting someone straight. Gee simply stated, “It’s going to depend on how aggressive they are,” and he did not explain any more with further probing.

For Gee, being symbolically rendered as other than heterosexual meant that he was recognized as a potential date or hookup for gay/bisexual/queer men. Rather than simply taking a compliment from a man flirting with him or responding that he is heterosexual, Gee felt that he would have to “set him straight.” The man’s queerness, in this instance, is an affront to Gee’s being. Thus, Gee’s “setting him straight” becomes conceptualized as an act of self-defense. Further, Gee’s worries about being perceived as other than a heterosexual man and experiencing other men hitting on him was not only about his sexual orientation but about his gender identity, as well.

When I asked Gee about the murders of Black trans women, he responded:

Well yeah, I could see that, I wouldn’t kill them, but I could see why men would do that. Like there’s a fear, you know, and that’s a threat to your masculinity. You’d feel violated in a certain way. I know men who would do that. I wouldn’t do that, but I know men who would.

Gee conceptualized dating and/or being with a trans woman as an assault upon his manhood and his masculinity. Being with a trans woman would mean that others may see him as gay or bisexual rather than straight, lowering him in a hierarchy of masculinities to what Connell terms “subordinate masculinities.” Connell notes, “Oppression positions homosexual masculinities at the bottom of gender hierarchy among men.” Thus, even if a gay/bisexual man embodies an otherwise hegemonic masculinity, their non-heterosexual identity functionally depreciates their masculinity and manhood. Trans women’s embodiment of a “pariah femininity” is contaminating to cis-heterosexual men’s masculinity, and violence against trans women enables cis-heterosexual men to move back up this hierarchy out of a subordinate masculinity.

While Gee, here, stated that he himself would not commit such violence, he exemplified Connell’s conceptualization of “complicit masculinities.” Gee would not enact the violence, but he continues to benefit through his allegiance to other cis-heterosexual men and his willingness to justify their actions.

In the Introduction, I quoted Elektra from Pose stating, “They don’t kill us because they hate us. They kill us because they hate what it means to love us.” Gee explained repeatedly throughout the interview that he did not hate LGBT people. He was more accepting of cisgender LBQ women, because he had a fetish about being with a woman who wants to be with another women. However, he was tolerant of cisgender GBQ men and trans people. What is at question here, though, is not whether he can accept others existence. For Gee, trans women existing and him being seen as attracted to trans women are two different things. To be with a trans woman would render him less masculine, less heterosexual, and less of a man. “]

alithia zamantakis, from thinking cis: cisgender heterosexual men, and queer women’s roles in anti-trans violence, 2023