#well that's been a thing for a while now lol but?

[darkmatilda]

𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐬 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: each of you—especially spencer—knew that the words let's split up never ended well. yet, they still escaped his lips, something he would regret for the rest of his days. now, held captive, you must decide whether to place your hope in being rescued by the team or to start a psychological game with the unsub and escape on your own.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x bau!female reader, kidnapping, psychological and physical torture, captivity, bloodletting, reader attempting to commit s (to end their suffering), split narrative, performing a ritual, mention of sexual abuse, everything being broadcasted live by the unsub, incestous relationship, sad but not tragic ending

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 14.8 k

𝐚/𝐧: i admit, there’s not much romance in this, and yep, probably the freakiest shit i've written so far. a slightly modified request from an anon—really hope you like it. i hate how i described this investigation. please overlook the absolute lack of logic at times (especially in the beginning) (in my defense i've never kidnapped anyone lol). oh, almost forgot, happy valentine's day (to those who celebrate) <3

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/ˌmetəˈmɔːfəsɪs/ a change of the form or nature of a thing or person into a completely different one

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You took a step back when your friend threw herself at you with a joyful squeal, wrapping her arms around your neck.

"Happy, happy birthday, my dearest!" Penelope exclaimed.

"My dearest?" you echoed, raising an eyebrow. A wide smile stretched across your face as you remained in her firm embrace, breathing in the pleasant scent of her sweet perfume. "Wait till Morgan hears that..."

"I heard," a deep voice sounded behind you. "But just for today, I'll let it slide. Happy birthday, kid."

Turning around, you spotted Morgan and Prentiss stepping out of the office elevator, each holding an identical cup of coffee. Both had smiles on their faces, and both pulled you into tight hugs while Garcia and Rossi were providing a cappella, completely off-key performance of Happy Birthday 

In seconds your hands were full—two gift bags and a box, and you hadn’t even managed to take off your coat yet. You thanked everyone with genuine warmth and gratitude but didn’t want to drag out the moment too long. It was still morning before work officially started, and you were already running later than usual. JJ had practically begged you to stop by first thing because your godson, Henry, simply couldn’t wait to give you his gift and wish you a happy birthday.

Either way, you had already been hugged by everyone—except…

“Come back in five minutes,” Hotch instructed the two of you, nodding at the rest of the team. “We need to get started on the case.”

And just like that, you and Reid were left alone—a surprisingly thoughtful decision from your boss. You were just friends, of course. Just like the rest of the team…okay, maybe a little closer than that.

“Here, let me help,” he offered, watching with a soft smile as Garcia’s massive gift nearly slipped from your grasp. True to his word, he carefully took it from you and placed it on your desk with the kind of caution usually reserved for handling evidence.

“Are you doing this because you’re an altruist,” you teased, “or because you’re afraid Pen would murder you if her present got damaged on your watch?”

“Why do you assume she’d only murder me?”

“Because I have a birthday,” you said matter-of-factly. “It’s weird to hurt someone on their birthday, don’t you think? Pretty sure even savoir vivre has something to say about that.”

Reid let out a short laugh, but whatever he was about to say next seemed to get caught in his throat. Under different circumstances, he probably would have kept talking, but time wasn’t on your side. In five minutes, you’d both have to return to a world filled with kidnappings, murders, and violence.

“So…” he started, briefly glancing down at his shoes before slowly reaching into the pocket of his blazer. “Oh—first and foremost, happy birthday. I know you’ve already heard that about a hundred times today, but…”

“But not from you.”

“Happy birthday,” he exhaled, almost nervously.

You frowned slightly, wondering why he seemed so worked up over this.

“Sorry, I just…I spent a lot of time trying to figure out if you’d like this gift, and I really wanted to see your reaction. So much so that I kind of forgot to actually say happy birthday.” He let out a nervous chuckle. “Anyway, I hope that…”

He stopped short at the look on your face.

For a moment, you just stared at what he was holding, lips slightly parted, completely silent. Then, slowly, a delighted smile spread across your face.

“You hope I’ll like it?” you repeated, shaking your head in disbelief. “Tickets to Heathers? Spence, of course I love it! You know how much I love musicals, and oh my god, I wanted to see this so badly…”

You opened your arms to hug him—but then hesitated.

You knew he was one of those people who tended to avoid physical contact, and his comfort had always been your priority. Even after all these years of friendship, you had only truly hugged a handful of times. And by truly, you meant something more than the brief, passing embraces that came with birthdays or other celebrations.

Spencer caught your gaze, his lips parting slightly as if he was about to say something. But instead, he simply gave a small nod—and wrapped his arms around you. The corners of your lips lifted again—though, honestly, you weren’t sure they’d ever really dropped. Not that he could see it, not with your hands resting against the fabric of his sweater and his chin lightly hovering over your shoulder.

You let out a soft sigh as you pulled away, reluctant but aware that time was chasing you both. Besides, you had something to show him.

There was a quiet tension in the air as you slowly stepped back, just barely out of his arms. Spencer watched intently as you reached into your coat pocket.

“Henry gave me this this morning,” you said, handing him the homemade card your godson had made. A small, knowing smile tugged at Spencer’s lips even before he took it, his gaze dropping to the stick figure that was supposed to be you. “He said I’m his favorite aunt in the whole world,” you added, a playful lilt in your voice. “But I’m not supposed to tell Uncle Spence because it might make him sad.”

He placed a dramatic hand on his chest, his eyes flickering between the card and you, back and forth.

"That would have really hurt my feelings," he began, "if he hadn't told me the exact same thing on my birthday."

You burst into laughter. With a small nod, you gestured that you should head back to the rest of the team. Walking side by side, you made your way in the right direction.

"Should we tell JJ that there's a little liar growing up under her roof?" you asked along the way.

"Well, the lying phase is actually a natural stage of child development," he mused. "A lack of distinction between fantasy and reality, a desire to please adults—there are various reasons. So I think we can spare her that particular worry. At least he's empathetic."

You had already reached the door to the briefing room, but before either of you could grab the handle, Spencer stepped forward slightly, stopping you in your tracks. You looked at him, a bit surprised by the gesture.

"And by the way..." he began, his tone drastically different from the one you'd been using just moments ago. You saw him swallow, carefully choosing his words. "Are...are you okay? The case we're working on...it seems to be affecting you a lot. You have dark circles under your eyes."

You had the urge to scoff defensively and sarcastically thank him for the compliment. You probably would have with anyone else—but with him, you never felt the need to hide your worries. It was easier to admit to them. Easier, but not easy.

You took a deep breath, lowering your gaze as you nodded.

"I just really want to catch these people," you admitted quietly, truthfully. "It's been going on for too long. They've hurt too many girls..." You clenched your eyes shut, avoiding his gaze, which was filled with concern. You nodded toward the door in front of you. "Come on."

He watched you for a brief moment before sighing and stepping aside to let you go first.

Soon all of you were seated around the long table, noses buried in the case files. Penelope was briefing you on a new discovery related to the case you were working on—the one that, as Reid had noted, had been keeping you up at night. She kept her gaze averted from the image on the screen, never able to handle such sights well. And the body of a young woman, drained of every last drop of blood, was particularly disturbing.

"Just like in the previous cases, abandoned seven days after the abduction," she announced, clasping her hands at stomach level. "I’ve been tracking them—I mean, really staring at my screen for hours, even more than usual—but our twins haven’t streamed a single broadcast since then."

"We've entered the transition phase," Hotch said quietly, though his rough voice, as always, carried enough weight to reach even you and Reid, seated farthest from him. "Their ritual failed. They disposed of the body and now need time to prepare for the next one. Restocking supplies, medications, medical equipment."

"This is when we should strike," Prentiss said, leaning both elbows on the table. "They're out of their hideout, likely making transactions, meeting with suppliers. It's all illegal, of course, but the underground market, or at least part of it is under our surveillance…"

This case was difficult.

Usually, you followed a certain pattern. First, there was the crime. Then, piece by piece, you uncovered the missing fragments of a complex puzzle, eventually identifying the unsub. Or unsubs, as in this case. When dealing with an abduction, the final step was typically locating the victim’s holding site.

And that was exactly where you were stuck—on this fucking last step—for yet another week.

In the meantime, one of the unsubs had launched a career as a streamer, broadcasting their actions—at least fragments of them—on the dark web. The streams started at irregular hours, lasted for inconsistent amounts of time, and seemed almost spontaneous. He had to believe that he would attract psychos like himself and his sister—people who would be fascinated by the process.

As strange as it sounded, moving the crime online had actually filled you with a twisted sense of hope.

You thought it would make everything simple. Garcia would trace their location, or maybe, by watching the streams, you’d catch some clue that would lead you right to them.

Nothing could have been further from the truth.

He only ever showed you that one room—a space resembling a hospital ward that could have been anywhere. It could have been hidden in the basement of any house in the country, inside some abandoned warehouse, on a remote farm miles away from civilization. Anywhere.

The only thing that had changed was that now you could see the victims' faces. You could watch the hope drain from their eyes as they realized no one was coming to save them.

And that thought drove you to madness.

How you even uncovered their identities and names was an even more complicated story. It all started with an offhand theory Reid had muttered under his breath—one that no one had paid much attention to at first, but which later escalated into the truth.

You had already known there were two unsubs. Their names were Lavinia and Leon Schuyler—thirty-three-year-old twins. Well, technically, triplets.

Piecing together fragments of their lives, you discovered they had another sister, Lydia. The three of them had spent their childhood deeply bonded, drifting from one dysfunctional foster home to another. Since the third sibling wasn’t involved in their crimes, you concluded she had recently died. That theory was reinforced by the fact that their victims all resembled her—and that during the streams, Leon addressed them by one name Lydia.

And, once again, through analysis, you realized what all of this was leading to.

The twins believed they could bring their sister back to life.

You had all of this. But until you had their location, it was as if you had nothing at all.

"Prentiss is right," Derek announced, his hand tightening around his coffee cup. "Our best chance is to track them now, while they’re searching for their next victim. Because we all agree there will be another, right?"

He wasn’t looking for confirmation—everyone knew cases like this didn’t just end.

Hotch nodded thoughtfully. "That’s our job for today," he began. "Not just today—we keep looking until we find them. We need to reach out to our informants, track down their supplier for drugs and medical equipment. And we need to pinpoint the location where the transaction might take place."

With a quiet sigh, you rubbed your forehead, fully aware that the next few hours would be pure informational chaos. But you were completely prepared to dive into it—anything to finally bring this case, the one that had been keeping you up at night, to an end.

In a perfect scenario, that would happen before another victim was taken.

♊︎

"Guess this isn’t how you planned to spend your birthday evening?" Reid asked.

With your hands resting on the steering wheel, you gave a small shrug. He might not have even seen the gesture in the dimly lit car, the empty road ahead reflecting the brief flashes of headlights cutting through the night.

"I wasn't in the mood to celebrate anyway," you admitted.

Under different circumstances, you might have let your teammates drag you to a bar or invited them over, picking up a cheap cake from the first bakery you passed on the way home. But from the moment you came across the information about a human blood sale taking place that night in an abandoned ruin—once a shopping mall—you all knew there would be no chance to catch your breath anytime soon.

You were almost certain that the twins would be one of the parties involved in the transaction.

At first, it filled you with doubt. Human blood? Why would they need to buy it when they were kidnapping all these women for that very purpose? Every body had been drained of it—whatever ritual they believed they were performing revolved entirely around blood.

"Maybe it's a form of experimentation," Reid had tried to explain a few hours earlier at the office, his furrowed gaze fixed on the board cluttered with all the data you'd been compiling. He paused, thinking. "Our unsubs are deeply delusional. They believe their actions will bring their sister back to life. So far, they've tried twice and failed. But instead of admitting that what they're doing is utterly irrational and illogical—because, of course, a blood transfusion into a dead body won't resurrect it—they'd rather blame the process itself, look for errors in their methods. Buying blood allows them to practice, to refine their approach without wasting what they truly desire—the blood of their victims."

"Actually, the fact that I'll finally get to see Heathers soon totally makes up for having to do... this on my birthday," you added after a moment of silence, gesturing toward your bulletproof vest.

Spencer didn’t respond—he was listening intently to Hotch’s voice coming through the car radio. A brief summary of what was unfolding at the ambush site.

You had your doubts about it, ones you kept to yourself. This was your best shot; you had to believe it would work. There hadn’t been enough time to prepare. You didn’t even have up-to-date blueprints of the place.

The abandoned building was in such a state of decay that most people driving past probably had no idea it had once been a shopping mall. The floor was coated in dust and shards of shattered storefront glass. Water from a leaking roof had seeped into the walls, leaving behind dark stains. Plastic tables from the long-defunct food court lay overturned and filthy. From what you’d managed to gather, a lot of people from the local underworld—mostly dealers—had passed through here at least once in their careers.

You didn’t feel that you were properly prepared, nor did you like your role in all of this. Your job was to circle the area in an unmarked car, providing backup in case your unsub somehow managed to slip away. That meant you had no direct view of the ambush and had to rely entirely on the descriptions and updates from your teammates. So far, though, no one had shown up.

"Hm, Spence?" you suddenly said into the space between you, a little uncertain. You kept your eyes on the road as you drove, but out of the corner of your eye, you saw him tilt his head questioningly. You fell silent for a moment, trying to keep your tone casual. "I got two tickets from you…and, you know, I was wondering if maybe you’d want to, well…see it with me?"

You had no idea why you suddenly felt so tense. After all, you were friends, and friends went places together sometimes. Just the two of them.

"Are you sure?" Reid asked, making you shift in surprise. Was he going to say no? He quickly added, "I mean, I don’t want you to think I expected you to invite me just because I gave you the tickets…It’s a gift, and if you’d rather take someone else, a friend or…"

"I want to take you," you interrupted, shifting your gaze to him.

For a moment, you just stared at each other, the glint of your eyes visible in the dark car. Spencer gave a small, gentle smile.

"She's here. Alone. We're waiting in position until she goes inside," Morgan's voice informed you.

You both straightened up, as if brought back down to earth. The sense of satisfaction, even excitement, that had grown within you after he agreed suddenly took a backseat. You remained silent, listening for further instructions. Sitting there in the car, you felt utterly useless. She’s here. Just Lavinia? What about her brother? Did she come alone? Had they suspected something was off and decided not to risk being caught together? Your breath caught in your chest for several long minutes, stretching into a quarter of an hour.

“Fuck” 

Your grip on the steering wheel tightened.

“Fuck! She got away. She was alone, and she still managed to slip through…there must be a hidden exit in the warehouse…”

Reid brought the radio to his lips.

“We’re nearby—we might be able to catch her. Did she come on foot? If so, her car could be parked somewhere close, maybe with her brother waiting. She’s probably heading straight there.” A faint crease formed between his brows, the mark of complete focus. “Garcia, you got me? Check the maps. Find anywhere they might have stopped…”

“How the fuck did she slip through?” you hissed under your breath, your heart hammering against your bulletproof vest.

You weren’t there—you had no right to judge. But for god’s sake, it was one woman against a trained FBI team!

“Guys, I think I’ve got something!” Penelope’s tense whisper crackled through the radio. “An abandoned parking lot, I’ll guide you there…”

You shoved your anger and confusion aside for the moment, yanking the wheel sharply as you turned toward the location Garcia had given. Cracks in the concrete had been overtaken by tufts of grass, something you noticed the moment you stepped out of the car, the door slamming shut behind you. It was nighttime, and darkness sprawled between the trees ahead, swallowing up what little visibility you had. The entire area was unlit, making it hard to see much—except for the single parked car standing out in the gloom.

You and Reid didn’t need to discuss your next move. A brief exchange of glances was enough—a silent reminder to stay cautious. Weapons drawn, you approached the vehicle from opposite sides, moving in sync without a word. You expected to see the face of the man you had been staring at endlessly over the past few days of the investigation. You hoped to find him in the driver’s seat, to yank him out with a firm pull, slam him against the hood, and cuff his wrists as his face met the cold metal.

But the car’s interior was empty.

“Damn it,” you muttered, lowering your gun. “Is this even their car? Maybe we came here for nothing…”

“Let’s find out,” Reid murmured, scanning the area cautiously before tugging on the surprisingly unlocked front door. His brows lifted—he seemed just as surprised as you.

You circled around the vehicle to join him on the same side, resting a hand on the open door as you watched him pull on a pair of gloves. He reached for the glove compartment, likely expecting to find some documents inside.

“Nothing,” he sighed after a long moment, disappointment lacing his voice.

He turned his face toward you, his tense jaw easing as he parted his lips to say something else. 

Then everything was drowned out by the sharp crack of gunfire. One shot. Then another. Bullets slammed into the hood of the car with a metallic clang.

It all happened too fast.

You spun around, your flashlight beam cutting through the darkness—and landing on her. Blonde hair wild around her face, cheeks flushed from a desperate sprint.

Her gun was raised. Her finger tight on the trigger.

And you.

Most of your body shielded behind the open car door.

Most of it.

But not your head.

Then—Reid’s hands gripping your waist. Yanking you down.

The bullet shattered the window, glass exploding around you. Instinctively, you both ducked, heads low as sharp fragments rained down.

Curled up together, arms tangled, you locked eyes—both of you breathing hard, lips parted in shock. It had only been seconds, but in his gaze, that raw flash of fear stretched endlessly.

Your fingers dug into the fabric of his vest, gripping onto the solid warmth of his body as the world tilted. The ringing in your ears was deafening, the gunshot echoing in your skull, stretching time unbearably—like a warning of the next shot to come.

But it didn’t.

And when another second passed. Then another—

You moved.

Ignoring Reid’s sharp inhale, his hand reaching to hold you back, you pushed up onto your feet. The flashlight beam managed to catch Lavinia for a brief moment before she disappeared entirely into the stretch of trees between you. You couldn't let her escape and make it back to their hideout, the one you had been struggling to locate for so long.

Following her trail, you shot across the parking lot like an arrow. Reid was a fraction slower to react, but he wasn’t about to let you go after her alone. You could hear his footsteps behind you as you ran forward with determination, nearly tripping more than once over scattered rocks and branches along the forest path. You knew the flashlight was giving away your position, but you kept it on, scanning the surroundings for one of the unsubs.

It was as if she had vanished into thin air. As if the trees had swallowed her whole, even though the narrow, mostly overgrown path led only forward. You stopped, desperately looking around. You had no idea how far you had run, but your breath had become uneven, despite your excellent physical condition as an FBI agent.  You couldn't accept the fact that she had slipped away from you twice, that she would soon meet up with her brother and together start planning the abduction of another victim…

Reid's hands reached for yours to turn off the flashlight you were clutching. In one moment, his face was right in front of yours, perfectly lit with squinted eyes, and in the next, it disappeared. You could still sense his presence just in front of you, his heavy breathing when he spoke.

"We have to..." he started in a slightly hoarse, quiet voice.

"We have to catch her," you interrupted through clenched teeth. You pulled away, moving forward again, but then he grabbed your wrist tightly.

"This is pointless," he replied, to which you immediately snorted in response. You wanted to argue, but then his finger landed on your lips, stopping you from speaking. "It's pointless for both of us to chase her like this," he explained, finally calming his breath. "Give me the flashlight, I'll go on alone. You head back to the car and take the other route. The forest is small; she'll have to come out on the other side soon. And above all, notify the team about everything."

His hand pulled back only after he finished explaining the plan. At that point, you no longer had the desire to protest. Everything he said made sense, even though something deep inside you screamed that you shouldn’t split up. You ignored it and forced yourself to nod. You handed him your flashlight and, after a last exchange of glances, you jogged back.

“Spence,” you turned suddenly after taking only a couple of steps. He also looked at you, clearly surprised. “Be careful.”

 Reid nodded.

“I’ll be fine,” he reassured you. “Be careful too. We’ll meet up in a bit.”

It was only when you were running back to the car that you realized just how far your pursuit had gone. Anxiety clung to your back and didn’t let go, even as you emerged from between the gnarly trees. You gripped your gun tightly and tucked it back into your waistband as you sat behind the wheel of your car, not even pausing to catch your breath. Without hesitation, you leaned over to the radio, but before you could get a word out, something flashed in the corner of your eye.

You froze at the sight of the gun aimed at the driver’s side window.

You didn’t even fully turn to the side, you didn’t wait. You knew what was expected of you. With slow, almost rigid movements, you opened the door and stepped outside. You dragged out the process, analyzing the stance of the man, the second of your unsub suspects. He wasn’t a tall man, and after reviewing his history, you knew he had no significant experience with weapons or combat skills you had mastered long ago.

You almost smiled when you managed to use the element of surprise, grabbing his hand and redirecting the gun to the side. The shot rang out.

Leon Schuyler hissed with satisfaction, as if he had expected it all along. Then, before you could slam your knee into his groin, another sound escaped his lips. It was possible you had misheard it, but it sounded very much like a goodnight.

And after that, a sharp needle of a syringe pierced your neck with precision.

♊︎

It wasn’t until morning that Spencer began to grasp what had actually happened.

And even then, not fully. He felt as if he were blankly staring at the script of a play—one whose plot and themes filled him with such deep discomfort that he wanted nothing more than to leave the theater without so much as murmuring an apology to the people he passed. Yet at the same time, his entire body was nailed to that rough seat, his head immobilized, unable to look away. He wanted to run onto the stage and shout, enough, to put an end to it all—but he had no such power.

Who did?

The ambush for the twins had been set around midnight. About an hour later, they had both taken off after the fleeing woman. Then they had split up.

He didn’t remember much after that—not until five in the morning, when the entire team finally stopped scouring the area, clinging to the desperate hope that they might stumble upon the unsub by sheer accident. For the first time, Spencer felt so detached from the passage of time that even when he looked at his watch, the position of the hands made no real sense to him.

Hotch had announced that they needed to return to the office. To regroup. To think carefully about their next move.

They were the first to arrive—Spencer trailing behind Hotch more like a shadow than an actual participant in events. Others followed, one by one. Shaken. Furious. Devastated. But most of all, still bewildered, still unable to accept what had happened.

The sun had begun to rise, but even that seemed slower than usual, reluctant to banish the wretched darkness still clinging to these walls.

Spencer realized he was staring blankly out the window instead of using his so-called genius to find a solution. His mind felt empty, and the shame of it hit him like a physical blow, followed by something even more tangible.

A pair of hands shoved against his chest, forcing him backward.

“JJ…”

Derek was between them in an instant, stepping in to hold her back.

She froze, staring at her own hands as if surprised by what they had just done. Then she clenched them tightly across her chest, her gaze locked onto Spencer, raw and overflowing with emotion.

“How could you…how could you even suggest splitting up?” Her voice trembled, her head shaking in disbelief. Her chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven breaths. She had been the last to arrive, the one who stayed out searching the longest—desperate, frantic, chasing down any possible lead that could tell her where they had taken her best friend, the godmother of her son. “You know this never ends well, Spencer. You know that. You should have known that…”

"Enough" Emily appeared beside them, gently wrapping her arms around JJ’s shoulders.

JJ slumped, a single tear glistening in her eye for the first time.

"This isn’t helping," Emily said softly. "We need to focus on finding her as quickly as possible. They… they don’t kill their victims. Not right away. We still have a chance…"

"They don’t kill their victims," JJ repeated blankly, wiping her eye with a stiff movement. She didn’t look at any of them. "They just keep them locked up for days, drain their blood, and throw them away like garbage."

She took a breath.

"I need to see Penelope."

She tore herself from Emily’s grasp and walked away without looking back.

Her words lingered, filling the space, stretching the silence into something unbearable.

Spencer felt like he might throw up if he even tried to swallow

By accident, his gaze met Emily’s. Her brown eyes were surprisingly gentle.

He looked away.

Facing JJ’s fury had been easier—it was just a fraction of the hatred he felt toward himself. But he couldn’t stand any attempt to soften just how badly he had fucked up. He opened his mouth, maybe to apologize, before realizing just how meaningless it would be. What would his apology change? The only thing he could do at that moment was pull himself together and find her.

“I need to focus,” he said, his throat so dry the words barely made it out. He wanted to leave the room, to be back among the case files, to lose himself in analysis and overlapping thought patterns, to check everything—literally everything.

But then Penelope appeared in the doorway, the color drained completely from her face.

“Guys, you need to see this…” she choked out.

For a second, everyone froze—until, led by Spencer, they rushed toward her office.

"Just like in the previous cases, I can’t trace this transmission," Penelope explained frantically, nearly running beside him on her high heels. They burst into the dimly lit room full of screens, where JJ was already inside—motionless. She was biting her thumb, staring at one of the monitors in a trance. "They’re using satellite internet, masking the signal, and constantly jumping between servers..."

Behind them, Prentiss let out a strangled sound.

The whole thing was being streamed via a handheld camera, mostly fixed on one point—the face of their teammate. It seemed to be set down on something, maybe a table, because if someone were holding it, the frame would be shaking.

Hotch stepped in as close as possible, his eyes shutting for a brief moment. He was reliving it all over again. Once more, one of them had been taken, and the rest were forced to watch, helpless.

But if Tobias Hankel had left behind anything remotely useful, it was that they knew how to handle this.

Silently, painfully, they all gathered around Garcia, absorbing the footage—no, the live feed.

"Is recording this really fucking necessary?" a woman's voice snapped—it belonged to Lavinia.

Spencer's mind flickered with the image of her face—those empty green eyes staring down the barrel of a gun aimed directly at them. Her brow furrowed. She had no visible injuries on her face. She was lying on a stark white bed, the kind that looked like it belonged in a hospital, covered by an equally white blanket up to her waist. She wasn’t wearing a bulletproof vest anymore—just a loose nightgown that ended at her elbows. Her eyes were half-lidded, blinking slowly—probably just waking up.

"We already talked about this. It is," her brother replied. "What are you doing?"

Lavinia stepped into the frame. They weren’t wearing masks, weren’t bothering to hide their identities—fully aware that law enforcement already knew their names.

One of her hands clamped down on the captive’s, pulling it toward her with little care before pricking the tip of one finger.

Confusion rippled through everyone watching. Spencer might have rushed to explain if not for the fact that he couldn’t force a single word out. He couldn’t even look away.

"I'm checking her blood type, what else?" she scoffed. "You kidnapped her without running it by me, and you should know that if this bitch has the wrong blood type, I’m not wasting our time on her."

"Pay attention to the way they speak to each other," Hotch started, bracing a hand against the desk. "There's tension—some kind of conflict…"

"Hotch," Spencer cut in, his eyes shut tightly. Nausea churned in his stomach. Keeping his eyes closed was the only way to stay on his feet.

Lavinia's words pounded against his skull on repeat. If this bitch has the wrong blood type, I’m not wasting our time on her.

"…That's a good thing. It means they're less coordinated, and it's more likely they'll make a mistake..."

"Hotch," he tried again.

This time, it was almost a plea.

"…We should—"

"She’s AB Rh+."

Hotch finally turned to look at him. So did the rest.

They froze—silent, motionless—not because they didn’t understand what it meant, but because they refused to accept it.

AB Rh+, a blood type that could only be transfused to someone with the same.

All the previous victims had type A blood.

I’m not wasting our time on her.

Prentiss sank into the nearest chair, as if her knees had simply given out beneath her.

So this was how it was going to end?

Before they could do anything to help her? Before he could even come up with a single idea on how to save her?

A single tear slipped down Penelope’s cheek. She didn’t even try to wipe it away.

“Let me check,” Leon, the male unsub, suddenly offered. “Go turn the heat up. Even I’m cold, and I’ve got a jacket on.”

His sister hesitated for a moment before she agreed.

Spencer finally opened his eyes—not to torture himself with the helplessness on his colleagues’ faces, but to force his gaze onto the screen. He fixed his eyes on her half-conscious face, searching for any sign of understanding. Did she get it? Had she already connected the dots?

Breathing started to hurt.

He wanted so badly to apologize. It wouldn’t fix anything, but maybe—maybe—it would dull the ache.

Him. Spencer Reid. And his stupid idea to split up.

He had sent her back to the car.

He had sent her to die.

That thought was dangerous, but maybe it was a good thing that the end was so close. That she wouldn’t have to endure days of suffering, uncertainty, and fear. He knew that feeling. He knew it all too well—praying for his own death when the pain became unbearable when fear and exhaustion drained the last of his strength. He didn’t want her to go through that.

He didn’t want her to go through any of this.

But that…that especially.

"And?" Lavinia returned to the room after a long moment.

"Well, what can I say? I’ve got a good eye," her brother said lightly. "O Rh-, a universal donor. We couldn’t have asked for a better match. You know what this means? That this time, we might finally succeed."

Everyone exchanged glances, utterly confused.

“Spencer…” JJ looked at him for the first time since their argument. “You said…you yourself said that she—”

“Because she is,” he interrupted. “He lied.”

Prentiss snapped her head up, a spark of hope flickering in her eyes. Spencer didn’t share her optimism. He did feel some relief, that much was true. But he was painfully aware that this wasn’t over. The nightmare was only beginning, and it was up to them to end it—before it was too late.

♊︎

You were afraid to be afraid. 

Absurd—you were well aware of that. But ever since you woke up in that hospital-like room, hooked up to an EEG and an IV, with a pulse oximeter clipped to your finger, your thoughts had focused solely on one thing. Not panicking. Calmness gave you a sense of control. Of course, you had none whatsoever—you were entirely at the mercy of two lunatics who believed they could bring someone back to life. But if they could be delusional, then so could you.

You knew this room from the recordings. For the longest time, you couldn’t determine where exactly it might be located. Was it a repurposed basement? A cabin in the middle of nowhere? Even now, being here in person, you couldn’t say for sure.

The moment you were left alone, you seized the opportunity to unhook yourself from all the machines and pressed your ear against the wall.

Once, your team had found a victim’s location by identifying the sound of a plane taking off in the background of a ransom call. You hoped for something similar to happen now. But you quickly realized the grey walls were lined with  soundproofing foam. The floor, covered in rubber, absorbed footsteps completely. You didn’t even hear anyone approaching until a flat palm struck you across the face so hard that you collapsed back onto the bed.

Lavinia was ridiculously strong.

“If you get up without permission again, I’ll cuff you to the damn bed,” she said, tossing a bottle of water onto the mattress beside you. “Drink. You’ll get food when you do something for me.” 

"As if I have anywhere to run," you muttered under your breath, reluctantly reaching for the water. "What do you want me to do? What time is it?"

Every time one of the twins visited you, you asked for the time. You needed to know how long you had been there. But with the constant doses of sedatives they were giving you, you couldn’t even estimate it.

Deep inside, you felt like it had been no more than a day.

The others had been kept for seven days before…

You shook your head. You couldn’t think about the others if you wanted to hold on to what was left of your sanity.

“Good night,” Lavinia muttered, messing with the IV drip.

“But you said I had to do something…” You frowned in confusion.

The blonde shrugged. She was wearing a green coat with fur on the hood. Both she and her brother always came to see you dressed warmly, even though the temperature in your little prison was relatively comfortable.

They had changed you into a thin nightgown that ended just above your knees and at your elbows, but curled up under the blanket, you were relatively warm.

That led you to one conclusion—wherever you were, the rest of the building wasn’t as well-heated. It was cold enough that they needed extra layers.

Whatever was in the IV worked.

You woke up on the floor. And freezing. Oh God, it was so cold. Your entire body immediately started shaking.

When you tried to push yourself up at your own sluggish pace, someone simply yanked you upright, like pulling a vegetable from the ground. You hissed in pain, instinctively trying to push the woman away, but all that did was earn you another hit.

Lavinia didn’t hold back.

The previous victims hadn’t been beaten this badly, so you assumed she particularly disliked the fact that her brother had chosen to kidnap you.

Leon, unlike her, didn’t hit you.

He just kept shoving the camera in your face.

Honestly, you preferred a busted lip and bruises over the fact that your team was seeing what was happening to you.

That awareness hurt a thousand times more than any torture ever could.

You managed to take a look around this new room before you were shoved toward the bed.

Unlike yours, it didn’t look like a mad doctor’s operating room but rather an ordinary, slightly old-fashioned bedroom. Dark wooden floors, a wardrobe with ornate handles in the corner, no windows—just like your room. Bottle-green walls.

Your gaze finally fell on the bed, and you barely managed to choke back a scream.

Suddenly, you understood why it was so unbearably cold in the room.

In front of you lay the body of a woman, her eyes closed, but her face was so unnaturally blue that you could never have believed she was merely sleeping. If not for the fact that she had been dead for—what you estimated to be—several weeks, she would have been identical to Lavinia.

Only after the initial shock of the sight wore off did her name come back to you.

Lydia.

The last of the triplets. The one who had died. The one they were trying to bring back with their…ritual.

As an FBI agent and profiler, you were accustomed to seeing dead bodies—but this one unsettled you in a way you couldn’t quite rationalize.

Lavinia approached the corpse and smiled down at it with an affection so genuine, so reverent, that it sent a shiver down your spine. It was the kind of smile only mothers gave their children. Then, without hesitation, she leaned in and pressed a kiss to Lydia’s cold, gray cheek.

The dead woman’s short blonde hair fanned out across the pillow like a halo. Her hands were folded neatly atop the blanket, eerily reminiscent of someone in prayer. You were shaking, and it probably wasn’t just because of the cold.

"From now on, you will take care of our sister twice a day," Lavinia began, opening the drawer of the bedside table. She took out a hair comb, a bottle of some liquid, and a silk cloth. "Brush her hair and wipe her body."

As she spoke, she demonstratively rolled up one of Lydia’s sleeves. She was dressed in a nightgown similar to yours, but with lace at the collar and long sleeves reaching down to her wrists. You couldn’t suppress a shudder at the sight of her exposed skin. You were trembling too much from the cold for Lavinia to notice.

Lydia’s veins were dark. The blood transfusions into her lifeless body had caused it to clot. Small lumps had formed where the blood had thickened, and her arms were covered in scars and puncture marks.

“W-why do I have to do this?” you asked, clenching your teeth to stop them from chattering.

Lavinia shrugged as she wiped her sister’s skin with the cloth.

“Someone has to take care of her,” she said. “By doing this, you’re building a bond with her. Here, try it. Just be gentle.”

For a moment, you just stared at her. You were now certain—absolutely certain—that both Lavinia and Leon had crossed the threshold of madness and were living in a world where logic held no place.

Her gaze hardened as she shoved the cloth into your hands. It almost slipped from your trembling fingers.

You looked down at the body and hesitantly wiped its surface…a violent gag reflex hit you so hard that you staggered.

You heard a contemptuous scoff.

“If you throw up on her, you have no idea what I’ll do to you,” she warned.

This was sick. Sick, sick, sick.

Your breath caught in your chest—you couldn’t look at Lydia, laid out in bed as if merely asleep. Taking care of her as if she were alive. But another warning glance and the flash of a weapon beneath Lavinia’s coat forced you to keep going. You started wiping down each of her limbs, one by one.

She was a small woman, barely any weight to her, and yet it felt like the task stretched into eternity.

Sick, sick, sick.

When you were done, a comb was shoved into your hand. Its teeth were wide-set, meant to avoid damaging the delicate hair of a corpse. Lavinia kept hissing softer through gritted teeth every few seconds.

Sick.

You forced yourself to set the comb down calmly instead of flinging it away like it burned you. Following instructions, you reached for Lydia’s hands, gently folding them back into the same position as before. As you did, your gaze lingered on her wrists for a long, drawn-out moment. The deep, jagged wounds. So that’s how she died? Suicide?

Lavinia stabbed you with a syringe.

♊︎

You lay in bed, your body still trembling.

You weren’t cold anymore, yet you curled up under the blanket. Just as Lavinia had warned, she forced you to do it again a few hours later. Taking care of Lydia’s body now dictated when morning came and when night fell. Not once had you fallen asleep on your own—there were always the drugs, injected mostly when they needed to move you to another room. You wondered why you couldn’t just walk there yourself.

Not that you would have been able to sleep anyway. You made sure not to close your eyes. When you did, your mind conjured sick visions—of the corpse lying right beside you, feeding off your blood, slowly consuming you the way mold devours fresh fruit.

You were afraid to be afraid, yet fear was beginning to take hold of you.

You were still searching for a way out of all this… You knew the team was looking for you too, doing everything they could, but you couldn’t just sit and wait. You had to find a way to gain some sort of advantage over the unsubs. There was no use trying with Lavinia, but Leon…

He was the weaker link in this duo.

He had lied about your blood type, which meant he wanted to keep you here.

You heard him enter the room. They usually took turns coming to see you, rarely together. His arrival was always preceded by the small wheeled table carrying all the electronic equipment and streaming cables. If only Garcia could trace it…

“How are you feeling?” Leon asked, sitting on the edge of your bed, keeping his distance, the camera aimed directly at your face. You tried to turn your head so the bruise under your eye—courtesy of his sister—was out of view. A poor attempt. Your lip was swollen too. “You look weak. My sister told me to bring you something to eat, but… you know, Lydia is smaller than you.”

You raised your eyebrows. So what, was he planning to starve you until you resembled his sister’s corpse? You didn’t even try to understand it anymore. It wasn’t worth the effort for your exhausted mind. You didn’t answer, unsure of what you even should say. But you wanted to keep the conversation going.

“Why…why are you even recording all of this?”

You couldn’t stop yourself from glancing directly into the camera. It was impossible that the whole team was watching the stream. You hoped as few of them as possible were seeing you like this. Especially not Penelope—she wasn’t built for this. Not JJ, your best friend. And definitely not Spencer.

On second thought, you didn’t want any of them to be watching.

Leon cleared his throat.

“Well, we’re doing something incredible. People want to see it. They’re curious if we’ll succeed.”

You’re doing something sick. Freaks want to watch it. They’re fascinated by it, you corrected him in your head.

“So, I have fans?” You tried to sound playful, friendly.

Leon was surprised by the warmth in your voice. Pleasantly surprised. His pale face, green eyes brightened slightly.

“Yes. I guess you do,” he admitted. He almost seemed shy, as if he hadn’t kidnapped you. “Can I…can I talk to you? Maybe they’d like to know something about you. The previous ones…the previous ones didn’t really want to say much. Mostly, they just screamed.”

You used all your strength not to flinch.

“Sure,” you replied, forcing a soft smile. It was just a game, a mask. You tried to observe the conversation from the outside, detached, clear-headed—while pretending you didn’t hate him. “What do you want to know?”

He didn’t move closer, but he shifted slightly to make sure the camera captured as much of you as possible.

“I know you’re a fed,” he began. “I even looked you up. I know your name. How old you are. But nowhere did it say what you like. You know, what you do. In your free time.”

You hesitated for a moment. You were kidnapped. If it were someone else in your position, you’d tell them to be as human as possible—honest, even. Make your captor see you as a person with feelings, desires, dreams.

So you took a breath and tried to answer truthfully, even though it hurt.

“I love musicals,” you finally said.

You thought about the two tickets—Spencer’s gift.

It hurt unbelievably much.

You prayed he wasn’t watching. That he wouldn’t hear this.

You told Leon a little about the last musical you had seen. It had been a long time—your job left you no time for such things. You looked him straight in the eyes as you spoke, because the sheer disgust you felt toward him was the only thing keeping your tears from spilling over. You felt so fragile, talking about something you loved to a man who, in just a few days, planned to drain you of blood.

You didn’t want to die like this. You refused to.

“Do you want kids?” he asked suddenly.

The question was so unexpected that you didn’t even have time to think.

"I guess…I guess so," you said.

But your surprised mind quickly sharpened, pulling up information from their biography. You knew that the twins' mother had died in childbirth. You didn't know what was driving him to ask this question, but you preferred to be cautious.

"I mean, no. I don’t know, actually. Maybe. To continue the species."

Or to have a loving family, but of course, you weren’t about to say something so personal out loud.

Leon remained still for a moment, then suddenly laughed. You pretended to laugh along, but you couldn’t stop the sharp flinch when he suddenly moved closer, touching your cheek with his hand. He lowered the camera—it was now pointing at the floor.

"You're so funny," he said with strange tenderness. "Just like Lydia. She…she was the same way."

For the first time, he referred to her in the past tense instead of the present. Was he starting to realize that she was gone?

"Do you have a boyfriend?" Another question.

"No."

"Have you ever loved someone?"

"What…what really happened to Lydia?"

The team had never found that out. But you had seen the wounds on her wrists and figured it out yourself. Still, you wanted to hear what he had to say about it. Because by now, you were starting to suspect.

"She passed away because of an illness," he said shortly, enigmatically, cutting off any further questions. Then, he repeated himself. "Have you ever loved?"

"In what way? Romantically, like a sibling, like family…?"

"It doesn’t matter."

Your posture became more alert, analytical. Leon withdrew his hand from your face, but he didn’t point the camera back at you, as if he had forgotten he was even holding it.

"Of course, I’ve loved," you said quietly. "And I still do. And you loved Lydia, right?"

The man nodded, a certain longing filling his green eyes.

"It’s late," he announced after a moment of silence. "I should go."

But before he even moved to stand, he leaned in. His lips brushed the top of your head, hesitant. You fought the urge to push him away. You had to keep up the act, continue this game. Wrap him around your finger, so that the very thought of hurting you would terrify him.

"Goodnight, Lydia."

♊︎

A certain force kept him bound to that chair, watching each broadcast over and over again.

He believed that, eventually, he would spot some previously overlooked detail—one that would immediately allow him to pinpoint the location. But in part, he also wanted to punish himself. Because what could hurt more than watching the face of one of the most important women in his life grow paler and more bruised with each passing moment?

A woman he himself had condemned to this fate.

But he didn’t stay in the office for another night just to drown in his own guilt. He was capable of multitasking, so while the weight of it pressed down on him, he poured everything that came to mind onto paper.

He noted the exact moments the streams began, measured their precise duration, wrote down every single word spoken, and searched for any hidden meaning.

Maybe, somewhere in one of those conversations, she had hidden a message meant for their team—a clue to help them find her.

Three days had passed. Logically, it made sense to assume they were following the same pattern as in previous cases. And that meant nearly half of their time was already gone.

Spencer kept thinking about Leon’s cryptic words—that his sister had supposedly died of an illness. He wondered if that was true or if the twins had chosen to live in denial. Maybe it was easier for them to accept that fate, a cruel and indifferent universe, had taken her—rather than the possibility that she had done it to herself.

He rubbed his tired eyes and let out a heavy sigh when he realized he was getting nowhere.

Garcia had allowed him to stay in her office alone—something that, under any other circumstances, would have gotten him killed. She hated when anyone touched her keyboard.

But time was relentlessly moving forward, and they all had to sleep at some point. Usually, only one or two of them were assigned to monitoring the broadcasts at a time, while the rest focused on other search efforts. They worked nonstop.

They had already experienced a moment of sheer terror at the very start, forced to confront the brutal reality that she could die. And they were determined not to let that happen.

Especially Spencer.

Not just because he owed it to her. It wasn’t only about guilt—the fact that he had been the one to suggest they split up. Even if he had nothing to do with her current situation, he would still be glued to this chair in the dimly lit room, illuminated only by the glow of the screens, a single desk lamp, and the rhythmic ticking of the clock.

Because she was his friend. Because she was an inseparable part of his life.

Because she was someone he could say, without a doubt, that he loved.

Whether that love was purely platonic or something more didn’t matter right now.

The only thing that mattered was the silent promise in his mind—that he would make sure they watched that musical together.

Hundreds of them, if she wanted.

He drank surprisingly little coffee. What kept him on his feet and his mind sharp weren’t the stimulants but the occasional glances at the drawing Henry had made—a gift she had left in the office, intending to take it home after work. To pin it to her fridge with a cat-shaped magnet. Of course, Henry had no idea what had happened to the best aunt in the world. 

He drifted off in thought for a moment, only to be pulled back by movement on the screen.

The stream was starting.

Spencer immediately straightened in his seat, giving his cheek a light slap to wake himself up, to force himself into absolute focus.

Like every time, something clenched painfully in his chest.

He barely recognized her, even though the light in her room was on.

Several details hit him all at once.

First, the wound on her cheek—one that hadn’t been there before. Second, her hair. It had been cut to the exact same length Lydia’s had been in the photos he’d seen of her. The association filled his mind in an instant, vivid and unshakable. Third… the bandages wrapped around her wrists. Both of them. His hand shot toward his phone to alert the team, to wake everyone up. Or maybe someone else had already done it—he wasn’t entirely present in his own body.

But before he could move, before he could do anything at all, his breath caught in his throat. A thought began to scroll across his mind like a news ticker.

Metamorphosis had already begun.

♊︎

When Leon cut your hair, you took advantage of his momentary distraction—his mind entirely consumed by memories of his sister—and stole the scissors, slipping them under your pillow.

You wished you could say it was part of some greater plan. But in reality, you were exhausted, your strength fading more and more—not just physically, but mentally too. If your calculations were right, at least three days had passed. Twice a day, they drugged you and moved you to a room so cold that you lost all feeling in your limbs for hours, forced to care for a dead body. Staring into Lydia’s empty eyes, at the bluish veins beneath her lifeless skin, you couldn’t stop imagining yourself the same way—discarded by the roadside, drained of every last drop of blood.

You didn’t want to go like that. You wanted to go on your own terms.

You seized your chance that evening, when they left you alone without sedatives. You hesitated. But what if the team had finally tracked you down? What if they were already on their way? Wait or don’t wait? They would understand. You knew that. You were relieved that the camera hadn’t been on you 24/7. You had at least spared them from witnessing this, the desperation and terror slipping from your wrists along with your blood.

It was Leon who found you. He collapsed to his knees beside you, consumed by sheer panic, screaming Lydia’s name over and over, begging her not to leave him again. His cries alerted Lavinia. You had hoped that despite her medical experience as a nurse, she wouldn’t reach you in time.

You squeezed your eyes shut, not wanting their faces to be the last thing you saw before death. With the last remnants of your strength, you struggled against their grasp as they tried to lift you from the floor.

Then, everything faded away.

"Leon, this is a waste of time."

The blurred words drifted into your consciousness, floating there like debris on the surface of water. You observed them with closed eyelids, seeing nothing, feeling little, barely understanding anything.

"She…maybe we should just get rid of her. Find a new one."

"We can’t," her brother responded firmly. You had never heard him speak in such a commanding tone before. "We can’t take that risk. They’re on our tail. Police…FBI. If we try again…this is our last chance. She is our last chance, and this time, it will work. I can feel it"

He paused.

"She’s just like Lydia."

His twin remained silent for a moment before letting out a weary, resigned sigh.

"I guess you're right," she finally replied. "I'll go refill the boat's fuel. Keep an eye on her, make sure she doesn't do anything stupid. And when she wakes up, take her to Lydia. They need to…they need to bond. A stronger bond. Right now, she's too weak."

"Be careful," her brother warned her gently.

You opened your eyes only after Lavinia left the room. The light stabbed at them painfully. For a moment, the helplessness consuming you was utterly devastating. You wanted to scream, to wail—it took everything in you not to beg the man to put you to sleep again. If even death couldn’t save you from this fate, then what could? 

Leon didn’t say a word to you. After a while, he simply helped you up, touching your body as if it were made of fragile porcelain, then guided you into the hallway, offering light support. You were weak, horribly weak, but the moment you left your room, a flicker of strength began to return.

For the first time, they allowed you to walk to Lydia on your own instead of carrying you there unconscious. That gave you a chance to take in your surroundings more clearly. You were so surprised by this newfound freedom that, for a moment, you forgot how unsteady your legs were.

You stepped into what seemed like a corridor. Instead of soundproof foam, the walls were lined with metal, rust creeping along some of the panels. The air carried a certain chill—not the biting cold of Lydia’s room, but something more natural, like a draft seeping through an imperfect structure. And then there was another sound, layered beneath the whisper of wind slipping through the cracks—a faint, steady noise.

Rushing water.

Leon kept leading you forward. You crossed a threshold, and that was when you saw it—an old window at the end of the corridor. Something inside you surged forward, an instinctual pull. You wanted—needed—to press yourself against the glass, to look outside, to at least see where you were. The unfamiliar sounds and the stark change in environment stirred something deep within you.

The will to survive.

You thought it had died back there, on the floor, when you miraculously lived. But it hadn’t. It had only been waiting.

Leon pulled you along more forcefully. For the first time, you thought about hurting him. He wasn’t as strong as his sister—if you wrapped your arms tightly around his neck at just the right angle…You were alone there, Lavnia had gone… You tried to recall her blurred words. Refill the fuel in the boat? A boat? So your intuition had been right—you were somewhere on the water.

You had done this so many times that he didn’t need to hand you the cloth or the comb; you already knew where to find them. As you opened the drawer, you could feel Leon’s gaze on your back. You moved slowly, hoping to find something sharp. Anything. Even the comb would do…

You turned around and saw Leon sitting on the table by the bed, his forehead resting on his sister’s lifeless hands.

A perfect opportunity. Perfect circumstances. He was distracted, not paying attention to you.

Unfortunately, you weren’t fully focused either. His sobbing…

"My beautiful Lydia," he wept softly into his sister’s body, burying his face in it as if hoping she would embrace him, stroke his head. "My dear Lydia. I loved her, you know. I love her."

You didn’t move, clutching the comb in your hands. You barely felt the cold, even though your body registered it perfectly, making you shiver. And although rage filled you—a wild, feral madness—you wanted to lunge at him. Yet somehow, you found a sense of calm, a sliver of reason.

You remembered your previous strategy. Leon, the weakest link.

Leaning in, you gently ran your fingers through his blond hair.

“I love you too,” you replied with difficulty.

The man stopped sobbing, remaining still for a moment. With a slow inhale, he straightened up, his wide-open eyes locking onto your face. A slight shiver ran down your spine.

It was possible that you had just made the worst mistake imaginable.

But there was no turning back now. You held his gaze, refusing to look away. You couldn’t tell what emotions were flickering behind his stare. Was it shock? Suddenly, he stood up abruptly. Instinctively, you flinched, raising your hands to shield yourself, bracing for the kind of blow his twin sister had delivered so many times before.

But it never came.

Instead, without a word, he simply turned on his heel and left. He didn’t call for you to follow. He didn’t say anything at all.  For a moment, you stood motionless before slowly setting the comb back onto the table. Your feet barely lifted off the ground as you moved toward the door, only to freeze once you reached it. Seconds passed. Then minutes.

You pushed it. And it opened.

A strange wave rolled through your chest.You were alone at the threshold of an open door. Alone on your own feet, not tethered to anything that could put you to sleep at a moment’s notice. You didn’t think long.

You ran.

The world spun violently from the sudden movement, your weak body barely managing to stop in time to avoid crashing into the window. Your heart pounded furiously, drowning out your thoughts.

You would regret it. In fact, you already did a second later.

Your gaze had barely locked onto the space outside the window when strong arms seized your clothes, yanking you back and slamming you to the ground. You landed hard on your elbow, too disoriented to even feel the pain. Lavinia stood over you, clad in a jacket, her hands clenched into fists. But before she could take a step toward you, her brother moved between you, shaking his head.

"Don't hurt her," he pleaded.

He reached out to touch her, but she slapped his hand away, redirecting her fury toward him instead.

"Don't hurt her?" she echoed mockingly. "And how else is she supposed to learn that she can't just go running off? Why did you even let her?"

"Sorry, it's my fault. I forgot to lock the door," he said.

You didn’t even care whether he was telling the truth. Your mind was spinning too much, especially as you tried to push yourself up.

"But she's our sister, and you can't keep hitting her."

At those words, both you and Lavinia froze.

You looked at her face—pure shock, trembling lips. You were surprised too, but… the corners of your mouth twitched. You masked it quickly, pretending there wasn’t even a trace of satisfaction in you. That your plan wasn’t starting to fall into place.

“Get her out of my sight,” Lavinia said coldly, her voice devoid of emotion.

You watched as Leon slowly stepped toward you, helping you to your feet. As he led you back to your room, you caught a glimpse of Lavinia hiding her face in her hands. You stayed silent for a long time, watching him carefully. It hit you—this was the first time you were with him when he didn’t have his camera.

Slowly, you sat down on the bed, waiting to see if he would sit next to you. And he did.

You swallowed. You couldn’t let yourself feel too confident yet—you still had to be careful, still had to watch every step you took.

“You defended me,” you noted gently.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He looked just as bewildered as you felt. You hoped he wasn’t starting to regret calling you that. You hoped his own delusions were wreaking havoc in his mind—to your advantage.

“Thank you,” you added.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said. He straightened up, turning his head toward you. There was a strange devotion in his green eyes. “You’re my sister. Of course, I have to protect you.”

You nodded gently.

"I am your sister," you repeated clearly, locking eyes with him, willing these words to sink deep into his very core. "I am already your sister, Leon. Lydia. But… our other sister wants to hurt me."

As you spoke, you reached out your bandaged hand, lightly touching his arm. He stiffened under your touch, staring at you with growing astonishment. In fact, he looked almost in awe. As if you had just descended from the heavens. You took that as a good sign.

"You know what she wants to do to me. To drain my blood. How many days do I have left?"

His breathing grew heavier.

"Tomorrow," he answered. "Tomorrow at midnight."

"Tomorrow…" you trailed off, shaking your head. You forced panic to take hold of you. You must have been unconscious longer than you'd thought. "But I am already her. Can't you see?" You ran your fingers through your hair, smiling brightly. "We’re together again. We love each other again. And she wants to tear us apart."

You saw hesitation creeping onto his face, the subtle furrow of his brow betraying his uncertainty. You had forgotten—Lavinia was his sister too. He loved her as well. Turning him against her wouldn’t be that simple.

Swallowing your nerves, you spoke again.

"We have to convince her that I have truly become Lydia. But for that to happen…you know, there’s something still holding me back. An anchor. Two anchors, actually. They keep me from letting go of who I used to be."

He gazed at you with growing intrigue. A metaphor like that had to be especially stimulating for his deranged mind.

"What are these anchors?" he asked, a readiness in his voice, as if he was already prepared to rid you of them.

"One of them," you began slowly, carefully choosing your words—mostly because you hadn't fully thought this through yet. "One of them is…I need to say goodbye. One last farewell that will sever all ties to my previous life. I wish I could let go without it, but…Leon, I’m afraid it’s necessary. It’s holding me back against my will."

You could see him absorbing everything you were saying.

"Say goodbye…to whom?"

There were many names you could have given him. But you chose the one that would strike straight at his orphaned heart.

"To Mom. I don’t need to see her. Just…just a short phone call would be enough."

The silence between you was so heavy, you genuinely feared he might hear your heartbeat. And it was raging in your chest, pounding so fiercely that your limbs trembled. You waited. Everything depended on his answer.

Leon averted his gaze, staring blankly into the distance. You prayed you had reached him. That his desire to have Lydia back was strong enough.

"Tomorrow, I will bring you a phone. One that can't be traced," he finally said.

Okay, that was not part of the plan.

"But tomorrow, Lavinia will…"

"She won't," he cut you off. "I won’t let her… We’ll get rid of the anchor, and she’ll understand that you’re already here."

You could have argued, but you were too afraid of accidentally undoing everything you had achieved so far. So, you agreed. Even an untraceable call was better than nothing. Especially since, in that brief moment you had stood by the window, an idea had begun to form in your mind.

Leaning in, you pressed a grateful kiss to Leon’s cheek. He allowed himself a brief smile.

"And what is the second anchor?"

You told him.

♊︎

When you woke up, you knew it was morning.

Lavinia had dragged you to Lydia’s room the old way—while you were unconscious. At the same time, she had announced that this was the last time and that you had better start getting it right. So, you wiped the woman’s body with as much care as possible. For the first time, you were able to look directly into her eyes.

This was going to end soon.

She would finally end up in a grave, those two would be in prison, and you…

You tried not to fantasize too much. You had to stay focused.

You slowly combed through Lydia’s short hair. Time passed, but Lavinia did not return. You had grown somewhat accustomed to the fridge-like cold, but you had never stayed here longer than fifteen, maybe twenty minutes. You waited for someone to come, but when the chill became unbearable, you approached the door and started pounding on it. Your frozen hands didn’t even register the pain.

"I’m still here!" you shouted.

Had they forgotten about you?

"And that’s where you’ll stay," Lavinia’s voice answered from the other side.

You frowned, hugging your trembling body.

"You’ll stay there until the ritual. I’ll come for you before midnight."

"But it’s morning!" you screamed.

No response.

You slammed your fists against the door again. Harder. Again and again, until blood coated your knuckles and your lungs burned from breathing in the freezing air. One moment, you had everything—a plan to keep yourself alive. The next, you doubted you’d survive the next few hours in this cold.

Had the previous victims gone through the same? Or were you the exception because Lavinia wanted to make sure you never made it out?

You paced around the room, hoping that movement would warm you up. Meanwhile, thoughts of hypothermia and its fatal consequences circled in your mind. You wavered between determination to survive and pure despair, convinced that you wouldn’t make it. You had no idea how many minutes had passed before your gaze landed on the wardrobe that had been standing in the corner of the room the entire time.

With almost blissful relief, you layered on piece after piece of clothing found inside. You knew you would make it until nightfall. 

What came next remained uncertain.

♊︎

Leon found you curled up inside the wardrobe, so accustomed to trembling that it felt like a natural state for your body.

“Come on, we have to hurry,” he said, offering his hand to help you out.

You clung to him tightly, as your legs refused to support you.

“What…where…Lavinia…the phone…” you mumbled, your frozen body unable to form coherent sentences.

“I have the phone, but we need to move fast. I got here just before her to give it to you. Come on.”

He led you out of the room. You turned your head toward Lydia lying on the bed, wondering if this was the last time you would see her.

When you were back in your own room, you wrapped yourself tightly in the blanket, leaving only your head and hand exposed—the hand in which Leon pressed the phone. Your body slowly began returning to its optimal temperature. You couldn’t believe this was really happening.

Leon crossed his arms over his chest. He had no intention of leaving you alone with the phone—he was going to listen to the call. But you were prepared for that possibility.

Instead of frantically dialing, you looked at him. He didn’t have his camera with him.

“Don’t you want to show… this moment to your fans?” Your voice still trembled slightly, your tongue struggling to cooperate. He frowned, not seeming to understand what you meant. You had always avoided the camera before. “Well, you k-know…the final moment before my complete metamorphosis. They’ve followed you for so long…I’d think they…they’d want to see it.”

"You're right. Absolutely right. Wait here."

Not that you had anywhere to go.

He returned, as always, pushing his small table along and clutching his camera in his hand. His fingers trembled slightly. Acting behind his sister’s back must have been stressing him out, but his desire to get Lydia back was too strong. At that moment, you were certain he would do whatever you told him to. With stiff fingers, you dialed the number twice before getting it right. You were calling your mother to say goodbye. That was the official version.

There weren’t many numbers you knew by heart, but Spencer’s was one of them.

Under Leon's watchful eye, you pressed the phone tightly against your ear to make sure he wouldn't hear a male voice—one that was definitely not maternal. The camera was aimed straight at your face, and you stared into it without blinking, as if challenging it to a contest of who would break first.

If the team wasn’t watching this, you might as well smash the phone against the floor.

"Hi, Mom," you said the moment the call connected.

You didn’t breathe. The fear of ruining everything made your throat tighten, and you swallowed hard against the lump. For a moment, there was only silence on the other end.

You didn’t look away from the camera, your senses sharpening from the sheer intensity of your focus. The adrenaline burning through you kept you warm.

Still, no response.

"Hi, sweetheart," a woman’s voice finally said—JJ’s voice.

Tears stung at your eyes, and you worried they would give you away in front of Leon. You made a mistake while blinking and you bit down hard on your tongue as punishment.

JJ was pretending to be your mother.

"I don't have much time, Mom," you began. "I'm just calling... just to ask how you're doing. Is everything okay?"

"Garcia, can you trace where this call is coming from?"

Spencer’s voice.

Another mistake.

Your next breath felt like choking, and you had to steady yourself. You needed to do one more thing—just in case this didn’t work.

"That's great," you threw in a random half-sentence to make the conversation sound real for Leon. "Uh-huh...I'm glad everything's fine. Yes, I'm okay too, don’t worry"

You fell silent for a second, too long. Leon raised an eyebrow. You were supposed to be saying goodbye.

"I...I...Mom, do you remember my favorite mug? The one you accidentally broke last time?"

You swallowed hard, never breaking eye contact with the camera. You couldn't come up with any other cover story besides the mug, so it had to be enough.

"I...I kinda yelled at you back then. Sorry. It was my favorite, but now I...I know it wasn’t your fault."

Your voice grew weaker as you spoke.

Don't cry, you warned yourself.

"It wasn’t your fault, Mom. Not your fault, S—Mom."

Terrified, you glanced at Leon, hoping he hadn't caught it. But he only waved his hand impatiently, urging you to hurry.

You swallowed hard, and before anyone on the team could say anything else, you spoke your final words.

"I love you. Goodbye."

Then you hung up.

For a moment, you stared at each other without moving, until he turned off the camera and you handed the phone back to him. Hearing their voices—possibly for the last time—tightened something in your chest, a pressure you struggled to release.

"Thank you, brother," you said softly. You nodded slightly, grounding yourself, pulling yourself back to the plan. You had to act, to keep moving before Lavinia returned. "You know what we have to do now, right?"

Leon nodded.

♊︎

“What was that about the mug?” Prentiss asked as the call ended.

JJ closed her eyes for a long moment. The rest of the team, gathered around the computer where the stream had played just moments ago, looked utterly confused.

“You think she was trying to send a message? A hidden clue?”

“Garcia, can you play it from the beginning?” Spencer cut in, leaning toward the screen.

The first time he watched it, emotions had taken control, clouding his focus. He had been stupid, so incredibly stupid. Most of his attention had latched onto the repeated words it’s not your fault which only deepened the devastation in his mind. But a small part of him had registered the way her eyes moved.

“Sure, just a sec…” Penelope’s fingers flew over the keyboard, and soon the footage played again.

“Do you understand what she was trying to say?” Rossi asked.

Spencer shook his head. A rush of adrenaline, almost intoxicating, coursed through him.

“She didn’t hide a message in her words,” he explained, straightening up. His gaze darted around Garcia’s desk, searching for something to write with. He grabbed a notebook with a pink, glittery cover and a pencil topped with a fluffy pom-pom. “Look at the way she’s blinking. It’s Morse code.”

Everyone fixed their eyes on the screen, trying to see it for themselves.

Everyone except JJ.

She was looking at Spencer, no trace of anger in her expression—just hope.

Reid wrote down the message she had sent.

Oil rig.

♊︎

The cold was almost liberating.

You stood with Leon at the edge of the oil rig. Ever since you managed to reach the window, you'd been trying to figure out where they had kept you. The realization had come to you slowly. The sound of water surrounded you both, and the wind played with your freshly cut hair. It felt so good that, for a brief moment, you closed your eyes.

But only for a moment.

You couldn't celebrate victory when you hadn't won yet.

Your gaze shifted to the man beside you, then to Lydia’s body, wrapped in a bedsheet and lying just a few steps away. This was the last anchor—the one you had convinced him needed to go.

Lavinia would be back any second. It had to happen now.

Of course, it was never really about anchors. The whole story about your mother had been nothing more than a way to send a message—one you hoped your team had understood and was already acting on. And the one about Lydia? That was just to bring Leon to the edge of the oil rig. 

“Okay, I’m ready,” he said, nodding slightly and exhaling as his eyes lingered on his sister’s body.

You pushed him.

When you planned this, you hadn’t accounted for how weak you would be.

Leon staggered, yes—but he didn’t disappear beneath the waves. Instead, his hand caught the thin fabric of your nightgown, and with a short, startled yell, he yanked you both down onto the floor. 

You groaned as your body slammed against the hard surface.

“You… bitch,” he said, almost in despair, realizing you had been lying to him all along.

You kicked him in the face with your bare foot and pushed yourself up onto your elbows. He let out a sharp gasp of pain—you heard the crunch of his nose breaking—and for a fleeting second, you thought you were on the fast track to escape.

But then his hand clamped around your ankle, yanking you down again.

You let out a frustrated sound as his knee pinned you to the ground. You struggled to shove him off. He wasn’t like Lavinia, but he also wasn’t as weak as a starved woman who had spent nearly an entire day in a freezer.

Right. He wasn’t like her.

He was fucked up, but not enough. Not enough madness in him.

Your nails clawed blindly at his skin while your other hand fumbled against the surface, searching for anything. You felt like you could kill him with a feather if you had to. But you found something far more practical than a feather. 

A brick.

Leon collapsed when it struck his temple. But that wasn’t enough. With a pained breath, you pushed yourself up over him and swung again. You kept swinging, not caring that your fingers were sticky with blood and the brick was beginning to slip from your grip. You kept striking longer than necessary.

Leon had been dead for a while.

You threw the brick aside, gasping for air. Everything felt so unreal, so distant. For a moment, you closed your eyes, still kneeling over his motionless body. When you opened them, ready to face the sight before you, your gaze accidentally met someone else's.

Lavinia stood a few steps away, disbelief and slowly growing fury in her eyes.

For a moment, you just stared at each other, neither of you fully grasping what had just happened.

Then it hit her—you had killed her brother.

And it hit you—that you were absolutely screwed.

Well, that thought only truly settled in once she tackled you to the ground. Punch after punch rained down on your face, so relentless that you couldn’t think, couldn’t come up with an escape plan. Was there even one? Your hands fell limply to your sides, no longer attempting to fight back. The ends of her blonde hair mixed with yours, strands stained red from the blood streaming down your face.

When she stopped, for a brief moment, you thought you were dead.

You had always imagined death as a very quiet experience. Peaceful.

But instead, you could hear her ragged, frantic breathing, a sound almost like a sob, and barely intelligible words cutting through the air.

"I’ll finish this."

During your entire time in that place, she had always moved you from one location to another by knocking you out with sedatives first. But this time, it wasn’t necessary. Your body was so battered that all she had to do was grab you by the leg and drag you along, not caring that your skin scraped against the rough surface.

When your vision finally sharpened and you realized you were back in that same cursed room where it had all begun, for a moment, you thought the recent events had been nothing more than a dream.

But then—

One glance at your bloodstained hands.

One glance to the side, at the neighboring bed and the lifeless body of Lydia resting upon it.

One glance at the IV lines piercing the crooks of your elbows, the slow, steady flow of liquid passing through them.

Your blood.

The only thing that brought you solace was the slowly creeping realization that, at the very least, you had managed to say goodbye to those closest to you. They had seen your face, the raw pain and love in your eyes as you whispered your final goodbye. At least you had assured Spencer that none of this was his fault. You could only hope that, in time, he would start to believe it. At least partially.

You had long drifted off when the door to the room burst open with a bang. 

♊︎

She was saved by the fact that she was a universal recipient.

Still, by the time they found her—after Garcia had finally tracked down the illegally sold oil rig through a bankrupt extraction company—she was already weak. Very weak. So much so that the following hours were filled with even greater fear than the past few days.

She couldn’t slip away from them now that she had been rescued. Or rather, now that she had rescued herself. Spencer had no intention of taking credit—nor letting anyone else take credit—for her brilliant moves and meticulous plan.

He sat in the hospital corridor, while JJ rested her elbow on her knee and her chin on her hand. Her leg trembled, and with it, her entire body. Emily held her other hand tightly.

"Spence," she finally said. Her gaze had been fixed on the floor, and it took effort to lift it to him. But it was necessary for what she was about to say. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. For how I reacted, for how I treated you these past few days."

He wasn’t quite sure what to say, so he just gave a small nod.

“She’s your friend. It’s normal that—”

“She’s your friend too. Ours. We should have been supporting each other this whole time instead of yelling at one another.”

“You were the one yelling.”

The words slipped out before he could stop them. JJ opened her mouth but said nothing.He hadn’t meant to throw it in her face—he didn’t even feel angry. Back then, he had only cared about one thing. One person. But before he could add, retract, or clarify his words, a nurse approached them, informing them that someone could go inside. The entire team stirred in their seats, but only two people were allowed in at a time.

Spencer sat back down, nodding toward JJ and Emily.

Emily raised an eyebrow.

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Reid. Of course, it has to be you.”

Although he had been ready to step aside, a faint, grateful smile crossed his lips.

He followed JJ into the hospital room, his steps slowing as they approached her bed. Unpleasant flashbacks flooded his mind—seeing her like this on a screen, the helplessness that had gripped him then. It took him a moment to shake off the feeling, to ground himself in the realization that he was here now. That she was right in front of him.

A sudden chill of panic ran down his spine. What was he supposed to say to her? Was he even capable of opening his mouth without turning into a pathetic, guilt-ridden mess, mumbling endless apologies and self-deprecating confessions? JJ spoke first, sparing him from his spiraling thoughts. She started with something simple—a quiet whisper of her name.

She said it again, and slowly, her eyelids fluttered open. Spencer felt something tighten in his chest. A relief so immense it almost hurt.

She murmured something weakly.

Both he and JJ stepped closer, and this time, he was the one to say her name.

“Don’t call me that,” she rasped. Her eyes shut again, and she turned her head to the side, as if refusing to look at them. Shutting them out. “That’s not my name,” she whispered.

“I’m Lydia.”

post-reading author’s note:

if you survived reading such a long fic—CONGRATULATIONS and THANK YOU and also im SORRY. i know there wasn’t much reid not much of the team and honestly it had very little to do with canon—it was mostly just a product of my imagination. i hope you’re not disappointed.

if any topic in this fic triggered you, i apologize. i tried to include everything in the tw but i might have missed something.

[celerydays]

long time no see…

Hey, hi, hello~

I don't know if anyone is still around this little blog o' mine or if I'm just showing up suddenly on the dash and whoever is seeing this might not recall ever even following me lol.

But – whether you remember me or not – I'm just dropping by to say that...I've missed you and that I truly hope you're doing well 🫂💗

I...have not been doing so well. But I've been working on it.

In a way, it's been healing to reshape my approach to things like journaling and capturing photos. I've been taking the time to develop a practice in documenting daily life – the people I care about, the places we visit, and all the random little moments in between – with more intentionality and care than I have in recent years.

(tw: grief and loss/death under cut)

I lost my mom very suddenly last November – and things have been unbearably hard the last few months.

In a lot of ways, 2024 was one of the best years: my partner and I traveled to Japan for the first time ever, my family had a small reunion in our hometown to watch the total solar eclipse together, my best friends got married, and we went on so many amazing trips and had the type of outings that made me so inspired, optimistic, and excited about life and the future.

But in so many other ways, it was also one of the worst years I've had in a long time: starting with a hard-learned (but perhaps overdue) firsthand lesson and reminder on how scary and mean the internet can be, followed by losing both my grandfather in the spring and then my mother just before the winter holidays.

I'm not particularly good when it comes to emotions– forget about even processing grief or putting into any sort of meaningful words how it all feels. But I guess all of this has made me shift my mindset when it comes to wanting to just...remember. To not forget.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

On documenting life through journaling...

I had always journaled in some way or another all my life, but I only really started considering it a serious practice and hobby sometime around 2020. But I had lost my way with it in recent years, treating it solely as some kind of aesthetic-only venture, and only dedicating the time if I knew that I could make it "pretty" and "palatable for sharing".

And so, many entries were missed; days and weeks lost to fuzzy recollection, months bled into each other, and little moments only existed as vague and passing snapshots on my phone gallery (if I even remembered to take a photo).

But I now wish I had just written it down; whatever it was – big, small, angry, funny, sad, happy – just wrote it all down. It didn't have to be an aesthetically collaged spread or artful doodle or drawing. I wish I had documented some of the last times I had seen or spoken with my mother; what she had said, did, or how she reacted to silly news or quips I told her. I barely remember anything even just from the last year.

So now I write it all down, day after day: I'll write what's on my mind, what we did before, what I'm doing currently, what I'm planning to do. If someone calls or my partner walks in to my studio while I'm working and tells me something that has me reacting in the moment I'll jot down a little "omg!!" or "lol" or "holy shit" next to whatever they said or did.

If I get little scraps from the day – receipts, tags, tickets, wrappers – I'll paste it in wherever it happens to fit in my journal, with a little note of the date or what the outing was. And every so often, I'll print out photos to paste in with notes relating back to past entries or junk journal spreads.

Is always pretty? No, but it's pretty in its chaos. Is it always even chronological? Not at all, but I've embraced the organic nature of pages and dates that sort of jump around, just as long it gets recorded. Does it always make sense? Not really, but it makes sense to me and that's really all that matters. And I love every page so, so much more than anything I had carefully curated before in my previous journals.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

On documenting life through photos...

I had once carried a camera with me everywhere before phone cameras became decent enough that I didn't feel the need to have a dedicated tool for just taking pictures anymore.

It wasn't until we were all looking through our collective family photos to use for my mother's memorial service and headstone that it hit me that I just don't take as many pictures as I used to– and even when I did, they just don't compare to the ones that I took years ago when I did carry a camera with me on every outing and trip.

We ended up choosing a photo of her that I had taken on my once-beloved dSLR camera I used to haul around with me almost 10 years ago; she was smiling, strong, radiant, beautiful– and it was just a random moment I took my camera out in a Taiwan hair salon while she was waiting for me and my sister to get our hair done for our cousin's wedding.

A bit indescribable – and not even something I realized was missing – but there's something about having an actual camera on hand that pushes me to take more photos, and somehow better and more mindful photos at that.

And so I made the decision to invest in a new camera. An absolute necessity to take photos? No, of course not; I do still have my phone camera after all. But they say (apparently) that "the best camera is the one that you actually use"– and I was most definitely not using my phone as much as I could have been.

This new camera though? Only time will truly tell, but the past has shown that I've worked better with a dedicated camera on hand and already I can't begin to explain the difference it's made in the last week alone since I picked up the habit of carrying a camera around with me again.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

This was a crazy long post that sort of got away from me. Not sure where I want to go from here – I guess I just want to say that if you ever felt called to document your life in some way, it's never too late to start; you'll only wish that you had begun sooner.

If you're still here– I love you. I hope you're taking care of yourself.

And thank you for reading along with my incredibly longwinded life update of what was essentially just "I'm grieving so I started journaling more and also bought a camera" lol.

💗

[sound-of-scoups]

How Did We End Up Here? | LC | Oneshot

Pairing: Lee Chan x Female!Reader  Genre|tags: Oneshot, non idol!au, comedy, fluff, pinning, down bad Chan, acquaintances to lovers, smut.  Word count: 18.9k+ Rating: Explicit adult content (MINORS DNI). Warnings: Explicit language, alcohol consumption, allusion to use of weed, mentions of cheating, Chan is down bad to the point he is doubting himself, there's a Gilmore Girls reference and several 5sos song lyrics referenced as well (if you know, you know), reader has an unspoken noona kink, switch!chan, switch!reader, dry humping, oral (f. receiving), fingering, face sitting, pussy eating, cum eating, teasing, unprotected sex (you know it’s bad), creampie. If there’s more please let me know. A/N: Happy birthday to my baby (even though he's older than me lol)! I wrote this story in a complete state of mania—the idea hit me, and in less than four days, it was finished. I thought posting it today, for his birthday, would be a good idea. I accidentally posted it earlier while scheduling, but I'm ignoring that little mishap hehe. Please read my final notes!! Enjoy reading, and let me know what you think! <3 🎧 Now listening to: end up here – 5 seconds of summer; i would – one direction; obviously – mcfly; loverboy – a-wall; best friend – rex orange county; espresso – sabrina carpenter; out of my limit – 5 seconds of summer; shup and dance – walk the moon; heart out – the 1975; intoxicated – the cab; wait – dino. Read on AO3

Summary: Lee Chan has had a massive crush on you since the day he first saw you. He never thought he'd have a chance with you, since you were so obviously out of his league, but it turns out life has a way of writing the right things with crooked lines.

He knew the exact moment you walked into the house. At this point, it was as if he had a sixth sense for your presence—like a Y/N sense, if he had to name it.

Not that it was hard to tell when you did, since every face in the room turned the moment you walked in. Most people already knew who you were, and those who didn’t? Their expressions made it clear: they were dying to find out.

There was this energy about you that demanded attention, even when you weren’t trying. It wasn’t just the way you carried yourself, though that certainly played a part. It was the way people gravitated toward you, their eyes lingering, their conversations subtly shifting as if they were waiting for you to say something, to do something. 

And he—well, he had always been attuned to it. To you. Even before he truly understood why.

Tonight, when you walked through the doors of the frat house he was part of, wearing a tight black corset-style top, a short skirt that did little to cover your legs, and black thigh-high boots that made your legs appear even longer than they already were, looking absolutely breathtaking, Chan felt his head spin.

It could have been the ten shots of tequila he’d been forced to drink after losing some random game against Yeonjun a couple of minutes ago, but he knew it wasn’t. That was simply the effect you’d had on him since the day he first laid eyes on you—orientation day, two years ago. You had been in charge of welcoming the freshmen to their dorm building, and when you smiled at him like he was the most important guy there, he was a goner.

Of course he knew you were probably just doing your job as a sophomore, but still, your smile had been stuck in his mind ever since.

“Pathetic,” he heard Seungkwan's voice, followed by a slap on the back of his head.

Chan barely flinched, too busy pressed against the wall watching you every move as you wave through the crowded room like you owned the place. For him, in a way, you did. You weren’t loud about it, didn’t strut around making a scene, but there was an undeniable pull to you, one that made people shift to make space, one that had them leaning in, hoping for even a sliver of your attention.

And him? He was no better than the rest of them.

He tore his gaze away just long enough to shoot Seungkwan, who was looking at him like he was the saddest excuse for a man to ever exist, a glare. Vernon was right beside him, looking high enough to be in another dimension, and yet, was still wearing the same expression as the eldest of the three. 

“What?”

Seungkwan sighed dramatically, crossing his arms. “You look like a lovesick puppy. Again.”

It was no secret to anyone that Lee Chan had a huge, enormous and gigantic crush on you. If he was being honest, by this point, it was a surprise you didn’t know—which he had some doubts—, since he wasn’t exactly very skilled at hiding it. 

Not that he was openly hitting on you when he had the chance, because that was far from his reality. Very far, really. He had never done so and whenever he had a chance to be near you or participate in the same conversation as you, he would turn just as red as the lipstick you were wearing tonight, not to mention the stuttering he didn't even know he had. 

It was a mess. He was a mess. 

Not that he would admit that to Seungkwan, anyway. 

Chan scoffed, forcing himself to straighten up. “I do not look like a lovesick puppy.”

Seungkwan snorted. “Yeah, and I’m a background vocalist for Beyoncé.”

“You do,” Vernon said, deadpanned. “Minho just asked me if you were okay because, and I quote, ‘Chan looks like he just got hit by a truck.’”

Seungkwan tilted his head to the side, nudging him with his elbow. “Chan-ah, are you seriously gonna spend the rest of your college years pining after this girl?” 

His face flushed, a mixture of embarrassment and frustration tugging at him. Chan opened his mouth to protest, but nothing came out. Because what was he supposed to say? That he wasn’t pining? That he wasn’t completely, utterly, hopelessly gone for you? Even he wasn’t delusional enough to deny it.

Seungkwan, apparently sensing his internal struggle, let out a long-suffering sigh. “That’s what I thought.”

Chan scowled, lifting his drink to his lips if only to hide his face and Vernon chuckled, clearly enjoying the way his younger friend was unraveling under the pressure of their teasing.

“Just go talk to her,” he said, voice slow and lazy. “She doesn’t bite, dude.”

“Easy for you to say,” Chan muttered, his eyes flickering back to you, who were now chatting with your friends in the corner. “She’s your friend.”

Oh yeah, there was also this little detail: you were Vernon’s classmate. 

Not only were you both seniors, you were also majoring in the same program—linguistics—meaning you shared the vast majority of your classes. Chan knew you were in the same study group and that you were paired up for most of the projects, which had led to a friendship that he very much envied.

You might think that having a mutual friend would make things easier for him, but you’d be completely wrong. Soon he discovered that Vernon wasn’t willing to help. Not because he didn’t believe Chan had a chance with you, but because he insisted that Chan should grow a pair and talk to you himself.

Which of course, he had already shown incapability of doing so thousands of times. 

Seungkwan clicked his tongue. “You really are pathetic.”

“Hyung—” Chan groaned. 

“I mean, come on,” Seungkwan interrupted, trying to finish his point. “You can deadlift three plates but you can’t say one sentence to a girl you like?”

Chan glared at him. “That is not the same thing.”

“Yeah, one requires actual effort,” Vernon added, smirking.

By now, he was used to all the teasing from his friends. It didn’t keep him from wanting to strangle them any less though. 

Either way, there wasn’t much he could do. It wasn’t just about the amount of courage he had or how much effort he put into it; crushing on you for the last two years had felt like playing a game he was destined to lose. Even though in the deepest desires of his mind he was your boyfriend, that role was already filled by someone much older than him. 

A Marine dude, apparently. His name? Chan didn’t care. 

Not only was he the most lucky dude on the planet by having you as his girl, he was also tall, strong and a walking definition of everything Chan wasn’t: confident, assertive, the complete opposite of the shy mess he’d been around you since day one. He would probably kill Chan without warning if he could peek into his mind and see all the dreams he had about you. 

And the guy irritated the fuck out of him. Something about his attitude, his hundred tattoos, the fact that he was probably three times his height, and the way he marked his territory by walking you to every class, every day. Like, damn, dude, we get it, she’s yours. At least let the rest of us appreciate the divine gift the universe sent us by looking at her.

Every time Chan saw him, he felt like he was suffocating under the weight of the competition. The worst part? You didn’t seem happy with him and everyone knew it. And even though it was clear from every word and every look that you were completely unaware of Chan’s feelings, the thought of you with someone else—someone like him—made his insides twist in ways he didn’t know he could feel.

“She has a boyfriend,” Chan said out loud, feeling a bitter taste on the tip of his tongue as he did. 

“So?” Seungkwan arched an eyebrow. “I don’t see him here. Do you?”

He directed his last question to Vernon, who just shrugged and shook his head. “Nope.”

Chan swallowed hard, eyes darting toward you again. Sure enough, there was no sign of your boyfriend. Not that he was about to get his hopes up. He had enough self-awareness to know he was probably just grasping at straws, because even if he never existed at all, Chan still wasn’t sure he’d have the guts to walk up to you.

“Look, man,” Seungkwan said, breaking through his dark thoughts. “You’ve gotta stop comparing yourself to him. You’re Lee Chan. You have a million things going for you, and besides…” He paused for effect. “You’re way better looking.”

“Thanks for the support,” Chan replied dryly, rolling his eyes.

Vernon chimed in, “Seriously, dude. You’re smart, funny, and way more likable than that guy. You just need to show her that.”

Chan sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “It's not that simple, guys.”

“It is that simple,” Seungkwan shot back. “You’re making it complicated.”

Before Chan could argue, the music shifted, the bass thrumming through the floorboards, and a new wave of partygoers stumbled in, laughing and chattering loudly. His attention snapped back to you, just in time to see you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, your lips curling into a soft smile at something one of your friends said. The sight alone made his pulse quicken.

Then, as if you could feel his eyes on you, your gaze flickered up and locked onto his.

Chan froze.

It wasn’t an accident. It wasn’t just a glance that skimmed over the room, landing on him by chance. No, this was intentional. You looked at him like you had known he was there all along, like you’d expected to find him in that exact spot, leaning against the wall with a drink in hand and his friends at his side.

And then, as if to send him straight into cardiac arrest, your lips, marked by the most beautiful shade of red he had ever seen, curved into a smile. 

For a split second, it felt like the entire world blurred around the edges, muffled voices fading into static. Your eyes lingered, holding his in a way that sent a rush of heat down his spine. Then, just as quickly as it happened, you turned back to your friend, your fingers wrapping around the red cup in your hand as if nothing had transpired.

He was sure he had just checked off a box on the list of clichés where the lovestruck fool forgets how to breathe. His fingers tightened around the red cup in his hand, his heartbeat hammering so loudly he was certain Seungkwan and Vernon could hear it.

Chan looked away just a second before he heard, “She’s coming over,” Vernon said, and for once, his voice didn’t sound amused. It sounded almost surprised.

He blinked, breaking free from whatever trance he had fallen into. “What?”

Seungkwan’s hand landed on his shoulder, shaking him once. “She. Is. Coming. Over.”

He barely had a second to react before you started making your way through the crowd, weaving between bodies with practiced ease, heading straight toward them. The air in the room seemed to thicken with every step you took in his direction, and though he told himself to stay cool, to not let it show, he knew the battle was already lost. His grip on his cup tightened, his pulse a frantic rhythm beneath his skin.

Seungkwan shifted beside him. “Oh, this is gonna be good,” he muttered, half under his breath.

“Act normal,” Chan whispered to himself. Or at least he thought so. 

“Yeah, good luck with that,” Vernon mumbled. 

Chan shot him a sharp look, but before he could tell him to shut up, you were there—standing right in front of him, close enough that he caught the faint scent of your perfume, something so sweet and heady that made his head spin.

“Hello, boys,” you greeted them, your voice light but with a touch of something that made his breath catch. 

Trying to play it cool, Chan swallowed hard, his grip tightening on the red cup in his hand as he forced himself to meet your gaze. Up close, you were even more mesmerizing, your eyes alight with something he couldn’t quite place, the corners of your lips curving into the kind of smile that made his stomach flip.

“Hey,” he managed to say collectively with the other two, his voice steadier than he felt.

Beside him, Seungkwan looked like he was barely restraining himself from narrating the entire interaction like he was watching some kind of reality TV show on Netflix—Lee Chan’s Inferno, the live show. 

Your eyes flickered between the three of them briefly before settling back on Chan. 

“Nice party,” you said, flashing them a smile as you nodded towards the crowd of people scattered around their house. “Full house, I’ve been told.”

It was the first party the three of them had organized since the older members graduated, making them the hosts tonight. They hadn’t expected it to be a great success, but judging by the number of people in the house, it seemed they had been wrong.

“Thanks,” The three of them said in unison again and you let out a small laugh, raising your eyebrows in curiosity. 

“Are you guys okay? What are you drinking? I know for a fact Hansol is just as high as the Namsan Tower.” 

He knew you weren't just talking to him, but Chan was pretty sure his soul was leaving his body.

It wasn’t just that you were standing in front of him, looking every bit like you walked straight out of his dream, it was the way you were looking at him. Like you were actually interested in what he had to say, like he wasn’t just another person in this house; and like you weren’t effortlessly stealing the air from his lungs.  

Meanwhile, his brain? Completely fried.

Your laugh—soft, amused, and way too pretty—sent something dangerously warm through his chest. You tilted your head to the side, as if you were analyzing his face. “What’s your name?”

His world seemed to stop for a second. 

Even though the two of you weren’t close—or even friends—he was sure you knew his name. I mean, Vernon was his best friend. You were Vernon’s friend. You knew his name… right?

This was the worst possible scenario. The girl he had a crush on bigger than the entire Asian continent didn't know his name?

Yeah. The ground could open up and swallow him whole right now, and he wouldn’t even fight it.

This couldn’t be happening.

“You don’t know my name?” He didn’t even know he could finish a whole sentence around you, let alone a question, his voice somehow steady despite the absolute horror pooling in his chest. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Seungkwan and Vernon exchanging looks—surprised, amused, and definitely holding back laughter.

“Oh, I know your name, Channie,” Your lips twitched, like you were trying not to laugh. “Just making sure you're still sober enough to remember it.”

Chan felt his face heat up instantly, a mix of relief and embarrassment washing over him all at once, brain barely registering the sweet way you said his name. Seungkwan outright cackled, slapping his knee, while Vernon just shook his head with a knowing smirk.

“Oh,” was all Chan managed to say at first, his brain short-circuiting at the way you looked at him, teasing, confident, completely in control of the situation. “Chan. Lee Chan.”

You tilted your head, clearly enjoying his reaction. “Good.” 

Suddenly, Chan was painfully aware of how close you were. Close enough that he could count the faint shimmer of highlight on your cheekbone, see the way your lashes fluttered when your gaze briefly flickered down to his mouth? No. He had to be imagining that. Maybe he had had a little too much tequila. Maybe it was time to put his cup down, go upstairs and sleep.

He blinked. Then, realized he had been silent for far too long. 

“I—uh—” he started, then immediately hated himself for it. He could already feel the tips of his ears getting hot from how red they possibly were.

“He's fine,” Seungkwan said for him. “We're all fine.”

You just smiled again, that knowing, unreadable smile that sent Chan’s pulse into overdrive. “If you say so.”

Vernon cleared his throat. “So, uh,” he started, clearly trying to fill the silence. “Are you having fun?”

“I just got here, actually,” you said, taking a slow sip from your cup. They already knew that, yet they nodded anyway, as if just finding out. “But everyone else seems to be having a lot of fun.”

The four of you glanced around the packed house, noting also the constant flow of guests coming and going through the front door. Some faces were familiar to Chan, ones he had seen somewhere on campus, while others were completely new. The living room was almost unrecognizable—dismantled, with couches pushed aside to make room for a dance floor. A mini bar had been set up in the corner, where a barman served specialty drinks, and even more booze filled the kitchen for those who wanted specific things. 

Everywhere he looked, people were jumping, grinding, kissing, chatting animatedly, smoking and drinking, while plastic cups littered the floor alongside crushed cigarette butts, joints, and scattered snacks trampled underfoot. Chan was so absorbed in your presence that he didn’t even think about the mess he’d eventually have to clean up after the party was over. 

The air was thick with the scent of alcohol, sweat, and perfume, and honestly, Chan was surprised none of the neighbors had called the police yet. Sure, Sigma Vita Tau’s annual homecoming parties were always packed, but this one was on another level, and he felt very proud of it.

The music thumped steadily, neon lights casting shifting colors over the crowd. Then Seungkwan threw out another question for you, so casually that Chan almost missed his intention. “Did you came alone?”

“Well, I came with Nayoung and Dahyun,” you replied, shrugging. “But I lost them somewhere by coming here to talk to you guys.”

Seungkwan shot Chan a look—one that screamed Don’t mess this up—before turning back to you with a knowing smile. “Ah, so you chose to be here with us instead of running off to find them?”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “I guess I did.”

Chan, who had been determinedly sipping his drink to avoid making a fool of himself, nearly choked. His mind latched onto your words like they meant something far deeper than casual conversation.

Seungkwan smirked. “Makes sense. We're great company.”

You grinned. “Exactly.”

“So your boyfriend’s…” Vernon trailed off.

“Not here.”

The words slipped out of your mouth like a subtle declaration, and just like that, Chan felt the weight of it. Your boyfriend wasn’t here. For some reason, the confirmation made him feel a little lighter, though he knew that was dangerous territory. 

He had no right to feel relieved. You weren’t his, after all.

Seungkwan raised his eyebrows, clearly intrigued. “Really?” He smirked. “No boyfriend? That’s new.”

You shrugged nonchalantly, unfazed by their teasing. “He’s busy with something, I guess.” 

You glanced down briefly, scratching behind your ear before your eyes flicked over to Chan, catching his gaze for a fraction of a second before he quickly looked away, embarrassed by the sudden spike in his heartbeat. 

“Ohhh,” Seungkwan dragged out, exchanging another look with Vernon. “So you’re free to enjoy the night however you want.”

You let out a soft hum, tilting your head slightly as if considering his words. “I suppose so.”

Chan took another sip of his drink, trying to play it cool once again, but his grip was a little too tight around the cup. His mind was running a mile a minute, filled with thoughts he probably shouldn’t be having.

“You seem awfully interested in that drink,” you suddenly pointed to his cup, raising a curious eyebrow and shifting your weight to one leg, one hand resting on your hip. “What are you drinking?”

Chan glanced down at the red cup in his hand like he’d never seen it before. In truth, he had no idea what was in it—he’d grabbed it off the counter earlier when someone shoved it at him, too distracted by your presence to care.

“Uh…” He swirled the liquid inside, as if that would magically tell him what it was. “Something… alcoholic?”

Seungkwan groaned beside him. “Wow. Smooth.”

You chuckled, the corner of your lips quirking up. “That’s very specific, Channie.”

Chan nearly choked. The way you said his name—so casually, so effortlessly—made his brain short-circuit again. 

Everything he wished for—right after you, of course—was that he had scientific explanations for the way his body and brain reacted to your actions and words. And even then, maybe it wouldn’t be enough for him. 

I mean, Chan was a popular guy. A lot of people knew him around the campus, hell, he was a member of one of the most exclusive fraternities at university, was the current best dancer on the program since Minghao had graduated, packing the school theater every time he performed, and he also wasn’t exactly unknown among girls; he wasn’t particularly proud of it, but he had a reputation.

So why was it that, whenever he was around you, he acted like a complete loser?

It was a case to be studied closely and for days, perhaps years.

Seungkwan, probably sensing that Chan was never going to get a full sentence out at this rate, answered for him. “Tequila. Too much tequila. Yeonjun was bullying him a little.”

At the mention of Yeonjun, you hummed in amusement, your lips pressing together like you were holding back a laugh. Then, without warning, you reached forward and plucked the cup from his hands, bringing it to your lips for a sip. You pulled a slight face at the taste, but to Chan’s absolute horror (and delight), you took another small sip before handing the cup back to him.

“Sounds about right,” you mused, wiping the corner of your mouth with your thumb. “And how’s that going for you?”

Chan blinked. 

“Oh, you know,” he forced out, voice slightly rougher than intended, “just trying to stay upright.”

It was a miracle. He had managed to form a coherent sentence.

You laughed softly, and Chan felt like he had just been hit with a wave of relief. The sound was like music to his ears. “Well, that’s an important skill to have.”

Seungkwan muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like pathetic, but Chan was too busy trying to figure out if you were just being nice or if there was something more behind your words. 

“So…” you said, drawing out the word as if weighing it in your mind. “You having fun?”

Fun. Right. That was why he was here. “Uh. Yeah. It’s a party, so… yeah.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That convincing, huh?”

Chan cleared his throat, trying to wrest away the heat creeping up his neck. “I mean, yeah. It’s fun.” He nodded a little too enthusiastically, as if trying to convince both of you.

You hummed, unconvinced, tilting your head just slightly. The way your eyes scanned his face sent his brain into overdrive. Was he being obvious? Did you know?

But before he could embarrass himself further, the speakers erupted with the unmistakable intro of Livin’ On A Prayer by Bon Jovi, and the entire room burst into excited screams—just like you, who threw your head back and let out a moan of happiness.

Chan was certain he felt his entire body shiver at the sound, his mind drifting to places it shouldn’t. He was pretty sure he was already halfway to living on a prayer. 

“I love this song,” you said, eyes lighting up as you turned your head to them with a grin so radiant it nearly knocked him off his feet. 

Two seconds later, Dahyun called your name from across the room. “Come dance with us.”

You turned your head slightly, offering her a small nod of acknowledgment before looking back at them.

 “I have to go,” you said, pointing with your thumb over your shoulder at your friend. “See you guys around.”

Chan's heart sank a little at the sudden shift, the moment slipping away faster than he could grasp it. He opened his mouth, almost as if to protest, but the words never made it past his lips. He was still fumbling, unsure of what to say or do in this kind of situation.

But then you gave him one last smile—quick, but enough to leave him breathless—and started to turn away. You took a few steps forward, then stopped, turning around and staring directly at him; not at him, Vernon and Seungkwan—just him. 

“I love your shirt, by the way.”

And just like that, you were gone, moving through the crowd again, leaving him standing there with his heart pounding and his mind reeling, staring in astonishment at the Kurt Cobain shirt he was wearing.

Seungkwan snorted beside him, pulling him out of his daze. “You’re hopeless.”

Chan, still staring after you, muttered, “I know.”

You had disappeared from the party half an hour ago, using the excuse of heading to the bathroom, only to end up on the balcony of one of the few rooms upstairs with an unlocked door.

To be honest, you weren’t really in the mood for a party, but after Nayoung and Dahyun insisted so much on getting you out of your room, despite your repeated insistence that you weren’t affected by the recent events in your life, you eventually agreed to join them at Sigma Vita Tau’s annual homecoming party.

So far, it had been a lot of fun; you’d danced with your friends, played beer pong and pool with people you didn’t even know and a couple of people you did know. But when everyone decided it was time to start a game of seven minutes in heaven, you knew it was time to get away, especially since the only person you wanted to kiss wasn’t in the circle and was clearly avoiding you, as he always did.

That person was currently downstairs, probably laughing at something his friends said, or even kissing someone under the staircase, completely unaware of how much space he took up in your thoughts.

With a sigh, you sat down at the railing, the cool night air a relief against your flushed skin. The music from the party thumped through the walls, muffled but still loud enough to remind you of the chaos inside. You were fine with missing the game, better than sitting there, pretending you wouldn’t feel a pang of jealousy if someone else pulled his name. 

That last one, of course, was a scenario you created in your own head where he decided to show up and play just because the universe hated you that much. 

You weren’t even sure when it had started, this thing. The way your eyes always searched for him in a crowd, the way your heart did that stupid little skip whenever he smiled at you, especially at times when he didn't seem to realize he was smiling. Maybe it had always been there, waiting for the right moment to make itself known and now was the perfect opportunity for it, considering all circumstances. 

Lost in your thoughts, you barely noticed the door creak open behind you until the warmth of another presence filled the space.

“I was wondering where you disappeared to.”

It was almost two in the morning when Chan decided he’d had enough of the party. You had already disappeared minutes ago to God knows where, and even though your friends were still downstairs playing seven minutes in heaven, he was pretty sure you’d gone home. Your boyfriend had probably come by to pick you up at some point, like he always did, and Chan miraculously hadn't noticed.

All night long, he had watched you from afar, dancing and playing games with his friends. You were laughing with Vernon, teasing Seungkwan, and even giving Yeonjun a hard time. You looked completely at ease, like you belonged there somehow. But every time his gaze lingered on you, he felt that familiar twist in his stomach. It wasn’t jealousy, exactly, but the kind of longing that made his chest tighten. You were surrounded by his friends, sure, but in his mind, you were still just very much... out of reach.

Now, he was exhausted, tired of feeling like a failure for not having the courage to approach you, even just to start a conversation. He hadn’t taken Vernon’s advice, hadn’t shown you how much better he could be than your boyfriend. So, instead of dwelling on it any longer, he simply said goodbye to everyone and headed up to his room.

After cursing himself for forgetting to lock the door, Chan headed inside, silently thanking the universe that no one was there. Everything was in place, neat and undisturbed, clearly showing it hadn’t been used as a place for a couple to make out, or worse. After finally locking the door behind him, he sat on the edge of the bed, calmly taking off his shoes as he recapped the night in his head. 

He sighed, lying back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Seungkwan was right; this was getting pathetic, really. He had talked to people all night, joked around, even had a decent time despite the chaos. But when it came to you, his heart always raced in a way that made him second-guess every move. 

He was such a big fool. 

A fool for you, apparently. 

For a brief moment, Chan watched as the long curtains that divided the room from the balcony swayed in the wind, revealing a figure sitting on the railing.

His heart skipped a beat as his eyes landed on the figure. The silhouette was unmistakable, even in the dim light—your figure, perched on the balcony railing, legs dangling, one hand resting on your knee. He wasn’t sure how long you’d been there, but the sight of you, calm and seemingly lost in thought, made him hesitate. Again. 

The cool night air swept in, ruffling the curtains and causing them to dance with the wind again, almost as if they were beckoning him. For a brief moment, Chan considered staying put, convincing himself that you probably just needed some space, some quiet time away from the party. But then the thought of you sitting out there alone made his chest tighten, as if the universe was giving him a second chance to do things right, and before he could talk himself out of it, he was standing up and crossing the room.

He reached the balcony door quietly, not wanting to startle you. The cool breeze hit his face as he stepped outside, the sound of music and laughter from the party downstairs still faintly echoing in the distance. He took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves, but it was hard when you were so close.

You looked like an angel sitting there, and his brain nearly short-circuited when he noticed you were wearing the hoodie he had left on the chair earlier that day.

Chan never liked people invading his space, especially his room, and even less so when they were uninvited. If it had been anyone else, he probably would have kicked them out on the spot. But it was you. Not only did it not bother him, but he found himself loving the sight of you in his clothes, as if the hoodie had been made for you to wear too.

“I was wondering where you disappeared to.”

You turned your head at the sound of his voice, blinking in surprise at his appearance.

“Chan?” You said his name like you couldn’t quite believe it, like maybe you were the one dreaming and not him. He smiled.

“Hey,” he managed to say, his voice gentle, words just loud enough to be heard over the distant music. “You okay there?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, offering a small smile, grateful for the concern in his eyes. “Just needed a break. Parties aren’t really my thing.”

Chan hesitated for a moment before leaning against the railing next to you, his posture a little stiff but his presence somehow calming. “I get it,” he said quietly, his gaze shifting down to the street below. “I kind of feel the same way sometimes. All the noise, all the people, it’s a lot.”

You chuckled softly, turning slightly toward him. “You? A dancer major?”

He really wanted to use this opportunity with you to make a good impression and follow his friends' advice. But when he looked at you again, his brain went into a tailspin trying to process the way his hoodie looked on you, like it belonged to you just as much as it did to him. 

Still, he forced himself to get the words out.

“Yeah, well… dancing is different,” he admitted, glancing at you with a small, almost sheepish smile. “It’s loud, sure, but it makes sense. It’s the kind of noise I can control.”

You hummed in understanding, swinging your legs slightly. “And parties?”

“Not so much.”

A comfortable silence settled between you, the distant music from the party below blending with the rustling of the trees. The longer Chan stood beside you, the more his nerves settled, though that didn’t stop his heart from hammering in his chest. He had spent so long watching you from a distance, convinced that any moment spent too close would give him away. And yet, here you were, in his hoodie, in his bedroom’s balcony. 

Chan opened his mouth, but nothing came out, as usual. He was already surprised that he had managed to form other sentences before, since his brain was still trying to catch up with everything that's happening. 

You were standing in his bedroom—his bedroom—at two in the morning.

He couldn’t help but wonder if you had any idea what you did to him with just a small action.

You shifted a bit, looking at him out of the corner of your eye, the cool breeze tugging at your hair while you analyzed his well-defined profile.

You’d known the SVT boys for a while now, and they always carried this… chaotic energy, like one was constantly balancing and matching out the other’s freaks without the slightest trace of embarrassment or shame. That, in fact, was the reason why you liked being around them so much; they were different from the guys in the other fraternities at this university. Not to mention their parties were the best on campus and probably the most female-friendly and safe.

Every now and then, you found yourself in the company of one of them. Whether it was Vernon, who was already your friend and classmate, or Joshua, who once served as the english literature tutor for your study group back in freshman year, or even Seungkwan, in the one ancient studies class you share this semester.

Sometimes, it seemed like they were everywhere on campus, as if, whenever you needed one, they would magically appear—like when Abby blew out a candle in that Disney Channel movie 16 Wishes, except in this case, there were only 13. 

Lee Chan, however, was the member you hardly ever heard the voice of. You just couldn’t tell if he was always like that or if the problem was you, specifically. 

“You don’t talk much, do you?” you asked, your tone light, trying to keep the mood casual, though there was an underlying curiosity in your voice.

Chan chuckled at your question, running a hand through his hair, a little embarrassed but still amused by it. He forced himself to say something, anything, before he made even more of a fool of himself. “I—uh. No, I mean, I do. Sometimes. I talk.”

Brilliant. Just brilliant. 

For someone who was usually a yapper, he had become an expert at being at a loss for words around you. Before this moment, he hoped you wouldn't notice, but your question showed him that was clearly not the case.

Your lips twitched, like you were trying not to laugh. But it wasn’t in a cruel way, not like you were laughing at him. “That’s good to know,” you replied, nodding like you were filing the information away for later.

He couldn’t help but smile, feeling a bit more at ease despite the awkwardness that lingered. You weren’t making him feel self-conscious about his words, just... making him feel seen by you in a way that made his chest tighten, because that never happened before. 

“I promise I can carry a conversation most of the time,” he added, his voice lighter this time, trying to steer the awkwardness away. “Just... not always the best at small talk.” 

He gave a shrug, hoping you would take it as more of a self-aware joke than anything else.

You raised an eyebrow at him, teasing. “Small talk is overrated anyway. It’s the big stuff that matters.”

Chan tilted his head slightly, studying your expression. 

“What kind of big stuff are we talking about here?” He was trying to sound nonchalant, but inside, he was celebrating wildly; not just because he was managing to talk to you, but because you were talking to him too.

Perched on the railing, you shifted slightly to face him fully, your hands gripping the edge as you met his gaze. 

“Like... real conversations. The kind where you actually get to know someone,” you said, your voice softer now, almost a little serious. 

Suddenly, Chan felt like the air between you two shifted, and he couldn’t decide whether it was the wind or something else making him feel more aware of every movement you made and every word you said. 

“Yeah,” he murmured, his voice steady despite the rush of thoughts flooding his mind. “I guess... I guess you're right.”

You smiled, pleased with his answer, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. From where you stood, the cheers of the crowd downstairs faded into the background with each new pair being chosen, distant enough to feel like you’re both in another world entirely. 

Up here, it was just you and him, standing at the edge of something that Chan didn’t even know what. 

He shifted slightly, his fingers grazing the concrete railing as he debated whether he should say more, whether he should push this moment just a little further or not, since you seemed to be enjoying your own company until a few minutes ago, even if it was in his room.

The only thing he didn’t want to do was let it slip away.

Instead, he asked the question that had been circling in his mind since the moment he spotted you through the curtains. “So, uh… how did you find my room?”

Chan watched as you froze, your eyes slowly widening while your brain processed his question. Your gaze followed his, and the moment you registered what you were wearing, a soft laugh escaped your lips—one that sent his pulse into overdrive. 

“Oh, shit,” you said, blinking, voice showing your very obvious surprise. 

You seemed to realize the absurdity of the situation at the exact same moment the words slipped past your lips, your gaze flickering between him and the hoodie. 

“Wait, no—” you started, clearly flustered. “I wasn’t snooping or anything, I swear.” Your hands gripped the hem of the hoodie as if it might disappear if you didn’t hold onto it. “I—I didn’t know this was your room. I promise I wasn’t—I mean, I just—”

“You just… what?” he managed to ask, still amazed that you were standing in front of him, in his hoodie—did he stress this enough?—after a night of him avoiding you because he was convinced he had lost every chance he had after your interaction earlier. 

You sighed, rubbing the back of your neck. There was no way this could be less embarrassing. “I was looking for a quiet place to hide from the whole seven minutes in heaven thing. Found an unlocked door, thought it was an empty guest room, and, uh… turns out, it wasn’t.”

Chan stared at you, his heartbeat loud in his ears. “And the hoodie?”

A sheepish smile tugged at your lips. “It was on the chair. It was cold. Thought it looked comfy.”

It was comfy. But that wasn’t the point.

He swallowed, trying not to let the warmth spreading through his chest take over. This—you—was the last thing he expected tonight. And yet, here you were, standing in his room at two in the morning, looking impossibly good in his clothes. Maybe the universe was on his side after all.

You were still seated there, looking at him like you weren’t sure if you should stay or go. And maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe it was the way you were looking at him, but for the first time all night, Chan didn’t feel like running away.

Instead, he exhaled, leaning back as he met your gaze. “Well,” he said, forcing a small smirk. “Guess it looks better on you anyway.”

He had no idea where this sudden courage was coming from. Maybe it was the alcohol still lingering in his system, even though hours had passed since his last drink. Whatever it was, he was just glad he had found the nerve to flirt with you. Even if just a little bit.

Your lips twitched, and for a second, he thought you might say something. But then you just shook your head, voice quieter now. “I’m sorry for invading your space. Do you want me to leave?”

Chan swallowed hard. He knew what the right answer was. Knew what Vernon and Seungkwan would tell him to do. Knew that you still had a boyfriend. But with you standing there, wearing his hoodie, looking at him like that…

Yeah. He was completely screwed.

“No, stay,” he said, a little too eagerly. Then, realizing how desperate he must’ve sounded, he cleared his throat, trying to play it cool. “I mean… if you want to.”

You tilted your head, watching him in that way that made his stomach flip. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” Chan let out a breathless laugh, running a hand through his hair. Still, he wanted to make sure. “Unless you want to go back?”

You glanced toward the door, as if weighing your options, before exhaling a small laugh. “Not really.”

Chan tried not to read too much into it. He tried not to let the fact that you were still standing there, apparently in no rush to leave, get to his head. “Then stay,” he said again, softer this time.

“Okay,” you said after a beat. Then, with a teasing smile, you added, “But only if I get to keep the hoodie.”

Chan huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Fine. You can keep it.”

You grinned. “Thanks.”

“I mean… I might have to fight you for it later.”

“Oh, I’d win,” you shot back without hesitation, a smug little smirk playing at your lips.

And god, Chan believed you. Because you would only need to say the words and that hoodie would be yours forever.

There was a comfortable silence between you after that, the weight of the night settling in. The distant cheers from downstairs had died down a little, and the music had shifted to something slower, more subdued. It felt like the whole world had softened around the edges. 

You tilted your head slightly, as if studying him, and Chan felt his pulse quicken again. He didn’t know what it was about you that made him so nervous. Maybe it was the way you carried yourself or the way your eyes were holding an amused curiosity whenever you looked at him. Or maybe, just maybe, it was the way he wanted you to look at him the way you looked at your boyfriend.

At the thought of him, Chan’s expression faltered slightly, and he turned away, gripping the railing a little tighter than necessary. He had no right to feel the way he did, no right to want things he couldn’t have. But he was here now, alone with you in the quiet of the night, and for just a moment, he allowed himself to imagine that things were different.

Chan turned to you again, watching as you stared out at the horizon now. He didn’t know what he was expecting when he spoke next, but the words left his mouth before he could stop them.

“So where's your boyfriend?”

If you were surprised by the question, you didn’t let it show. He saw you lowering your head and letting out a not very happy laugh through your nose. 

The truth was, you were surprised by his question, but at the same time, you weren’t. Jongin wasn’t exactly known for being non-territorial; he was always where you were, and when he couldn’t be, he made sure to show up at some point. But the way Chan’s question slipped out so easily, so curious, paralyzed all your instincts—the ones that told you to take it slow, to breathe between the end of your relationship with Jongin and the leap you were considering to take when you agreed to come here tonight.

And then, the confession slipped out of your lips before your brain could stop it. “He's...not my boyfriend anymore.”

Chan’s eyes widened slightly at your words. His stomach churned with an uncomfortable mix of relief and confusion, and he blinked a few times, processing your words. 

Would he go to hell for feeling immensely happy with that confession you had just made? Probably. And he would slow dance with the devil, grinning from ear to ear nonetheless.

“Not your boyfriend anymore?” He repeated after you. “Why not?”

You shrugged, a casual motion that didn’t match the weight of your words, finally looking up to meet his gaze again. “Didn't want to be.”

That was only half true, and you knew it. It wasn’t like you wanted to be his girlfriend either. But still, you weren’t the one who ended things by cheating on him with your step sister. You’d probably still be with him if he hadn’t decided to put an end to it in the worst way possible, even if your heart was beating for someone completely different already. 

Was it weird that you felt relieved to be cheated on, because it finally gave you a reason to leave?

“He’s an idiot then.” Chan spoke, bringing you out of your thoughts. When you looked at him, his eyes were filled with genuine empathy. You smiled gratefully, appreciating his compassion.

Not wanting to weigh the moment, you let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah, well, that makes two of us.”

Chan frowned slightly. “I doubt it,” he said, before adding, “But why?”

You shrugged again. “It wasn’t like I was dying to stay in that relationship, you know.”

The way you said it, almost too calmly, threw him off. I mean, he knew you weren’t very happy in your relationship; it was evident in your body language around Jongin. But he didn’t expect it to go as far as you wishing you weren’t actually in it. 

He wanted to ask more, to understand what had happened, but a part of him feared that prying would make him sound even more pathetic. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from pressing on, his voice low and a little uncertain. “Wait, so you didn’t want to be with him either?”

You didn’t hesitate, your expression not betraying any emotion, but your voice was sharp when you replied. “Not really. I didn’t even like him in the end. I guess I just stayed longer than I should have because it was… comfortable.” 

“That doesn’t sound like a great reason to stay.”

Chan bit his lip, trying to digest your words. Part of him wanted to reach out, to comfort you somehow, but he didn’t know where to start. The realization that you were no longer with him, the guy who seemed to have always been in the picture, stirred something in him—a sense of hope he wasn’t prepared to feel. But he kept it buried, not wanting to come off too eager, too quick to assume.

“It wasn’t,” you admitted. “But it’s hard to walk away from something when you don’t have a reason big enough to leave.”

“And what finally made you leave? I mean, if you don’t mind me asking.”

“You’re funny.” You smiled, head tilted to the side as you locked gazes with him. “I’ve never really got to actually talk to you before. Yet, here we are,” you gestured to the space between you with your hands. “I like this side of you. Curious and talkative Channie”

“Yeah?”

Chan swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry, even if he couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. He was happy that being alone with you had finally awakened that side of him: more talkative and more responsive. 

You nodded, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah, I do.” Then you sighed, before saying, “To answer your question: he cheated on me with my step sister.”

His eyes widened and suddenly he was back to not knowing what to say, so he stayed quiet for a moment. Chan’s brain raced, his heart pounding. Was it bad that the idea of you being available—of there being a chance for something, whatever it might be—be the only thing that appeared in flashing neon signs in his head? 

Either way, he was glad you had gotten out of a relationship that clearly wasn’t good for you. He was happy that you had gotten rid of the asshole who was known for only dating girls ten years younger than him—the asshole who never let you breathe.

“Why did you date him anyway? Guy’s a jerk,” The words escaped his mouth before he could even control them. 

“He gave me just the right amount of attention, at the right time,” you answered without hesitation, shrugging again. “Have you ever heard ‘We accept the love we think we deserve’?” 

Chan frowned, processing your words. Well, that was sad. 

“I’ve heard of it,” he said quietly, the weight of your response settling in the space between you. The way you spoke about it, almost like you were talking about a lesson learned the hard way, made him feel a pang of sympathy for you.

“Yeah,” you continued, voice soft but steady, eyes searching his face. “I didn't realize I deserved more until the moment I woke up from the trance I’d been stuck in for two years.”

Listening to you confess to him all of this without thinking twice and sounding so sincere, made his stomach twisted with something like a mixture of frustration and admiration. He could see how hard it must’ve been for you, but at the same time, something in him wanted to protect you, to offer the kind of attention and care that wasn’t half-hearted, something real and full of understanding.

Something you truly deserved.

“You do deserve more,” he finally said, voice quiet but firm. “Everyone does. And if you want it, you can have it. No one should make you feel like you don’t.”

He hoped you understood the undertone of his words. Though he was genuine in what he said, he wanted to be everything you deserved—the more you could and should have. God knew how much he wanted it, and how far he would go to show you that. But in that moment, he also wanted to offer words of comfort, to be the shoulder you might need.

You didn’t say anything for a while, just standing there, letting the noise of the party hum around you both. Finally, you exhaled. 

“It’s hard to let go of what you’ve known, even when it’s not good for you,” you admitted, almost like you were talking to yourself more than him. “But sometimes, I guess you need to make space for something better, even if it’s scary.”

Chan’s heart beats faster at your words. He wasn’t sure what it meant, but he knew one thing: this conversation, this moment between you, felt different than anything he had experienced with you before. It felt real.

“Do you think…” he started, and then stopped, unsure of what to ask. He was afraid that anything he said might ruin the moment. But your expression softened in a way that made his heart skip another beat.

“Maybe,” you said, voice low but deliberate, eyes never leaving his. “Maybe I need to stop accepting what I think I deserve and start going after what I actually deserve.”

Chan swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest. The air between you felt charged now, heavier than it should have been. He felt like he was standing on the edge of something, something he was not afraid to jump into and also couldn’t stop himself from wanting, hoping you wished the same, even if he was too crazy or delusional to consider that possibility. 

Just as he was about to say something, he suddenly felt light raindrops hitting the spot where the two of you were standing and sitting on the balcony. The first few drops were light, barely noticeable against his skin, but within seconds, the drizzle grew heavier, the scent of rain taking over the air. 

Chan watched you look up, your eyes tracing the sky as it darkened, the city below shimmering through the mist. When you turned back to him, he was staring at you—not at the rain, not at the sky, but at you. You met his gaze, and for a split second, everything else faded; the sound of the rain, the distant hum of the city below, even the pounding of his own heart. 

He blinked, breaking the spell, his gaze flickering toward the rain before it returned to you. “Maybe we should go inside,” he suggested, his voice low, almost hesitant, like he was giving you an escape from the moment, if you needed it.

You nodded slowly, and without saying a word, you jumped off the balcony railing, following him inside. You looked around the dark room for a second, before saying, “Maybe I should go. I don't want to hold the party host down with me.”

Chan turned to face you, his expression softening as he took in your words. There was something about the way you spoke, the hesitation that lingered in your voice, that made him want to step closer, to reassure you that you weren’t an inconvenience, that he wanted you there more than anything. 

“You’re not holding anyone down,” he said, a small, almost shy smile tugging at his lips. “If anything, it’s me who should be worried about keeping you from having fun.” 

“Never,” you said, your voice light, but there was something else in it, something he couldn’t quite put a finger on. Especially when you said, “Besides, the person I wanted to kiss isn't even downstairs.”

Chan froze, his heart giving a sharp, involuntary lurch at your words. He blinked, not quite sure if he had heard you correctly, but the way your gaze held his, steady and unflinching, told him that he hadn’t misheard.

He cleared his throat, his voice coming out a little too thick for his liking. “Oh? And, uh… who exactly were you hoping to kiss, if not...?” He trailed off, not sure how to finish the sentence, not sure if he even wanted to know the answer.

As the curtain moved in the wind, bringing the streetlight into the room, he saw a mischievous smile grow on your lips. 

What the hell was happening? Was his brain betraying him? Was he imagining this moment? Had he passed out on the bed when he went upstairs and was now in a dream, after spending ninety percent of his energy thinking about you at the party he should have been enjoying with his friends? 

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you said simply, and turned your back to him, eyes immediately darting to the shelf of his trophies from dance competitions and photographs. 

Yes, I do! I want to know! Chan wanted to shout.

Instead, he stood there for a moment, unsure whether to follow up with another question, or to let the silence stretch on. The way you spoke, so casually and yet with that playful glint in your eye, made everything feel… electric. 

So he simply watched you there, in his room, moving without hesitation, slowly walking over to his shelf, running your finger along the wood and observing each one of his trophies, medals and pictures with meticulous care. 

He couldn't help but think—and wish too—that he could get used to this scene.

The golden plaques gleamed under the dim light, each one marking a victory of his. Some were polished to perfection, while others bore the faintest scratches, proof of the years Chan had spent chasing dreams in the dance field. Your gaze drifted to the framed photographs beside them, each snapshot telling a different story of his life. 

There were several photos of him as a little kid, beaming as ever, dressed in performance clothes, on stage, with a medal around his neck. In another, he stood beside his previous performance unit with the frat’s past members, whom you recognized as Kwon Soonyoung, Wen Junhui, and Xu Minghao, their grins wide and carefree. There were also photos with his parents and grandmother, and some with what looked like his younger brother.

Chan was probably the cutest kid you had ever seen, and that realization made you smile genuinely. 

“Lee Jung Chan?” you asked, curious as you read the name on one of the trophies from a children's dance competition. Your fingers brushed over the small golden plaque, the engraving slightly worn from time. 

Behind you, he let out a soft chuckle. “It's my name on my family tree. The government name is just Lee Chan.”

“You went by your full name back then?”

He shrugged, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “Only because my mom insisted. She said it sounded more professional, like I was already a star or something.”

“It's cute,” you said, looking at him over your shoulder. “You were so cute.”

“Yes, well, the kids used to call me Jimmy Neutron.”

You laughed, turning fully to face him. Neither of you had noticed how close you were until you did. If you reached out your arms, you'd only be able to touch each other slightly. But even though both of you thought about it, neither of you made any move to change your positions, continuing your conversation. 

“What? Jimmy Neutron?”

He groaned, running a hand through his hair as if reliving the embarrassment. “Yeah. They said my head was too big for my body. And, you know, the spiky hair didn't help.”

You bit your lip, trying to suppress another laugh. Chan holded his breath at your movement, forcing himself to look elsewhere, forcing himself not to think about your lips. 

“I can totally see it now,” you teased, releasing your lip from your teeth and looking between him and the photo on the shelf.

He narrowed his eyes at you playfully. “Wow, okay. I thought you were supposed to be on my side.”

“I am!” You held up your hands in defense. “I just think it's adorable. And look at you now. You certainly grew into it perfectly.”

Chan smirked, tilting his head and crossing his arms. “So you're saying I look perfect now?”

You rolled your eyes, turning back to the trophies. “Don't get ahead of yourself, Jimmy Neutron.”

He laughed, stepping up beside you as his eyes skimmed over the shelf briefly, before turning back to you. “Yeah, but I kinda see it. My head was huge.”

You tilted your head, studying one of the photos of him mid-dance, his tiny frame caught in motion. He’s wearing dark sunglasses and black fingerless gloves, hair is slightly messy and spiky, adding to the fun and carefree to his edgy look. His bright smile revealed a gap between his teeth, and you thought to yourself that you've probably never seen anything so lovely before.

“Well, I think you were adorable,” you murmured, your finger tracing the edge of the frame. “And talented, obviously. All these trophies…”

He shrugged, a little bashful. “My grandmother was really proud of them. She used to polish them every weekend.”

Your smile softened. “She sounds sweet.”

“She is,” he said, voice tinged with fondness. “She used to call me ‘our little star.’”

Something about the way he said it made warmth bloom in your chest. You turned toward him, and he was looking at you again, his expression unreadable but intense. The soft glow of the streetlights made his features sharper, casting shadows along his well-defined jawline.

If there was one thing you knew about Lee Chan, it was that he was a star. Every performance he was part of filled the university theater, without failure. Not to mention the countless admirers he had on campus, and with good reason.

Watching him do what he loved was a pleasure—he was that good. Confident and unwavering, he dominated the stage effortlessly, as if wrapped in a bubble no one could pierce. It was mesmerizing to witness.

“You still are, you know,” you said, voice quieter now. “A star.”

His lips parted slightly, but for a moment, he didn't say anything. Just studied you like he was trying to figure something out.

And then, with a small, almost shy smile, he said, “I like it better when you call me cute.”

You laughed, the sudden tension between you easing just a little. “Noted.”

He exhaled a soft chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck as he leaned against the desk beside the shelf. “You know, I don’t usually let people snoop around my room like this.”

You glanced at him over your shoulder again, your fingers still lightly tracing over the edge of a picture framed. “Oh? Am I special, Channie?”

You didn't have to say his name like that, or move your lips like that. His eyes traveled to your mouth for a moment, and for a second, something flickered in his expression, something unspoken, but not entirely hidden. 

His eyes met yours as he said, “Yeah,” he murmured. “You are.”

To mask the fact that your breath hitched slightly, you offered him a playful smirk. “Good to know.”

As Chan moved to sit on the edge of his bed, you continued your exploration of his shelf, eyes stopping at a picture frame in the middle where he standed between what seemed to be his parents, both of them kissing his cheek sweetly. 

“Is your father a dancer too?” you asked, running your fingers over his face on the picture. 

“Yeah. My dad and my mom,” he explained. “They kind of stopped after I was born.”

“Wow. It’s in your blood, then.”

Chan nodded, a smile playing on his lips. “Yeah. My dad always says I got his footwork, but my mom says I got her rhythm.”

You leaned against the table by the shelf, watching him as he spoke. “So they gave it up for you?” 

He hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah. My dad started teaching instead, and my mom focused on raising me. They never made me feel like I took anything away from them, though.”

“That’s love.”

He looked at you then, his gaze steady. “Yeah, it is.”

Another comfortable silence settled between you as you turned back to the photos, your fingers absently tracing the edges of the other frames. One photo in particular caught your eye. It was from the exact same day you first noticed him, during the university’s annual arts week in your sophomore year.

He was dressed in a white button-down shirt with the top two buttons undone, black dress pants, and his hair dyed a faded dark blue. You knew he had worn a tie too because he had taken it off during the performance.

Out of the four members in the unit, he immediately stood out to you. You couldn’t quite put your finger on why, but it was as if no one else existed on that stage besides him. Your eyes were locked on him and no one else, watching in awe as he moved across the stage, completely captivated.

“I was there that day, you know?” you said, showing him over the shoulder the photo you were referring to. 

Chan’s eyes widened as he stared at it. It was one of the images from his first big performance at the university’s annual arts week back in his freshman year, a moment that had felt like a turning point for him, when everything had clicked. He hadn’t realized anyone had been paying attention back then, least of all you.

“You were?” His voice held a note of surprise. There was something so disarming about the way you were looking at the photo—and then at him.

You turned your head slightly, meeting his gaze before turning back. “Yeah. I was in the back, by the side stage,” you admitted, a small smile tugging at your lips. “You were… mesmerizing.” 

He felt a warmth spread through him at your words, the kind of warmth that made his chest tighten. Chan hadn’t expected to hear something like that, especially not from you. 

“Really?” He couldn’t hide the shock in his voice. His brows lifted slightly, as if he was trying to picture it. “How come I didn't see you?”

“I don’t think you noticed anyone that night,” you teased. “You were in your own world up there.”

He hummed, eyes flickering back to the photo. “Maybe,” he mused, then glanced at you again, a slow smile crept onto his lips. “So, you’ve been watching me all this time, noona?”

There was a teasing edge to his voice and you exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “I wouldn’t put it like that.”

“No?” He titled his head. “Then how would you put it?”

He saw you hesitate for a second, fingers still resting on the shelf. Then, meeting his eyes, you admitted, “I noticed you. That night, and every time after that.”

Chan felt his breath catch in his throat.

There was something about the way you said it—so simple, so honest—that made his heart stutter. You noticed him. Not just that night, but every time after. 

He had spent years analyzing every interaction you two had ever had—every glance, every small word, every time you did so much as acknowledged his existence. And now? Now you were standing here, saying things that made his heart race like it was the easiest thing to do. 

How did you end up here?

Chan felt lightheaded.

He wasn’t sure what to say. It wasn’t rare for him to be speechless around you, so there he was again, standing in front of you, feeling like the floor beneath him wasn’t quite solid anymore.

“You noticed me,” he echoed, more to himself than to you.

You nodded, your fingers lightly tracing the edge of the photo before you finally pulled your hand away. “Yeah,” you murmured, laughing softly. “I did, Channie.”

Chan swallowed. He wanted to ask why. What was it about him that had caught your attention? Was it his performance? His presence? Something else entirely different? 

But instead, he found himself saying, “I wish I’d noticed you in the crowd.”

Your lips parted slightly, but instead of speaking, you simply smiled, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear.

His fingers twitched at his sides. God, he wished he could go back in time to that night—to scan every face in the crowd, to find you standing by the side stage, watching him with that same look you had now. You weren’t even dating Jongin at the time, and if your words were any indication of what he was imagining, maybe he had missed an opportunity by acting as though you were unattainable. Maybe he had lost precious time. 

Chan watched as moved away from the shelf, turning to him entirely. His breath hitched slightly as you stepped closer, each movement deliberate, unhurried. You didn’t hesitate as you sank down beside him on the bed, the space between you shrinking just enough to make his pulse quicken. 

The room suddenly felt smaller, quieter, like the world outside had dulled, leaving only the two of you in this charged silence.

He forced himself to breathe, to act natural, even as every fiber of his being buzzed with awareness of your presence beside him. You were close enough that he could catch the faintest trace of the sweetness of your perfume again, something that made his head spin in the best way.

“Can I ask you something?” You sank your hands on the mattress and stared at the wall in front of you, like you were avoiding his gaze for some reason. 

“Mhmm.”

You wet your lips, hesitating for a moment before finally voicing the thought that had lingered in your mind all night. “Were you avoiding me tonight?”

Chan felt his heart slam against his ribs. “I wasn’t—” he started, then stopped himself because, well… yeah, he had been avoiding you. But only because every time he looked at you, he felt like his brain melted, and he wasn’t entirely sure how to not make a fool of himself.

You smirked, clearly amused by his silence. “That’s what I thought.”

He sighed, shaking his head. “I wasn’t avoiding you, I just—” He hesitated, his eyes flickering over to you. Halfway through, Chan decided that it was no longer the time to second guess things, so he simply admitted, “You make me very nervous, noona.”

You wished you had an explanation for the way you shivered slightly when he called you noona. But instead, you chose to ignore the feeling, letting the sensation fade into something softer, something more curious. “I make you nervous?” you echoed, tilting your head slightly. “That’s a first.”

Chan huffed a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “You say that like it’s impossible. I bet–I know I’m not the only one.”

You shrugged. “I don’t know… you’ve always seemed so confident. Especially on stage.”

“That is just an act,” he admitted. “On stage, I could pretend to be someone else for a little while. But you?” He turned to you then, meeting your gaze fully. “You’re real. You’re right here.”

And he still couldn’t believe it, the words leaving his lips as if he were pinching himself to prove that this was really happening and not just a fever dream.

Hearing him, you wondered what Chan would think if he knew the way your stomach flipped at the way he was looking at you, like you were something impossible and undeniable all at once. You hadn’t expected this—hadn’t expected him to say something so… vulnerable. Something that made your heart race so fast with all the implications of his words. 

“I didn’t mean to make you nervous, Channie” you said, your voice softer now, more careful.

“I don’t think you can help it,” Chan murmured, letting out a breathless chuckle. “You know, you probably didn’t know this, but I had a, um… a crush on you.”

Okay, he knew he was straying from the truth. But there was a limit to his courage, and even though he had sensed a bit of flirting between you, he wasn’t about to risk rejection after the nice conversation you’d had tonight, because maybe he was just imagining things. 

And he wanted you to walk away from here at least as friends rather than leave an awkward situation for the two of you. He’d rather have you like this than not have you at all. That was why he decided to test the waters with that small lie.

Your lips parted slightly at his confession, your mind racing to process what he had just admitted. “You… had a crush on me?” you repeated, almost like you were trying to make sure you'd heard him right.

Chan nodded, his expression somewhere between amused and nervous. “Yeah. A major one,” he said, his voice lighter, trying to sound nonchalant.

Something inside you fluttered at the thought. You hadn't expected this at all—not from him, not tonight. And definitely not in this way.

“You’re bullshiting me, aren’t you?” you accused, narrowing your eyes playfully.

He let out a breathless laugh, shaking his head. “Nope. Dead serious.”

“But you never said anything,” you pointed out.

“Didn’t think you’d be interested,” He shrugged. Then he nudged you with his elbow, playfully. “Plus you had a boyfriend.” 

You blinked at him, momentarily stunned into silence. 

Didn’t think you’d be interested?

It was absurd to hear those words coming from him, the same person who had commanded every room he walked into without even trying, the same person who had owned the stage so effortlessly that you couldn’t take your eyes off him. 

What would he say if you opened your mouth to confess that you’d realized you weren’t happy in your old relationship the moment you started noticing him everywhere? Noticing his smile, the way he blushed when you talked to him, the way he seemed so unreachable, like he wasn’t the least bit interested in getting to know you, always running away when you were around. 

Maybe that should’ve been your first clue that he had a crush on you too. But perhaps you were too caught up in your own melancholia to notice.

So, instead of spilling out, you decided to test something. It was now or never.

“Is it just in the past?” 

Chan’s brows lifted slightly, caught off guard by your question. “What?”

“Your crush.”

“Uhh..”

“Because it would be so sad if it was,” you said before you could stop yourself, eyes searching for his. 

His voice was softer when he spoke again. “Really?”

You let out a quiet breath, shaking your head with a small smile. “Mhmm.”

He swallowed hard, his brain short-circuiting again at your response. Of all the ways this conversation could have gone, this was not what he had expected. Maybe he was in a dream. A very lived one, but still, a dream.

“You—” He cleared his throat, suddenly feeling like he had forgotten how to speak. “You think it would be sad?”

You hummed, tilting your head slightly. “Yeah. I think it would be a shame if something like that just… faded away.”

Chan's heart was doing something ridiculous in his chest, and he wasn't sure if it was panic or hope or a chaotic mix of both. He should say something. He should joke about it, keep it light, make sure this moment didn’t carry more weight than it should. But he couldn’t—because the way you were looking at him right now felt dangerous in the best way.

“Would it?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

Your smile again, nodding. 

He let out a breathless laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “You really know how to mess with a guy’s head, huh?”

“Maybe,” You grinned, leaning in just a little. “But only when it’s fun. Besides who says you’re not messing with mine too?”

“I am?”

“Yes.”

You didn't say anything else and Chan stared at you for a long moment, his mind racing with a million things he wanted to say, a million things he wanted to do. But instead, he smiled, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you were real. That this moment was real. 

He was messing with your head? Well, that’s a first. 

“Noted,” he simply murmured.

“What about now?” You looked at him expectantly, not letting silence settle between you.

Chan inhaled sharply, his fingers twitching slightly at his sides. “Now?” he echoed, his voice barely above a whisper. You nodded once more. Chan’s smirk faltered for just a fraction of a second before he recovered. “Are you asking if I still have a crush on you, noona?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to mask the way your heart had started hammering. “Forget it,” you muttered, getting up from the bed. 

He reached out, closing his hand around your wrist, and gently pulled you back to sit on the bed again. For a second, it felt like the world had stopped moving. It all faded into nothing. It was just you and him, standing there in this charged, uncertain space that he used to call his bedroom.

Chan swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. His instinct was to deflect, to joke, to brush it off like it was nothing. To play nonchalant. But the way you were looking at him—with quiet anticipation, with something that felt dangerously like hope—made it impossible to lie.

And before you could escape the moment, Chan leaned in ever so slightly, just enough that you felt the warmth of him beside you. “For the record,” he started, voice lower now, just for you. “Some things don’t change that easily.”

You turned to look at him, and for the first time that night, you weren’t sure who was more nervous: you or him. You held his gaze for a long moment, your expression unreadable. Then, slowly, a small smile curled at the corners of your lips.

“Good.” 

Chan blinked. You were going to give him a whiplash. “Good?”

You nodded, shifting just a little closer, the space between you growing impossibly small. “Like I said: it would be really sad if it had faded away.”

A few seconds passed, he just stared at you, his heart pounding, his pulse roaring in his ears. He could barely think, could barely breathe.

“Are you messing with me?” he asked, a nervous chuckle slipping out.

You tilted your head, eyes glinting with something warm, something teasing. “What do you think?”

“I think,” he said slowly, “you’re trouble.”

You grinned. “Only when it's fun, remember?”

“Noted,” he replied again, huffing a quiet laugh and shaking his head. But this time, there was something different in his voice, something lighter, something hopeful. 

You bit your lip for a second, analyzing him carefully. For the first time, Chan didn’t feel intimidated by your gaze. He didn’t feel exposed. Quite the opposite, his skin felt like it was on fire, but for a very good reason.

Your eyes flickered down to his lips for a fraction of a second. If he hadn’t been watching you so closely, he would’ve missed it.

His heart slammed against his ribs.

You were too close. Or maybe not close enough.

“Chan.”

“Yes, noona?”

“Do you wanna kiss me?”

He felt every neuron in his brain misfire at once, completely abandoning him at the worst possible moment.

Did he hear you right?

Did you—did you really just ask him that?

But the way you were looking at him—head bent to the side, eyes locked onto his with quiet amusement—made it clear that he hadn’t.

His fingers twitched against his knee, his pulse hammering in his ears so hard he was sure you could hear it. He opened his mouth, then shut it again, because suddenly, every single response he could think of felt either too much or not enough.

He could feel the warmth radiating off of you, the way your gaze never left his, searching, waiting.

“Uh…” He cleared his throat, forcing himself to meet your gaze. “I—um—”

“Because you keep looking at me like you do,” you continued, your voice softer now. “And if you don’t want to, that’s fine. But I just thought I’d ask.”

Chan let out a shaky breath. He was absolutely, utterly doomed.

He groaned, rubbing his hands over his face. “Noona, you can’t just ask me that.”

“Why not?” You leaned in slightly, your voice dropping just enough to make his pulse go haywire. 

Chan let out another nervous laugh, shaking his head. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You grinned. “Is that a yes or a no?”

You were still watching him, waiting, and damn it if he didn’t want to kiss you more than anything. He always had. But now? With you looking at him like that, teasing, testing, daring him? It was like he was malfunctioning. 

Yeah, he was probably overthinking this—scratch that, he was definitely overthinking this—but the truth was, this wasn’t just some random moment to him, with a random person. It was you. And you weren’t just anybody to him. 

He didn’t want to screw this up.

But at the same time…

God, he wanted to kiss you. More than he would like to see the sun rise again. 

So, he took a breath, gathering every ounce of courage he had left, and finally, finally, he answered.

“Yes,” he admitted, voice quiet but steady. “I really, really want to kiss you.”

Your smile turned softer, less teasing now. “Then what are you waiting for?”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

His heart pounded as he closed the space between you, his hesitation melting away the second his lips brushed against yours. The moment was slow, tentative at first, like he was memorizing the feel of you, engraving it to his memory in case he never got the chance to do it again. But when you responded to him, when your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him in just a little closer, something inside him snapped. 

Chan exhaled sharply against your lips before deepening the kiss, his hand moving to the back of your neck as he tilted his head, molding himself to you like he’d been waiting for this moment his whole life, and not just two years of it. 

If the party outside still carried on, now it felt distant, muted. The only thing that existed in this moment was your lips and the way they mold together, the way your fingers slid up into his hair, the soft sound you made when he nipped at your bottom lip.

Chan was dizzy. Overwhelmed. 

And completely, absolutely ruined for anyone else. 

Your fingers dung into his tight, searching for support, and you felt him groan against your lips. The sound sent a shiver down your spine, igniting a reaction deep within you. His hand slipped from the back of your neck into your hair, fingers threading through the strands as he tilted your head to the side—and that was it. You were lost too.

When a soft gasp left your lips at the feeling of him pulling your hair slightly, Chan saw the perfect opportunity to slip his tongue past your parted lips, teasingly, deliberately, claiming the space with an intoxicating slowness. They way kissed you left you breathless, lightheaded, as if he’d stolen the very air from your lungs. 

Your knees bumped against his as you tried to move closer, and instead of pulling away, Chan only tightened his grip on you, his arm slipping from your hair to your waist. In one smooth motion, he guided you into his lap, pulling you over his legs until you were straddling him. A surprised giggle bubbled from your lips at the sudden shift, but he didn’t falter—if anything, the sound only seemed to spur him on. His hands settled firmly on your hips, fingers pressing into your skin as if committing your shape to his memory.

One kiss bled into the next, and then another, and another, until the only force pulling you apart was the desperate need for air. Your forehead rested against his for a fleeting moment, both of you panting, neither willing to let go.

Then, with a boldness that sent heat surging through you, you leaned in, taking his bottom lip between yours, sucking gently as your hips rolled forward in an instinctive motion. A groan tore from both of you at the same time at the feeling of you core meeting his half hardened cock for the first time. 

Chan’s head tipped back, his throat exposed to you, a silent invitation too tempting to ignore. You pressed an open-mouthed kiss just below his perfect jaw, feeling the way his pulse leapt beneath your lips. His hands traveled slowly and torturously from your hops to your thighs, hovering just above the hem of your skirt, while you traced your tongue over the skin of his neck, giving it a playful nip with your teeth.

His breath hitched at the feeling, gripping on your tights for dear life as his heart raced like crazy. The fire in his veins was undeniable, every inch of him consumed by the heat of the moment, consumed by you. Your touch, the way your lips moved, was driving him to the edge of something he wasn’t sure he could come back from. 

As Chan looked at you, his eyes begging to close in pleasure, he was sure his pupils were dilated at the scene before him: you looked like a goddess on top of him.  

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he said, voice was low, a rasp of desire that sent a thrill racing through you. 

Your response to his words was to rock your hips against his, feeling the full hardness now pressing your folds through his pants and listening to him whine, breathy and desperate. At the sound of it, you couldn’t help but sink your teeth into his neck, sucking to ensure you left a mark, to ensure everyone saw what you had done to him. 

Chan’s breath came in sharp, uneven, his body shuddering beneath you as your lips lingered over the mark you’d left on his skin. His hands tightened around your tights, fingers twitching like he was resisting the urge to take things further, to let his restraint unravel completely.

“Fuck,” he rasped, his head tilting forward until his forehead rested against yours, his eyes squeezed shut. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

His voice was raw, thick with desire, and it sent a pulse of heat through you.

You hummed against him, dragging your lips up toward his ear, reveling in the way he shivered beneath you. “What do you want, Channie?” you teased, nipping at his earlobe.

Your hands slid beneath his shirt, fingertips tracing along the defined ridges of his stomach. His muscles tensed under your touch, his hands now gripping your thighs like they were the only things keeping him grounded, like he was afraid you’d slip away. 

His eyes fluttered open, dark and desperate as they locked onto yours. 

“You,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I just want you.”

The raw honesty in his words sent another shiver down your spine. Your fingers splayed over his abdomen, feeling the way his stomach tensed beneath your touch, the way his breathing hitched with every slow, deliberate movement of your hands.

“Then take me, baby” you murmured, your lips brushing against his jaw, the ghost of a challenge in your voice.

Chan groaned, his hands sliding up from your thighs, gripping your waist with a reverence that made your pulse stutter. His thumbs traced slow, teasing circles against your skin, his restraint evident in the way his fingers flexed but didn’t pull you closer.

“You’re really trying to kill me, aren’t you?” he whispered, his breath warm against your lips.

You smirked, tilting your head just slightly, an exhalation away from his mouth. “What gave it away?”

He exhaled sharply, his patience snapping like a thread. One moment, you were teasing him, savoring the slow burn, and the next, he was kissing you like he’d been starving for you his entire life. His lips crashed against yours, desperate, all-consuming, his hands gripping your waist as he pulled you flush against him.

The heat between you flared, intoxicating and undeniable. Your fingers slid up his chest, tangling in his hair, tugging just enough to draw a low, breathy moan from his lips. The sound sent a thrill through you, your body pressing closer, chasing the feeling of him, the warmth of him, the way he made you feel like you were the only thing that existed.

His hands roamed your body, slipping beneath your shirt, his touch searing against the bare skin of your inner thighs. He wasn’t rushing—no, he was savoring, mapping out every inch of you like he had all the time in the world. Like he wanted to remember this, just in case he never got the chance to do it again.

Your hips rolled instinctively, pressing down against him, and Chan groaned into your mouth, his fingers digging into your skin. “Fuck,” he breathed, his head falling back as he sucked in a sharp breath.

You leaned in, pressing another set of kisses to the column of his throat. “Too much?” you teased, your voice sultry, full of mischief.

Chan’s jaw clenched as he let out a breathless chuckle. “Not even close.”

His hands roamed higher up your thighs, and the moment his index finger traced a slow line over the fabric of your already-soaked panties, a moan slipped from your lips into his. He grunted something unintelligible as he tugged your panties to the side, his fingers finally feeling how wet you were beneath them. Then, he dragged his touch torturously up to your stomach before slipping inside the lace, and you instinctively lifted your hips, giving him better access to where you needed him most.

“Are you this wet for me, noona?” he asked, pulling back to meet your gaze. Two of his fingers pushed inside you, while his thumb circled your most sensitive spot and you cried out. “Is this all because of me?”

You nodded desperately, almost missing the disbelief in his eyes that only fueled the intensity between you. It heighted every touch, made you move in sync with him, your teeth sinking into your lip as he worked you over with deliberate precision, taking his time to drive you absolutely crazy with his fingers moving into and out of you. 

“I want you to sit on my face,” he says with certainty, eyes darkened with something you’ve never seen before, but you love it. The sheer existence of it sends a whimper tumbling from your lips. 

Still, you can't help but think about his safety.

“Are you sure” you asked, your breath coming in short, uneven bursts.

Both of his hands returned to your thighs, slowly trailing up to your ass beneath your skirt. 

“Never been more sure in my entire life. Please” 

“Fuck. Okay.”

You get off him for a moment, quickly slipping off your boots as you step out of the bed. You pull off your skirt and panties, while Chan gets up to remove his shirt, tossing it somewhere in the room. Then he returns to the bed, sitting comfortably and leaning back on his elbows, his gaze never leaving you. His eyes burn with desire as he watches you slowly take off his hoodie before taking your sweet time freeing your breasts from the tight black corset—on purpose.

When your breasts finally spill free, his mouth parts slightly, eyes locked onto your hardened nipples as if it were one of the seven wonders of the world. 

“Come here, baby.”

You slowly crawl across the bed toward where he’s lying close to the headboard, and Chan helps you position yourself on top of him. Each of your thighs settles on either side of his head as you both adjust, ensuring the position is comfortable for both of you.

“You have the prettiest pussy,” he whispered against your pussy, followed by a groan, and you feel his breath hit your entrance, making you tremble slightly.

You knew that you’re so fucking wet that even in the dim light of the room, you’re sure he could see your folds glistening. But instead of feeling embarrassed, a thrill runned through your body when you glanced down and saw Chan licking his lips, his eyes locked onto your core just inches from his face. He stared at you like you’re the last and most delicious meal he's ever going to have in his life. 

“You smell delicious, noona,” The way he speaks makes you moan softly, your hands instinctively moving to squeeze your breasts. “Bet you taste even better.”

Chan gripped the back of your thighs, pulling you closer until your heat is right in front of his face, his eyes drinking in the sight. His lips find your inner thigh first, sucking a mark into your soft skin, slow and deliberate. 

When he finally placed his lips exactly where you needed him, your hands flew straight to grip his hair, holding tightly between your fingers as your legs trembled from the indescribable sensation of his mouth on you. Still, Chan sensed that you were trying to hold back, worried about hurting him, so as soon as you shifted just an inch away from his face, he pushed you back down, holding you tight against him. 

The gasp that left your lips is a sound you’ve never done before, completely immersed in the pleasure he is giving you. His nose nudges against your clit, his tongue gathering your arousal before his mouth moves over you with deliberate hunger, like a man who has been starving for far too long.

“So good, Channie,” you cried out, body almost falling forward. “Holy fuck!”

The way Chan’s mouth moves on you is pure, unrestrained hunger, and it feels so good that, only for a moment, you entertain your brain with the idea that his mouth was made to exactly what he was doing: eating your pussy. His lips cup your clit, his tongue circling the sensitive bud with slow strokes, alternating with long, deep sucks that make you shiver around him. 

His tongue circles your entrance, sliding in as more of you slick spills into his mouth, all for him to savor. The taste of you—god, he never wants this to end. All day, every day, Chan is sure he could do this for the rest of his fucking life. All he wants is to drown himself in this, inside the wet dream that is you with your pussy right in his face.

Your hands pulled his hair tightly after one particularly harsh suck on your clit, back arching deliciously. Your moans was the only sound filling the room and Chan was pretty fucking sure this is the soundtrack of paradise and he can’t wait to get there. 

When his hands moved to your ass, squeezing tightly, it was as if the last shred of self-control in his body had evaporated. You started to rock your hips instinctively, grinding against his face desperately to chase your release while his nose offered you the most earth-shattering sessions. 

“Oh my god, Chan,” you choke out, closing your eyes shut. 

“Hmm.” His hum sended vibrations through your core and suddenly you had to use his shoulders for balance or you would fall forward on the bed. 

Chan was certain he had died and gone to heaven the moment you started grinding against his face. He could feel your legs tense around his head, and when he opened his eyes to take in the scene above him—hands traveling up your body until they reached your breasts, squeezing them tightly—the way your face crumpled and the sounds escaping your parted lips, Chan knew he was in love.

He was done. Gone. 

There was no one else for him in this world. 

Only you.

You.

You.

You. 

You bucked your hips against his face with more urgency as his thumbs rolled over your nipples in the most delicious way. His other hand found your neck, wrapping around it and squeezing lightly, and your head fell back, granting him free access to do whatever he wanted with you. At that moment, the familiar, intoxicating tingling built in the pit of your stomach, moans and sighs spilling from your lips more desperately and loud as you tightened your legs around his head.

“Hmm, suffocate me, baby,” he murmured, his voice thick and low. 

That was all it took for your orgasm to crash over you in the most intense way, your mind bubbling with euphoria, completely lost in a haze of pleasure.

Chan licked and sucked up every last drop, swallowing your release in loud gulps as if it were the only thing capable of keeping him hydrated. As you let go of his shoulders and collapsed onto the bed beside him, your legs, weak as jelly, trembled uncontrollably, matching the shivers that ran through the rest of your body.

When you looked at him, you saw the dazed, blissed-out expression on his face mirroring your fucked out one, like he were the one who had just come. His red lips were parted, his chin glistening, and you couldn't resist the dopey smile on his face. Leaning in, you pressed your lips to his, tasting yourself on him. With a strength you didn’t even know you had, especially right now, you pulled him on top of you, parting your legs so he could fit there.

Chan barely had time to register the movement before letting out a small chuckle. He broke the kiss for a second, brushing your hair from your face to meet your eyes, your pupils blown wide with a desire that was reflecting his own.

He could only be dreaming.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured against your lips.

Normally, words like that spoken so close would make you shy. But right now, you could feel his hard length pressing against your inner thigh through the fabric of his pants—aching, neglected, and probably leaking.

Your hands traveled from his chest to his pants and you fumbled with his belt, struggling for a moment until your fingers remembered how to work. You unfastened his zipper, hands moving with growing urgency each passing seconds. As you pushed his pants down, your fingers traced the firm and defined lines of his abdomen, the sharp cut of his hips, and the soft hair on the back of his thighs.

The moment you managed to free him from his underwear, Chan’s cock rested on your hip, hard and thick. He groaned at the feeling of your skin against him and and you arched into him, desperate to feel more—to press him even more against you, to take him in.

“Wanna ride you, Channie,” you told him, leaning forward to kiss him again. You reached between you, wrapping your fingers around his cock, feeling him thick and burning hot against your palm. 

Chan let out a shaky breath at your words, his grip on your waist tightening instinctively. His forehead pressed against yours, eyes flickering between yours and your parted lips, as if trying to ground himself, trying to believe that this was actually his reality and not just another figment of his imagination.

“You don’t have to feel obligated, baby.”

“I want it,” You batted your pretty eyelashes at him, and he was lost. “Please.” 

“Okay, noona.”

Your fingers brushed over his jaw, tilting his face up to meet your lips in another deep, searing kiss. Every part of you was incredibly drawn to him, turned on by him, the heat between you almost unbearable now. Slowly, deliberately, you rocked your hips forward, savoring the way his breath stuttered against your lips. 

“You're driving me insane,” he groaned, his hands tightening their hold on you. 

You smiled, feeling the way his pulse raced beneath your lips. “Good. Now lay back for me, baby.”

Chan didn't argue. He shifted slightly, scooting back and patting his tights in invitation for you to hover over his cock. The dim light cast long shadows across the room, highlighting the curve of your back and the way your hair fell around your shoulders. He watched you, his breath catching in his throat as you met his gaze. He lay back and propped himself up on his elbows again, anticipation thrumming through his veins.

You moved with a slow, deliberate grace, straddling him once again, your bare pussy covering his length. The feeling of his cock against your lips sent a shiver down your spine, and you also felt him trembling a little beneath you. 

You paused, savoring his gaze locked on you. His eyes were filled with a mixture of desire and adoration. Smiling down at him, you slid your pussy against his cock, feeling his head rub on your clit. A simultaneous moan escaped from both of you. The next second, his lips were on your breasts, sucking and squeezing the flesh with both hands, clearly impressed by how responsive and sensitive you were to his touch.

After a particularly harsh suck, he released your nipple with an audible pop, the sound echoing in the still-charged air. A smile spread across his face as he watched the flush recede from your skin, leaving a rosy imprint in its wake. 

“Beautiful.” He licked your nipple one more time, gaze locked on yours, as he said,“There's a condom on the nightstand.”

He didn't move, didn't break eye contact, the intensity in his gaze holding you captive. 

“Don't you wanna take me raw, Channie?” you pouted, sliding forward again. “I'm on birth control, and I'm clean.”

He swallowed hard, the muscles in his throat working as he fought for control. Your words, so casually spoken, were a potent aphrodisiac, fueling the fire that already burned within him. The feel of you against him, the heat radiating from your core, was intoxicating, clouding his judgment, making it hard to think straight.

The thought of skin on skin, of being completely, utterly connected to you, was a temptation he wasn't sure he could resist. His gaze drifted up to your lips, then lower, tracing the curve of your neck, the swell of your breasts, the way your hips moved against his. He could feel himself hardening even more, his body betraying his attempts at restraint. 

“Fuck, noona,” He breathed. “Don’t say shit like that.”

“So?” you purred, meeting his gaze. 

“I’m clean too. Put it in. Please.” The words were a raw plea, a confession of his surrender. 

Then, with another soft moan, you took his cock in your hand, lining him up with your entrance, before lowering yourself onto him, the fit perfect, as if you were made for each other.

Chan groaned as you took his full length in, his hands instinctively reaching for your waist, holding you tight against him. He looked up at you, his eyes darkening with passion, while you pushed him just a little to lay down so you could use his chest for support. 

“Fuck,” he cursed out, griping your sides. “You feel so good.”

You began to move, slowly at first, teasing him with each gentle sway of your hips. The rhythm between you built, a slow, sensual dance that sent waves of pleasure crashing through your bodies. Chan's hands tightened on your waist, guiding you, encouraging you, as he moaned softly, his head falling back against the pillows.

“Yeah, baby,” he groaned, voice rough. “Fuck, yes. Just like that.” He arched his back, pushing himself further into you. His hands moved from your waist to your thighs, his fingers digging into your flesh as he urged you on. “Don't stop. Please, don't stop.”

Another slow smile spread across your face. The power you held over him was intoxicating to you, maybe even a little dangerous to your ego. You leaned down, brushing your lips against his. “I wasn't planning on it.”

You increased the tempo, your hips moving with a newfound urgency of driving him to the edge. The rhythm between you intensified, a primal dance of pleasure and need.  

You knew you were already close, that the precipice of orgasm was just within reach. The feeling was overwhelming, a tidal wave of sensation that threatened to consume you entirely. Chan's eyes fluttered closed, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He could feel the tension building within him, the pressure mounting with each thrust.  

You continued to move, faster now, your bodies locked together in a frenzy of desire. The world seemed to fade away, the only thing that mattered was the feeling of him inside you, the heat, the overwhelming pleasure. You were lost in the moment, consumed by the fire that burned between you.

A low moan escaped your lips as he pressed against you, his fingers tracing tight circles around your most sensitive spot. 

“Fuck, Chan,” you screamed, your head falling back, eyes closing as the pressure began to feel exquisite.

He peppered kisses across your chest and neck, his touch alternating between quick pinches and slow, tantalizing rolls of his thumb against your clit. Without warning, his hips surged upwards, driving him deeper inside you. You cried out his name again, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“That's it, baby,” he commanded, “scream my name.”

One arm snaked around your waist, bringing you against him, while the other braced him against the mattress. He began to thrust into you, a relentless rhythm that belied the fact that you were supposed to be the one in control. But neither of you cared. His cock felt so incredibly good inside you, your pussy clenching around him in a tight embrace.

“Chan!” you cried, your voice filled with a mixture of pleasure and desperation.  

The head of his cock found that sweet spot deep within you, and he immediately noticed your reaction, repeating the movement, again and again, until stars began to burst behind your closed eyelids.

The more Chan rhythmically rubbed your clit, the more you felt yourself tightening around him, your release imminent. His breath hitched as you reached your peak, your body shuddering with release. He cried out your name, his own release following close behind as spilled himself inside you. You collapsed against him, your bodies still trembling, your hearts pounding in unison. 

The world dissolved around you, the only thing that existed was the two of you, connected in the most intimate way possible, lost in a sea of pure, unadulterated pleasure. His arms wrapped around you comfortingly, as if he were afraid you'd run away, and you buried your face in his neck, trying to regulate your breathing and savoring the aftershocks, the incredible feeling of your skin melded together. 

Still inside you, Chan almost couldn't believe it at this moment. The reality of you, of this, was almost too much to comprehend. He felt the warmth of you surrounding him, the gentle pulse of your muscles contracting around him, a constant reminder of the incredible intimacy you shared. He looked down at you, your face flushed and relaxed, your eyes closed in contentment. 

He traced the curve of your cheek with his thumb, marveling at the softness of your skin. It was real. You were real. And you were here, with him, wrapped in the aftermath of a moment that had left both of you breathless.

Chan wanted to stay like this forever, locked in this perfect intimacy, lost in the wonder of you. And he knew, with a certainty that settled deep in his bones, that he would do anything to keep it. 

He brushed a stray strand of hair from your forehead, before confessing, “I wanted this for so long.”

Your eyelids fluttered open, and you met his eyes, a soft smile gracing your lips. "Mmm," you hummed, snuggling closer to him. “Me too.” 

A flicker of surprise crossed his face, and Chan blinked. “Really?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.

Certainly, he hadn't expected that. He thought he was the only one clinging to this moment, the only one so deeply affected by it, that he was certain he was thoroughly gone for anyone else. The fact that you felt the same way, that you’d wanted this just as much as he had, sent a fresh wave of warmth through him. 

You nodded, your smile widening. “Really, really,” you confirmed, fingers tracing the line of his beautiful jaw. “I've been wanting this...for longer than I care to admit.” 

He felt a blush creeping up his neck, a mixture of pleasure and disbelief swirling within him. 

“Wow,” he breathed, his voice barely a whisper.  “I...I didn't think…”

“Didn't think what?” you teased, your eyes sparkling with amusement.

He hesitated, suddenly feeling shy again. “Didn't think you felt the same way. I thought...I thought I thought you were just a little bit out of my limit, I guess.”

Looking away for a moment, Chan suddenly felt fascinated by a stray thread on the sheet. Saying that out loud sounded ridiculous, he knew. Seungkwan and Vernon would probably laugh at him if they could hear him now. He was a grown ass man; a successful dancer, yet he felt like a nervous teenager confessing his feelings for the first time to the girl he had a silly little crush on. 

Except it was no longer silly for him anymore, and he was sure the feeling burning in his chest was much bigger than a crush. Love? He preferred to think about it after the effects of the afterglow had worn off.

His mind was filled with something else. For instance, the fact that, once, he'd been so sure you were out of his reach, so convinced that he was lucky just to be in your orbit. To know that you felt the same way, that you saw him as an equal, was both exhilarating and terrifying.

You gently cupped his face in your hands, turning his gaze back to yours. “Out of your limit?” you echoed. “Channie, I’m so in your limit that is actually embarrassing. I’ve always been in your limit.”

He raised an eyebrow, another flicker of disbelief in his eyes. “Always?”

“From the moment I saw you on that stage, two years ago,” you confessed. “I saw something in you, something special. Something...that made me want to get to know you better.”

Chan chuckled, a self-deprecating sound. “And you weren't scared off by my…awkwardness around you?”

You laughed, a warm, genuine sound that filled the room. “Your awkwardness is part of your charm,” you teased. “Besides,” you added, leaning in to whisper against his lips, “I can be pretty awkward myself sometimes.”

He grinned, his earlier shyness melting away. “Is that so?”

You nodded, your eyes sparkling with mischief. “Absolutely. But you'll have to stick around to find out just how awkward I can be.”

He chuckled, his arms tightening around you. “I think,” he said, his voice laced with affection. “I'm willing to take that risk.” Then he paused, a shadow crossing his face briefly. “Can I ask you something, tough?”

“Mhmm.”

“Jongin. Why… why did you date him?”

You sighed a hint of weariness in your eyes. You should have seen it coming.

“Honestly, Channie?” you began, “Because at the time, I didn't think you were interested too.” You met his gaze, your eyes filled with honesty. “Like I said earlier, he showed me the kind of attention I thought I needed. He was…persistent. And you,” you paused, choosing your words carefully, “you seemed…distant. You ran away whenever I tried to talk to you. At least now I know why.”

He winced slightly, recognizing the truth in your words. He'd been so afraid of rejection that he'd inadvertently pushed you away. “I…I was an idiot.” 

You smiled sadly. “We both were,” you shrugged. “But,” you added, a brighter note entering your voice, “we're not idiots anymore.” You leaned in, kissing him softly. “And now,” you gave him another peck, “I have exactly what I want.”

Chan cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs gently stroking your cheeks. “Me too.” He pulled you closer, burying his face in your hair. “Thank you.”

“For what?” you asked, your voice muffled against his chest.

“For giving me a second chance.”

You pulled back slightly, searching for his eyes. “You don’t have to thank me, baby,” you said softly, with a teasing smile playing on your lips. “You just came inside me, I think you earned it.”

A slow grin spread across his face, a mixture of amusement and pure adoration. His eyebrows raised suggestively.

“Oh, is that how it works?” he teased, his eyes sparkling. “So, every time I…you know…” 

You laughed, playfully shoving him in the chest. 

“Don't get any ideas, Mr. Lee” you said, though the heat rising in your cheeks betrayed your words. “I'm a tough negotiator. You'll have to work a lot harder than that to earn my gratitude.”

“Oh, I'm not worried about that. I'm a very hard worker. And, I'm more than happy to put in the overtime.”

“We'll see about that,” you whispered against his lips, though the smile playing on your face suggested you were more than willing to let him try. “You're incredible, Lee Chan. Don't ever forget that.”

He smiled, his heart overflowing with love. “I won't,” he promised. “Not anymore.” 

©sound-of-scoups

If you liked this feel free to let me know with a like, reblog, comment, whatever you prefer! ❤️

A/N: The next morning + Vernon and Seungkwan's reactions to finding out about them were in my plans for the story, but in the end, I thought this ending was perfect and decided not to include. If you'd like to read about it, please let me know here.

[sugarwarachan]

pairing: shigaraki x afab!reader

based on this prompt list: ²⁾ “you’re telling me you really have nowhere better to be than here today?”

cws: FLUFF THIS IS SO FLUFFY WHO AM I, shigaraki is a pining mess, no quirks au, I know nothing about actual corporate offices except that I hate them lol

wc: 600 (a wee babe)

Shigaraki Tomura is not doing well.

For starters, he’s staring down the barrel at a year-long, cry-into-your-pillow-every-night kind of crush, and the object of his affection is literally standing outside of his house in the rain, asking to come in.

On Valentine’s Day.

He’s pretty sure his brain is visibly leaking out of his ears.

“Tomu, are you all right?”

You’d think after months of working in an office together, he’d have a handle on being normal around you, but apparently that’s not the case today. The nickname makes his heart hammer so loudly he can barely hear himself answer.

“You’re telling me you have nowhere better to be today than here?”

Thunder claps overhead. Rain starts pouring down in earnest, pounding the pavement behind you. He ushers you into the entryway, trying to keep his cool when you steady yourself on his forearm to toe off your shoes. Your shirt clings to the curve of your waist in a way he does not trust himself to look at too closely.

“What’s that supposed to mean? I like hanging out with you.”

You can’t be serious. It's you. The last person in the world he expected to be alone on today.

"You know what day it is."

You level him a look. "I do, actually. I have this thing called a calendar. I think you also have one installed on your phone?"

"Ha ha, marketing monkey."

You poke your tongue out at him. "Whatever, creepy IT guy."

He’s happy to sink into this routine, actually. It’s familiar. Touya calls it flirting; Tomura tries not to call it anything.

"I did get you something, though," you say. "For Valentine’s Day."

You hand him a simple red box tied off with a silver bow.

"Don’t laugh too hard at it, okay? I tried."

You’re never uncertain. He noticed that about you right away, assumed you’d be standoffish and rude because of it just like all of his other coworkers.

But you hadn’t been. You’d been kind in the way that made his teeth hurt.

He opens the box slowly, almost reverently. Inside are small, homemade chocolates, all molded in a somewhat clumsy likeness of his dog Mon.

Fuck.

He stares into the box, dumbfounded.

Sure, you play League with him on the weekends, and yes, he’s gone over the days you have coffee with him so many times they're seared into his brain, but that doesn’t mean you like him.

Except—

This is a lovely, hand-crafted gift that makes him feel so wanted he could actually drown in the feeling. It has to mean something. Right?

“Tomu?”

He snaps himself out of it.

"This is, umm." Shit, he actually has no idea what to say. He looks at you, which is a bad idea, because now all he can think about is how fucking pretty you look in his house, next to his things, bending down to greet Mon as he flies from downstairs to greet you.

"That bad, huh?" You pretend to joke, ruffling Mon's ears.

"No!" he all but shouts, wincing mentally before crouching down beside you. Mon rolls over to show off his belly.

"It's the best gift I've ever gotten," he tells you. "No one's ever made me something like this."

And because no one has ever made him something like this, Tomura takes a chance.

"Do you want to stay? You can run a bath while I grab some food and we can make a day of it?"

You grab his hand and thread your fingers through his, beaming.

"I'd love nothing more."

[thefirstlioveyou]

Mike's Core Fear - No, it isn't not being needed/loved, and no, he doesn't actually need El to need him

Disclaimer: this is technically a discussion on whether mike's Enneagram is type 6 or 2, but this is can still read as a general analysis on mike's actual driving fear. i've been stumped on which he is because of his whole thing with wanting to be needed by el, but still somehow matching entirely as a type 6. i realized while how it may seem his fear is not being needed... it's not the core fear driving mike's actions. also, i'm still learning about the enneagram. bare with me if i mess up or misunderstand something lol. and please correct me

Mike isn't a Type Two just because he wants to be needed by El. He just doesn't relate to any of the motivations of a Two. He isn't wanting or expecting appreciation for his efforts. He doesn't feel under appreciated. Even though he technically is, that isn't relevant to him here. He doesn't care about that. It's the exact opposite. Mike doesn't feel deserving. He feels like he does nothing. He feels inferior to El.

If he is not a Two, this means at his core, Mike's deepest fear isn't not being loved/needed like we've been thinking. Don't get me wrong, it is one of his wants (I mean.. Who doesn't want to be needed and loved?). It's something he canonically cares about... It's just not for the reason we've been thinking. It's not what he desires the most. It's not what he truly fears.

I think his core fear is something along the lines of abandonment/rejection and being without support/guidance, making him a Type Six.

i can't really articulate my explanation with all the terminology since i'm still learning more and more about enneagram typing. but I will try to make sense in my own way lol.

here are some quick things that show me mike's afraid of abandonment and to be without support/guidance:

- he is constantly losing will and el throughout the show in different ways, affecting him greatly every time. loss is already a consistent theme in his story.

- mike hides the real reason for his bruise from el, avoiding potential rejection or embarrassment. he doesn't want el to see him the way others do and essentially drive her away.

- before meeting will, he claims to have felt so scared and alone because he didn't have any friends and knew no one. fear went away once he did finally meet someone. not a lot of kids express feeling scared and alone with tears on the first day of school. scared, sure!! who isn't? but scared and alone? now that's another thing, especially just for the first day.

- one of his fears is revealed in dustin's book. he is scared of letting down the ones he loves. what happens when you let someone down? you're at risk of losing that person's respect, love, support, etc.

- will's "what if they don't like the truth?" resonates with mike. this is similar to the point above. mike is afraid to el the truth because he doesn't want to disappoint and let her down - he's at risk of losing her entirely.

- when mike tries to reach el in s2 on halloween through the walkie talkie, he talks about having a bad day and wishing she was there. he also reaches out again to her after having a bad dinner with his parents and being forced to donate his toys as a punishment. he doesn't specify that to her, but it becomes clear why he's trying to communicate to her. he's trying to cope with events in his own life.

- during mike's monologue, he admits he doesn't know how to live without el. hmmm.

that all being said... as you can probably tell, there's a specific pattern when it comes to el lol. i think it's safe to say:

mike doesn't need el to need him - he needs her.

why? well it makes perfect sense. el is his shield. she has protected him from the main thing that brought him trouble his whole life - his bullies (and the supernatural)

But, she is also the superhero he feels inferior to, the superhero he wishes he could be.. but instead is lois lane (actually, he feels even less than her).

season 1, el protects mike and saves him in multiple occasions from bullies. he is saved from getting ass beat by troy. he is saved from literal death. she saves the whole group as a whole in multiple occasions from the supernatural and government.

mike calls her a weapon. this is important because the only thing mike's seen her use her powers as defense at that point was to defend him from his bullies and when him and lucas were fighting. interesting huh?

Before we see her save him from bullies, we are introduced to the group's experience with bullying. we get a scene where mike is tripped and ends up with a scab on his chin, which he hides from her until she manages to get the truth out of him. She tells him she understands.

ALL THIS is why he keeps referring back to her powers and putting her on a pedestal. THIS is why he sees himself as lois lane and her as superman. Without her, he has no actual defense or "weapon." Without her, he would've died because of his bullies. He is projecting what he wishes he could be on her.

"You can fly." no?? she can make you fly, mike

This is one of the reasons why the cliff scene is SO important. Mike and Dustin are confronted with their bullies who are looking for revenge. The bullies threaten Mike. If he doesn't jump off the cliff, they will cut off Dustin's baby teeth. Mike is defenseless. He doesn't have powers. He can't fight someone who has a knife. His aim is shit enough. He can't do anything. He has to jump and throw away his life, ultimately letting the bullies win. With true bravery, he steps off the cliff for his friend. Gone. Oh wait. He's saved by a supernatural force. He doesn't actually fall to death - He flies his way back to the surface instead! Winning against the bullies... The bullies running away scared... Except... that was all of El's doings. Not his. She's the one who saved him and Dustin. Not him. She's the one who gets the praise, not him. Why would he? Over someone like that? Mike gets it. He's just as impressed.

Similar thing happens in the sauna test. While Mike is the only one with the courage to stop Billy from choking El, it still isn't enough. He once again has to be saved by her.

Notice how he doesn't even try to defend himself as Troy goes for him. He's still like he is in the sauna when Billy has him trapped.

He doesn't fight back. He may start the fight... But he never can finish it. It's either physically impossible or because of discouragement. But, that doesn't stop Mike from for some reason trying again. Still no good.

And even more to think about: He goes about how he thinks El doesn't need him anymore. But.. when has she even suggested to him that she needs him? Like, actually? He's literally just assuming that.

S1, before the trauma of losing her, he was genuinely just trying to help her because she actually did need help. S2, she's not even there. He's literally desperately trying to reach out to her without even hearing anything back from her. He's the one that needs her, not the other way around. S3, she literally basically says it to his face she doesn't need him. S4, el's actions to mike are closed off. she lied the entire time. it's not like she was begging for his help and for him the whole time?

We only ever see HER saving and protecting Mike, not the other way around. There is nothing for Mike to think she needs him. Therefore... This whole thing is just another case of mike projecting once again. Classic Michael! Also very much a Six thing - Projection of fears and insecurities.

Now that we got the whole Mike and El thing out of the way..

If he is a Two, and if he fears not being needed the most, and to be needed is *the* desire, where does the forced conformity part of his storyline even come from then?

Seeing him as a Six makes the forced conformity bit align far better than if he really is a Two.

Season 2. He is immediately confused by Lucas and Dustin's interest in Max. He doesn't understand their crushes the whole season and ends up pissed as hell by it. He refuses to let her in the Party and rejects her (something a type two would not do). In his eyes, she is ruining the structure of the group. Lucas and Dustin spend more time with her during Halloween and ruins his day, later complaining about it to El briefly on the walkie talkie.

He just can't understand their obsession with this girl. He is behind all of them, he feels.. at least based on the least possibly obvious blocking /s.

He's alone on this. They all agree on this except him. The structure of the group is falling apart due to crushes and girls when he obviously doesn't want them to go to the direction.

But by the end of the season, while sitting alone at the snowball as the rest of his friends dance with someone, this is where he finally decides to give in and join the rest in growing up and focus on girls. Mike doesn't want to be behind and alone, but he can't stop this change. They have to grow up. He chooses to stick to society's rules because that's the most secure way through. That's where his friends are, his source of support and guidance, so that's where he'll be.

He needs El because he needs the strength and protection she gives that he believes he doesn't have himself, which he must learn to conquer. He does not want to be left behind and therefore conforms to fit in with his friends, pushing aside all the things he really actually wants. Despite his overwhelming insecurities, he wants to be the paladin he is in DnD. He wants to lead a structured group to victory. He wants to lead his own life instead of following societal expectations, even if he's alone on it (which he won't be)

Mike is stuck with lots of fears and insecurities and is afraid of being without support or guidance. "I don't know how to live without you" tells you exactly what Mike needs to learn - How to live without someone like El who shields him. He must become a hero himself and must believe it is possible, regardless of what his little negative head tells him. He is meant to be Superman.

Mike is a six. End of the post.

(specifically 6w7 but not the argument here lol)

[rebelssvy]

can you do frat boy kirishima or sero?

god yes why not both

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

the frat bros ✧.*

kirishima x reader x sero ੈ✩‧₊˚

two individual parts third part you get fucked by both of them. lol!!

summary: smut! anal, double penetration, sex, brief oral sex, spanking, squirting. you met kirishima and sero at a frat party that they hosted. meeting them individually, then later on you have a threesome with them.

꩜

intro: you had been at this party for quite a minute, and your boredom was creeping in. only one thing could save you now. a man.

part one: kirishima

thinking about frat boy! kirishima. the man you found in the kitchen. he stood above everyone and his muscles were prominent in his clothes. the alcohol in your system was doing a great job and giving you the motivation to introduce yourself to him. walking over you stumbled before you could fully get to him. embarrassment flooded your system. ‘you okay babe?’ he laughed pulling you onto your feet. ‘i’m fine just…embarrassed.’ you laughed in your hands. he gave you a firm pat on your back with a hand that lingered. looking up and him, you were smitten. he was gorgeous. ‘your gorgeous.’ he said to you. you gasped. his own words seemed to catch him off guard as well. ‘is this your party?’ you asked him with batting lashes. trying to win him over. ‘well yes, it’s me and my friends.’ he answered. you nodded your head in agreement. ‘want to take some shots? here follow me.’ he lead you to the alcohol, a hand on your back at all times. his touch did somthing to you. after pouring the shots, you had put a cut up lime in your mouth. taking it out just to talk to him, ‘take a shot and the lime is right hereee’ you laughed while putting the lime back in your mouth. his eyebrows raised as he looked back at you with a smile. ‘i like the way you think.’ taking the shot he downed it. making a sour face before his eyes locked back into yours. without a word he grabbed the back of your neck and his lips met yours. you parted your mouth for him to get the lime. your felt his tongue venture in your mouth. he groaned, it was noticeable. it was hot. he parted from you before you could notice. opening your eyes you were met with him smiling at you with the lime in his mouth. ‘i hope i see you later tonight. you know what.. i will see you later tonight.’ and with that he walked away. the heat in your stomach uncontrolled.

part two: sero

thinking about frat boy! sero. you had only really heard of him in stories. the guy that somehow was always smoking a joint, always rolling somthing for the pretties girls there. so tell me why tonight, you were sitting with him. it had been a long long time since you saw your friends and your pretty sure they left by now. but that didn’t matter. not when you were sitting with him. it was a long long time since you had been this attracted to someone. and god u weren’t going to walk away without a kiss that’s forsure. the way his eyes trailed and stoped at some areas of your body. you new he felt the same way. you two were the only ones in the room. he whispered a hush ‘cmere baby’, before he pulled you into his lap. he made the first move a soft kiss on your lips, one hand on your ass and the other holding the weed you two had been smoking on. parting you said ‘you kiss everyone like your a gentleman or is it just me?’ you giggled. he swooned, ‘just you baby, but shit… fuck it.’ it wasn’t until he laid his lips on yours a second time that you felt everything he yearned for. his hips jumped under you and the kisses pace fastened. everything felt hot. on cloud 9 even. slobbering and tongue fucking eachother you groaned when he disconnected the two of you. ‘you like that?’ he grabbed your hips, grinding you against his hard length. ‘mmhm!’ you shook your head. ‘stand up, i have an idea babe.’

part three: both

thinking about the two frat boys kirishima and sero, that just loveeee watching eachother fuck you. the two of these guys controlled the party. and now you were in bed with both of them. one you had shared shots with earlier, and the other you had shared weed. you were truly on cloud nine. you laughed when zero showed you him guy friend that also wanted to have a threesome, because really you thought it would be anyone but him. kirishima laughed too, mostly because he was embarrassed. but now, your the one who is embarrassed. sero watched from his spot on the bed as kirishima fucked his fat cock in and out of you with hard pounding. your boobs bouncing from the force. back arched in doggy style, you slurred and moaned. it wasn’t long until sero took over. kirishima moved out of the way for his frat brother to pick you up. your back pressed against his chest. your legs bent all the way to your ribs. your pretty pussy was on full show for both of them. sero positioned himself into as he fucked you full-nelson. you saw kirishima jerk himself off in your peripheral. sero groaned from behind you. ‘isn’t she pretty bro? fucking taking all my cock like a good girl..’ he says as he pumped himself in and out of you. you moaned in response, clenching your walls around his cock. ‘getting fucked like a whore. fuck yes you like that, i can tell baby.’ sero groaned. you watched as kirishima got up from his spot. coming to see the two of you face to face.slowly he bent over and ran his mouth on the outside of your pussy. sero never faltered. fucking into you with faster pace, as his friend laid open mouthed kisses on your cunt. kirishima looked up at you with litted eyes. making sure you noticed him pumping his big fat cock. ‘fuck can we share her sero?’ kiri asked face still planted on your wet cunt. ‘only if she wants too.’ you shook your head yes before they even asked you. now on the bed, kirishima was under you, sero fucking you from behind. both your holes penetrated, kirishima finding a warm spot in your cunt. sero fucked into your ass. both their rhythms were mind boggling and far too much for you. as kirishima grabbed and twisted your nipples, sero spanked your ass. leaving red patches all over your skin. ‘you fucking like this?’ sero said slapping your ass again. you moaned in response. kirishimas eyes never left yours. as he pounded into even when your lost your footing, he held you up. his strong arms taking a grip on your elbows and angling your back farther. ‘feel that sero? how does fucking her ass feel? tell me about it.’ he said with a coy smirk. making your brain melt. ‘feels like she likes when you arch her back like that. fucking slut has a thing for you. everytime she talks she clenches- fuck so hard-‘ sero says laying his palm on your ass again. the pain felt so good. ‘fucka ah! yeah she fucking likes that.’ sero said again through moans. your pussy was pulling them in. ‘gonna cum? y/n are you gonna cum for us?’ kirishima growled as he pounded into you from beneath you. your body racked, lurching forward. you screamed out obscenities and curses. fuck. they weren’t stopping. both the men fucking you through your orgasm, you felt like you were gonna pee. ‘stop! omg stop! ah-! fuck i’m gon-‘ white liquid squirted out of you, soaking both the men in the process. this was the first time kirishimas eyes left yours, too look at the mess they made. sero pulled out almost right after and came on your ass. ‘fuck. we need to do that again.’ you agreeed.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:··:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:··:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

i’m shameless

[rizzoreads88]

✨People need to realllyyyy learn the difference between the words THOUGHT and PLANNED. ✨

🦇In Azriel bonus chapters he never says he hasn’t THOUGHT further then his fantasies about Elain he says he hasn’t PLANNED further. Since some people like to act like these words are the same let’s look at the actual definition.

(Real life example of what this looks like : before I started dating my husband I liked him so much I thought about him all the time. But I never once planned to actually make a move or planned to be with him because I was way too shy lol and I thought he was out of my league at the time.Did that take away from how much I liked him? Nope. Did that take away from how much I thought about him? Nope. And here we are years later having just celebrated our 10 year wedding anniversary in September)

🌸why would Azriel even be making plans for Elain yet? They are still friends at the moment that happen to be romantically interested in each other yet she is seemingly off limits. She has a mate. Rhysand reinforces this idea that she is off limits to Azriel. So why would he be making any sort of plans just to hurt himself even more feeling she is truly off limits?

🦇Now let’s look at the context of when this is said. When Azriel is talking to Rhysand he’s extremely frustrated. He’s been thinking about Elain for however long and they both made a move on each other and Rhysand stops it right before hand. Rhysand knows Azriel and Elain are interested in each other. He’s also been w Feyre as she’s talked about them a few times and he asks her not to get involved. He was there when Elain told Graysen she didn’t care about the mate bond. Everyone knows Elain is uncomfortable around Lucien. Rhysand knows Elain was about to kiss Azriel too. Not to mention Azriel has moved on from Mor a while ago and has found someone he likes that likes him back and yet again he cannot do anything about it. He sees Cassian and Rhysand with the woman they want but Azriel cannot even kiss the woman HE WANTS that wants him back…. I think we can all understand why he’s frustrated. A lot of what he’s saying is coming from frustration. Remember when Cassian was frustrated and said he didn’t ask to be shackled to Nesta? Do you think he actually meant he didn’t want to be shackled to her or was he just frustrated? Remember when Rowan told Aelin she would be better off dead and punched her in the face? Do you think he truly meant that? Or was he just speaking out of frustration? We know Azriel feels deeper for Elain. We are shown this in his bonus chapter as well…

🌸In Azriels bonus chapter we learn he thinks about Elain daily, he actually loses sleep over her. He saved her Soltice gift and looks at it every night, his razor sharp thoughts go quiet around her, he can read her without his shadows, he has a physical reaction to Eluciens mating bond and seeing her around Lucien, he questions his religion over Elain.. then days later when he’s in training around everyone he’s still upset over Elain… in acosf when cassian mentions elain and nesta fought Azriel has a reaction to it when elain is mentioned, in acosf when Nesta insults Elains personality azriel has another reaction, his shadows get ready to physically attack nesta for insulting elains personality…

🦇You do not feel all these things, do all these things, Be willing to die to get to them, then carry them while your bleeding out if you don’t care for someone. If it’s “just lust” Azriel would have tried to make a move on her long ago and left it at that. “Well it’s just crush” and what’s a crush? It’s when you like someone you are attracted too.

🦇🌸“Well he doesn’t mention having any sort of feelings for elain to rhysand in the bonus chapter” My brethren… it’s a bonus chapter. We are not going to get love or deep feelings confessions in a bonus chapter. Bonus chapters are hints at what’s in the books and hints at what’s to come. Just like in Nessians bonus chapter Cassian wasn’t professing his love to Nesta, he wasn’t thinking about how deeply he cares for her either. It was a interaction between them to show the attraction, connection and tension they had. We didn’t get their true feelings about each other until multiple books later. So obviously SJM is saving all of this for Elriels book too if they get one.

And I’m just going to end it with this. Cassian had thoughts of being jealous of rhysand and feyre and what they had too before anything happened with him and nesta… he was frustrated with how things were w nesta too before acosf and yet no one was like “oh Cassian only wants nesta because she a Archeron sister he just feels entitled to her and doesn’t really care about her”… but when azriel is jealous suddenly it’s bc he’s a desperate incel who feels entitled to women and only wants to sleep w them? Funny how that works.

[bronx-bomber87]

Hello my wonderful fandom! :) We've finally reached the ep we've all been waiting for. The gif below is pretty good description of how I felt when I turned Hulu on this morning LOL

OH my word. I knew this episode was going to be good but I had no idea how end to end good it would be. I mean obviously we were all racing toward that hotel scene. But holy hell. The journey to it was just as good tbh. To quote Sandy Cohen "The appetizer is as good as the main course.” That truly was the case here.

I saw 'S' in the rating and knew we were in for some GOODNESS. I wish the gif library would work for the amazing gifs right after an ep. I'm sure tons have been made. But that'll have to wait till my in-depth ones this summer.

Been trying to keep these brief since their first impressions. But I couldn't with this one. They made it impossible lol Also apologies for any errors that may be in this. I wrote this while having a fever and on cold meds lol. Let us get started on this fabulous ep before my head implodes any further.

7x06 The Gala

We start out at Tim's place. Please let us continue to return here. It's such a happy place for me. Also Genny is backkkkkk I'm so excited. We have missed you my friend. I hope you appear again this season. Makes me so sad Tim saying he’s single. He’s never ever said that in a sad tone before Lucy or post anyone else really. Only her. *sad sigh* This ep hurts so good.

Genny has come with a mission in mind though. Only thing is she needs Tim for it. LOL I am glad she didn't imply he needed to start dating as well. She sure as hell knows where his heart lies. Their sibling dynamic never ceases to amuse me. Wanting to use him to get into the Gala haha Shoot your shot Genny. Get it girl.

Tim of course tries to talk her out of it. Clearly he had zero plans to be there. But his sister is changing that for him. Begrudgingly accepting her plus one offer. Citing he wants to bed asleep by 11pm if he does lmao I love this man. If he only knew where his night would end. Definitely wouldn't be that plan...Such a good big bro doing this for her. I need more of them in my life. I really do.

Seth is MIA and I'm pretty ok with it. Need a break from the kid. The day starts out so great. Grey has them running the arrest your ex event. I'm dying. When I saw this I thought phew lord this is gonna be gooooood. I felt it in my bones.

When Lucy says happy to do it…Tim’s face kills me. I’m dying. If only she could see his dismay. I know she could sense it. She isn't jazzed but isn't going to cause a scene in roll call. So she runs with it. Despite Tim's annoyance.

Tim giving her grief the very moment roll call is over. Lucy is ready with her reply. Had that on deck really quickly there Luce lol Almost as if she had it saved on her phone already....#grumpycop says what? LOL Let the flirting goodness begin. Being married af no matter what. I love them so much. *happy sigh*

Oh my goodness I’m cackling right off the bat. Grumpy x Sunshine in all its glory in this first scene. ‘Really can’t think of another reason?' I'm dying. Tim is so very over this and it's just begun for them. This is classic banter vibes for them and I’m here for it. Lucy trying to be the kind empathetic one. Tim having ZERO patience or tolerance for this nonsense. Letting her know right away he's not a killer. Just a cheater....Lucy's face. Classic.

Lucy calling Tim ‘sir’ and then showing him grumpy cop I cannot you guys. This is so good. I'm grinning ear to ear. Even post relationship she has this man wrapped around her finger. He is at her mercy and will do whatever for her. We see him give in. Turn on his best fake smile and dole out some advice. I'm so giddy I could cry.

‘Was that so hard?’ ‘Pure agony.’ Their banter at it's finest. This is primo level stuff. I wanna inject it into my veins so I always feel this giddy. The level of happy I am right now, I can’t even tell you. Hard to put into words honestly.

I’m loving Lucy keeping him in line and smiling while doing so. All she has to do is tap her phone. Could you be more in love with his grumpy ass my friend? She is very much enjoying this. We all know she loves her grumpy old man. I can’t get over Tim just listening cause she asks him to. Only for his girl. He is beyond fed up with this situation. Especially this man with his puke in a jar. LMAO.

Only Lucy Chen could make this man be friendly to this idiot. He then gets some points back and says they’re super cute together. Why yes sir they are. Thank you for noticing. Anyone with eyes can see their chemistry. But props for pointing it out. Then asks if they’re dating? We’re trying get back there my man. Climbing our hardest. Slow and steady wins the race and all that.

Lucy saying they're just 'co-workers'. Mmhmm and John Nolan is my favorite character. This dude has the audacity to ask her out after that. ‘You’re holding a jar of your own vomit. I’ll pass.’ If you aren't laughing at this I can't help you. This is pure comedy gold.

They finally get a real one. Just as they're about to close shop. This woman comes up very ready to take down her boyfriend. Then she hits on a VERY specific note. ‘You don’t put your drama on someone you love.’ Lucy’s face...That definitely struck a chord. Giving her flashbacks to 6x06. Tim too I am sure of it. Their looks say it all if you ask me...

Of course Tim wants to make it a bet. It's part of their love language to do so. I love this episode so much I’m vibrating. Lucy says his guess is boring LOL I mean it is. I love you Timothy but hers about legos is way better. Tim has to give her hard time about that being her final answer.

She ends up agreeing with him that it’s jewelry ha She just had to throw a Lucy like answer in there before she gave into his logic. Agreeing with him but wanting to add some flare before she did so. heh God I love these dorks.

Oh my. Tim asking her if she’s going tonight? I love the look he gives right before he asks. Just keeps taking his shots with her. My man. She got a room for Galentines but Celina has her dude now…..Frees up the room…. ‘So who knows what’s gonna happen?’ I’m percolating with excitement at this point. I didn't even need coffee as I wrote this to wake me up this morning. This was doing the trick just fine.

Lucy is surprised he is going. Then her anxiety asks the question she's scared to know the answer to. Does he have a date? His answer trails off before he can finish. Oh Timothy don’t do that to her. Leave her hanging. I mean he was gonna tell her it was Genny before he was interrupted. It wasn't intentional but ugh nonetheless.

Let’s take a moment to dissect her expression. Look how distressed and crushed she looks. My heart. So in love with this man still. This hurts so good. Before he can address her absolute panic their van pulls up….Oh Lucy. So distracted she doesn’t even hear him mention that.

Instead of jewelry it ends up being a friggin Tiger.... Her excitement is infectious and makes me smile. I would be the same way. I am Lucy she is me. Exotic animal that could rip my face off but I am still jazzed. Wanting to see it. Tim's face after she gets all excited is too funny. You love this goober of a woman don't deny it.

This scene is VERY VERY telling IMO. Also I am hoping a set up for things to come later this season for them. In terms of having THE talk. Tim your therapy hasn’t fully hit yet and it shows in how he reacts to this man's decision. At first he tries to empathize with him. Then turns his cop brain on. Saying he might as well throw her under the bus too. Get off a little easier. Telling him to just do it since she betrayed him anyways. That she's given up on him. No way he could still love her despite the betrayal...Careful Tim your trauma is showing my sweet.

Tim has grown in a lot of ways since 6x06. Truly he has. This is a sticking point he hasn't gotten through his lovely skull yet. That someone can love you despite the ugly stuff. Despite you not being perfect. Love you just the same and be deserving of that love even though you messed up. It's striking a emotional chord with Tim and he doesn't even realize it. Lucy can't stand it and that's why she tells this man not to do it. It's hitting far too close to home for her.

Lucy showing in this moment why we all love her. Why Tim is such a goner for her. That sunshine empathetic human shining through in this scene. Her forgiving spirit showing up in the most beautiful ways. It's the reason Tim fell so damn hard for her in first place. Why he fell in love all over again the second half of s6. The kindness and empathy shown towards him from her. When he thought he had betrayed her so deeply she would've thrown him to wolves.

What he hasn't figured out yet is she would NEVER ever do that. Regardless of the deep hurt, she stood by him when the chips were down. He still is a WIP in terms of that. it shows in his initial reaction to this situation. Lucy instructs this man despite the hurt not to do it. Tim's look reminding me of the one from 5x19 when she pleaded with her eyes to let the father go.

He ends up caving even if he adds some sass in. The way Tim looks at Lucy when he says 'Lock me up.' Looking at her smiling face. Oh Tim connect the dots my love please. If not now then in the near future. This scene gave me all the feels. We still have some work to do in terms of their relationship. Tim in particular.

Lucy’s relief at seeing Genny is written all over her face. You can see she is ecstatic she's Tim's 'Date.' Also just happy to see her in general. I have no doubt they hung out when they dated. Ganged up on Tim from time to time as well.

Genny forcing Tim to engage. Asking doesn't she look amazing? Tim melting like butter. ‘She always does.’ This man gushing about her in front of other people. This is the change I'm talking about right here. Gah I’m vibrating you guys legit vibrating. The sweet stares I'm diabetic at this point. Lucy can't hold his gaze long especially with company around.

Genny tries to lighten the mood with saying she is ready to flirt it up. Asking if Lucy wants to join her? Lucy’s shot about not dating people at work…Tim's cue to go to the bar. lmao I’m dying this is fanfic level goodness here everyone. I’m delirious. Genny's face is everything after he leaves. Even Celina's date realizes it after they depart. Asking something going on between them? Yes sir. it's been brewing all damn day.

Lucy coming to Tim worried about Balian is sweet. But Tim gives it all of two seconds of thought before he's pining after her. I mean look at those heart eyes. That smile. One I'm sure he flashed her anytime they were alone at home. The man is an absolute marshmallow for her. Lucy calls Tim out for his extreme heart eyes and Lucy smile. Holy cow is this real life?

She knows that smile so very well. You can’t look at her like that, Timothy. Especially looking like a damn snack leaning against that bar. It’s not fair. She has every right to tell you to stop devouring her with your eyes babe. There is a little bit of Tim Bradford Bedroom eyes in that stare too. Mercy. I would be a damn puddle if I was her. Why she has to call him out for it. Basically saying he can't stare at her like that anymore.

It's not fair to her heart to look at her like he loves her. *heart clutch* He then turns around and flirts some more with the grumpy cop thing. Making her laugh with him being the biggest goober ever. I love this side she brought to life. Their smiles as Genny approaches make me squee. I'm nuclear with excitement at this point. He really has softened for her it’s unreal. Making her laugh makes my heart so happy. I can't even. Had to pinch myself to make sure it was real.

Poor Genny can’t get a date cause of Tim. Lmfao I mean we can’t be that surprised? Still that’s hilarious and I’m laughing so hard. She just wanted to get a date and they're all too frightened of Tim to do so. He seems pretty proud of that fact. Cocky Tim coming out to play a bit. This ep has everything. The cute shared look afterwards is very cute.

If we didn't know they were apart you'd think they were together. Lucy turning down the invite out after Tim’s little joke. Stating it's because of an early shift. That doesn't seem to stop you later....Not that I'm complaining. Lucy is about to lose out on her room with Celina hitting it off with Scott...But Nolan’s suite becomes available…..I’m fine letting them rise out of the ashes of Balian's fight right now I really am. Sorry Balian shippers. lol

Just when I think this ep couldn't get any better. We get a sexy Tim takedown. *fans self* Not gonna lie I crossed my legs a bit when I saw this go down. *grabs some ice water.* This episode was gonna kill me before we even got. to that hotel room. Ovary explosion x1000. It's hard to keep Feral Caitlin in her cage with scene like this. Hot damn this is attractive. Lucy touching him instantly after he is done. I'm here for it.

Only reason for this gif is what's going on in the background. Look at Lucy jumping into wife mode taking care of Tim immediately. The attentiveness right out the gate has me reeling. Taking his jacket off for him. Checking him out. I’m lightheaded with happiness. I hope you are as well. I was on cloud 9 at this point and we hadn't even gotten to the hotel room yet.

We get to watch Lucy go into worried wifey mode and never leave it. The sweet way she touches his neck. I'm dead. I am posting from he grave. Lucy lets him know he has a cut there. Luckily Tim has a room they can go to.... Thank you Nolan. He tries to handle it himself but she isn't having it. So she comes up with him… I was getting all tingly with anticipation at this point.

Lucy has Tim take his shirt off make sure there’s no more glass or cuts. Mmmm won’t hear me complaining…. Was kinda relived the kit was there waiting for them. No chance for interruption if it wasn't. I honestly thought it would be the thing to stop them.

Mmmm shirtless Tim. Welcome back to my screen. Yum. God he’s gorgeous. Her resolve was crumbling when he had clothes on. Now he has no shirt….. God speed Lucy Chen lol

Heh calling Tim tough guy oh my word. The banter never stops and I don't want it to. The little joke of unfortunately he will live. Followed by his smile *screams into a pillow* I'm in heaven. The flirt train is continuing to barrel through this episode at mach speed.

My god it’s the soft thanks and you’re welcome in tandem. I’m a puddle. Suddenly he is all in her space and her words die out. She tries to replace them with a shaky ' We shouldn't....' The longing looks I cannot. Before it was bedroom eyes at the bar, with some heart eyes mixed in. This time it’s legit all heart eyes with intense longing he’s aiming at her.

He misses her deeply, and it's evident in the sadness that fills his expression when she says they shouldn't. Gah. Take a look at him after he says 'I know.' The depth of longing he conveys through just his eyes is truly unreal. Any resolve she has left looking up at him with those puppy dog eyes crumbles below.

The way he just tosses his shirt and devours her completely has me reeling. Nothing matters more in this moment than her. He gently envelops her in his arms. The soft way he cradles her face in his hands, like she is his greatest treasure. Because she is. The way he chases after her lips. I’m a damn goner. Feel like I'm in a fever dream.

Captures her top lip like he's done so many times before. Giving me 5x12 vibes with this make out. Lucy's hands all over him in the process. Touching her way down his body. Phew lord. Also like to note I think it's very important Lucy be the one to go for it in this scenario. He would’ve stepped back because she said they shouldn’t. Respected her bounds. But she can’t fight it any longer and goes for it.

And holy cow does she ever go for it. The impatient needy noises coming from her I’m dying. The desperations is real. The moment her lips meet his and her fingers graze his skin, she’s completely defeated in her struggle to resist him. Resist this pull of their's. Wastes no damn time undoing his belt buckle sweet lord. You can hear it. She is ready to go. As is Tim. She has lit a flame and he isn’t wasting a second of it. The needy desperation has me fanning myself.

I love the way he spins her around, savoring her with tender affection. All the while he relieves Lucy of the tie on her dress.*fans self* He is just burying himself in his hair and neck. Losing himself completely in her. I might implode with how tender and sexy this is. The music is on point as always. Tim is chasing after her when she turns around and brings him back to the bed. His desperation coming through ten fold.

Doesn't waste a millisecond before he's diving back in for more when she turns around. Lucy’s face. Holy hell. You can see how much she missed this. Missed him. They’re in it now and she can’t stop herself. There’s still some conflict playing across her features. Knowing they shouldn’t and yet she can’t stop herself from wanting this man. She is conflicted then his lips rejoin her neck and she melts into him. All logic flies out the window after that.

There is a song from one of my fav bands Digital Daggers. From their song ‘In flames.' This moment reflects it IMO.

'Keep your confessions 'Cause babe I'm no saint , We're playing with fire But I like this game And I know your devils I know them by name When you look my way Oh, I'm not afraid With your kiss on my skin And this mess that we're in

In flames (we're going down, we're going down, we're going down) '

Definitely playing with fire in this moment and we're here for it.

We get the morning after. I was not expecting this in the least. But this episode continues to surprise me in the best way. Also hello chest hair on Tim. They need to leave that for future reference. I’m very much for it. Holy cow everything about him just makes me so damn feral it's insane. He is sex on two legs walking. Man he looks good.

The awkward looks upon waking up have me cackling. Tim's face when she starts to get up LMAO. Eric the king of expressions came to play. Tim breaking the awkward tension by saying he's awake. Lucy replying 'Right. Of course he is. He's like a rooster she remembers.... 'Ugh my heart.

I love Tim being the one to wanna talk this out. Again. He's gotta be the one to bridge the gap. Especially this go around. Not wanting this moment to pass by without suggesting it. Lucy of course even with her lapse in resolve isn’t sure why they would. She is still hurting and with good reason. Tim you gotta make this right babe. Oh my lord.

We see Lucy retreat at this offer of a talk. Passing it off as 'Classic case of ex sex on Valentines.' Oh it’s so much more than that my girl. I'm getting 5x01 flashbacks of ‘It's basic biology right?’ Lucy trying to have Tim give her the out of talking about this just like she did then. Pass it off as something that isn't a big deal when it is.

Tim shies away due to this. Agreeing with her ex sex theory although his body language does not in the least. Hoping he can at least hide his disappointment if he turns around. Feeding her a line about it being a singular moment in time. Mmhmm...Sure. Lucy agreeing with his BS line.

That fear running through her and needing a way out to avoid this conversation. So she runs with it. Trying to talk herself out of it more by saying it needs to be in their rear view. Never to be talked about again. Tim's defeated and slightly hurt 'Great...' Lucy can sense it. You two are idiots but I love you.

Gah, you can watch the internal battle on Tim's face. Reminds me of 5x01 once again and him psyching himself up to talk. We get our first ‘Lucy.’ of the season. Definitely was not where I expected it to be. Sadly after he builds up the courage he just says 'See you at the station'…*forehead smack* Oh you two. Killing me softly. She wanted him to go for it and he didn’t. Disappointment just littered all over her body language when he doesn't.

Lucy looking like she wants to go back in but the door closes. UGHHHH. Effectively making the decision for her. It is a good she wanted to go back but this is Tim's fight ya'll. And he knows it. He's so frustrated with himself for not fighting more for her in this moment. Lord this is good but killing me. Hurts so good never felt more prevalent than it does in this scene.

Tim ever the gentlemen having her enter first. His chivalry never ceases to make me happy. The energy in that elevator is charged to say the least. So Lucy straight up says she didn’t regret their night together. I love this. Letting him know she has zero regrets about jumping him last night. Heh Tim replying right back saying him either. These two idiots in love. What am I going to do with you?

Lucy adding in it it can’t happen again. Ok sure…..you both messy. And I’m not mad about it. Tim's sad 'I know.' Not agreeing it can't ever happen again. Just he knows it shouldn't...Lucy following that up with it can't for a million reasons. I mean they haven’t had THE talk yet so I get it. I truly do.

That's definitely one of the reasons for me. As fun as that lapse in judgement was, it still needs to be followed up with a real convo. Tim coming up with his own reason of the Chain of Command issue. *Grumble* he is back in her chain of command again even with being her being a T.O. Le sigh. Even though their tones suggest they could give a single fuck that he is this time around lol That definitely wouldn't keep them for repeating the night before is my guess.

The flirting my god though. Tim using grumpy cop again to make her smile and laugh. We all know she loves his grumpy ass. It's one of the things she truly loves about him. That smile after he says that tells me everything. That most definitely is on the list of BS reasons for why they shouldn't. Tim keeping the flirt train going by saying he wasn’t grumpy last night though. Heh no you were not.

Her face my god you two. ‘No, you definitely were not.’ No transparency at all saying how happy he was last night with her. She doesn’t stop him either knowing she wasn’t 'grumpy' either. They're not even trying at this point. Basically saying they had a great night in bed together. No regrets. One of their many things they're so good at hehe. Imma need a fic of that night LOL The flirty smiles and stares. Tim almost reels her back in with it. The ding of the elevator breaking them out of their UST filled revere.

Lucy trying to keep it together as she exits. Tim hot on her heels. Ooooh lord I’m excited to see where this goes. Tim you still have some work to do. That much is clear. I'm glad them hooking up didn't serve as a fix all. Because this SL deserves more than that. They deserves more than that. The promo for 7x07 ‘Don’t make the same mistake I made with Lucy. Fight for her.’ Um sir you need to fight for Lucy right now. She is waiting on you for it.

I hope this Balian crisis puts that into focus for Tim. Because if this ep proved anything it's that. He needs to fight for her more and prove to her why she should give them a second chance. The feelings are clearly still there. So much so she relapsed into her resistance to keep him at bay. Hot damn this was a good episode I am buzzing. I cannot wait to see what the rest of this season holds for them. Gimme Gimme.

Thank you thank you to anyone and everyone who loves, comments (love me some comments) and reblogs these. They are a true joy for me to make. So I am grateful for any and all engagement with them. I shall see you all in 7x07 :)

Side notes-Non Chenford

#grumpycop. Only cause it’s Vday and he has no Lucy. Also anniversary of the necklace…amazing though. Fantastic cold open.

Wes is too excited for that he’s tipping his hand. Glad Angela figured it out without Wes compromising his lawyer oath. Using that dude to get her stuff done LMAO.

Look at Celina just taking charge cause Nolan is distracted af at a scene. Proud of her. Scott dude seems tad needy don't love that.

Sad about Texas and his girl but realistic af. Appreciated that.

Bailey being pissed about the judgement. Can't say I blame her. I mean instead of understanding John jumped right to judgement but he is also right in being upset she didnt' share that with him. Shall see where that goes.

[alacants]

Ok you might not be interested in this but you seem to be the tennisblr discourse person and your takes are so great so feel free not to answer haha - but I feel like this fandom collectively is sleeping on the potential of Novak/Carlos? Something about this Fedal baby appearing when all Novak's real rivals are gone who is openly affectionate with Nole like neither of them were. & the pain of Carlos losing matches he's expected to win very publicly to him all the time & getting criticised for falling for Novak's "mind games" (lol) but still not making any effort to stay away from him. And all the titan/titanito stuff IDK it compels me

kdlfjakldjf idk if i would describe my niche in the ecosystem in such maximal terms but. flattery will get you everywhere.

most importantly, you are RIGHT. there is massive potential here, in both their on-court history and their off-court dynamic. in fact there's so much material that i'm struggling to shape my thoughts into a coherent answer SORRY IN ADVANCE. ← need to stop acting like this isn't the norm.

ok first of all. rpf aside, this rivalry is fascinating because carlos alcaraz is doing more than anyone else around to validate novak's current day stature as a tennis player. and novak's at the stage of his career where you start to think about your legacy not just in the wider world but within tennis—how will you be remembered and talked about by those who inherit the sport from you. 

roger federer is the very, very obvious measuring stick. take this video (obligatory zverev & kyrgios warning). in a vacuum you'd never know who barely played half these guys versus who was out there making mincemeat of them on the regular while also holding every record known to man. such minced meat that those achievements aren't necessarily seen as a success for you so much as a referendum on them. 

and then along comes carlos alcaraz. and for reasons fair or unfair, tennis fans are so hungry for his arrival. they want to a new star, they want to see him dominate, and they want it to look exciting. and some tennis fans, in particular, would love to see novak djokovic get washed. 

which at first is what looks like is gonna happen. carlos wins his first wimbledon final at novak's expense. the emperor's been toppled, ding dong the witch is dead—and then cincinnati. then wimbledon again, and not even close, he's really for real dead, this time it's gonna take—and then the olympics. which is the first major final loss carlos has ever experienced, tears and all. and then the australian open, where carlos has set his sights loudly and uncompromisingly on the title and the career slam and the record. only guess what. not yet. 

and now novak is indisputably part of carlos' narrative, an active agent in a living breathing rivalry with a flesh-and-blood player instead of ghosts and record books. everyone says carlos alcaraz is the real thing. and that means that so, still, is novak. 

(meanwhile, in the space of 12 months jannik sinner happened. but i can't get into that or this post will REALLY get out of control.)

that's on court. where carlos plays not like rafa but like roger, and there's no way novak doesn't see that. ("spanish never die" notwithstanding.) off court, it's like falling into a mirrorverse. carlos isn't just willing to share the spotlight he's eager to have company. he is singlehandedly trying to yank the player he's identified as his closest peer up there on the same level with him well before anyone else gets it. and he thinks novak is one of the greats.

like yeah man WHAT IF time-traveling roger federer actually loved you. here's round two with a certified tennis genius who doesn't resent you and everything you represent and does laugh at your jokes and respect your achievements and speak in glowing terms about how you play tennis. it's gotta feel good, right?

and yet. not good enough to stop novak from doing what he has to do to win.

there's something similar yet very finely distinct about novak and carlos as top players and people persons. i'm boiling it down to, for novak it's being friends won't stop my talent and for carlos it's my talent shouldn't stop us from being friends. (i would say that's also roger coded, except imo roger's initial take, in the mid-00s, was that his talent very well MIGHT stop you from being friends and that's okay, he doesn't hold it against you. <3) in both cases, the feelings are genuine, and so is the confidence. 

novak's always wanted to be liked. he's the funny guy, he wants to make people laugh, he wants to be friends, but he is absolutely and totally unwilling to compromise the things that might make it easier to keep those friends. given a choice, he will always choose being the best. and if someone, or someones—especially someones—doesn't like him, well. for better or worse, he's learned to feed on it. this is no different. friendship and respect and affection and praise are not going to stop novak from using every tool at his disposal to win. every bit of understanding he's gained about his opponent as a person and a player. 

(my take on this is not actually negative by the way. if you're a professional athlete it's your responsibility to use those tools and to play the person as well as the player. also coming to the mind games sport and complaining about the mind games is like going to the circus and complaining about the clowns.)

i think that ao qf moment was so telling—the moment carlos was faux-limping and looking over at novak's bench with this sort of injured confusion like, why are you doing this to me. betrayed dog vibes to the max. the comments afterward as well. the tear was very real, but the reaction says a lot. like welcome to the novak djokovic experience kid! bff phrased it as "the phenomenon of accepting novak djokovic's overtures of friendship and inadvertently letting him into your psyche just enough for him to fuck with you the next time you play. he should talk to rafa about it." this isn't the only interpretation, but it sure is a tasty one.

and yet. carlos is demonstrably a lover not a hater. i would bet anything that—especially with the injury details out there—it's not going to change anything even if, like, IT SHOULD. there is this bit in anon's fic one is silver and the other gold, which is one of my favorite carlos & novak dynamics: Carlos wants to hate him. It would be easier; everything would be easier if he could hate all the people he's supposed to, for "proper competitive mindset" or whatever. But as usual, he just doesn't have it in him.

idk i think there is a ton of fascinating stuff to dig into wrt regret and cycles and second chances and novak's impending mortality and the nature of genius. i do think it's ultimately doomed but it's still really interesting. 

(or alternatively i mean. maybe the impending mortality DOES make the difference. maybe novak does get out of the time loop! like, i am most personally compelled by all of the above with the invisible presence of andy murray haunting the narrative BUT there is a pretty funny romcom alternative with novak's friend (!!!) and coach andy murray immediately clocking what's up and being like nole please don't get your heart broken by a twenty-one year old, which, HEY novak's been around the block a few times he's not gonna do something stupid… <- he is absolutely gonna do something stupid.)

[synergysilhouette]

11 more hot takes/unpopular opinions with DC and Marvel Comics

Originally this was 10, but I had one more to mention. And remember how my first post was Marvel-centric? This one is DC-centric.

Starfire and Arsenal were better Outlaws than Bizarro and Artemis and deserve another shot--I know I phrased this like a fact, but all this is subjective. I find Arsenal and Starfire more interesting characters and enjoy their chemistry with Jason and their romance with each other. I just wasn't crazy about the art we got for their run, nor the blatant oversexualization of Starfire.

2. Harley Quinn and Red Hood are the next-gen Joker and Batman (and I ship it)--I've thought about this forever, but Jason's broody, solitary-except-when-he-needs-to-collaborate nature reminds me of how Batman is commonly depicted, though Jason is a more violent version. Harley, being a whimsical and goofy antihero, thus feels like the next-gen version of her ex (though I understand if you find Punchline or Joker's Daughter as more deserving of that). I'd also love her on an Outlaws team with Jason and Ghostmaker.

3. Jamal Campbell is the best cover artist for DC--His Nightwing art has me in a chokehold, and I love it! I also appreciate him making Nightwing curvy without it being from an ogling angle (see #5). That said, his actual work on Nightwing's issues isn't as good, but I think that's a time issue.

4. Travis Moore is the best issue artist for DC right now--I fell in love the moment I saw his work on "Wonder Woman." He's who I'd want as the artist for a "Red Hood and the Outlaws" series with Starfire and Arsenal. Really want him to do Nightwing, Titans, and a Tim Drake solo. Serg Acuna is a close second, but I'm not crazy about how he draws jawlines; they're more angular while I prefer them rounded.

5. DC needs to stop objectifying Nightwing--It's one thing to be sexy; that's cool, and it's something that the subject can (kind of) control. But Dick is constantly objectified and harassed, as well as being the victim of sexual assault on more than one ocassion. Personally, I headcanon him "being okay" with the harassment and objectification in-universe due to the trauma of being assaulted and not wanting to make the situation worse, but in any case, he should be a superhero first, sex object second. You can have him be attractive without predominantly being eye-candy; I hate how Harley Quinn's tv show, "Gotham Knights," and "Nothing Butt Nightwing" wanna not only bring attention to him solely for his curves, but make him vain about it just so no one can criticize the harassment.

6. Marvel needs to stop going the demon route with Nightcrawler (especially now)--Given Kurt's kindness and Catholic faith (that fluctuates based on the writer, I guess), his appearance as a blue creature with a tail is mainly for ironic purposes. I hate how every ow and then, they like to lean into the demonic angle for him, since it undermines his character SO MUCH. Plus since his birth has been retconned (hopefully for the last time), it makes no sense to connect him with demons.

7. Iceman has fallen out of favor with me--I don't think his solos have been very interesting, and it feels like they've made his sexuality a personality trait. I'd prefer he just stays a team member on an X-team (and eventually date Somnus if Daken is still unavailable).

8. Major X needed a rehaul, but he had potential--I already did a post on this, but the gist is that he needed a new everything: different dad (because not everything has to circle back to the Summers-Grey clan), different powers (because OP telepaths are a dime-a-dozen), a more unique costume in design and color, having a different storyline than "I came to prevent a terrible future," and MAYBE make him from Earth-13729 because I like some of the characters. Basically just keep Storm as his mom, lol. And this isn't a must, but as an advocate for more original LGBT+ characters, making him part of the community wouldn't hurt.

9. Russell Dauterman and Lucas Werneck are the best artists at Marvel right now--This is my "argue with the wall" opinion, lol. They've made amazing art, and I wish they'd do the art fr every X-Men comic, imo.

10. Where are the Gargareans?--It disturbs me that in the course of 15 months, DC has two storylines about a young man abandoned by his Amazonian mother and being (understandably) bitter about it when he finds out. Not to say everything would've been fixed, but aren't the Gargareans the male counterparts to the Amazons? The circumstance of sons of Amazons being abandoned by their mothers as per the rules of Paradise Island is never resolved despite the son's frustration and hostility. It's just like "oh yeah, that happened. Moving on!"

11. HiC was necessary (just not as it was)--We didn't need a murder plot for this to be good. Booster Gold and Harley QUinn being a duo with cute shenanigans around a serious premise was enough. Left these heroes get therapy once a year (or more; the issue could just be annual), and let us see these characters GROW, creating a stricter writing style for writing them rather than the flimsy style superheroes often face with different writers or when publishers go through a change in priority.

Hope you enjoyed this post! Any hot takes you agree with?

[comicbookgirl2]

My cringy re-write for Dr Sawyer storyline for Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I’m not saying I dislike chapter 4! I actually like it quite a lot! This is just what I would’ve done for the doctors side of things!

Dr Sawyer is still helping the prototype like he is in the original only this time he is secretly trying to undermine him as well. With the power of the Omni hand/chip He has a small faction of his own- but unlike either Poppy’s (sensible toys) or the prototype (toys that toe the line of insanity) his are completely feral, lacking any remnants of the humans they once were, save for the loyalty that he’d forcefully implanted into them before he’d been betrayed by Playtime co.

But this is where we diverge from cannon. You see a bit after the hour of joy - he catches wind of Poppy’s displeasure of the prototype, and being in the position he is - he can’t help but agree with her. So he makes a proposition with her- and using his database informs her of possible survivors. Perphaps one of them could give her the assistance they need and put an end to the prototypes reign of terror.

Of course she and the rest of safe haven wisely don’t trust him but what option do they have? So little by little poppy plans with the doctor but when she leaves to finally send the letter she’s intercepted by the prototype who surprise, surprise had been informed by Sawyer of the entire scheme. (Yeah he’s double crossing people lol)

The prototype locks Poppy up, and now Sawyer (wanting to buy himself some time via providing more proof of his ‘usefulness’) sends his minion bodies to descend upon the safe haven residents, capturing some and killing others.

It’s a huge blow to safe haven especially when coupled with the loss of Poppy. But for the doctor it’s a flawless victory as he reveals the plan to the prototype who allows the letter to be sent out to the player.

Cut to the time when our player is there, you still run into his minions like yarnaby and pianosaurus (who’s Sawyer’s guard dog in this world as well) and his henchmen (other computer bodies) attack safe haven as well.

but you also see that sawyer has been doing some experimentation of his own- gathering parts to build something. What you may ask?

Simple- he’s rebuilding a body for himself- one without meat that won’t rot and age.

His interactions with you are somewhat similiar- malevolent and cold (almost coming off more like a computer than human during the initial interactions) until he asks you to betray Poppy and join him. He tries to use his feral toys to make you see how frivolous it is to help them but ultimately you refuse.

So he puts you in the same room as the trapped critter giving you a choice between your life or its own. This time you can hear the critter talking- it even remembers you, and pleads with you to save it. This is one of the critters Sawyer took from the safe haven and broke to prove a point that all the toys are the same regardless of how ‘sane’ they appear to be, all the while the critter asks for help.

And this time. You do.

Both to the critter’s amazement and the doctor’s disgust you save it. The critter initially follows you for a bit before scampering off asthe boss battle proceeds as originally save for a different part where you battle Harley in his new body- this one is far stronger and more dangerous than the others and corners you about to deliver the killing blow when the critter you save from before reappears and saves you almost at the cost of its life. But it works and you defeat Harley.

I know, I know it sounds cringe but hear me out!

Harley has always looked down on things like altruism, and empathy. He yelled at Ludwig for it. So him being defeated by it would be ironic wouldn’t it? Almost bringing things to a full circle while making you once again think about Doey/Poppy’s conundrum! That maybe there is things- people in the factory that aren’t worth throwing away.

[eirakairos]

Memories - Fall to Pieces

Pairing: Caleb x MC

Summary: Caleb promised to accompany you every time and he uphold that promise... Until the one time, he didn't.

A/N: I didn't expect to write this one a bit long lol This is comprised of the fondest memories I had with my childhood friend (who is now my partner).

Inspired by the song Fall to Pieces by Avril Lavigne

Words: 3.1k

Tags: childhood memories and friends, jealousy, them being in bands, vaguely confession, a big misunderstanding

You are done with your class and walking to the gymnasium to wait for Caleb’s basketball practice. The school is in a moody ambiance due to a storm passing by. Along the way, girls are staying and watching the basketball players doing their drills, you definitely thought they were watching Caleb. You looked at your childhood friend being focused and doing running exercises again. You sighed, it isn’t surprising that many girls liked him… Because you felt the same way too. Well, he is a varsity player in basketball and was also in a band, he just finished his rehearsal with his bandmates earlier.

It is weird at the same time, as you don’t have the guts to confess fully. The closeness, the care, is already in a package. One of the things you love is you and him going home together, it always has been since. It’s been a constant and you always look forward to him or you waiting for each other.

Many people think you two are together, but since there is no official label on what you two are other than being best friends, especially since Caleb is not protesting, many still give gifts or confess.

But Caleb always declines, which makes you wonder why. Maybe he is not that interested in relationships?

The rumble of thunder broke your thoughts, and you were surprised as the rain fell harder.

“Are you okay?” you heard a familiar voice. You looked at Caleb, wearing his varsity jacket and carrying his guitar. “That was a bit loud, it's only thunder,” he reassured. “I’m alright, no need to worry to me about that,” you said, a bit annoyed but it did humor him. “Sorry if it took so long, we started late because of the storm,” he reasoned. “It is still raining, I guess we have to stay here till the rain passes,” You looked outside, it was getting dark and it's still raining, much worse this time. “Do you have an umbrella?” you asked. “I forgot mine at home because I was late,” Caleb sighed. “As much as I wanted to tell you I told you so…” he chuckled when you pouted. “I didn’t forget mine, but it broke, so I don’t have one either,”

You sighed. “I want to go home, I’m getting hungry. Maybe we can run in the rain?”

“I don’t want you to get sick,” Caleb said.

“Eh, I can just take a shower,” you reasoned. He sighed, he was looking forward to eating hotpot with you. “Alright, alright, when it's drizzling a little, we can go,”

It wasn’t long before the rain stopped and you two decided to go at it. Caleb is holding your hand as you two brisk walk on the road. Your other hand was covering your ear, as the thunder was getting frequent and loud. It started to rain again and Caleb had to think fast, gladly he saw a small building with a roof. “We are almost there,” he comforts you as you two start to run towards the building.

You two are standing and waiting for the rain to calm down, yet thunder is still rumbling loudly, and now, you can see lightning as well, making you flinch. While you are looking at the gray sky, Caleb is staring at you. “Hold this,” he said as he gave you his guitar. You did comply, letting the guitar rest on your foot. He went behind and covered your ears. Your heart beats a little fast as your face feels warm. The sight of lightning suddenly flashed, but it was much closer, the thunderous sound followed, making you flinch and lean closer to Caleb.

“Hey, it's alright. In thunder, I get it. But lightning… Lightnings are beautiful,” he said. You looked at him as he smiled at you. You pouted. “You say that to someone who had a history of astraphobia?” Caleb chuckled. “Sorry,” he smiled. His hands are remained to your ears, but you can still hear him, even his breathing. When the rain calmed down a bit, he grabbed the guitar from you. “Come on, let’s speed up till we reach home. The rain won’t be getting away anytime soon,” Caleb said. He places the guitar over his head as he grabs your wrist. “Wait! You’re using the guitar as a shield? Caleb, are you crazy?!” you exclaimed. Caleb smirked. “Don’t worry, I’ll wipe it off the moment we reach home and… Well, you are hungry, right? It is a priority to make you a warm meal,” he said. “But Caleb, it's your guitar!” you said. You were touched but it is a bit ridiculous. “It’s a cheap guitar, I’m planning to buy a better one, anyway,” he followed. “Still…” you said. He tugs you closer. “It’s alright, come on, we’ll run on the count of three…” You nodded as you looked at the wet road.

“Three…”

“Two…”

“One…”

“Happy Linkon New Year!” You yelled as firecrackers were being lit and fireworks were all over the sky. You are celebrating in your friend Tara’s house. You don’t want to celebrate alone, ever since your Grandmother died and Caleb… He is at Skyhaven. He promised he would be home after the New Year since it is packed with people going home on holidays. You are excited about him being back in Linkon again. He has been busy being a pilot with a side gig of being in a band.

You brought Caleb’s old guitar again as the holidays made you visit the old house to check if everything was well. You did send the guitar for repairs to restore it to a better shape. Everything was nostalgic, especially the guitar, as you remembered when you two ran in the rain with the guitar over your heads. He did wipe it off when you arrived home and had a good hotpot together. You started joining bands as well and creating music. After the festivities, you are singing songs, mostly from the songs Caleb used to play. But there is this particular song that you often remember Caleb from when you played it since middle school.

You are concentrating on singing, knowing the lyrics by heart.

“And I don't want to fall to pieces, I just want to sit and stare at you…” You strum the guitar. It still lets out a good melody but it's not as clear as the guitar nowadays. Tara was singing along with you, as she knew the song too before someone knocked on the door. “I don't want to talk about it… And I don't want a conversation, I just want to cry in front of you… I don't want to talk about it…”

“Hey, pipsqueak,” It made you stop singing and look behind. You saw him, Caleb… You smiled wide until your eyes moved a little.

A girl was standing beside him.

You placed the guitar down and went to them. “It’s been a while since we last saw each other, no hug?” He smiled and gestured for you to get closer. You smiled again as you got closer, big arms enveloping you. You missed that familiar warmth, you missed his hugs.

“Happy Linkon New Year,” he greeted. You missed him. “Happy Linkon New Year,” you replied.

You parted from Caleb, and both felt a bit awkward. “Oh, this is my friend and bandmate,” Caleb introduced her to you. She looks pretty and smiles at you. You didn’t know that Caleb’s band has a new member. “This is my childhood friend,” he said in return. You wished he called you by something else, but that’s all you two have.

Tara called everyone for the first meal of the year. Everything was a blur. You remained quiet as you ate beside Caleb, and beside him on the other side was his bandmate. You are not sure if this girl is his girl friend or girlfriend.

“Oh that guitar, can’t believe that still survived,” Caleb said, amused. “We will be having a gig next week, are you free?” Caleb asked. “It will be her first debut in the band,” he continued. You started to feel annoyed but kept it in, you don’t want to be rude to the other person.

“I think so? I have a set of band rehearsals,” You answered. “You’re in a band?” Caleb asked, looking surprised. You just hummed. “Yeah, I went back three months ago,” you said nonchalantly. Caleb squinted his eyes but remained in his chill demeanor. You don’t remember if you indeed told him, but he has been very busy for months you rarely had calls from him anymore. He didn’t tell you about this new bandmate, so you felt good you didn’t tell him you went back to joining bands again. “You’re in a band? That’s cool!” the girl said. “Why don’t you and Caleb make a band together?”

Caleb only looked down. He tried many times to ask for you to join him but you often refused. He really doesn’t know the reason why, he would love for you to make a band with him. “She is picky,” he replied. “Our creative pursuits don’t mix well, so it's for the best really,” he followed. You snorted internally at his answer. “He and I jam whenever he goes home, that’s fine by me,” you spoke.

After a couple of hours of eating, drinking, chatting, and playing music, it became more solemn and went to a close. “It’s been fun but I should be going now,” his bandmate said, smiling. “Okay, I’ll accompany you and be going home as well,” Caleb said. You paused and looked at them leaving at the door. Something bubbled inside you, maybe it was jealousy, maybe this disconnect between you and Caleb. You were feeling a little upset, a little.

After thirty minutes of trying to distract yourself from your thoughts, “Tara, I’ll be going now, happy Linkon new year,” you smiled. “Oh, okay, I’ll accompany you,” she said. “Ah, no need, I can go home on my own,” you replied. “Are you sure?” she asked, but she had a feeling why you preferred to be alone for a bit. “Yeah! You did a lot of preparations today, you should rest,” you reassured her.

You were walking in the middle of the night on an empty, dark road. It was drizzling a little but it's not that strong. You don’t care about being wet at the moment and the fact you are carrying Caleb’s old guitar, you just felt hurt earlier. Caleb just left you there! You feel you’re being irrational but you can’t shrug off this feeling for some reason. He promised he would always bring you home, always staying by your side. But you remembered his figure walking away with someone else, leaving you there.

You decided to stay at the old house instead of going back to the apartment. You just miss the memories you had with this house, you remember Caleb teaching you guitar and then playing together without any worries. Now, he feels he is far away, he is popular everywhere he goes, from middle school to university, to when he became a pilot and a musician. While you, you felt stuck, or behind, or maybe you feel you’re behind his shadow. You try to fight it off and want to be beside him instead. You cried your eyes out when memories surge to you like waves. You missed when the world just consisted of Caleb and you. As you two grew older, you diverted paths, he is destined for better and wider things and you are happy for him. But it feels like the distance is getting bigger.

“I feel pathetic…” You sighed and played that song again. “I can’t even play the song in front of him,” You only play that song in secret, just to feel comfort and confirmation… That you still love him, much more than friends.

“And I don't want to fall to pieces, I just want to sit and stare at you…” You strum the guitar. It reminded you of the times he went to university for the first time, you are crying like this too, missing him, but you felt much better after playing the song. “I don't want to talk about it… And I don't want a conversation, I just want to cry in front of you…”

“I don't want to talk about it… Cause…” You bit your lip, you sniffed from crying earlier.

“Finish the song,”

Your eyes blinked and looked behind. You almost dropped the guitar as Caleb walked closer while his arms were crossed. You didn’t even notice he was there. You felt words were stuck in your throat.

“Wha-What are you doing here?” you asked.

“Why did you leave Tara’s house?” he said.

“Huh?” you said, confused. “I do need to go home and I can do it on my own, you know,”

Caleb looked frustrated. “I went back and Tara said you already left. I had to run and look for you,”

“Why? You don’t need to, I’m not a kid anymore, Caleb,”

“Then why were you acting that way to my bandmate?” He said, staring at you. And you thought he doesn’t know you that much anymore.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said.

“Whatever you’re thinking is not true,” he said as he sat down. “I was going to tell you about the new bandmate, but we had rehearsals and gigs. The only thing I can do is introduce her to you in New Year’s, the other members were supposed with us, but they went home to their families for the holidays,” he explained. “She lives alone, so it would be good for her to celebrate with us, but that’s only it,” There was silence. You recalled the memory earlier at Tara’s house, you were passive in the conversations and avoidant. In a clearer view, they seemed to be only friends and bandmates.

“You broke your promise,” you finally said it. Caleb was surprised and then got confused. “What promise?” he murmured then it clicked on him on why you left. He sighed. “I was going to accompany you home. I went to Tara’s as fast as I could, but you already left. I was excited to walk with you to home again,” he explained further. “I don’t break my promises and I die trying, you know that,”

You were quiet and looked at the pouring rain from the window, with claps of thunder. You’re sensitivity is more tolerant now unlike when you were young.

“Now that’s out of the way,” he sighed in relief as you didn’t have any rebuttal. “It’s my turn, why did you form a band and didn’t tell me?”

“Does that matter? You’ll know it eventually,” you answered. “I wanted to form a band with you for so long, and it's easier for you to join others,” Caleb said, looking annoyed. “Why don’t you want to make a band with me? It feels like… You don’t want to spend time with me anymore,” You looked up at him, you didn’t know he was upset about it. Caleb felt that distance you felt as well. “No, Caleb, it’s not that,” you sighed. “You’re just… Too good to be my bandmate,”

His eyes flickered, eyebrows furrowed. “Huh? What does that even mean?”

“I don’t think my skills would be good enough to form a band with you. I saw you perform and interact, you’re a professional already, Caleb. Mine is just for hobbies and fun, I guess,” you said. Caleb remained silent, processing your thoughts. He went to ruffle your hair and chuckled. “Hey!” you protested. “It’s more fun to play with you, I wanted to play and create music with you. You don’t need to consider the technicalities, it will come around. I just like to jam with you, just like the old times,” he said. That quells your thoughts completely. “So I ask again, let’s make a band together,” he smiled. You glanced at him and nodded. “Nice!” he said excitedly. “Also, my band knows you as my girlfriend,” he smiled. “HUH?!” You said, shocked and flushed. “Caleb! We’re not-!”

“What? I mean I’m glad it makes sense now, especially since I heard you sing the song earlier,” He leaned closer, your face so close to his.

“That song was for me, right?” he smirked, especially seeing the blush on your face. “I know it's one of your constant classics in your playlist, often when I arrive and leave. I like to believe you have remembered me with that song for years,” You don’t know how to respond. Your heart is beating fast and has many thoughts rushing in. After years of hiding your feelings, it was only revealed because he heard you play this song.

“Come on, let’s sing the last part,” he encouraged. “I want to hear it,”

You gripped the fretboard, contemplating. Your fingers move to the chords and start to play softer. Caleb gazed at you with affection. Your face is already red, you think that it's not fully shown because of your hair.

“I don't want to talk about it… ‘Cause I’m in love with you,”

You stirred awake and saw it was dawn already, your head was leaning to Caleb’s shoulder and your hand was clasped with his. Sensing your movement, his eyes moved and he grunted softly, waking up as well. Upon seeing you, he smiled warmly. “I don't want to talk about it… Cause I’m in love with you,” he sang and teased. You blushed as you remembered it and instinctively slapped his arm many times. “Caleb!”

“Ow, ow, ow! Just kidding pip-squeak!”

“Is it still raining? It’s raining and it’s New Year,” you said and huffed. “What? You can’t wait to go home?” he said. You two are outside the house, it calmed down earlier but the rain came back. “I’m getting hungry, I want hotpot,” you pouted a little. Caleb chuckled and ruffled your hair. He grabbed his old guitar from your grasp. “Don’t worry, I’ll wipe it off the moment we reach home and… Well, you are hungry, right? It is a priority to make you a warm meal,” he said. Your eyes sparkled, remembering one of your fondest memories with him. “I just sent that to repairs that you know,” you said. He smiled. “Then I’ll be the one who will send it to repairs again after,” he followed. “Still…” you said. His arm went around your shoulder as he leaned to kiss your head and held your hand. “Come on, just like before, we’ll run on the count of three…”

“Three…”

“Two…”

“One…”

[mzannthropy]

Anne of the Island Chapter 11

Whew, LMM really threw everything into this chapter, the good the bad and the ugly. (This got long.)

So we're back in Avonlea and it's summer and Anne is reunited with her bestie Diana. RIP residents of Avonlea I never heard of or cared about much. I wonder if Uncle Abe foresaw his own death?

Congrats to Billy Andrews and Nettie Blewett. I also want to know (quoting Davy's favourite phrase here lol) whether he proposed to her himself or sent Jane again. Methinks he did it himself, if only bc I like to think that Jane refused to be his proxy again. We don't know anything about Nettie (at least I don't remember her from previous books) but I imagine her to be the bossy type, a formidable woman, you know, I think that would go well with his personality. Though why the hell am I investing this much time into a storyline that gets fewer sentences that I'm writing here, I cannot answer.

Now, Jane. I made a post on Jane in AOTI in 2023, not linking it here now bc it contains spoilers for later chapters. So, Jane resigned from Avonlea school and is going West. For illustration, this is what "West" means in Canada (PEI is so tiny!):

“Can’t get a beau in Avonlea, that’s what,” said Mrs. Rachel Lynde scornfully. “Says she thinks she’ll have better health out West. I never heard her health was poor before.”

Well, Jane did mention headaches in her letter to Anne but if it's true that her reason for going West is to find a man (and I think it likely is, though I also suspect that Jane wishes to get away from her mother, who is not a nice person) then--so fucking what? In this culture, there seems to be no worse fate for a woman than that of remaining a spinster. I get the impression that even an abusive husband is better than none. Then why blame a girl who is actively working on avoiding this fate? "What else would take her out West to some forsaken place whose only recommendation is that men are plenty and women scarce?" That's kinda the point, Rachel. Jane probably realised she's not getting attention at home, so she decided to go somewhere where she will get it, if only bc there aren't many women. Mrs Lynde is being unfair and judgemental here. Jane is going West to teach, not to have fun. Half a fucking continent away, where she doesn't know a soul, to a completely different environment, and different customs too, I imagine their ways will be very different from the ways of PEI. And she's going on her own. Jane is one truly brave young woman. In this instalment, LMM has gone out of her way to describe Jane as plain and boring. I think this is why she did it, bc there was to be a twist. And I like that Anne defends her friend. It also just occurred to me now that the proposal by proxy might have been a catalyst for Jane. Someone like her brother, who can't even talk to the girl he wants to marry, still manages to bag himself a wife, while she can't even get a man to look twice at her. That's gotta hurt. So she took her life into her own hands, instead of crying into her pillow at night. Good for you, Jane!

Next, Ruby. You know I've always thought that LMM chose to kill her off bc she was so wild about boys. Maybe she wanted to depict someone dying from tuberculosis, bc that's what used to happen in her times, and it had to be someone close to Anne. It couldn't be Diana, of course, so it had to be either Jane or Ruby. Ruby was probably the better choice for that. I mean, idk, I don't care for her much. She's crazy about boys and gets hysterical, that's all there is to her, but also she was an opportunity for LMM to write someone so vivid fighting against inevitable death.

Next, Aunt Atossa. One of the book's pointless plots. There already was a similar character in AOA and it wasn't as out of place. LMM should have written a separate short story for her. (There are actually 2 spinoff short stories for AOTI.) The only good thing is that Diana on their way there admired the sunset. We don't see her do that a lot.

Last, Anne wants to write a short story. Fantastic, tell me more!

[blushblushbear]

So my buddy Nova sent me an off site request!

I'm paraphrasing a bit but the gist is 'what if all the boys were yanderes, and real ones unlike Cole'

so like-- real as in not comedic or unskilled enough to not incur bloodshed or a body count

Alright, Let's go! :)

tw: yanderes, no safety wheels

Nimh: the Dere-est of Deres and the Yan-est of Yans. He has the biggest coin flip in terms of his sweet facade. It's not even really a facade, he really is that sweet, but he also is a lot more deadly than you'd think when pushed to his limits. Also a lot more possessive than you'd realize. You don't really notice at first cause he's so kind about it all, so gentle in his guidance. You don't even notice until it's too late that he's gently guided you right into a cage. A lovely, special cage where you're right there for him to watch and love and care for. He'll never let you leave, but why would you ever want to do that dearest? When he can take such good care of you! He's always been good at taking care of things! Like all those little nuisances that were trying to come between you two. But they don't matter now, you have each other! And all this fretting isn't good for his heart, so why don't you snuggle in next to him and let his love warm and comfort you...

Volks: Low key already one aside from the killing thing. (could only really imagine canon Volks killing in self defense) But he's already got the possessiveness, the stalking, the OBSESSION. He's just grown so attached to you! He wants to make sure you're okay... wants to keep you safe... He knows more than anyone how dangerous the world can be, and if anything ever happened to you-- well.... It's better if that didn't happen. He can't let that happen. So he'll just keep a watchful eye, let you shine so bright, just sitting there silently basking in your glory. And if anything rears it's ugly head, he'll take care of it, no matter what...

Kelby: So I almost can't imagine him being a yandere. And I think he can't imagine it either! That is, until you came along. Meeting you, something in him just--- changed.... or maybe more, something in him snapped... he tried to ignore it, tried to play everything cool. And he manages! For the most part... but he finds himself texting you more, checking on you more, following you more, tracking you more... He doesn't need you right there with him every second of every day--- he just needs to know where you are at all times. To make sure you're safe. To make sure you're happy... he's probably one of the slowest to hurt anyone over you, but when push comes to shove, he will do it. And he'll feel bad about it-- but not bad enough that he won't do it again if need be...

Eli: He's like a pretty little glitter trap. All fun and songs and kooky energy! You started as friends and he knew pretty early on that you were his new little obsession. He's had them before-- where he's crushing so hard and low key cyber stalking them lol! But it's just-- different with you. He's used to being jealous sometimes, he DOES like to be the center of attention after all-- but something about you paying attention to other people fills him with a new kind of jealousy he's never felt before. It makes him so mad he could be SICK. He always swoops in and steals your attention back, but just doing that doesn't seem enough anymore. The constant texting while trying to play it cool aren't enough for him now. Cyber stalking turns into actual stalking, and he needs to know where you are every second. Needs all your attention, all your love. All for HIM! He invite you over more often, he still plays it coy, plays it silly, plays it cool-- but the way he watches you when you sleep belies how deep in his is. He knows he's being a mess, knows he's turning into a bit of a monster, but he just can't help it... He wants to keep it playful, but he's not afraid to call in some favors and get dark.

Anon: Plays it the coolest in front of you, is the most freakishly obsessed behind your back. Constantly watching and tracking you. Also constantly keeping tabs on everyone you come into contact with. He's not afraid to burn some lives to the ground at the drop of a hat. Either cause they messed with you or cause they got a little too comfy. He maybe doesn't want you around constantly, but he's constantly going to be watching you. He also uses this info to help win you over more and more. He knows everything about you, and no one, especially not you, can hide form him.

Garret: Some what similar to Nimh but not as extreme either way. Also he's to some degree unaware at how much of a line he's crossing. He stalks you on accident and doesn't think twice about it. He lingers and cares for you and while he's nice and even tempered most of the time, if someone is mean to you even a little they are getting towered over and glared down.

Dmitri: You're not his first ever target of affection, but you're defiantly his most intense. And I feel like he's going to even further lengths over you without necessarily meaning to. Like-- normally he learns every aspect he can about his latest darling so he can woo and win them, but he always plays it cool about it. With you, he is full on loosing his ability to cool. He's so desperately obsessed this time-- IT MUST BE LOVE! Also the jealous he feels, he usually doesn't feel jealous this hard or sometimes even at all (even if his target likes someone else, they will never LOVE them like they WILL love him. He'll make sure of that) but with you, oooo he's feeling the jealousy, and he's not sure what to do about it, but he'll probably do something....

Ichiban: another in the tries to play it cool and low key fails camp. I think he probably publicly laid claim to you before even officially asking you out, and will constantly bring you up in the way of 'oh, MY marshmallow'. makes it very clear no one is to mess with you in anyway and the only time he's not super nice or sweet is when they do. He's normally great with his fans but if someone says even a slightly bad word about you his smile disappears immediately and they are perma-banned from all his platforms. Likes to have you in pics with him or have you on the stream sometimes. Just letting everyone know you're HIS.

William: seems SOOOOO mild mannered, and he is, but he's also deadly serious about you. It's one of those happy loving relationships that seem so perfect on the outside and he's just a wonderful boyfriend/husband. And he is-- to you. But the moment someone even slightly puts you in danger or tries to get too close to you, they just weirdly ghost the world...

Myx: Another dude who publicly makes it known you're his. Constantly dedicating songs to you, calling you his muse or his heart, always having you around in pictures and sometimes even on stage. He's super chill and happy and friendly until something Happens and then he's got security throwing their asses out onto the streets. He'd never lay hands on anyone himself but he knows people and he has security.

Stirling: seems very chill and low key and romantic but it's a trap. He's using his sweet nothings to lure you into his castle. He'll find a way to keep you there, and dispose of anyone and everyone who comes looking for you. You will be his. You will live happily with him. He'll make sure of it.

Scale: STALKING MASTER. Also the king of getting rid of people quietly before you even know that they're a problem. Fully hides the more edgy parts of himself around you. Generally he's just a very sweet, attentive, dorky little edge lord nerd whose trying to make a sweet little life with you. But he's also very deadly in ways he'll never let you know. Things with him are very happy and safe, at least for you.

Sven: Is the most aggressively sunshine and the most insanely touched in the head when the darkness comes out. He seems so sweet and goofy and innocent until you see the blood and his smile as he reassures you he took care of it.

Cole: ya know that thick book, small book meme that's been around?? yeah, there was one time I saw that labeled 'Blush Blush, Blush Blush if Cole had a gun'. Yeah just--- put that meme right here.

Poe: Poe-ssessive! Ba dum psh! But nah, he gets jealous real fast. He shares none of it with you though. He keeps those feelings between him and his poetry-- and the 'little accidents' that can happen at night if he's too far gone. VERY obsessed, lots of poetry all about you littering his living space along with a million photos, only some of which you posed for (the others are taken in secret). Just a weird little obsessive goth kid whose maybe just quietly unhinged a bit.

Cashew: Another one in the you never see it coming camp. He's just such a sweet little awkward boy whose so clearly got it bad. He just seems eager until you stumble upon his room and find all sorts of photos taken from bushes and lists of things you like and places you go and a napkin you used and a bit of your hair--- it's honestly quite the collection. He also has a list of people you talk to regularly and brainstorming notes on how to get rid of them-- all leaning towards bloodless but when push comes to shove he's willing to get dark about it.

Seth: Nightmare man. All the stalking and watching and gifts and curses that make it so if anyone tries to talk to you their teeth start to fall out. He's not afraid to come off at massively scary or creepy and he's not going to take no for an answer. The riddle of how to make you love him is one he doesn't have the answer for yet, but he will.

Reece: It's easy to stalk your beloved when you can literally follow them from birth to death via time travel. He's going to use this to make him a constant presence in your life. See all your best and worst moments, find out all your favorite and least favorite things, just generally studying you-- finding out what makes you tick. You're his favorite subject. And he knows how to keep a watchful eye, just in case...

Logan: Another one in the very chill category, it actually takes him a lot to go full psycho and he's really resistant to anything too dangerous. He's mostly the kind to trap you in a way you don't realize your being trapped. Bury you with sweetness and make you his by just outshining any chance the competition had.

{I feel like I've done the kitsunes before--- I think I have!}

Aki: lil freak who doesn't realize how much of a little freak he's being. WAAAAY too into you, stalks you a bunch, learns all your favorite things, gets very jealous and possessive but plays it off very playful and oh me I'm just a wittle guy! A wittle guy that wuvs you! Wuvs you so much! Don't buy it, he's way more dangerous than he's letting on.

Haru: POSSESSIVE. PETTY. DESPERATE. He fell in love and kinda snapped about it and will go to any number of lengths so you won't leave him. EVER.

Fuyu: Mostly the scary type whenever you're not around or your back is turned. Can maybe be a little demanding with you but generally he goes all sad puppy or melting love struck idiot whenever you're around. VERY VERY VERY PROTECTIVE. Doesn't wish to spill blood again but will in a heartbeat if it's for you. (either to protect you or cause you asked, he's a little desperate to keep you happy I won't lie)

Ace: desperate, nervous, a little bit cracked. Comes off as mostly harmless and awkward and he mostly is. But he's also taking so many pictures of you from the bushes and collecting little things you throw away. I can't honestly see him hurting anyone??? I think if he'd have jealousy or any kind of negative emotion he's more likely to turn it inward?? like--- he just blames himself for not being better and vows to keep trying until he's the best for you. Another desperate to make you happy, he's maybe doormat levels of will do anything for you.

[quandledlngle69]

"FUCK AROUND & FIND...INK?"

☆ CONTENT: After your fiancée gets cold feet two months into your engagement, you find yourself booking a trip to Berlin with your girlfriends. After a night of hardcore clubbing and alcohol still running through your veins, you impulsively decide to get a tattoo. You find the only studio open so late, and a handsome mysterious tattooist that awaits inside. ☆ GENRE/THEMES/WARNING: Heart break, reader is mentioned to have been engaged before, brief mention of reader having braids, height difference, mention of drinking and clubbing, tattooist AU, reader is black, reader imagining kaiser in sensual ways, reader basically being a horny dog  Kaiser is a tattooist, suggestive, tension, close proximity, physical touch, needles, sexual innuendos, reader thirsting over Kaiser lol. ☆ PAIRING: Tattooist!kaiser x Black!Femreader ☆ W.C. 1.9K ☆ NOTES: This one–shot was asked for by this anon, enjoy.ᐟ

After a particularly bad heartbreak–what do most people do?

Cry–maybe go to the bar and drown their sorrows out with the devils piss, maybe snap and throw everything around in their apartment.

Maybe you did everything you just listed in order–maybe you didn’t. 

After your fiancée got cold feet and dipped on you two months after he got down on one knee, and the only thing you were thankful for was that you hadn’t poured your chunk of savings into the wedding yet.

You decide to impulsively book a holiday with your girls. A nice European country–a capital city. You and your group settle on Berlin for a week. You had heard about the wicked nightlife and the electric atmosphere of the clubs that whisked you towards it. Not only that, you were a foodie and a fat history nerd. The first two days were spent dining in fancy upscale restaurants and sight–seeing until your feet felt like they were going to fall off. The third day however–was raves and clubbing. After a night of dancing, you and your girlfriends found a quiet spot, a booth, to relax in. A hazy, reckless thought takes hold of one of your more risks–taking friends: getting tattoos. A long thought that had popped up in casual conversations a few times, but a concept no one took seriously until now. While the strawberry daiquiri you had still ran in your veins, you agreed with enthusiasm. Something small, something impulsive. Something that will leave a mark beyond just memories.

It was such a stupid and impulsive decision, using google maps to find the nearest tattoo shop which was open at this time, (mind you, it was almost midnight) there was one a twenty minute walk away, surprised it was still open, you and your girlfriends collectively decide to make the suggestion a concrete choice. It was as you envisioned, in a dingy alley covered in graffiti, the rest of the shops seemingly little merchandise and cafes of different kinds. You and your girlfriends stumble into the dimly lit tattoo studio, the bell ringing softly above you. It was the kind of place that looks like it only exists for those who know where to find it. It had a scent of antiseptic, ink and a certain musk. And that’s when you see him.

He’s behind the counter, a messy mullet of blonde hair; the tips a deep electric blue falling into his sharp, angular face. His tattoos are what stand out on his skin the most, a spiral of black thorns snaking up his forearms and–fuck–thick biceps, a blossom of blue roses on his neck to finish it off. You had the sudden, reckless urge to trace them with your fingers.

Or your tongue.

Your eyes skim him shamelessly, taking in the mysterious man.

Kaiser.

Well, that's what the pin on his black vest says anyway. A name of a past emperor, something you remembered from your history classes.

He’s got that effortlessly cryptic, slightly disheveled look—like he just rolled out of bed but somehow still looks like sin. His eyes flick up when they enter, sweeping over your girlfriends once, but you, twice.

"Looking for something?" His voice is deep, thick with a german accent, making the words feel like a slow drag over your being. You know he’s addressing all of you, but it feels like the comment was directed at you only.

Your more extroverted friend is the one to take the wing and talk. You can see him clearly consciously taking in everything she’s saying–even nodding his head slightly from time to time, but his eyes would dart away. It was subtle, so subtle no one would notice, well, except for you. Because it was you he was glancing at. 

He cleared his throat, snapping you out of your trance as he crossed his arms. “Which one of you ladies is up first then?”

“I’ll go first,” you interjected as you stepped forward. Cringing internally, you hoped you didn’t sound too desperate.

His smirk was lazy, his swivel chair turning slightly to peer at you better from over your friend's shoulder, his head tilting a little, almost as if he was enjoying the view. "What and where?"

You mindlessly swallowed, your voice sounding less confident than you hoped for. "Something small–like a quote. On my ribs."

His gaze flickered lower, and just like that, the air between you both shifted.

"Ribs are sensitive," he murmured, almost a borderline flirty jab. "Are you sure you can handle it?"

You arched your brow. "I can take it."

The way he smiled—just a little, just enough to feel dirty—it made something hot coil in your stomach.

It was like the company you came with didn’t even exist anymore, and it was just you and him in his dingy studio.

He abruptly stood up from his chair, nodding as he gestures for you to follow him to the back.

If you weren't sober before, you were definitely stone cold sober now.

Your girlfriends give you an excited send off before you turn the corner, stepping through the door to the back. You trailed behind him like a slug, the form of his back making your jaw go slack, it was so defined in the fluorescent light–there were muscles for days. Your mind raced around to create scenarios in your head–like how pretty it would look with scratch marks from your manicured nails. Or maybe it was the height distance that made you throb more, knowing your cheek would barely brush the top of his shoulder, even in your inched heels.

The air feels as heavy as a weight as you look around the small room, filled with small pieces and parts of the unknown man's personality, making him a little less mysterious in your mind. The antiseptic and ink smelled a lot stronger here. He waved at you to sit and lay on the bed, which you did, stiffly. It made your mind race even harder knowing the placement was directly under your tit. While he was busy setting up the equipment, you were trying to bask in the silence and not focus on the fact this guy was handsome enough to have you sweating and stuttering over your words. Your friends would tell anyone how picky you were when it came to men–It even surprised you. A man grabbing your attention like a vice was as rare as a blue moon event. You thought you would have lost an appetite for men for a long while after your heart break. You shift the bottom of your flimsy baby tee up until a slither of your lace bra peeked out, enough, you think, to give him a comfortable space to work.

When his gloves finally touch your bare skin, it's like a flip switched in your brain, your once tense body almost instantaneously melting back into the leather fabric. The pain is prickly, but your mind is somewhere else entirely—on the heat of his body, the scent of his masculine cologne, the way his arms flex as he works, the way he occasionally glances up through his blonde lashes, like he knew what ran through your mind down to the last detail. His fingers are firm yet gentle, the warmth searing through his gloves like a cauterisation. He positions you exactly how he wants–his breath occasionally ghosting over you as he leans in to work. His whole forearm rested on your waist, and you internally groaned with each flex of his muscular bicep. 

You wondered how it would feel around your head–

You failed miserably to focus on the buzzing of the needle, every time he repositions, every time his touch lingers just a little too long, your breath catches ever so quietly. The tension is unbearable—thick, heavy, and smoldering.

At one point, he shifted, his knuckles brushing against your underboob, and you barely held back a whine.

He noticed.

"Careful, liebling." he murmured, lips so close to kissing your skin you trembled. "Wouldn’t want me to mess up, would you?"

It was a taunt. A blatant, teasing challenge, and the heat between you thickened, turned dangerous.

You went deathly silent in response. You hoped he wasn’t looking for one anyway, because whatever sentence next spilled from your lips at that moment would have an old woman clutching her pearls.

By the time he’s finished, the air between you is downright suffocating. 

The loss of his touchy warmth was almost unbearable. He wiped your freshly inked skin down cautiously for the final time, his fingers dragging the skin under your rib cage just a second to long. And then, as you sat up slowly, he leaned in—just close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him. His sharp blue eyes dragged over you, slow and assessing. It was that point you noticed his large hand splayed out on your knee, squeezing it slightly, a ticklish feeling that grounded you like concrete. His eyes flicked to your glossy lips, almost as if he was wondering what they tasted like.

"You handled that well," he hums, and it tingles deep in your bones, his voice low, teasing. "Thought you'd squirm more." 

"I told you," you whispered back with feigned triumph, pulse hammering. "I can take it."

Something dark flickered in his gaze. And then—so subtle it almost didn’t happen—his fingers skimmed your thigh, barely there, but enough to send a bolt of heat straight to your core.

"If you ever want another…" he said, voice low, thick with promise. "I take private late-night appointments."

The straight up erotic innuendo had you wanting to pounce on him right then and there. 

You should leave. You should stand up and walk out. Maybe declined his offer, knowing this was only a vacation, and you would probably never see him again. Maybe to keep your self–respect, at the very least.

You had thrown that out the window ages ago.

Instead, you meet his intense and heavy gaze, your lips curve into a slow, almost giddy smile.

"Good to know."

You had spent the next two hours zoning out on the waiting chair in the lobby, watching each of your friends go in the back for their tattoo. Meanwhile, you were thinking over the whole interaction from start to finish more times than you could count on your fingers and toes. Your mind was already racing, planning on shoving more of your hard earned money towards another few days stay in Berlin. Damn, your girlfriends would definitely catch on to this little fling–(if you could even call it that) with the tattooist with the way you're twirling your braids around your finger and kicking your feet like a little girl.

Once they were all finished, you definitely wanted to throw a tantrum as everyone got ready to leave. Yet when your eyes caught the sharp cerulean ones again, he beckoned you to come over from his place behind the counter. As you stepped forward, your heel clacking echoing on the wooden floor, you could see him scribbling something on what looked liked–a receipt.

“Uh, what's this–”

“My number, hübsches Mädchen."

“Oh.”

The heat rose from your chest to your neck as he smoothly grasped your wrist, putting the receipt in your open palm. The pads of his fingers were rough, the opposite of yours. You noticed the crown design on the front of his hand, and the way his nails were perfectly painted black before he pulled away.

“Oh yeah–ah–thank you–” You were too busy stumbling over your words to notice your girlfriends pulling you out of the door.

And as you stepped outside, the cool air making you shiver, your skin still burning from his touch, you knew one thing for certain—

You were definitely coming back.

･ﾟ★ credits for dividesr.ᐟ: @penissekai

 Quandaledlngle69 © 2025

[vespidclan]

More ooc/irl stuff questions, wondering but are you still playing the save, just a few moons ahead. Or did you play it in full/until you were satisfied, and therefore know how the story will end? : 0c

And this is probably some sort of spoilers right now, but once the comic end, will you explain how you did the "404 resetting the moons until she gets what she wants" and other coding shenanigans she did? Like, did you immediatly get Icicle succumbing in the medic den, and turned it into 404's reset shenanigans for the story. Or did you actively "roleplay" as her by resetting until you got what 404 would have wanted? Same for stuff like the bloodthirsty/loyal coding thing etc : 0c

1: I know how it will end because I played the entire save already. Though that was technically a lie, because I played 100 moons in, but I want the story to have 109 moons (hehe reference). The rest of the 9 moons I want to be a surprise for me but aside from that I have an idea for the ending

2: The stuff 404 does was just little additions I made to the story and not actual coding work I did myself. While I was playing the save I never once had the idea of making it meta and that was just something I added later on when I wanted the story to be more than casual, since crazy things do happen and it worked out well enough!

The idea of where I got 404 was funny actually. Only after I finished the story was when I wanted an antagonist but there wasn’t any cat in the game that would’ve been a good fit, and I wanted this antagonist to be ‘inhuman’ and ‘driven by hate’ who ‘messed with the files’ since I was inspired by IHNMAIMS. This was super weird of me to do and I don’t recommend doing it but I just… kept clicking at ‘new clan’ to see if there were any randomly generated cats that were interesting enough to choose and boom! Moththorn!

This is the part where it gets kinda spoilery?? Nothing related to WTTG it’s kinda just background lore lol. I miiiight implement this later in the comics so I’ll put it under the cut

Me making Moththorn into the game was kinda like me dooming her from the start? from the first moment she was in Pineclan she was always meant to become self-aware since that’s what I always planned it to be. She’ll know she’s self aware but she’ll never know that she was specifically programmed to be self aware if that makes sense. Her being added into the game later is also why the gorls ages are so weird and not realistic. cuz they weren’t supposed to be her kids in the first place.

…It’s sorta why she had a close attachment to the game once she went into Out Of Bounds. It’s basically the holder of all things, the ‘god’ of the world and she was relieved to find it since that was what she was after; the truth. The game didn’t kick her out of Out Of Bounds either, mostly out of interest, and it gave her the power to control the Out Of Bounds since having a ‘happy and carefree life’ was what she truly wanted.

Of course then the system begins to start breaking down because this cat is controlling a part of itself. It is trying to stop her but still wanting to keep its status as ‘perfect’ so there isn’t much done to stop it… That’s where we left off at WTTG anyways. I think we’ll get 1 or 2 more parts depending on how much I add hehe