#i've already thought of everything. ; requests

[odairloverr]

common misconceptions with loa, manifestation, and shifting 𐙚

coming from someone who has shifted 3x and has mastered manifestation

disclaimer: this is my perception of manifestation, shifting, and law of assumption. you do not have to agree with my views. whatever your belief is is valid, but this is what has worked for me time and time again and i simply wish to share. lmk what questions u have! i've been manifesting my entire life (knowingly for 6 years) but i've only been into shifting for a matter of months. thanks @hrrtshape <33 i owe her for my current mindset towards shifting ! also my first tumblr post omg.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

loa/manifestation:

- “ within manifestation, you have to try hard to receive your results “

you don’t even have to “try.” law of assumption is simply assuming what you want has already manifested. you have your desire already, so why would you be trying? if you want to manifest something, simply understand the fact that you already have your desire and it’s done. unless you BELIEVE you have to, there’s no need to affirm, listen to subs, visualize. no need to wait, anticipate or expect because you are in a reality where you have your desire. at the end of the day, what YOU believe is correct.

i listen to subliminals for fun (i believe they give me results, but i am not reliant on them to manifest) I visualize for fun, i affirm for fun. what REALLY brings my manifestations to me is knowing i already have it and letting go.

- “ my desires aren’t showing up in the 3d. i’m doing everything right, why am i not receiving them? “

i’ve heard this issue from quite a few people and all i can say is. read that again? view everything you speak as truth. i have been quite wary of any thought or word that i speak recently. by saying you don’t see any results, you are affirming you do not see any results.

example: “you want a new phone. it’s been a few days, and I’ve been expectantly waiting for signs, listening to subliminals, affirming for hours; but still no new phone. you feel demotivated. maybe manifestation isn’t real. you don’t see any results, so you might as well stop trying. it’s taking too long”

well… you kind of just affirmed that. you DIDDD manifest that if that is your view of manifestation. if you expect the new phone will take a long time, it will. it may seem difficult to some people to overcome the 3d, to ignore it and KNOW your manifestation is done. but if you practice this, simply being content in the fact you know you already have everything you want, you will slip into this practice habitually. don’t give into your doubts. your doubts have no power until you grant them authority.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

shifting:

- “ i’m going to try to shift tonight / i can’t wait to shift tonight. ”

i love the excitement for you honey but u are viewing shifting as a destination whether that’s intentional or not. remember your body is not physically traveling, you are shifting your awareness to a universe where you already exist. if you already exist there, then isn’t it already done? if you shift in the same way as me (assumption) try to embody the fact that you are already present there?

i will say though there’s no right or wrong way to shift. what works for you works for you. it comes down to what you believe in.

- “ what method should i do to shift? ”

you don’t have to do any! don’t feel pressured to attempt a method because it worked for others. try different ones around if you want, if that’s helpful for you! they can be fun, comforting, or routinized which might help others, but they are NOT obligatory in shifting. if you don't like the method for any reason, don't!

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

requested questions:

"how to really settle into the mindset of "3d is a reflection of the 4d" and "the 3d can lag" and how to grow more comfortable with that?"

work on your self-concept and reprogramming your mindset. this might sound complicated but I promise it isn't! with "3d is a reflection of the 4d," it tells us that thoughts, beliefs, emotions, assumptions, imagination, and self-concept will affect what we see in our physical world. so how would you adjust to that mindset? you change how you think. practice gratitude to the universe, positivity, and overall just believing in your own power. HYPE YOURSELF UP. u can literally do anything and you have no limits. FELL PROUD OF THAT. in my personal belief, I believe that whatever you think and say is true and vibrates throughout the universe, so being careful to always speak positively and practicing self love and gratitude are very important! i have a self concept subliminal playlist I listen as well if that helps.

now the 3d lag part.... im gonna be so honest idgaf ab that imo. ive always found myself scrolling past posts about that because.. the 3d isn't lagging? you already have ur desire, why would you be tell yourself you don't? that's js how i view it :)) again, if that is your belief, just practice working on how you think! everything you think and say is a manifestation (ect. my stomach hurts, I'm going to go eat) now, how to grow more comfortable with this mindset? practice! believe in yourself STRONGLY. nothing can stop you. there's no limits, no boundaries, no exaggerations. nothing is impossible and you have everything you could possibly want in your grasp. "what's ignoring the 3d and how to do it?" ignoring the 3d is not reacting to your physical reality when it contradicts your manifestation. i did go more into detail about why we do it above but here's how:

you know your manifestation is already yours. why worry about it any longer. let go of it as you are content that it is already factually yours. if you have a new phone, you aren't going to be constantly checking "did my new phone finally manifest? well you already have it! view all of your manifestations from the lens. it's already done and nothing can change that! again, working on self concept, self love, gratitude can help you to to fall into that mindset "how does your subconscious interpret each thought + how it works with manifestation and shifting" your subconscious does not argue. it does not analyze. it does not fight you. it's very willing and pliable. whatever you feed your subconscious it will accept! when you affirm or assume something, your subconscious does not filter that into "true or not true" it just accepts it! this is why working on self concept / reprogramming is not only important but extremely effective. your conscious mind / ego is the judging, critical part. and u don't listen to that ho. ur ego us like ur overprotective friend who's trying to stop u from being embarrassed. when u are manifesting, ur ego might tell u its not possible. it's okay to doubt yourself, you are human. BUT. are u going to give into those doubts? NO. never let those untrue doubts control YOU. basically. whatever u feed ur subconscious will be accepted as fact and then reflect into ur physical reality. that's it! "how do you use loa as a beginner in shifting? how do you assume? what keywords do you use when shifting?" it's quite simple! you assume by accepting whatever you want is true! you aren't hoping that your desire will manifest, but KNOWING it did. in shifting, this is simply knowing you are in your dr, that you are a master shifter, that shifting is fun and simple. affirmations and visualizations are good and completely valid, but letting go has been extremely helpful for me. knowing what you want is already yours and simply letting go. you don't obsessively check if it worked. it's done already! be happy and proud that you've achieved this!

when I shift, I affirm myself a bit for fun and go to sleep KNOWING I am already aware in my dr. thats literally it no visualization or robotic affs or some crazy sleeping position. just embodying the truth. "how do you know you've found the right subliminal?"

there is no right subliminal! as long as u are listening to a trusted sub maker (look in the comments for good reviews and making sure there's no bad affs layered in there) sub are effective! it depends on if you believe in these subs! i have never failed a manifestation in my life and a lot of those in the past were from sub makers, various different creators! I do have preferences for some submakers but at the end of the day it doesn't matter which u listen to! what you desire is already yours! if you feel off about listening to a sub, turn it off and maybe research the creator online. ok THANKS FOR READING love u guys! happy shifting and manifesting! remember how amazing, powerful, and valuable you are. ⋆ ִֶָ ๋𓂃🎐 ⋆ with love, liz.

[diaryofawhoretbh]

I saw that you write for The Bear, anything about Mikey! There's not enough fics for him on here.

my mikey. | mikey berzatto

| thank you so much for this request!! please send more. i'm currently watching season 4 and i'm having mikey bear withdrawals.

| wc : 2.7k

| you end up at your best friend mikey's doorstop after a break up, and you finally find happiness.

it was raining the way it always does when your life falls apart— loud and unrelenting, like the sky couldn't take it either.

i hadn't even texted mikey first.

i just stood outside his building, soaked to the bone, hoodie clinging to my arms, backpack and gym bag straps digging into my shoulders and wrist. my breath came out in shallow little clouds, the kind you get when your whole body's gone into some kind of numb autopilot. i didn't even feel the cold. just the...emptiness.

i stared at his door for what felt like a full minute before knocking.

three quick raps. a beat of silence. then it swung open like he'd already been standing behind it.

his expression shifted the second he saw me.

"shit. come in. come here babe."

that was the first thing he said.

then he pulled me in.

no questions. no hesitation.

just grabbed me, soaked hoodie and all, pulled me into his chest like i was something he'd been trying to hold together for awhile now.

i dropped my bags on the floor like it weighed a thousand pounds and just stood there, shivering under the yellow kitchen light, water dripping down the back of my jeans. my throat ached from holding it in.

"i'm sorry," i whispered, even though i didn't know what i was apologising for.

he frowned. "hey, don't be. don't say sorry, you're here now. you okay? fuck— no, stupid question." he exhaled, quick and tight. "you're freezing. hang on."

"i don't want to get your floor-"

"fuck the floor baby," he said, already tugging me toward the bathroom. "you're gonna get sick."

i expected a towel. maybe his hoodie. something quick. something easy.

but mikey berzatto— messy, chain-smoking, loud-mouthed mikey, turned the taps on, adjusted the water with practiced fingers, and started running me a bath.

a nice, steamy, hot one.

he dropped bath salts in without even asking. lavender something. the kind that makes your bones stop shaking. his eyes stayed on the water like it was a delicate science.

"you still like this stuff?" he asked without looking at me. "that fancy kind from that little place you dragged me to that one time?"

i swallowed the lump in my throat. "yeah."

"figured."

he turned to me then, and his whole face softened in a way that made it even harder to hold it together.

"get in. i'm gonna leave clean clothes by the door. towels on the hook. you take as long as you need."

"mikey-"

he leaned down slightly to meet my eyes, then softly planting a kiss on my forehead. "you're safe here, okay? let me take care of you."

i didn't cry until the door closed and i heard him padding away down the hallway.

--

the bath felt like thawing out after months of pretending i wasn't freezing.

i lay back, hair wet, lavender steam curling around me, trying to understand what it meant that he didn't just throw a towel at me and let me cry it out in silence. he thought ahead. he remember what i liked. he cared.

and not because he wanted something.

not because he was trying to fix me.

just because he knew i needed it.

--

he gave me his bed without discussion.

"you're not arguing with me right now," he said when i padded out into the hallway in his old shirt and dry sweats, still towel-drying my hair. even though i brought a bag of random clothes i threw in, he still gave me his clothes. and is it bad that i hoped he did?

"you need it more than me," he added, nodding toward his room. "end of story baby."

"what about the couch mikey?" i asked.

"i've slept in worse places," he shrugged, already setting up a pillow for himself like it was no big deal. "plus, the couch and i have a thing. real love, y'know?"

i smiled despite everything. "you're ridiculous mikey."

"yeah, but i'm ridiculous and you're warm now, so..."

i stood there for a second, unsure what to say. everything about this felt too gentle. too easy.

my ex would've told me i was being dramatic. would've gotten annoyed about the water on the floor. would've made me feel like my hurt was something to hide. to be ashamed of.

but mikey just looked at me like i was a person. a person worth taking care of.

"goodnight mikey bear," i whispered.

he smiled like he meant it. i knew he did. "g'night, sweetheart."

and the thing that gutted me most?

he wasn't even trying to impress me.

this was just.. him. this was my mikey.

--

i woke up to sunlight creeping through the blinds and the smell of...food. real food.

warm, savoury, familiar.

for a second i forgot where i was. my fingers curled in the flannel sheets, and it hit me: mikey's bed. mikey's smell. mikey's shirt still on my skin.

and then the smell hit stronger— eggs, butter, maybe even toast. my stomach neglected and miserable for days, twisted like it was remembering how to exist.

i sat up slowly, sore in places i didn't know grief could live.

outside the bedroom, i could hear low music playing— an old soul record, probably one of his. something with brass and grit and a heartbeat you could feel in the floorboards.

and then,

"dude, the eggs are fine. relax."

mikey. talking to himself in the kitchen.

i smiled a little despite myself.

i pushed open the bedroom door and walked out, barefoot and sleepy-eyed, into the kind of morning i hadn't had in what felt like years.

mikey stood in front of the stove in flannel pants and faded navy tee, curls wild from sleep, one hand stirring something in a pan while the other tapped to the beat of the music on the counter. his back was to me, but he turned just as i reached the hallway.

"there she is," he said with a grin, dimples and all. "thought you might've dissolved into the mattress, princess."

"i almost did," i said, voice still raspy.

"you sleep okay?"

"yeah," i said. "better than i have in. a while."

he didn't comment on that. just nodded like he was filing it away somewhere. then turned back to the stove.

"take a seat babe," he said. "coffee's already done."

i moved toward the counter like i was stepping into someone's else morning.

there was a mug waiting. my mug, the chipped one i'd always used when i stayed over in college. it was navy blue and ugly as sin and i loved it so much.

steam curled from the top, rich and bitter and--

i took a sip.

two sugars. no milk. just the way i liked it.

he didn't ask. he just remembered.

"how do you still remember how i like my coffee?" i asked.

"because i actually give a shit," he said simply, sliding a plate in front of me. "and you always drink it the same way when you're sad."

that shut me up.

the plate had eggs, sourdough toast with butter, a couple hash browns. nothing fancy— but it was hot and it smelled amazing.

he poured his own mug and leaned against the counter across from me, eyes on mine, watching me take the first bite like he was waiting to see if i’d cry.

i didn't cry.

but i did say, "no one's ever made me breakfast before. well, apart from you."

he tilted his head. "not once?"

i shook mine. "not even on my birthday."

mikey blinked. just once. then nodded like he was trying to keep from saying something he'd regret.

"well," he said, "you're in for a rude awakening, sweetheart. because i make a mean frittata when i'm trying to impress someone."

i laughed. it came out surprised— like my ribs forgot how.

he grinned at me like i was some rare, wild creature finally peeking out from the bushes.

"you're doing better today," he said softly, although it seemed like a question.

"i don't know if i am," i admitted. "but it feels... easier. here. with you." he didn't look away. "good... yea good. that's the point."

we sat there in that soft, slow kind of silence— the kind that only exists between people who know each other too well to fill every gap with noise.

he sipped his coffee. i ate.

and for a while, it didn't feel like i was healing. it just felt like i was existing again.

which, honestly, felt like more than enough.

--

later that day, we were sitting on the floor in the living room, surrounded by a pile of my clothes from the bag i’d brought—him folding, me mostly pretending to fold.

“why do you still have this shirt?” he asked, holding up a faded band tee.

i shrugged. “comfort, i guess. we used to go to shows together. it reminds me of you."

he frowned. “it’s got a hole in the armpit the size of a raccoon.”

“i like raccoon fashion, apparently.”

“mm,” he said, folding it anyway and putting it back in the stack. “well, we’ll work on that.”

i laughed again, head tipping back against the couch.

when i looked at him, he was already watching me. not in a creepy way. not in a “what’s she gonna do next” way. just… watching. like he was memorizing something important.

“what?” i asked.

he shook his head. “you just… look more like yourself today.”

and suddenly, that sentence made me want to cry.

because he had noticed. noticed that something was wrong before i said a word. noticed when i stopped smiling. noticed when i started laughing again.

my ex had barely noticed when i disappeared into myself for weeks at a time.

but mikey saw everything.

--

that night, i stood in the doorway of the living room after brushing my teeth. mikey was curled on the couch, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows, remote in one hands, flipping through channels he wasn't really watching.

"you want the bed tonight?" i asked quietly. "i can take the couch."

he didn't even look up. "nope."

"mikey-"

"baby, you're taking the damn bed," he said, matter-of-fact, like it wasn't up for discussion. "i snore, my back's a mess, and that mattress loves you more than it ever loved me."

i smiled, soft and tired. "fine. you win."

he shot me a quick grin, satisfied. "damn right i do."

i turned to go, but my steps were slow. the hallway stretched ahead like something i didn't want to walk into alone.

i paused.

half-turned.

he looked up again, brows lifting just slightly, waiting.

"hey, mikey?"

"yeah babe?"

i swallowed, nervous for no reason i could explain. "do you... wanna join me?"

the silence that followed wasn’t awkward. it wasn’t tense. it was full of everything unsaid. of years of history. of sleepless nights and best-friend phone calls and his stupid texts that used to make me laugh so hard i cried.

he blinked, like he was making sure he heard me right.

“you sure?”

i nodded. “yeah. i mean—you don’t have to. just. i don’t know. i think i’d sleep better.”

he sat up a little straighter, setting the remote aside.

“alright,” he said, voice soft and solid. “lemme grab a hoodie that doesn’t smell like fries.”

i laughed, quietly, the tension slipping out of my shoulders.

a few minutes later, we were both in his bed—me on the left, him on the right, a respectful distance between us, but something warmer than the blankets pulling tight across the space.

the lights were off. the only sound was the low hum of the streetlight outside and the occasional shift of sheets as we both tried to get comfortable.

“you good?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“yeah,” i whispered back. “better now.”

and i meant it.

i lay on my side, eyes on the ceiling, the weight of his presence next to me like an anchor in the best way. he didn’t touch me. didn’t try to pull me close. but he didn’t need to.

he was there.

and that alone was everything.

--

the room was dark, still. the air felt thick with everything unsaid.

i lay on my back, eyes open, tracing shadows on the ceiling. mikey was next to me, just a few inches away, breathing softly but not sleeping. i could feel that tension in the air—the kind that only builds between two people who’ve been quiet too long.

“you awake?” he asked, voice low and scratchy.

“yeah, mikey.”

he shifted, turning toward me. i followed, facing him in the dark.

“can’t sleep either,” he said. “my brain’s being loud.”

i let out a soft exhale. “same.”

he paused for a second, then said it.

“i keep thinking about you.”

i froze.

“always have. you know that?”

i searched his face, my heart thudding.

“what do you mean?”

his eyes didn’t leave mine. “i mean… i've been in love with you. for a long time.”

the air left my lungs.

“i didn’t say anything,” he went on, voice quiet and raw. “because you were always with someone, or almost with someone. or just getting over someone. and i didn’t wanna be the asshole who made it about me. but God, it was always you.”

“mikey…” i breathed.

“you’d walk into a room and everything would change. i’d be pissed at the world, and then you’d say some dumb shit and i’d forget why i was angry. you were always the calm. the constant. and when he hurt you—when you cried over people who didn’t know how to hold you right—i used to lay in bed and wonder how they didn’t see it. how they could be so close to you and still miss it.”

i blinked quickly, tears already gathering.

“and when you showed up the other night, in the rain…” he laughed, breath catching. “i thought, please. please let her stay. because i didn’t know how much longer i could keep pretending you weren’t the love of my fucking life.”

i couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“mikey,” i whispered. “God.”

i reached for his face. my fingers cupped his jaw, my thumb brushing just below his cheekbone. “you have no idea how long i’ve wanted to say this.”

he looked at me like he didn’t dare hope.

“i’ve been in love with you, too,” i said. “for years.”

his eyes widened, lips parting, but i kept going.

“i used to date other people just to avoid how much i felt for you,” i said, voice shaking. “because i thought if i loved you too loudly, i’d ruin us and i’d lose you.”

i swallowed hard. my voice broke.

“you were always my best friend, mikey. you were the one i called when things went to shit. the one i trusted with the ugliest parts of me. i didn’t want to mess that up by wanting more.”

he was staring at me, wide-eyed, jaw tight like he was trying not to fall apart.

“i thought,” I said, “if i dated other people, if i just kept you in this safe little box, i wouldn’t ruin what we had.”

he reached for my hand like he couldn’t not touch me anymore.

“you didn’t ruin it,” he said. “you made it.”

we lay there, fingers laced. breathing like we were learning how to do it for the first time.

and then, quietly, he said, “can i kiss you now?”

i nodded, barely able to speak.

he leaned in, and when our lips met, it wasn’t fire—it was warmth. it was years of almosts melting into one soft, certain yes.

the kiss was slow. sweet. familiar.

when we pulled apart, his forehead rested against mine, both of us smiling like idiots in the dark.

“we wasted so much time,” i whispered.

he shook his head. “no. we just... made our way here. in our own time.”

i tucked myself into his chest, his arms wrapping around me without hesitation. i could feel his heartbeat under my cheek.

“i’m still scared,” i admitted.

“me too,” he murmured. “but i'm not letting you go.”

“good.”

we fell asleep that way,

finally touching.

finally whole.

finally me and mikey.

[sirxlla]

Lips Are Chapped & Faded

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

Warnings: Angst, Fluff

Prompt: Jason supports you through cancer

Notes: female reader, italics are actions and thoughts.

Requests are open btw.

-With that said, it's all under the cut-

The shock on your face as you answered the call told Jason everything he needed to know. A few weeks ago, you went to the doctor for a bump on your leg that hasn't gone away like you'd expect it to. You thought it was a mosquito bite, but it wasn't; the call confirmed it.

By the time the phone hit the ground, causing the screen to shatter, Jason's arms were around you. He's been reassuring you all week that it's probably benign, and now you both know it isn't. You said nothing, you couldn't.

"We'll get through this, I've got you. I'm gonna be here the whole way. I promise, Angel." Jason rubbed your back and held you tight, kissing your forehead.

"You sure you wanna buzz it already, Babtgirl?" Jason held the clippers in his hand as you sat on the tub's edge with your eyes closed.

"Yes! Oh my god, quit asking, I just wanna get it over with, Jason. If I don't, then it's gonna fall out anyway!" Chemo was happening whether you wanted it or not. Jason's been so patient with you even though you've been snappy.

"You'll look beautiful regardless." He says as he begins to shave off your hair, the strands brush your shoulders as they fall to the ground. You take deep breaths as you try to process losing your hair and the start of this long and hard road ahead.

"All done and still a babe. You wanna see in the mirror?" Jason smiles and brushes the hair off you.

"No, I- I don't wanna see." You say as you stand up and brush yourself off a bit as well, grabbing a beanie and putting it on, not even looking at the hair on the bathroom tile.

Jason sweeps up the hair and promptly discards it before joining you in the living room to watch a movie with you. He's been doing his best to distract you and take you out but you didn't want anyone to see you like this.

Jason held your hand the entire time you got treatment, massaged your fingers to keep them warm the entire time. He had brought a blanket and snacks, Jason just wants you to feel as comfortable as possible. When you got home, you fell asleep on his chest watching Transformers, Jason picked it, of course.

"Hey, How's she doin' Jay?" Dick asks as he come in from his afternoon jog, covered in sweat.

"She um- She's alright I guess. She's really not talkative as much. The sparkle in her eyes just not as bright right now, I don't blame her for being so grumpy and everything. It's not easy."

"Yeah, I mean she's gotta be cold, weak and tired and that's just the physical stuff," Dick says before he drinks from his waterbottle. "How are you doing?"

"I can't tell her but I- I'm scared. I don't wanna lose her. You know I know the chances aren't that bad because they caught it early but I just can't see my future without her."

"Just take it step at a time, Jason. I know it's easier said than done but it's all you can do."

-

"Jason, I- I dont wanna...I want you to leave if you ever-"

"Absolutely not! I don't know how many times I gotta tell you this, Angel. I'm not leaving, quit telling me that. I don't want easy. I don't want you to pull back and ignore me. I wanna spend every second I can with you, I wanna be here with you and support you no matter what."

"I look like a skeleton, Jay. I look like I'm already halfway in the grave! Just let me go!" You said as tears poured down your face, your lip trembling.

"Listen to me, you beautiful, stupid woman, I am never leaving. I wouldn't've left when you werent sick and I damn sure am not going to now " Jason says as he grabs you chin to make you look up at him into his crystal blue eyes. His eyes and expression are certain and secure, he means every word, which causes tears to form in your eyes.

"Come here, Baby." He pulls you to his warm chest, the welcome smell of gunsmoke and cologne on his skin invading your nose. He rubs your back as you sob, you don't wanna be a burden and he's sure to make you never feel that way. He wants you, not because of your body, your wellness, but you as a person. He loves you through this all, no matter how ugly or broken you feel.

'

After about six long months of treatment, you were just wanting so badly to give up and had told Jason about how hard this was to keep going, the throwing up, the losing weight, all of it being so draining.

Jason answers a call from your doctor due to you again being asleep at his side, using him like a human heater. As soon as Jason hears the news from your most recent checkup he smiles and wakes you up, gently shaking you.

"Baby, baby. Wake up." He shakes you a bit more which causes you to grumble.

"What, Jay?" You mumble into his shirt as you barely open your eyes.

"They said you're good. They're gonna do another round, but after that? You're good. Baby, you're good."

"What? Are you serious?"

"Yeah, Baby. They just called cause you didn't answer, cause obviously you're asleep, but... You did it. I'm so proud of you!" He hugs you and pulls you closer, squeezing you tightly but lets go as he feels you wince a little bit.

You start sobbing into his chest, like it just caused your bottled-up emotions and the false armor you've had on to just crumble. Jason had thought it was weird you never cried about you having cancer but he suspected you were just trying to be brave and strong for him.

"Oh, Babygirl. You did it. I'm so so proud. It wasn't easy."

"I've been so mean." Your body wracks with sobs, just holding him like he might disappear or you will.

"You've been trying to cope, I'm not mad at you. Okay? I'm never gonna be mad at you for any of this. I don't know what I'd do without you, Sweetheart." He just kept rubbing your back and kissing your forehead again. He's been the only reason why you've been able to hold on. Even when you've pushed him away or tried to get him to leave you, he always pushed back, never taking the easy way out.

-> Masterlist

-> Send me requests/prompts if you'd like

[shizuturnspages]

Request for Last Child of Khaenri’ah series: Reader gets injured.

Somehow, someway, their sweet Khaenri’ahn child gets hurt. The degree of the injury can be up to you but I’m interested if the yandere are just like “walk it off”, “Oh sweet baby”, or somewhere in between :)

Fracture Beneath the Crown

Synopsis: You’ve always carried the burdens of your lineage in silence, your defiance your only crown. But even royalty can bleed. One mistake leads to a wound that leaves you fragile—and for those that worship your existence, that simply won’t do. Five monsters of Khaenri’ah descend on your bedside, each with a different poison cloaked as love. Pairings: [Separate] Yandere Dainsleif, Pierro, Kaeya, Albedo, Capitano x Khaenri'ahn Child

Dainsleif – The Eternal Guardian

He was there when it happened.

A mistake, a lapse—something fell during a fight, a Celestial trap snapped like a maw, and you were swallowed into pain so deep even your blood ran cold. You remembered little. But Dainsleif remembered everything.

The sound your body made when it hit the stones.

The scream you bit back to act brave.

The blood—your blood—trickling like a curse down your cheek.

He had killed everything in a ten-mile radius.

When you awoke days later, Dainsleif hadn’t moved from your bedside. His armour was still stained. His cape smelled of wind and ash.

“You should’ve let me handle it,” he murmured as you stirred, voice hoarse like it had screamed itself raw. “You shouldn’t have raised your hand at all.”

“It wasn’t that bad…”

“You almost died.”

His hand trembled over yours.

“I’ve lived for centuries, but I’ve never feared time until today. Until I thought I would lose you before I ever truly had you.”

You tried to joke—say it was just a gash.

But Dainsleif didn’t smile.

“I’ll rip the stars down if they threaten you again.”

He doesn’t speak after that—not to you, not to anyone. Only the crushing silence of his wrath remains as he carries you through cold stone halls, urgency burning behind his eyes.

Once you’re stabilised, he sits at your bedside, hands trembling beneath armoured gloves. He doesn’t say how close you came to dying. He doesn’t say how it would have shattered him. But you feel it in how often his gaze drifts to the bloodied remnants of your clothes and clenches his fists until they shake.

Later that night, when he thinks you’re asleep, you hear him whisper:

“You’re all I have left. I won’t lose you too.”

You don’t tell him you were awake.

Pierro – The White Heron in Mourning

Pierro is there the moment you stagger into the palace—blood on your sleeve, eyes dulled with pain. You smile, trying to joke, “Guess I’m not invincible, huh?”

He doesn’t answer.

He walks to you slowly, like approaching a dying god, and tilts your chin up with gloved fingers. His gaze sharpens as he inspects every inch of you—not just the wound, but your stance, your breath, your blinking.

“You were followed,” he says darkly. “They sent someone after you.”

“No! It was an accident—I tripped on—”

“Don’t lie to me.”

He turns. One wave of his hand and Fatui agents vanish from the hall—orders unspoken, vengeance already brewing.

“I've buried too many of our kind,” he says. “I won’t bury you.”

Later, while you sleep with your arm bandaged and pain softened by medicine, he sits beside your bed.

And writes execution lists.

Kaeya – The Cracked Mirror Prince

At first, Kaeya thought you were joking.

You were always playfully dramatic. Always teasing.

But when you didn’t get up after the fall, when he saw the dark, pooling blood under your tunic, something snapped.

He dropped the wine glass he’d been holding.

It shattered.

He ran to you and fell to his knees, hands trying to stop the bleeding, voice shaking. “No, no, no—not you. Please not you.”

Your fingers twitched, and he nearly broke down. “Stay awake, sunshine. You can’t nap now. That’s cheating.”

He would kiss your forehead, murmur every loving promise he’d ever made, and hold your limp hand to his chest.

The moment you were stable, though?

Kaeya would vanish for a full week.

And when he returned, there would be a smear of someone else's blood on his gloves, and a smile on his face that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Funny how bad things stop happening when people are too dead to try again, hm?”

Albedo – The Anatomy of Attachment

Albedo was quiet when he found out. Almost… distant.

He examined your injury like a scholar studying his own fault. You had been in Dragonspine, slipped down a ravine. A clean fracture, and a concussion. Simple. Normal.

But to Albedo, it was an equation he had failed.

“This shouldn’t have happened,” he said while applying a numbing salve with meticulous care. “Your boots had proper traction. I tested them myself. The path was stable—unless the weather changed precisely at 14:47.”

You blinked at him. “It was just ice—”

“No. It was negligence.”

His, apparently.

He spent the next four nights rebuilding an entire surveillance system to track your vitals. You were never to go out without it again.

“It’s not fear,” he murmured, brushing hair from your eyes. “It’s precision. Love is a formula I’m still refining. But I will perfect it.”

Even if he had to rebuild you, limb by limb.

Capitano – The Wall That Bleeds for You

You returned with a limp and dirt on your face.

You didn’t even make it past the front gate before Capitano’s hand gripped your arm.

“Where?” he demands. “What happened?”

“It's just a sprain—”

“Where.”

You point to your ankle.

Capitano kneels. Gently removes your boot. Touches the swelling with terrifying tenderness.

Then: “Who was there?”

You stay silent.

The room grows colder.

“I will not ask again.”

The next time you walk in the garden, there are no more strangers. No more intrusions. No more chances.

Capitano has stationed guards around your perimeter.

Not because you’re weak.

But because you’re sacred.

And he will not allow his kingdom’s last child to be reduced to flesh and blood.

[hyunles]

Casual | H.HJ.

pairing: hyunjin x fem!reader word count: 669 genre: angst cw: none notes: this is a bit of a vent!fic and it's not really long but i did my best, hope you like it :) as always, english is not my first language, pls consider on giving feedback (in the kindest way possible) taglist and requests are open, feel free to ask! have a nice reading <3

It started good.

Holding hands, mutual smiles, friendly dates…

Until it wasn't just a friendship.

You two started to grow closer and closer, saying cheesy things to each other, talking and playing until down, cute dates you'll never forget. The I love you's were the best. You always felt butterflies all over your body.

But these days, he's been silent, very quiet for his usual. He just texted at 2 pm asking how was your day and going silent again until midnight. Ignoring your texts but being active on social media.

You noticed all those little things, and they were like little daggers on your heart. You were confused but you thought he was just busy with his job. But no.

One night, he decided to finally text back.

"Can we talk about smth?"

Your heart skipped a beat. Your mind racing with infinite thoughts. What if he wanted a formal relationship with you? What if he didn't? What if he just talked about why he has been so distant lately?

"Sure :)"

You could only text with trembling hands. You were happy because the odds of him telling you that he wanted to take the next step were high.

"I'm going to your house. Give me 5 mins ;)"

Sigh. You were nervous as hell. You tidied up the slight mess there was on your living room —that just implied the wrinkled blanket on your couch and a coffee mug on the table— before he arrived.

As he promised, Hyunjin was at your door 5 minutes later. He had teary eyes and didn't look happy at all.

"Hyune, what happened?" You immediately asked, pulling him inside the house before cupping his face.

But he moved away.

He stepped back, swallowing his tears.

"Look… Let's start for the fact that I really love you. I think I've shared very nice moments with you, and I still have them, but I know that I might have made this situation bigger than it is, and I don't want it anymore."

He sighed quietly after that, scanning for your reaction, hoping you wouldn't feel that bad.

Oh, how wrong he was.

"Hyun?" You mumbled, confused.

He continued, wanting to make this as quick as possible.

"I don't know exactly what your feelings are for me, but I know I can't reciprocate them."

His words stung, hurting like hell.

I can't reciprocate them.

It killed you.

"This… How… Why?" You were speechless, trying not to cry.

"I just don't want you to hurt. I'm not good for you." He didn't say more. He even avoided your gaze on a desperate attempt of feeling better.

"Hyune…"

"Listen to me. I want you to be happy. And I'm not the right person… Not right now." He murmured before opening the door again.

You immediately got nervous, your eyes crystallizing with tears. "No, no Hyunjin, don't do this." You grabbed his arm in a desperate attempt to keep him close.

"Don't make this harder than it already is."

"Hyunjn don't do this. You told me you wanted to marry me, that you loved my cheesy ways, that you didn't know what you'd do without me. We've been like this for almost a year, why did everything change overnight?! What did I do wrong?" You said with broken voice, tears flowing out of your eyes, streaming down your face.

The sight broke his heart, but she moved away again. "Forgive me…" He whispered, walking out with no further explanation.

You froze for a second, and when you finally opened the door, he was already driving away.

You yelled his name hoping he would stop and turn around, but he never did.

You called a million times but he never answered.

You texted a thousand messages but he never replied.

He was serious.

And he didn't explain either. He just let you live in doubt, thinking you weren't good enough for him. He just let you feel like you were a burden or a difficulty.

And you accepted it.

After all, you knew that, if he returned, you'd be there.

ᝰ.ᐟ Reblogs and likes are very appreciated. If you enjoyed this, please consider them!

Thanks for reading!

── 2025, hyunles ⋆ No translations, rewrites, or reposts allowed.

[eufezco]

DINNER WITH FRIENDS𓂃 𓈒 ❀

thunderbolts*!bucky x fem!pregnant!reader

synopsis – when bucky returns home he's not alone and a quiet evening turns into a full house. seven months pregnant and unprepared, you're caught off guard but family is family.

a/n – this is just a little scenario that crossed my mind when i got out of the cinema after watching thunderbolt* for the fourth time. pleasee send me bucky requests i want to write for him but i have like 0 ideas. writing this i realized that i've oficially fallen for the john walker propaganda 😞

fluff

it was later than usual and bucky stil hadn't come home.

rebecca was in her room, playing quietly as she waited for her dad. you were in the kitchen. dinner was already done so with nothing else to do, you found yourself rearranging things on the counter, trying to distract your mind from the worry. you rubbed your seven-month pregnant belly as if it were a magic lamp and you were wishing for him to return. and then you heard the front door creak open.

—bucky? —you moved quickly out of the kitchen but you stopped on your track when you saw he wasn't alone.

—yeah, it's me.

—oh my god, —you breathed before he could finish talking, your hand flying to your chest. you weren't expecting five people with him. their faces familiar yet you'd never met them in person.

bucky stood in the middle of the group, his lips pressed together in a guilt line. he knew full well you weren't expecting this and that he should've warned you beforehand, but he hadn't known they'd all need a place to drop by on the same night after the same mission.

he'd hesitated, worried about adding more stress when you were already seven months pregnant. but then he thought of home and you and rebecca and how it might be the one thing that could soften the edges of everything they'd been through that day. and god help bucky, you'd told him a million times you'd love to meet them.

so here they were. on your doorstep. in your hallway.

—hi, —you said to them. you blinked, caught between surprise and disbelief.

bob waved his hand. yelena, ava and john pressed their lips together.

—oh, hi john —you knew john. he and bucky had caused each other a lot of headaches in the past, but you were glad that at least now they tolerated each other. john showed you a little smile.

alexei made his way through the group and approached you with open arms. you raised your eyebrows and just let the big man cover you in a hug. he smelled like vodka and leather but surprisingly, he was really careful with your belly as he hugged you.

—mrs. barnes, the wife of the soldier, oh, it's so nice finally meeting you, —he said with a rough russian accent. —behind every great man is a great woman, they say. a greater woman, may i add.

as he held you, you caught all the other faces around the room, all rolling their eyes. you giggled when he finally released you, alexei was just as dramatic as bucky described him. —thank you, alexei.

—you know my name, she knows my name! —he turned to tell the others. they gave him plain nods and lazy smiles.

—of course, everyone knows your names now. plus, bucky talks about you five all the time.

bucky closed his eyes and ava grinned and nudged him with her elbow.

—yelena, right?

you approached the blonde girl standing next to bucky. she had the same stormy look in her eyes as him, she could definitely be his little sister. she looked at bucky a little unsure when you called her name, almost as if for reassurance. she hadn't wanted to come at first, she didn't want to cross that line, didn't want to step into something as private and sacred as his home.

yelena nodded to your question. you softened your expression and offered a warm smile. bucky caught her hesitation and he gently pressed his hand to her back, giving her an encouraging push. you opened your arms and puller her into a hug before she could think too hard about it. she tensed for a moment but then her arms came high around you, as if she was afraid of even brushing your belly.

you hugged ava, careful not to press against her delicate suit. you'd heard enough from bucky to know how sensitive the tech could be and how guarded ava was underneath it.

bob was so ready when you hugged him and welcomed him to your house. he'd seen bucky's photos of you, the lock screen on his phone. he knew how after every operation, buck's first texts were always to you, checking in, making sure you were safe and letting you know that he made it out alive. if bob had the power of one million exploding suns, he was certain it still wouldn't match how fiercely bucky loved you. and that gave him hope.

you smiled before you hugged john. he wasn't sure if you'd want him in your house, after all, he'd been a pain in bucky's ass but hey, in his defense, bucky had been just as much of a pain in his. still, you welcomed him.

and the best for last. as the rest inspected your living room, looking at the photos and tripping over rebecca's toys, bucky stood with the most exhausted expression on his face. he stepped closer and let his head fall against your shoulder. one of your hands went to the back of his head, fingers slipping into his hair.

—long day?

bucky just hummed.

—how was yours?

—good. the baby barely kicked after last night, —in that moment you felt bucky's hands come to rest on both sides of your belly, his thumbs rubbed slow circles, up and down, protective, telling the baby he was finally home, taking care of his mom. —and rebecca drew alpine. with eight legs and no ears. she's very proud.

he breathed a laugh, —sounds about right.

bucky's friends were busy, the five of them around a photo frame on the wall. the only photo you had of bucky from 1940s, stiff and young in his uniform soldier, eyes still full of something bright that hydra hadn't yet extinguished.

he lifted his head from your shoulder and you cupped his cheek, your thumbs brushing over his rough beard. you pressed your lips softly against his, as if you were trying to transfer all the calm and love he'd missed during the day. as you pulled back, you noticed his shoulders dropped, releasing the tension, but the worried expression remained.

you reached up again, brushing your thumb over the line of his cheek as bucky's arms wrapped around your body, resting on the small of your back and pulling you closer to him, carefully, until he could feel your belly pressed against him, a connection between the three of you.

—talk to me, —you whispered.

he sighed, —didn't want to bring the day home, but they needed a place... and i couldn't leave them on the street. i didn't want to add more into it, not in your state.

you smiled. so it was that.

—you did the right thing, buck. they're family. if they needed somewhere to go, then they're welcome here. they'll always be.

bucky pressed his lips together. his two families. the one he fought beside and the one he came home to.

he'd never called them that before, not even in his head. they cared about each other in the quiet, protected one another during missions and watched each other's back in battle. they stood between each other and the line of fire and carried each other when the mission left someone too hurt to stand.

it doesn't matter if bucky never said the word, they were his family.

he slowly nodded at your words, —it was supposed to be just bob... didn't expect all of them to show up at once.

—well, neither did the couch, —you teased, getting a soft laugh from him.

ava caught both your eyes as she turned from the wall where she'd been quietly observing young bucky's photo.

—you were so clean-shaven, it's almost like seeing you naked.

you burst out laughing just as bucky groaned beside you, head dropping on your shoulder again like the comment physically wounded him.

—look at that jawline, it could cut glass, —bob said, squinting his eyes at the photo, hands on his hips.

—sharp enough to be a war crime, —you kissed the top of bucky's head. he lifted it slightly, oh so you were joining them now?

—were there toothpaste ads back then? because you sure look like one. fight fascism and fight plaque.

—that's the image of a man! of the soldier! a hero! —alexei boomed, gesturing toward the photo like it belonged in a museum.

—yeah, a man that gave speeches on liberty bonds or punch hitler.

—i did punch hitler, —bucky said flatly, barely looking up.

—how many times are you gonna bring that up?

—as many as it takes, john.

—you should put that on a t-shirt, —john continued, —i punched hitler and all i got was this brooding personality.

you noticed yelena's attention was on the rest of the photos. the teasing in the room faded to a hum behind her.

her eyes moved from frame to frame, pausing on each one. a photo from your summer in wakanda, bucky with his hair tied back, sunlight turning the metal of his arm into gold as rebecca sat on his shoulders, his hands steady at her ankles. next to that was a shot of the hospital room, bucky still in scrubs, circles under his eyes, holding his daughter for the first time. all memories you'd been building through the years. not all of them were easy, not all of them looked like picture frames. it was what yelena had been looking for all her life.

—bucky, —yelena called him, getting everyone's attention. the teasing died down completely when everyone looked to the stairs.

rebecca stood halfway down, clutching her uncle sam captain america's plushie, her socked feet fidgeted against the step like she wasn't sure if she wanted to go back up or keep coming down. her thumb hovered near her mouth the way it only did when she was unsure of something.

—damn, she definitely is your daughter, —yelena said to bucky.

the little girl was a small version of bucky. blue deep eyes, brown hair that curled at the ends in soft waves, the way she looked at everyone without saying a word, just like bucky always did. she had that look on her face just like his, the one where even though she wasn't talking, it showed that her mind was moving fast, watching everything and everyone.

mostly, she looked overwhelmed. strangers filled her living room, standing loud, tall, unfamiliar in the space she knew as home. until she saw bucky. her bucky. she didn't hesitate. she ran down the stairs, her little feet pounding against the steps. without hesitation, she threw herself into her dad's arms, wrapping her small arms tightly around his neck. bucky lifted her effortlessly, smiling big as he held her close.

—oh, you definitely ate all of your veggies today, bug, you got stronger, almost knocked me off my feet.

rebecca's giggles filled the room. the others stood nearby, watching the scene, unsure how to react to seeing bucky all soft. even alexei, who rarely blinked at anything, went unusually still. you rubbed your daughter's back as she tucked her face in bucky's neck, her little fingers twisted into the fabric of his shirt, when she realized all eyes were on her.

—she's a little shy at first, but when she gains a little confidence, you'll be begging her to stop talking, —you explained to the group, half apologetic, half proud. they all nodded and smiled, understanding. —'becca, these are dad's friends. they're here just for tonight. you okay if they stay a little while?

she gave the smallest nod, still hiding her face in bucky's neck. he turned, holding her against his body, toward the rest of the group.

—boss says you can stay, —bucky announced.

yelena let out a yay, bob mumbled a sweet thank you.

rebecca peeked a little from the crook of bucky's neck, her eyes finding john first. he offered her a small, friendly wave. she hesitated but she ended up lifting her hand a mimicking the motion.

—out of all of them, —bucky murmured, more for john to hear than to her, —you had to wave to walker first?

john of course heard it and rolled his eyes.

in that moment your feet started to hurt more than you realized. too much standing for a seven months pregnant. you shifted your wight, trying to ease it, but even the small movement sent a bolt of discomfort up your spine. one of your hands instinctively moved to the curve of your belly and the baby fluttered under your palm, not a kick, just a little roll.

bucky noticed, but not just him, everyone in the room did.

—you okay? —ava asked.

—you should sit, —yelena added.

alexei immediately grabbed the nearest chair to him as bucky carefully lowered rebecca. —okay, bug, let's help mama, —he approached you, wrapping his metal arm around your body and helping you sit carefully.

rebecca stood, clutching with her captain america plushie tightly as her eyes flicked between john, bob, yelena and ava. none of them knew how to respond to her watchful presence, except for john, who caught her gaze again and with the little experience he had with kids, knelt down to her level, making himself less intimidating.

—why don't you guide me to the kitchen and we'll get your mom a glass of water?

she blinked, thinking about it for a second, then slowly nodded. john stood, not expecting her to wrapped her small fingers into his hand as she lead the way. to say that bucky was freaking out would be an understatement.

in the kitchen, rebecca pointed at the cupboard where the glass where kept. john took one of them and filled it with water from the tap. then, she gave him her captain america plushie so she could grab the glass, was this kind of bad joke? john followed her, still holding the plushie like he wasn't sure if it was meant to curse him or recruit him.

yelena and ava huffed a laugh when they saw him carrying the plushie.

rebecca carefully approached you, then gently handed over the glass. bucky gave john a grateful nod. you smiled warmly, taking a sip, —thank you, sweetie.

—my sister makes mama sick sometimes, —rebecca explained to everyone. the room was still, hearing her voice for the first time like it was something sacred.

—but you take good care of her, —bob said, his voice gentle.

—yeah, you sure are doing a great job, kid. i couldn't have brought that glass of water better myself, —john added.

rebecca showed a little smile, proud. with extreme care, she placed her tiny hand on your belly, her fingers splaying and she waited, hoping for the smallest kick from her baby sister. bucky kissed the top of your head.

—i made dinner, but i only expected bucky...

a chorus of don't worry, not hungry, i'm okay, i ate earlier, happened before you could finish talking. you looked around them all, tired, boots dusty from whatever roads they'd taken today, and hungry. no matter what they said.

—so we could order something, —you finally suggested.

bucky thought it was a great idea because there was no way he was going to let them go to bed with empty stomachs. while he made the call to the pizzeria, rebecca marched to the kitchen, ava and walker behind her like shadows as she pointed out the drawer with the cutlery.

back in the living room, you stood up from the chair. yelena, alexei and bob didn't let you out of their sight for a second. bucky, still on the phone, caught your movement and gave yelena a sharp nod, a silent command to keep you from doing anything else and to get you to the couch. you assured that you were fine, but it was no use.

at least alexei was no bore, he talked nonstop, about everything that came to his mind, most of the times embarrassing memories of little yelena. and rebecca had abandoned ava and walker to their luck in the kitchen and sat down next to bob with her notebook. you heard her mumble a wanna see my drawings? and the boy, as the sweetheart he was, couldn't deny. she explained every detail to him, not even letting bob get a word or ask a question.

ava helped bucky spread the tablecloth and john placed carefully the plates and glasses on the table.

—so, —ava said, looking at bucky with a teasing smirk, —another girl? you're the ultimate girl dad.

—yeah, three girls plus you and yelena. keeping me on my toes.

ava didn't say anything but she felt a little warmer at the way he'd included her and yelena in that count, like they were a bigger part of his life. he hadn't said it with any special emphasis, hadn't even looked at her when he said it but still, it stuck with her.

and the dinner was nice. so nice. bucky sat close by your side, his fingers gently holding your free hand over the table. rebecca was between yelena and ava but she was laughing at something walker had said to her, something funny enough to light up her whole face. bob had a soft blush on his cheeks. people laughing, sharing stories, the clink of plates and glasses, it almost felt unreal to him.

bucky leaned to kiss your cheek. you absolutely had no idea where all these people were going to sleep. the couch, the floor, a few air mattresses if the closet still held them, but definitely not enough beds. but looking at all together, sitting around the same table, full and happy, it didn't seem to matter at all.

[0scarp1astr1]

Spoiled Much? (P1)

જ⁀➴ Desc: || Pranking them but telling them you let another man pay for you. ||

P2

ᯓ★ Featuring: Max Verstappen, Charles Leclerc, Lewis Hamilton, Lando Norris, Carlos Sainz, Fernando Alonso.

ᯓ★ 1x Genre: Humor

ᯓ★ Warning: None

ᯓ★ Requested? Yes

Author Note: We are back to headcanons! and doing requests given to me. I've been working on the masterlist that will soon replace the original pinned post. It'll have links to each part of these headcanosn so I hope you all enjoy.

▀▄▀▄▀▄ ▀▄▀▄▀▄ ▀▄▀▄▀▄ ▀▄▀▄▀▄ ▀▄▀▄▀▄ ▀▄▀▄▀▄ ▀▄▀

Max Verstappen

It all started with a few innocent scrolls on TikTok—girls pranking their boyfriends left and right—and you figured, why not? Max had just handed you his card to go grab a few things from the store, trusting you like he always did. That’s when the perfect plan popped into your mind.

"Call me if you need me," he said casually, completely unaware. You hummed in response, leaned over to kiss his cheek, and slipped out of the car with a little too much pep in your step.

Max leaned back in the driver’s seat, letting the car sit idle in the parking spot. At first, he thought nothing of your delay. He assumed you were just stuck in a long line. Meanwhile, inside, you were hunched over a cart, hiding your giggles behind your hand as you rehearsed the prank in your head.

Eventually, you managed to compose yourself, strolled out with your bags in hand, and tossed them into the back seat before slipping into your place beside him. You buckled up, eyes wide with innocent mischief.

"The man I ran into was really nice—he paid for everything," you said smoothly.

Max turned toward you, brow already furrowing. "The man?" he echoed, confused. "What are you talking about, lieverd?"

You nodded, playing it cool. "Yeah, he said I was pretty and that I shouldn’t have to pay on my own, so...he paid for everything."

Max leaned toward you, staring like he was trying to read your soul. "You weren’t paying on your own? That was literally my card."

"Yeah," you shrugged, holding it out to him. "But he insisted."

He took the card from your hand, jaw tightening slightly. "How old was this guy?"

You pretended to think, dragging out the moment. "Hmm… around your age, I guess?"

Max scoffed. "And he just—what—started complimenting you and offered to pay? Just like that?"

You fought the urge to burst into laughter. "He wasn’t hitting on me," you said, smiling just a little too much.

"He called you pretty," Max shot back, frowning. "And don’t get me wrong—you are—but still. He clearly meant what he said. That’s not casual."

You just nodded solemnly, letting the tension hang in the air a second longer before he abruptly unbuckled. "Alright, I’m going back inside to find this guy."

You grabbed his arm, laughter spilling out now. "Max, wait—"

"No, seriously," he huffed. "He thinks you’re single or something. Like he has a shot. I can afford to fly you to Monaco, let you live in my house, be spoiled every day of your life—what can he offer you?"

You were full-on laughing now, tears threatening to sting your eyes. "Baby, I was pranking you. There was no guy. I used your card like you said."

Max froze, blinking at you. Slowly, his stern expression melted into something softer, almost amused.

"You’re evil," he muttered, shaking his head. Then he let out a quiet laugh of his own. "Don’t joke like that, lieverd. You know I don’t care if people think you’re pretty—but if someone’s actually hitting on you? No. Absolutely not."

You leaned over, kissing his cheek. "Look at you, all protective and jealous."

"You nearly scared me to death, lieverd,"

▀▄▀▄▀▄ ▀▄▀▄▀▄ ▀▄▀▄▀▄ ▀▄▀▄▀▄ ▀▄▀▄▀▄ ▀▄▀▄▀▄ ▀▄▀

Charles Leclerc

Charles was home, lounging on the couch with Leo curled up beside him, the little dog resting his chin on Charles' leg like the most loyal companion. The TV played softly in the background, a comforting buzz. Before you left, Charles had handed you his card with a smile, telling you to get whatever you were craving for dinner tonight. But instead of heading straight home after shopping, you were too busy plotting your latest prank—one inspired by a few too many TikToks.

"I'm home!" you called out as you stepped inside. At once, Leo perked up, leaping from the couch and padding over to greet you with his tail wagging wildly.

Charles looked over his shoulder. "I was starting to worry," he said, standing up. "You took longer than usual."

You smiled innocently, setting your keys down and slipping off your shoes. After leaning in to kiss his cheek, you dropped the first line. "Sorry, this guy paid for everything and we just got caught up in conversation."

Charles froze, staring at you like you'd just said the most absurd thing he’d ever heard. “Je t’ai donné ma carte ?” he asked, blinking slowly.

You hummed. "I know, but he was really sweet. Said I shouldn’t worry my pretty little head about paying. He covered it."

Charles just stared for a moment before slowly shaking his head. “That’s unbelievable. People are going to assume you're dating him.”

You fought back a grin, holding it in with all your strength. "No one’s going to think that but you, Charles."

“Sure, sure,” he muttered, eyes narrowing as he turned on his heel and headed toward the kitchen. You followed him, bags in hand.

"Tu fais la moue ?" you teased once inside, catching a glimpse of his unmistakably pouty expression.

Charles didn’t even try to hide it. He just stared at you, arms crossed like a sulking prince. “I treat you well. We live in Monaco. We have Leo,” he gestured around, like the dog was part of his romantic résumé. “I drive in F1—and you're letting some random guy hit on you, baby?”

You couldn’t help it anymore. You broke, laughing as you set the bags on the counter. “I was just messing with you, Charles. There was no guy. I used your card—like I was supposed to.”

He let out a long sigh, his head dropping back slightly. “Don’t scare me like that, woman. I thought some random was actually going to take you away from me.”

You walked up to him, wrapping your arms around his waist. “I’m with you, Charles. Why would some random have me?”

He gave a tiny shrug, still sulking. “You never know.”

You patted his back playfully. “I got you good,” you said through a soft laugh. Leo barked at your feet as if to agree, his tail wagging like he, too, was in on the joke.

Charles looked down at the dog, then at you, his pout slowly morphing into a smirk

“Yeah, well—just wait, Y/N. One day, I’ll get you back.”

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Lewis Hamilton

You and Lewis had been shopping together most of the day, casually wandering the aisles like the soft domestic duo you were. At some point, Lewis veered off toward the pet section to get Roscoe a few new treats and maybe a fresh toy or two, promising to meet you up front when he was done. You nodded sweetly and went your own way—though behind that innocent look, you were plotting. And not just any plan: a prank. A classic, lighthearted trap for your sweet, loving, “just tell me what you need and I’ll buy it” boyfriend.

After grabbing everything you came for, you paid for your cart using your own money, then waited with the most innocent look you could muster. Lewis eventually showed up, a plush dog bed under one arm and a pack of Roscoe’s favorite snacks in the other.

"You already paid for your stuff?" he asked, dropping the items onto the counter.

You nodded, slipping into character. "No actually… this really nice guy offered to pay. Said I looked beautiful today, and he didn’t want me lifting a finger."

Lewis blinked. “He what?”

"He paid for me," you repeated with a shrug, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling. "Said it was his pleasure. Real gentleman type."

Lewis squinted at you like you just told him someone insulted Roscoe. "Baby… that man was flirting with you."

You shook your head, playing dumb. “No, he was just being nice.”

“Right. ‘Just being nice,’” Lewis echoed, making air quotes with a look of complete disbelief. “Because men randomly pay for groceries out of the kindness of their hearts and not at all to shoot their shot with a gorgeous woman.”

You kept your poker face as he grabbed the shopping bags and kept going. “I don’t see myself out here buying random women’s almond milk and cucumbers just to be nice. That’s a move.”

You tried to hide your smirk. “You sound a little… jealous.”

Lewis narrowed his eyes. “I’m not jealous. I’m logical. Man sees a beautiful woman, she’s alone, he tries his luck with his wallet. Basic flirting algorithm.”

“I mean, it worked. He was really sweet.”

That did it.

Lewis ran a hand down his face and let out a long sigh. “Look, it’s great someone thinks you’re hot enough to swipe a card for—but you know I’m right here. You never have to let some man pay for you when your boyfriend drives for a living. Just sayin’.”

You watched him ramble with a barely contained laugh as he kept going.

“I mean, come on, I spoil you for a reason. And now some stranger thinks he can step in with a grocery run? That’s his whole move?”

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. You burst into laughter, your body shaking as you leaned into the cart. “Lewis. Babe. It was a prank. I paid for everything. No man, no flirting, no almond milk Casanova.”

He blinked, pausing mid-rant. “Wait… you’re serious?”

“I am. Gotcha.”

He took a breath like someone who’d just been pulled from open water. “I’m forty, woman. You can’t play with my blood pressure like that.”

You grinned. “Alright, old man.”

Lewis straightened up immediately. “I am not an old man.”

“You didn’t even catch on to the prank, grandpa.”

He narrowed his eyes, his lips tugging into a smirk. “Forty doesn’t make me old. It makes me wise. And this wise man now knows he’s being pranked in public.”

You patted his back “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll go easy on you next time.”

Lewis gave a low chuckle, wagging a finger at you.

“No, no. You started something. A prank war is officially declared. So… just be prepared.”

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Lando Norris

When it came to you and Lando, pranks weren’t just an occasional thing—they were a lifestyle. The relationship came with love, laughter, and a mild risk of heart attacks. Like the time he woke you up at 3AM with a horror mask and you nearly karate-kicked him into next week. Or when you served him a fish smoothie and he banned you from the blender for a month. Your TikTok followers? Obsessed. They lived for every prank war update, every meltdown, every squeal of revenge.

So when you got tagged in a new viral prank trend, it was practically a public request to strike again. You didn’t hesitate. The phone was propped up, camera rolling discreetly, and you were all set. Lando, of course, had no clue what was coming.

You heard the door open and quickly pretended to be busy with prep in the kitchen. He walked in, hoodie slightly damp from the gym, cheeks flushed from the workout. “Smells good,” he said, setting down the grocery bag before leaning in for a soft kiss. “Took me forever to find that stupid oat cream you like.”

You smiled sweetly. “Oh, you didn’t have to. I ended up sending that list to Joshua earlier, and he already grabbed everything for me. Paid for it too. Said, and I quote, ‘anything for the pretty lady.’ Sweet, huh?”

Lando froze, hand still half-in the bag. “Joshua?”

“Mm-hmm,” you nodded, biting your inner cheek.

He blinked. “As in your friend Joshua? The one who wears too much cologne and tried to teach me how to salsa at that dinner party?”

You tilted your head. “Yeah, he insisted.”

Lando scoffed, standing up straighter. “I literally sweat through my hoodie at the gym, fought for a parking spot, went to four aisles for oat cream—and you let another man, one who smells like a Hugo Boss sample sale, buy your groceries?”

You struggled to keep a straight face. “He was being nice.”

“Oh, nice? Nice?! That’s the international signal for flirting. What’s next, is he gonna tuck you into bed and read you poetry? Babe, if I see him handing you a spoon while you're cooking, I might lose it.”

“Are you jealous?”

“I’m insulted. I’m offended. I’m—” He placed a hand over his chest. “—deeply betrayed. I mean, I pay rent! I drive race cars for a living! I went out to get snacks for your cravings at 4AM one time! And now I’m just… footnote boyfriend?”

You snorted. “You’re so dramatic.”

He gasped. “Go ask Joshua to massage your feet tonight then. My spa services are officially retired. Hope he has peppermint oil.”

At that point, you burst into laughter, pointing toward the camera recording from the corner. Lando followed your gaze, groaned, and dragged a hand down his face. “You little gremlin,” he muttered. “Of course it’s a prank. Of course.”

“Aww, you love me.”

“I do. Too much. Which is why you’re lucky you’re cute, because anyone else trying this would be blocked and reported.”

You leaned up, kissing his jaw gently. “You’re my favorite victim.”

He smirked. “And you’re my favorite menace. But just know—this war? It’s not over. I know you're scared of some bugs and some...other things. I’ve got Oscar on speed dial.”

Your eyes widened. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, I will. I already know where you hide your slippers.”

“LANDO NORRIS!” you shrieked as he backed into the hallway, giggling like the absolute child he was.

“Love you!” he called over his shoulder.

“Calling Oscar now! Let’s ruin her life!”

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Carlos Sainz

Carlos and you had been on the road for way too long, the kind of drive where you’ve already debated three podcast topics, played the same five songs on repeat, and shared half a bag of chips in silence. You were coming back from a much-needed trip—two full weeks away from the chaos of daily life. But now, you were finally heading home. And honestly? You were ready.

Still, you needed one last laugh before real life kicked back in. So, naturally, you plotted a prank.

You’d been riding like a queen in the passenger seat the whole time—pillow tucked under your head, cozy in the Christmas blanket Carlos had gotten you last year, doing everything but offering to drive. So when Carlos offered to go into the store to grab some snacks, you stopped him with a sweet smile and a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll go,” you insisted, taking his card from his hand.

He smirked. “Okay, but bring chips. Whatever you pick, I’ll eat it, mi amor.”

Inside, you grabbed everything you both liked—chips, drinks, something sweet. But instead of swiping his card, you paid with yours. And as you made your way back to the car, the plan was already in motion.

Sliding into the passenger seat, you handed him his card back with a calm smile. “You know,” you said casually, “the cashier was really nice. Paid for everything himself. Said he’d just take it out of his paycheck. Also told me my shirt looked cute.”

Carlos stared at you. “Wait—my shirt? That’s literally mine, you’re wearing my clothes.”

“Yeah, but he liked it,” you said with a shrug. “Said it brought out my eyes.”

Carlos blinked at you like he’d just short-circuited. “Oh my god.”

You bit your lip, trying to hide your laugh.

“Mi amor, what do you mean some random cashier paid for your snacks and flirted with you while you were wearing my clothes? Do I look like I’m sharing?”

You tried to keep a straight face as he gestured wildly at the snack bag like it had betrayed him. “I don’t even want these anymore. I can’t eat the chips. They’ve been... compromised.”

“Carlos—”

“No, seriously. You have a ring on your finger! Granted, it’s a promise ring, but still, the promise is loud and clear! I was gone for five minutes and I already lost you to a gas station Romeo?”

That was it. You burst out laughing, your head thrown back as tears formed in your eyes.

He narrowed his gaze, suspicious. “Wait. No. Don’t tell me...”

Still giggling, you nodded. “It’s a prank. I paid with my card.”

He groaned and started the engine again, shaking his head. “You almost gave me a heart attack, mi vida.”

You wiped your eyes, still giggling. “I have to tell Charles about this. He’s going to love it.”

Carlos turned, deadpan. “Do not tell Charles. I swear, if that man starts calling me Gas Station Cuckold or something—”

“You’re being dramatic!”

“I’m being real!” he exclaimed. “That was emotional damage.”

You leaned over and kissed his cheek. “You love me.”

He sighed. “Way too much. And that’s exactly the problem.”

You laughed again as he muttered under his breath, pulling back onto the road. “Just know...this isn’t over. I’ve got something planned. Something evil.”

“Oh yeah?” you smirked.

He grinned. “Just wait till you wake up to find glitter in your shampoo.”

“CARLOS!”

“Love you!”

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Fernando Alonso

You and Fernando had only recently tied the knot — rings still shining, wedding playlists still stuck in your heads. The honeymoon? Cut short by his ever-demanding racing schedule. But to make up for it (and to keep his guilt in check), Fernando had surprised you with a follow-up getaway, your choice of destination. Romantic, thoughtful… and, as you decided, the perfect setting to prank your new husband.

The internet had become obsessed with your marriage — overnight, you'd gone from “regular girl with decent taste in sunglasses” to “Fernando Alonso’s wife who posts adorable reels.” So when fans started tagging you in prank challenges, you figured: why not give the people what they want?

Camera hidden. Kitchen smelling like garlic and glory. Tomatoes being sliced with intention. You were ready.

Fernando walked into the vacation home and immediately lit up. “Huele bien,” he smiled, shrugging off his jacket.

“Mhm,” you hummed, sliding the tomatoes into the pot. “Took me a minute to get it all, though. I accidentally brought the wrong card with me to the store.”

He frowned immediately, concerned. “You should’ve called me, mi amor. I would’ve paid—”

“No need. A very sweet guy at the store paid for me. Said he didn’t want a pretty girl like me to struggle.”

The air stilled. Fernando blinked. Once. Twice.

“I’m sorry, what?” he said slowly.

You kept stirring the pot, tone completely casual. “Yeah, he just insisted. Said it was no trouble. Even complimented my top. Super nice guy.”

Fernando was now planted in place like he’d just been hit with a yellow flag mid-race.

“So... some stranger,” he started, arms crossing, “paid for your groceries. Complimented you. And you just… thanked him and left?”

“Yep.”

“You didn’t say, ‘Oh, I’m married to Fernando Alonso, two-time world champion, racing legend, heartthrob since 2001’?”

You blinked innocently. “Didn’t think it was necessary.”

Fernando threw his hands up. “Necessary?! That ring I gave you is the size of a small island. It has its own timezone. You could signal planes with it.”

You bit back a grin as he kept spiraling. “And this guy? Just decided to be your white knight? At the produce section?! He sees you picking tomatoes and thinks, ‘Yes, this damsel needs saving’?”

You nodded, trying so hard not to laugh. “Pretty much.”

He started pacing. “No. No, no, no. See, I make you feel better when you’re down. I buy you things. I compliment you. I signed up for that role! This guy? He’s just freelancing emotional support. I should find him.”

You turned, finally pointing toward the fruit bowl hiding your phone. “Or... you could relax. Because you’ve been pranked.”

Fernando froze. “You’re joking.”

You just smiled.

He leaned in, spotting the camera, then groaned dramatically. “Oh my god. I gave a full speech. I even included my racing credentials.”

“And it was a very passionate monologue,” you teased.

He stared at you, narrowing his eyes. “You’re evil.”

“Maybe. But I’m your evil.”

He shook his head, muttering something in Spanish before pausing. “Also… be honest with me. Was I really hot in the early 2000s?”

Your head snapped up. “Fernando. You were unfairly hot in the 2000s. Like, ‘could’ve ruined my life if we’d met back then’ hot. The hair? The fire? The attitude? I would've fallen hard.”

He raised a brow, trying not to look too pleased. “Gracias, mi vida. Very sweet of you.”

Then he pointed at you, smug returning full force. “But don’t think flattery will save you. You will be pranked back. And when it happens? You’ll regret ever stirring that tomato sauce.”

You giggled, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “You’re adorable when you’re dramatic.”

He smirked, grabbing a spoon and tasting the pasta. “I was adorable in the 2000s too.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m going to post this entire thing.”

“I know,” he sighed.

“Just tag me in it — and put ‘Oscar-worthy performance’ in the caption.”

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[artficlly]

read between the lines [one-shot]

college marvel au frat!jock!bucky x cheerleader!reader tutoring bucky barnes was already distracting enough, but leaving your diary in his room? that is a whole new problem.

Warnings: fluff, so much fluff, tutoring, first kiss, college au, vague panic from reader, idk it's just kinda fun and cute :), no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: hi this was for a request! so so cute, i wrote this so fast i didn't even think i would have it ready to post so quickly. idk anything about cheerleading or how college works in america, so forgive me. inspired by that willow song! sorry for any typos - not proof read.

main masterlist

I’ve been tutoring Bucky.

Well, James, technically. But he goes by Bucky. Says it’s a childhood nickname and it just stuck, and honestly? That’s kind of adorable. Like, who clings to a nickname that hard? Even the professors call him that, which should be cringe, but somehow it’s not? It just suits him. I literally don’t think I could call him James even if I tried. ‘Bucky’ feels right. It sounds warm. Familiar. Stupidly charming.

Ugh. Anyway.

He’s in one of those frats I usually stay far away from. The kind that smells like cheap beer and Axe body spray. Always yelling, always playing music way too loud, always shirtless for no reason. I swore I’d never waste my time on a guy like that. I really thought he was gonna be a cocky, arrogant douche when I first got assigned to tutor him.

But he’s not. Like… at all?

He’s actually really nice. Like, unfairly nice. That casual kind of nice that makes you forget you’re supposed to be annoyed. He remembers stuff I say. Not the big stuff, the tiny stuff. Like how I chew my pen when I’m stressed, or how I like lemon Gatorade for cheerleading practice. And yesterday he brought me those sour gummy worms I mentioned ONE time. Just handed them over all casual like, ‘Thought you might want a little sugar after practice.’ Who does that?? Like… stop. That’s not fair.

But of course, he’s like that with everyone. That’s the worst part. He’s charming in this totally effortless way. Looks at you like you’re the most interesting person alive and then turns around and does the exact same thing to someone else. How am I supposed to know what’s real?

And GOD. He’s hot. Like, it’s actually rude. He laughs and it does something to me. Like full-on makes my brain stop working. And his ARMS?? Every time he pushes his sleeves up to his elbows I lose one year off my life. For real. It’s like he’s doing it on purpose. (I mean, he’s not, but like… what if he is???) Sometimes I forget what I’m even explaining because he’s just sitting there smiling at me with those eyes and that stupid little smirk and suddenly I’m thinking about kissing him instead of confidence intervals. It’s not okay.

He’s on the football team. Scholarship guy. Big deal. Girls are obsessed with him. I’ve literally heard people talk about him in the locker room like he’s a celebrity. And me? I’m just… I don’t know. I’m me. I cheer and I study and I try not to let my GPA fall apart and I pretend I’m not crushing on someone completely out of my league.

So no. I’m not gonna say anything.

Because maybe I did catch him looking at me the other day when I tied my hair up. Maybe he does stay a little longer when we’re done. Maybe he leans in a little closer than necessary. But maybe I’m imagining it. Maybe I want it too bad and I’m just reading into everything. I don’t want to be that girl. I don’t want to get hurt.

So I’m gonna do what I’m supposed to do. Help him pass stats. Smile when he brings me candy. Laugh at his dumb jokes. Pretend like my heart doesn’t skip a beat every time he says my name.

I’m just going to help him pass stats. That’s all this is. Right? God, I’m so dumb.

—

You were fucked. Well and truly screwed.

You couldn’t even focus during practice. Missed counts, off-beat claps, a completely botched dismount that nearly took you and the poor girl spotting you both out in one go. Natasha pulled you aside with that look—the one that said she was two seconds away from losing it—and muttered something about getting your shit together because the big game was in a week and this wasn’t the time to be spacing out.

But how were you supposed to focus? Your diary was missing.

Your actual, physical, spiral-bound diary filled with every unfiltered thought you’d been too scared to say out loud. The same one where you’d spent the last four pages gushing about Bucky freaking Barnes like some sad, delusional teenage cliché. You didn’t even want to think about what you wrote last night, something about his arms and the way he smiles and how you swore he looked at you differently when you tied your hair up. It was humiliating.

You never should’ve taken it out of your room. You knew it was a bad idea. But Yelena had been on one of her ‘I’m bored and nosy’ benders, and the last time you left anything out, she’d read your old poetry journal and quoted it back to you at breakfast. You weren’t about to risk that again. So, like a total idiot, you shoved your diary in your bag before heading to class, thinking you’d keep it safe with you.

The entire day had been chaos. You barely managed to scarf down lunch between lectures, and by the time your 3 p.m. class let out, you were already sprinting across campus to make it to Bucky’s place for tutoring. Not that you actually got much tutoring done. You never did, not when he looked at you with that stupid, easy grin, or leaned back in his chair like he owned the air around him. One second you were going over statistical formulas, and the next you were talking about childhood pets and favourite movies, laughing like you hadn’t just been drowning in assignments ten minutes earlier. Time always slipped away around him. You ended up bolting to cheer practice.

It wasn’t until hours later, back in your dorm with your bag dumped upside down on the floor, that you realised your diary was missing. Your diary. 

You’d spent a solid hour panicking, then a full thirty minutes rummaging through the lost and found at the campus security office, practically elbow-deep in a box of mismatched gloves and cracked phone cases. The guy behind the desk eventually looked up from his screen, where he was rather obviously playing solitaire, and told you with the energy of someone who very much did not care that maybe it hadn’t been handed in.

You wanted to scream.

Now your most personal, most mortifying thoughts were just out there. Floating around. God only knew where or with who. And sure, maybe whoever found it wouldn’t read it. Maybe they’d be a decent human being and just turn it in without flipping through. But let’s be honest, if you found a diary with someone’s deepest secrets in it, you’d probably peek too.

You were going to be sick. Actually sick. And not because Natasha had you running suicides again like she was training you for the NFL, but because your life might genuinely be over. Because if he found it? What if you left it in his room? What if Bucky read even one word of what you wrote?

You didn’t even want to finish that thought.

No, you literally couldn’t even finish that thought because, as Natasha finally called for the end of the session and the team began their warm-down stretches, swapping tired smiles and gulping down water, you saw him.

Bucky.

Standing at the edge of the field in that stupid grey hoodie, sleeves pushed up, all smug and handsome like he hadn’t just shown up to ruin your entire existence. He had that lazy, charming smile on his face, the one that made people trust him too fast, the one that made you trust him too fast, and in his hand?

Glittery blue cover. Spiral binding. Your diary.

You were going to throw up. No, genuinely, you could feel your stomach lurch. This was it. This was how you died. Not in a blaze of glory or during a botched basket toss, but here, sweaty, humiliated, and on the verge of a nervous breakdown in the middle of the goddamn football field.

You didn’t even think. You just stormed over before anyone else could notice, grabbing his arm and dragging him behind the bleachers like it was a crime scene. Which it kind of was. A crime against your dignity.

Bucky didn’t protest. He followed easily, letting you pull him along like it was some sort of game. Of course he did. And of course, he was smiling the whole time, like you hadn’t just gone into cardiac arrest ten feet away.

Your heart was pounding so hard you could barely speak. It rattled in your chest like a warning, like it knew this moment was about to go down in your personal hall of shame.

“Where…how…why do you have that?” you hissed, snatching at the diary, but he held it just out of reach, still annoyingly calm.

He raised a brow, like you’d just asked him what two plus two was. “You left it at my place. After tutoring. You were in a rush, remember?”

No. No, no, no, no, no. Of course, it had been his place. Of course.

“I—I didn’t mean to, I wasn’t thinking, I just—” You were spiralling, words tumbling out too fast, too breathless, and your fingers were twitching like you might just snatch the book and sprint across campus. “Did you…Did you read it?”

A beat. He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at you.

And then, God, he smiled. Not the cocky one, not the football-star grin. This one was softer. Slower. Dangerous.

Your stomach dropped.

“I read enough,” he said.

You froze.

Your ears rang. Your mouth went dry. Your body just stopped.

“Enough?” you echoed, voice cracking halfway through. “Enough of what? Enough to—oh my God.”

You turned away instinctively, hand over your mouth like that could somehow keep your soul from escaping your body. Because what did that mean? What was ‘enough?’ Enough to ruin your life? Enough to laugh about it with his frat brothers? Enough to tell every girl on campus that the cheerleader who couldn’t even stick a full-out had a crush on him?

You didn’t even realise you were pacing until Bucky gently caught your wrist.

“Hey. Relax,” he said, and his voice was way too steady for someone holding the social equivalent of a loaded weapon.

You yanked your arm back like his touch burned. “Relax? Bucky, that was private. It’s literally a diary! It’s not for reading, it's for… spiralling in silence!”

He tilted his head a little, watching you carefully, and if he was offended by your panic, he didn’t show it. “You left it on my bed. Open.”

You groaned and covered your face with both hands. “Please. Just kill me. Right here. Hide the body under the bleachers. I’m serious.”

Bucky chuckled—chuckled, like this was some kind of joke—and stepped closer. You could feel his presence even before you lowered your hands again. 

“Why didn’t you just say something?” he asked, quiet now. “If you felt that way.”

Your eyes snapped to his. “Because I didn’t know if it meant anything! You’re nice to everyone. You flirt like it’s a reflex. You remember everyone’s drink orders, compliment their outfits, hold doors and say all the right things. I thought I was just another person you were… nice to.”

He didn’t answer your panicked rambling right away. Just looked at you for a long moment.

“Yeah, I’m nice to people. Doesn’t mean I feel the same way I feel about you.”

Your heart dropped straight into your stomach.

“What?” you whispered, hating how small your voice sounded.

He held your gaze, completely serious now.

“Like I wanna kiss you every time you chew that damn pen cap. Like, I think about you even when I’m supposed to be studying. Like I can’t focus when you’re talking ‘cause all I do is stare at your damn lips.” He paused, and something almost like a laugh broke out of him, soft and self-conscious. “Like I’ve been trying to find a not-creepy way to tell you I like you since the second tutoring started, but you were always so focused and cool and out of my league.”

That last part made your head spin.

“Out of your league?” you repeated, eyes wide.

He smirked, stepping just a bit closer, lowering his voice. “Have you seen yourself? You’re smart, you’re so pretty it’s ridiculous, and you’ve got this whole thing where you act like you don’t know you’re the coolest girl on campus. Of course, I was nervous.”

You blinked at him. “Bucky… are you flirting with me behind the bleachers while holding my diary hostage?”

He grinned. “Maybe. Depends. Is it working?”

You tried to snatch the diary out of his hand, but he was faster, effortlessly holding it just out of reach like it weighed nothing.

“God, I hate you,” you muttered through gritted teeth, bouncing up on your toes in a desperate attempt to grab it. All it earned you was the embarrassing realisation that you were now fully pressed against his chest, warm, broad, and stupidly solid.

“You really don’t, at least not according to this—” he said, low and smug.

“Bucky!” you warned, trying to reach again, but he shifted it higher.

“Give. It. Back,” you hissed, practically climbing him at this point.

“I will,” he said, eyes flicking down to your mouth in a way that made your stomach twist and your breath catch. “But only if you let me kiss you first.”

Your brain short-circuited. Completely and entirely. The words took a second to process. His voice had dropped, softer now, more serious, like he wasn’t just messing with you anymore.

You looked up at him, heart thudding so loudly against your ribs you swore he could hear it. His eyes searched yours, and for once, he didn’t look like the effortlessly confident guy everyone knew. He looked… nervous like he was the one waiting to be rejected.

“…Fine,” you whispered, the word barely making it past your lips, but your smile gave you away. It was impossible to hide, giddy and crooked and ridiculous.

And then he kissed you.

He bent his head and closed the gap like he’d been waiting weeks for it—maybe he had. His mouth was warm and sure against yours, one arm still holding the diary hostage, the other dropping to your waist, pulling you in like he couldn’t help himself. You kissed him back without thinking, without doubting, like maybe this was the answer you’d been afraid to ask for all along.

When you finally broke apart, breathless and blinking at each other like idiots, he handed over the diary with a grin.

“Okay,” you whispered, still a little breathless. “That was… good.”

“Just good?” He smirked.

You rolled your eyes, cheeks burning. “Don’t push it.”

He laughed softly, thumb still brushing your cheek. “So… does this mean I get to keep seeing you after stats is over? Or do I have to fail on purpose to keep you around?”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“You’re right. You’d probably kill me.”

“More like definitely.”

There was a beat of silence, the kind that didn’t feel awkward. He looked at you like he already knew what you were thinking. And for once, you didn’t feel like running from it.

You were so, so screwed.

But maybe… in the best way possible.

[kierahn]

FUELED BY HATE. [ academic rival x m ! reader ]

summary : you were the best in your entire batch while he stays in second place. nick initially thought that the rivalry between you and him would end after graduating, but it seemed like fate had other plans. you recently joined his workplace and stole his spotlight once more. after years of being overshadowed, nick has had enough and decided to finally put you in your place; below him, right where you belonged.

content warning : blackmail ✧; character despises reader ✧; non/dubcon nsfw ✧; cigarette burns ✧; degradation

masterlist !

✩ i’m so sorry for disappearing for almost a year ! i recently started my first year of college, and things have been hectic for me so far. i'll try writing more often now that I've adjusted better :] ✩ this is a draft i left before i disappeared. i decided to refine it before working on newer stuff. ✩ i've also decided to clear out all the requests on my inbox since i want a fresh start. with that, my inbox is open for requests ! (still selective of what i'll write) ──★ ˙ ̟🪿 !!

➷ nick cromwell was a man who excelled in his studies. from the first day he entered the military academy, nick already knew that he was gifted. this easily earned him respect and admiration from the people around him.

but despite his decent reputation and academic performance, nick's name lingered solely in second place throughout the years, never surpassing the name above his.

➷ dark eyes glued themselves on the name tag that was sewn on the right side of your newly tailored uniform; y/n l/n, it read. seeing your name never failed to sour his mood.

you had joined his department just a couple of months ago, yet you rose to the top with ease and easily surpassed him once more. barely a month in, and you already managed to solve a missing person case that had long gone cold. it was a huge feat that set you on a path towards a promising promotion. one that nick highly sought after years of working his ass off.

➷ nick averted his gaze away from your form, a pang of irritation hitting him. he hated you— your voice, your presence, everything. he hated how you were better than him in every aspect.

you were always surrounded by your co-workers who depended on you for help despite being new. everyone seemed to look at you with stars in their eyes, filled with admiration. everyone except nick.

➷ the first day you joined his department, nick slipped out of the bustling room with a box of cigarettes in his hand. he placed one stick in between his lips while his other hand searched for his lighter only to find that it was missing. he brushed his dark locks back with an annoyed sigh. great.

just as nick turned to head back inside, a lighter greeted him out of nowhere, sparking to life and lighting his unlit cigarette. the sudden gesture made his heart skip a beat out of shock, but he was grateful for it nonetheless. nick took a deep drag of the now lit cigarette, directing his gaze to thank the owner of the lighter.

his expression hardened. y/n.

"cromwell," nick watched as you placed your lighter back inside your pocket. he stared, not bothering to hide his displeased expression.

did you remember him from military academy ? that's impossible, you were in different classes and had never crossed paths before. he doubted you knew about his existence.

after a long pause, nick exhaled a puff of smoke, deciding to snap out of his trance. holding the cigarette between his fingers, he returned the greeting. "l/n."

that was his first interaction with you after all those years. a face to finally match the name that had long stirred his competitive spirit.

➷ your feats only kept getting more and more impressive as time went on, and the sight of your constant success ignited something within nick. he knew he had to humble you, to remind you of your place. nick worked his ass off trying to get where he was, it wasn’t fair of you to take that away from him.

he had to be better than you this time even if he had to go the extra mile to ruin you.

he considered a couple of extreme measures: framing you for murder, planting drugs in your desk, or any other nefarious scheme that could tie you to wrongdoing. but, it wasn't enough for him to see you behind bars. that wasn't what he aimed for. he needed to completely ruin you— humiliate you so you wouldn’t dare to step out of line ever again.

it only took him a few drinks between 'friends' to have you all putty in his hands. he didn't expect you to be such a lightweight, but it was convenient for him to set his plan in motion. it wasn't an easy task dragging you around in your drunken state, but nick was satisfied with his work.

you were fully stripped of your uniform, both hands cuffed behind your back, black leather wrapped around your eyes, and a cloth between your lips to muffle whatever sound you were bound to make.

a tripod sat at the edge of the bed, a camera set up to capture your vulnerable state. all he had to do was take a picture and finish up, but that idea didn’t seem to satisfy him. it wouldn't be enough to make up for the years that you have overshadowed him.

nick monitored your unconscious form from across the dimly lit room. the cigarette that sat between his lips illuminated the lower half of his face, dark eyes reflecting the light of the burning cigarette. rising from the wooden chair he had nested himself in, nick stalked towards the bed where you laid unconscious. he placed his cigarette on an ash tray sitting on top of his bedside table. the camera's light illuminated a crimson red color, indicating that it was recording everything.

nick's gloved hand slowly traced a line down your exposed stomach, feeling you shudder slightly at his touch. your still breathing turned frantic the lower his hand slid down your torso. an unsuspected ghost of a smile crept up on nick’s lips as he watched you react to his touch. there was something about seeing you in such a humiliating position, all vulnerable and helpless.

perhaps this was where you rightfully belonged, below him.

his thumb glossed over your cheek as he stared down to study your sleeping face. now that he had a closer look at you, nick realized how good you actually looked. no wonder people liked you a lot, aside from being reliable, you were also a piece of candy for one’s eye.

his hand unconsciously found itself wrapped around the base of your cock, still soft and limp from the lack of stimulation. even this part of you looked good. he had every right to be jealous.

having initially planned to simply take photos and leave it at that, nick knew he had to improvise. he bent down and coated the tip of your cock with his spit. it helped his gloved hand glide smoothly up and down along your shaft.

your breath hitch in response, and that was when nick knew you were awake and could feel everything.

knowing this, nick quickened his pace, twisting and rubbing with the goal of making you finish in his hand. the gag around your mouth muffled your groans. with the way your cock hardened and twitched in his hand, nick could tell that your body liked his touch.

“who knew you were such a slut,” nick taunted. he noticed how you bit against the gag to suppress your moans, staining the cloth around your mouth with your saliva. “i wonder what our superiors would think if they saw you in this position ?” his other hand ripped the gag from your mouth. he wanted to hear what other noises you could make.

you open your mouth to question who he was, but nick took it as an opportunity to capture your lips in his. he tilted his head to the side to muffle your

this was all to humiliate you, nothing more. he inwardly told himself. but the strained feeling in his pants told a completely different story.

nick groaned as he felt you come undone, staining his hand white with your cum. he pulled away from the kiss, replacing his lips with his fingers as he let you have a taste of yourself. he pinched and pulled at your tongue, stretching the inside of your mouth with his fingers. he coated his fingers with your saliva, dark eyes watching you gag on his fingers.

nick pulled his fingers out of your mouth with a pop and let them hover your rim in a teasing manner. he pushed a finger past the ring of muscles despite your protest, holding you down by straddling your hips as you thrashed around. “shh, you’ll tire yourself out before i can even start.”

the sound of clothes shuffling reached your ears as nick pulled his trousers down with his other hand to free his hardened cock. he could see your chest rise and fall quickly, but you stayed surprisingly compliant. “you’re actually enjoying this, aren’t you ?” nick’s fingers continued to prod at your entrance, teasing you as he rubbed circles with his thumb on your gaping hole. “we can’t have that. you’ll have to beg for it first.”

you gritted your teeth at the thought of begging. there was no way you were going to— nick pushed his thumb inside, making you jolt as your walls clenched around the digit. a sharp groan escaped your lips that were slightly agape as you breathe heavily.

your cock painfully twitched at the lack of sensation. nick wiggled his thumb around inside you, but it still wasn’t enough to stimulate anything. “is that your dick ? pretty small for all that big talk.”

you decided to bite back and insult him. you weren’t going to beg for anything any time soon, instead, you would taunt him into doing what you wanted. hearing the male simply chuckle at your insult, nick pulled his thumb out of your hole and replaced it with his cock, its tip kissing your entrance. “you’re really asking for it. i knew you were a filthy whore underneath that professional bullshit you keep pulling on everyone.”

without warning, nick slammed himself inside. he groaned at the sudden tightness, hands holding you in place, a bruising grip on your hips. “shit, can’t you loosen up a bit ? you’re going to chop my dick off,” he growled, a slight rasp in his voice.

your hole swallowed him whole, dragging him deeper inside as he thrusted in and out of your abused hole. it took him a while to set an actual pace because of how your hole clenched tightly around his dick, but you did loosen up after a while. he made a mental note to prepare you properly next time

next time ?

nick pushed those thoughts away. this was a one time thing, he.. fuck.

nick tightened his grip on your hips out of frustration. he almost forgot why he was doing this in the first place, this was all to simply ruin you, nothing more. he reached out to grab his cigarette off the ash tray, placing it between his lips as he dragged one out to calm his nerves. ‘i shouldn’t be enjoying this,’ he inwardly scolded himself.

he exhaled, keeping the cigarette in between his fingers as he placed his palm against your bare stomach. ‘but, holy shit, how can i not enjoy this. his ass is swallowing my dick like it’s his last meal.’ nick grunted.

out of frustration, he dragged the butt of his cigarette against your bare stomach. you hissed at the burning sensation, your muscles tensing as you bit back a scream of pain. nick’s dark eyes examined the burn marks he had left in your skin, no longer feeling remorse. instead, his cock twitched at the sight of your pained expression.

he continued thrusting into you, your moans acting as a positive reinforcement for him to keep going. nick took the cigarette back to his lips, inhaled, and leaned down to slam his lips against yours. it tasted like ash as nick’s tongue intertwined with yours into a sloppy kiss. his pace eventually slowed down as he felt himself near his climax.

you were also close, whining against the kiss as he slammed into you one last time before he unloaded inside of you. he finished first, pulling away from the kiss and giving a few sloppy thrusts in order to help you finish. seeing your cock twitch and spur, nick pressed the cigarette butt against your tip. the pain from the scalding heat helped you finish, your cum putting out the cigarette’s light.

nick threw the cigarette onto the ashtray and pulled out of you, letting his finished work trickle down your thighs. he detached himself from you, removing his dirtied gloves as he approached the camera that continued to capture everything. “this should be enough to keep you in line.” he muttered under his breath as he ended the recording.

nick took the camera with him as he stalked back towards the bed where his finished work laid in display. the sound of a camera shutter reached your ears and a brief flash of light penetrated the blindfold around your eyes. “you look way better under me anyway.”

[nightplvmes]

talking to his baby (extended ver)

zayne one shot (love and deepspace) – request | from this headcanon ⋆｡° | pairing : doctor!zayne x pregnant!reader ⋆｡° | word count : 1.3k (1,315) ⋆｡° | fluff, protective and soft zayne, mention of cardiac surgery ⋆｡° | autor note : so... someone asked me for this version of the headcanon so i decided to do it because almost all the headcanons are short versions of other things i want to write :3 i've been writing too many things!! (even fanfics, that's why i'm so active) so i hope to catch up with the requests soon likes and reblogs are appreciated!! :) ★ masterlist here

you didn't know how much time had passed, but you definitely knew it had been enough to make the book you were reading seem less interesting, and you began to close your eyes but the book remaining open on your chest so you wouldn't lose the page.

since Zayne found out you were pregnant, he'd been the most caring person of all. at first, you thought it was because he was a doctor, but maybe it was mostly because he was a first-time dad. one of the things you'd noticed most was how he tried to talk to the baby after showing you some tests confirming she could already hear from the womb.

you'd woken up one night because you could hear Zayne murmuring. you could still remember it as if it had been last week... because it had been last week.

you stirred, opening your eyes, and a yawn escaped your lips. it took you a few seconds to return to reality and realize what had interrupted your sleep: your husband. your husband murmuring at three in the morning.

"Zayne?" you murmured, confused, propping yourself up on your elbows to look at him. he was leaning against your baby bump, but he stopped completely when you woke up. "what are you doing?"

"talking to the baby," he answered without hesitation, settling back down next to you. "did I wake you up? I'm sorry," he murmured, wrapping his arms around you. you felt him pull you closer to him, to the point where there was no space between you two. you wanted to say something else, but you were too tired, so you just let your head fall back onto the pillow.

the confusion inside you began to be replaced by sleepiness again, and another yawn escaped your lips. your eyes began to feel heavy, and you knew you were going to fall asleep again at any moment. "Zayne, at this point you're going to run out of things to talk to. you don't have to talk to her all the time; I'm sure she knows your voice."

he sighed, kissing your bare shoulder. he knew you were right, but he had been working too hard lately, so in every chance he always talked to the baby. he was afraid she wouldn't recognize his voice.

just as you had predicted the week before: Zayne had run out of things to talk about. he'd been silent for almost ten minutes, trying to remember something he hadn't talked about. you were almost sure he'd told her everything about his life, except for his college years.

"I already talked about that time when you and I..." you interrupted.

"you already told her everything we did when we were kids." you sighed, settling back down on the couch. Zayne was sitting on the floor so your baby bump was almost at his face level. you smiled when you felt his lips brush against your skin. you hadn't said it, and you were a little embarrassed to admit that you loved it when he placed kisses on your bump.

you settled back down more comfortably on the couch, now your head was slightly resting on the couch, and your eyes were closed again. you were exhausted; making a tiny human from scratch was exhausting, it was definitely something you didn't expect from pregnancy. "you know... you don't have to talk to her all the time," you mumbled when you noticed Zayne's thoughtful face after slightly opening your eyes to see his expression and it almost made you giggle but you still tried to pretend to be sleepy.

Zayne looked at you with those eyes that you knew perfectly well meant: he wanted to talk to his baby and he was not going to give up. you sighed, returning your gaze to the book in your hands accepting that you weren't going to fall asleep anytime soon. and seconds later, something finally came to his head and he spoke again. "I remember a surgery that lasted over seven hours. the patient's heart muscle was severely damaged from a previous surgery and—" he stopped when he heard a gasp from you, setting off his alarm bells. Zayne looked at you with his eyes wide open, completely still waiting for you to say something, the book had slipped from your hands and quickly one of your hands went to your belly. "what happened?"

"she's kicking." your eyes widened in surprise. it wasn't the first time you'd felt her kicks, but it wasn't something she did often. Zayne looked at you in surprise and placed his hand right next to yours. "keep talking." Zayne nodded and went back to talking about the surgery... then you felt the little kicks again making you gasp with excitement again. "it can't be... do you think she'll also be a surgeon?"

Zayne smiled, and he didn't know if that made him feel a mixture of excitement and pride or some concern for his poor daughter. "probably." Zayne nodded before settling back into his story about that surgery.

Zayne settled back down, his hands surrounding your bump, and you watched as he leaned in to continue talking. he didn't want to admit that he was excited, nor did he want to admit that his baby—who had been completely calm the whole time—had kicked after hearing one of his medical stories. "it was a very long surgery. the patient previously had spinal surgery, they had to put in some plates, but something went wrong." he paused for a few seconds. you too remained motionless, waiting for some kind of response. another kick from the baby, but nothing came. you looked at Zayne with some concern, thinking it had only been a one-time thing, but he spoke again. "one of the screws ended up in her heart, damaging the cardiac muscle."

then you felt one of the little kicks again, making you smile. "I think she'll definitely be a cardiac surgeon," you sighed, feigning frustration. "another doctor in the family?"

Zayne smiled proudly. he had that small smirk that anyone else would simply look like he was pressing his lips together but not to you. he slid next to you on the couch, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer. you felt your back against his chest, and seconds later, his breath hit your cheek. "maybe it was just a coincidence," he murmured, kissing your cheek.

"of course not. she's always so calm that if we didn't go to doctor's appointments, I'd be sure something had happened to her," you admitted, grimacing. "she'll be a carbon copy of you." you frowned, feigning annoyance, although internally, you could picture a tiny baby with huge eyes the same color as Zayne's. the baby was already just as calm as him, and she hadn't even been born yet. and the worst part was that now she seemed excited about heart surgery, not just surgery, not any other specialty. "see, and you were afraid she wouldn't recognize your voice."

"do you think she likes sweets too?"

you snorted, turning your face to look at him. "I think she'll be a little sugar monster if she's just like you." a smile escaped your lips, and a part of you was happy at the thought of a tiny copy of your husband.

a few weeks later, you finally confirmed that those little kicks whenever Zayne talked about surgery weren't just a coincidence, and you forced yourself to mentally prepare for the fact that it was quite possible your daughter had an interest in medicine and was a little sugar monster just like Zayne.

[darkmatilda]

𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐬 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

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

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

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 14.8 k

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

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟐

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But not from you.”

“Happy birthday,” he exhaled, almost nervously.

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

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

He stopped short at the look on your face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This case was difficult.

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing could have been further from the truth.

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

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

And that thought drove you to madness.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

♊︎

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck” 

Your grip on the steering wheel tightened.

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

Reid brought the radio to his lips.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But the car’s interior was empty.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It all happened too fast.

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

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

And you.

Most of your body shielded behind the open car door.

Most of it.

But not your head.

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

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

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

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

But it didn’t.

And when another second passed. Then another—

You moved.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 Reid nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

♊︎

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

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

Who did?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“JJ…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She took a breath.

"I need to see Penelope."

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

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

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

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

He looked away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Behind them, Prentiss let out a strangled sound.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hotch," he tried again.

This time, it was almost a plea.

"…We should—"

"She’s AB Rh+."

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

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

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

All the previous victims had type A blood.

I’m not wasting our time on her.

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

So this was how it was going to end?

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

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

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

His sister hesitated for a moment before she agreed.

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

Breathing started to hurt.

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

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

He had sent her back to the car.

He had sent her to die.

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

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

But that…that especially.

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

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

Everyone exchanged glances, utterly confused.

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

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

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

♊︎

You were afraid to be afraid. 

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

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

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

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

Lavinia was ridiculously strong.

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

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

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

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

The others had been kept for seven days before…

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

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

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

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

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

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

Whatever was in the IV worked.

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

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

Lavinia didn’t hold back.

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

Leon, unlike her, didn’t hit you.

He just kept shoving the camera in your face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lydia.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You heard a contemptuous scoff.

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

This was sick. Sick, sick, sick.

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

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

Sick, sick, sick.

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

Sick.

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

Lavinia stabbed you with a syringe.

♊︎

You lay in bed, your body still trembling.

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

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

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

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

He was the weaker link in this duo.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Leon cleared his throat.

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

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

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

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

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

You used all your strength not to flinch.

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

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

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

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

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

“I love musicals,” you finally said.

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

It hurt unbelievably much.

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

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

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

“Do you want kids?” he asked suddenly.

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

"I guess…I guess so," you said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do you have a boyfriend?" Another question.

"No."

"Have you ever loved someone?"

"What…what really happened to Lydia?"

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

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

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

"It doesn’t matter."

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

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

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

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

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

"Goodnight, Lydia."

♊︎

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

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

A woman he himself had condemned to this fate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Especially Spencer.

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

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

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

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

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

Hundreds of them, if she wanted.

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

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

The stream was starting.

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

Like every time, something clenched painfully in his chest.

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

Several details hit him all at once.

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

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

Metamorphosis had already begun.

♊︎

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, everything faded away.

"Leon, this is a waste of time."

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

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

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

He paused.

"She’s just like Lydia."

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

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

"Be careful," her brother warned her gently.

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

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

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

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

Rushing water.

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

The will to survive.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But it never came.

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

You pushed it. And it opened.

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

You ran.

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

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

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

"Don't hurt her," he pleaded.

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

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

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

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

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

At those words, both you and Lavinia froze.

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

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

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

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

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

“You defended me,” you noted gently.

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

“Thank you,” you added.

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

You nodded gently.

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

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

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

His breathing grew heavier.

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

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

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

Swallowing your nerves, you spoke again.

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

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

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

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

You could see him absorbing everything you were saying.

"Say goodbye…to whom?"

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

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

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

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

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

Okay, that was not part of the plan.

"But tomorrow, Lavinia will…"

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

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

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

"And what is the second anchor?"

You told him.

♊︎

When you woke up, you knew it was morning.

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

This was going to end soon.

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

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

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

"I’m still here!" you shouted.

Had they forgotten about you?

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

You frowned, hugging your trembling body.

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

"But it’s morning!" you screamed.

No response.

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

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

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

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

What came next remained uncertain.

♊︎

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not that you had anywhere to go.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still, no response.

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

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

JJ was pretending to be your mother.

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

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

Spencer’s voice.

Another mistake.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your voice grew weaker as you spoke.

Don't cry, you warned yourself.

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

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

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

"I love you. Goodbye."

Then you hung up.

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

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

Leon nodded.

♊︎

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everyone except JJ.

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

Reid wrote down the message she had sent.

Oil rig.

♊︎

The cold was almost liberating.

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

But only for a moment.

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

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

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

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

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

You pushed him.

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

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

You groaned as your body slammed against the hard surface.

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

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

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

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

Right. He wasn’t like her.

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

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

A brick.

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

Leon had been dead for a while.

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

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

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

Then it hit her—you had killed her brother.

And it hit you—that you were absolutely screwed.

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

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

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

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

"I’ll finish this."

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

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

But then—

One glance at your bloodstained hands.

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

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

Your blood.

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

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

♊︎

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You were the one yelling.”

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

Spencer sat back down, nodding toward JJ and Emily.

Emily raised an eyebrow.

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

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

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

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

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

She murmured something weakly.

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

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

“I’m Lydia.”

post-reading author’s note:

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

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

[rafecameronssl4t]

hey! could u do a rafe x reader with kinda the grumpy and sunshine/ mean to everyone but me trope? like the reader is super girly and a total sweetheart like wouldn’t hurt a fly and no one expected rafe to be able to pull her? maybe like other guys have made moves on her but for some reason she only wants him

Untouchable || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

A/n: THANK U FOR THE REQUEST!!!!! (the gif above is what I envision Rafe's appearance to be in this fic)

Warnings: none :)

Word count: 1,178

MASTERLIST

Divider by @yoonitos

"Oh look, Rafe's here," Chelsea leans in to whisper to all of you girls. All heads turn to where she is subtly pointing. Rafe Cameron, with his buzzed hair and brooding expression, strides through the country club, his presence commanding attention.

You can't help but notice how your friends’ eyes widen, their expressions a mix of curiosity and apprehension. Kaycee sighs, shaking her head. "It's such a shame he's so grumpy and mean all the time. He's good-looking, but that attitude just ruins everything."

A few of the girls agree with her words, their eyes still on Rafe. You're about to respond when you catch Rafe’s gaze from across the club. His intense blue eyes lock onto yours, and to your surprise, he starts walking toward your table. Your friends' chatter fades into the background as he approaches, and you can feel the tension rising.

"Guys?" Kaycee whisper yells, her eyes darting nervously between you and Rafe. Before you can answer, Rafe is standing beside you. Without a word, he wraps his arms around your shoulders, pulling you close.

Your friends silently watch as he plants a soft kiss on your lips. The world seems to pause for a moment, the only sound your heart pounding in your chest. When he finally pulls away, he gives you a smile that’s reserved just for you. "Hey, babe," he says, his voice low and intimate. You smile back, feeling a warmth spread through you. "Hey, Rafe."

Your friends are staring, their mouths open in shock. Kaycee looks like she might faint, and Chelsea's eyes are so wide they might pop out of her head. You can practically hear their thoughts racing. "Hi ladies," Rafe nods his head to your friends as they all stumble across a response.

Rafe chuckles, clearly enjoying the reaction. "I'll see you later yeah?" he murmurs as you hum in response, giving you one last squeeze before heading to his own table. As he walks away, your friends erupt into a flurry of whispers and exclamations. "Are you serious?" Lily asks, her voice a mix of disbelief and excitement. "You and Rafe Cameron?"

You shrug, attempting to play it cool but failing miserably. "Yeah, we've been seeing each other for a while now." Kaycee shakes her head, still in shock. "I can't believe you didn't tell us! All this time, we thought you were just committed to your single streak."

Jada's eyes practically sparkle with excitement. "Not gonna lie, I've been rooting for you two since our days at Kook Academy." You laugh. Across the club, you see Rafe sitting with his friends, who are equally stunned by what they just saw. They keep glancing over at you, clearly trying to piece together how their friend who was notorious for not doing relationships end up with you.

Rafe catches your eye and gives you a wink, his usual grumpiness replaced with a rare, genuine smile as you smile back.

~

As Rafe walks away from your table, the whispers and gasps of your friends gradually fade into the background. You watch him stride confidently across the pool area, his usual brooding expression softened by a small, private smile. He reaches his table, where his friends are already in various states of shock and confusion.

Kelce is the first to speak, his voice a mix of disbelief and curiosity. "Dude, what was that?" He leans forward, his eyes wide with surprise. "You're telling me you bagged Y/n Y/l/n?"

Rafe drops into his seat and picks up his drink, taking a long sip before answering. "Yeah, we’ve been together for a while now." His tone is casual, but you can see the satisfaction in his eyes as he lets the news sink in.

Topper, who has been silent until now, finally finds his voice. "How the hell did that happen?" he asks, still staring at Rafe as if he's grown a second head. "She’s turned down just about everyone on this island who’s tried, and that includes me!"

Rafe chuckles, clearly enjoying the attention. "That's just cause you guys aren't me" he says with a cocky smirk. "Or maybe I just didn’t give up." The table falls silent for a moment as his friends process this new information. Then, one by one, they start to bombard him with questions.

"How long have you been seeing her?" asks Kelce, still trying to wrap his head around the idea. "Why didn’t you tell us?" adds Topper, his tone a mix of hurt and curiosity. "And how did you even get her to go out with you?" another friend chimes in.

Rafe leans back in his chair, his demeanor relaxed and confident. "We’ve been seeing each other for a couple of months now," he begins, glancing over at you with a soft smile. "I didn’t tell you guys because we wanted to keep it private. Didn’t want everyone in our business, you know?"

Topper raises an eyebrow. "And how did you manage to win her over? She’s not exactly known for giving people a chance." Rafe laughs, a deep, genuine sound that surprises even himself. "Honestly, it wasn’t that hard," he admits with a grin.

"I had my eyes on her for a while. She’s smart and doesn’t put up with any bullshit. 'S what I like about her." He glances over at you again, mesmerised by how radiant you looked, giggling at something your friend said.

His friends exchange looks, a mix of admiration and incredulity on their faces. It’s clear they’re seeing a side of Rafe they never knew existed. "Wow, man," says Kelce, shaking his head with a grin. "I never thought I’d see the day when Rafe Cameron is all soft and in love." Rafe playfully rolls his eyes, "You guys are idiots."

Topper claps Rafe on the shoulder, a wide grin on his face. "Good for you, dude. Seriously. If anyone can handle your grumpy ass, it’s her." Rafe laughs again, the sound blending into the ambient noise of the country club. He glances back over at you, catching your eye once more. You smile at him, a warmth spreading through your chest as you see the genuine happiness in his eyes.

[thankskenpenders]

Thoughts on two specific areas of the writing in Sonic X Shadow Generations

The best new 3D Sonic game in over a decade (or even two, depending on who you ask) dropped late last year. And I didn't write anything about it! Sometimes life happens. Well, I've finally sat down to finish Shadow Generations, and by now everyone has already been singing its praises for three months. This is the rare instance where the entire Sonic fandom, and even mainstream reviewers, are in agreement on something. The level design is the best it's been in a long, long time and the cool factor is off the charts, embracing Sonic's peak cringe era in an incredibly confident way. It's great. If you're even reading this post, you probably don't need me to tell you that. So I won't!

No, what I'm really interested in here is the writing. Because this is me we're talking about. But I actually don't want to talk about the main narrative of Shadow Generations, which is really solid little story about Black Doom trying to mold Shadow into his perfect soldier. No, I'd like to zero in on two other aspects of the writing here: the revisions made to Sonic Generations, and Gerald Robotnik's unlockable journal.

The updated Sonic Generations script

The new package mostly presents Sonic Generations how you remember it. There are some tweaks, but it's not a major overhaul. Graphically, I don't think the game has been touched much, if at all. I certainly can't notice any difference without a side-by-side comparison, despite playing it on a PS5. The most notable update is that the game's script has been rewritten by Ian Flynn.

Naturally, this caught my attention. Generations always had a nothingburger story, so with Ian rewriting Pontac and Graff's lame dialogue there was nowhere to go but up. (I don't like to pin the blame for those games' stories entirely on them, as a ton of it was dictated to them by Sonic Team, but, well, I don't think they're very good dialogue writers.) But it's less a complete rewrite and more like Ian was brought on as a script doctor for some minor touch ups here and there. Many lines of dialogue are completely identical to how they were originally written in 2011, and many others only have slight wording changes. Ian was clearly not allowed to request additional scenes or extend the ones that already existed. He has to match the original beat for beat so that they can reuse 99% of the cutscene animations. Don't expect it to be a whole new experience compared to the original.

Still, I think the new script is an improvement, albeit a minor one. Various things have been tweaked to maintain characterization consistency. Cream calls Sonic "Mr. Sonic" instead of just "Sonic." Instead of calling Sonic "buddy," Rouge uses the pet name "Blue," like she tends to do in things like the IDW comics. Espio doesn't have to remind you in the dialogue that he's a ninja, and he no longer has a line making it sound like he has some kind of soul reading power. I also like that Modern Sonic now actually has responses to what his friends say when he rescues them, rather than being silent like Classic Sonic. They won't blow you away, but they make Sonic feel a little more engaged with everything.

In general, the altered dialogue just seems tighter to me, and some of the more childish or trite wording of Pontac and Graff's script has been altered. Here, let's actually make a direct comparison, just because this stuff is interesting to me as a writer. Here's a couple lines from after the Egg Dragoon fight late in the game, in the original script:

Modern Eggman: Ooooh... I can't believe this! I was supposed to beat you this time. Modern Sonic: Aw, I'm sorry! I didn't get that memo. I beat you every time! [Turns to Classic Sonic] No, seriously, we beat this guy every time. It's like it's our job or something!

This is a simple exchange. Eggman is mad that he lost. Sonic is unflappably confident because he always beats Eggman, and he explains this to his younger self. But the wording here isn't particularly good. Eggman's simple and direct wording makes him come off like a little kid who's mad because his older brother beat him at Mario Kart, rather than a mad scientist who just had his plans foiled. It's making light of the situation.

And I've never liked Sonic saying "It's like it's our job or something!" That doesn't feel like a thing Sonic would say, it feels like a thing an outside observer would say about Sonic. This is a frequent problem with so-called "MCU dialogue," where quips meant to echo the commentary of a casual, somewhat disinterested audience are inserted into the story itself so that the writers can be like "See? We get it. We're genre-savvy, too!" It also just reminds me of bad Sonic Boom: Rise of Lyric lines like "Rings! It's like they're made for me!"

And then here's Ian's rewrite:

Modern Eggman: I recalibrated everything! This was supposed to be my time! Modern Sonic: Oh, please, keep dreamin', Egg-head. I beat you every time. [Turns to Classic Sonic] No, seriously, we beat him every time. Our score card's flawless.

Eggman's still mad about his defeat, but the line "I recalibrated everything!" makes it more specific. He put all this work into the engineering side of his latest scheme and got tunnel vision, thinking if he got his creations just right there'd be no way he could lose. "This was supposed to be my time!" also turns it into a time travel pun, which is a bonus. He's still pitching a fit over losing, but it feels more like Eggman pitching a fit, rather than sounding childish.

And then instead of saying that beating Eggman is "like his job or something," Sonic says he's got a flawless score card against Eggman. He doesn't take Eggman seriously as a threat—at least, not to his face. He acts like it's all a game. But he conveys this in a way that feels truer to the character, rather than feeling like the words of a real world observer poking fun at the tropes of the Sonic series.

Is this amazing, A+ dialogue that blows me away? No. Again, it's not a completely different scene from the one we already had. Ian had to fit the beats of what was already there. He couldn't go all out and write an all new story confirming his longstanding headcanon that the Time Eater is a remnant of Solaris or whatever. But the wording here makes the existing story land a little better and feel truer to the characters in subtle ways.

But to me, the main change is that the Sonics and Tailses seem to have a more solid understanding of what's going on with the timeline and the Time Eater, compared to how idiotic they sometimes seemed in the original game. Which is good! No more standing outside Green Hill and wondering why it seems so familiar. Thank god. As part of this, yes, there are a few more references to past games in the dialogue, like Sonic briefly being confused about the fact that they're time traveling without the Time Stones, or South Island and Westside Island being acknowledged as the normal locations of Green Hill and Chemical Plant. Yes, ha ha, insert joke about how Ian loves references here. Look, it's Sonic fucking Generations. It's a game built entirely out of nostalgic references. Just own it! And, again, in this instance Sonic and Tails come off as less stupid when they make it clear that they do, in fact, remember their adventures from presumably less than a year ago in-universe.

Eggman, too, seems to have a better understanding of the powers he's toying with. Where in the original vesion his focus was simply on going back in time to undo his previous defeats and he seemed kind of oblivious to how much the Time Eater was actually fucking up the universe, here Eggman says he wants to use the Time Eater to give himself complete control over the entire timeline. Eggman also makes way fewer references to his own failures and shortcomings. Of course he won't admit that Sonic has defeated him time and time again. To him, he's never truly lost—Sonic just keeps delaying the inevitable total victory for the Eggman Empire.

So, yes. The new Sonic Generations script is better. It won't blow anyone away, but it's better than it was. It's been elevated from "kinda lame" to "fine." No, if you really wanna see Ian flex his ability to breathe new life into old Sonic stories, look no further than...

Gerald Robotnik's Journal

Hoo boy.

The story of what happened aboard the ARK has always been... a bit confusing, to say the least. Fans with encyclopedic knowledge of the script for every route of Shadow '05 may disagree, but it's the truth. We've had all the pieces to understand the story for a long time now, but that info was given to us out of order by a pair of unreliable narrators—Gerald, who became a vengeful lunatic shortly before his death, and Shadow, who was subjected to multiple rounds of amnesia and altered memories. Some of the ambiguity left by Sonic Adventure 2 was cleared up in Shadow '05, but that game also retconned in a bunch of new elements to Shadow's backstory (aliens!) that lead to further confusion. Not to mention the fact that that game had multiple routes and only revealed the truth about Shadow if you sat on the ultimate final boss battle for WAY longer than the fight would normally last. Or the fact that Sonic X made its own tweaks in its telling of the story. Or the fact that none of these things ever had the best English translations. I can't blame anyone who hasn't played those games in two decades for not remembering the truth about these characters and getting some details mixed up.

What we needed was something to piece together all of the info we have into one coherent backstory, told in chronological order. And thanks to Shadow Generations, we have that, in the form of an official journal tying together what we knew from Sonic Adventure 2, Shadow '05, and Sonic Battle into the tragic tale of Gerald's rise and fall.

Ian Flynn was the perfect man for the job here as the guy who started his career by tidying up the mess that was the first 159 issues if Archie Sonic. This is what he excels at: taking disparate bits of weird Sonic lore from multiple different sources, boiling them down to their most interesting elements, and connecting it together in a way that will make the audience see the dramatic potential he's always known was there. Rather than feeling like a cynical exercise in franchise building, going back and explaining things that never needed explaining so that people can add more bullet points to the wiki, he puts a new spin on things that retroactively enriches those past stories. The story here means something to the characters involved and gives us a better understanding of them as people, rather than as plot devices to motivate Shadow.

(And, of course, Ian didn't do this journal alone. He wrote the story, but I also have to give a huge shout out to Evan Stanley, who made the final product. All of her handwritten journal entries, sketches, and "photos" included throughout. The physical damage done to the journal over the course of 50 tumultuous years, passing from Gerald to Eggman to a certain special someone at GUN. The way Gerald's handwriting gets less and less legible as his mental state declines. So much love was put into what could have been a mere text dump in a menu, and it really elevates it to the next level. Congrats on officially getting hired by Sega, Evan, you've sure as hell earned it!)

The main idea the journal conveys is that Gerald was under a lot of pressure from a lot of different parties—GUN, the President, his colleagues aboard the ARK, Black Doom, even his own family—and boy did it get to him. The known incidents aboard the ARK mentioned in previous games are put together here to form a story where everything slowly spirals out of control as Gerald keeps compromising his morals to further his research, thinking he'll eventually find some way out of all this because he's a genius. I won't recap that whole story here (if you haven't already played the game and read the journal entries, I would highly recommend at least reading it on the Sonic wiki), but I'd like to highlight my favorite elements of the story, as Ian tells it here.

1) The Eclipse Cannon

Here's something that never quite made sense in Sonic Adventure 2: why does the ARK have a laser that can blow up the Earth built into it? It was supposed to be a peaceful research colony. Sure, Gerald went crazy and swore revenge on the Earth, but, like... when did he have an opportunity to go back up to the ARK and modify it? Did he have someone else do it? How? The ARK was raided by GUN and shut down! And then they arrested him, held him in prison for an unclear period of time, and executed him by firing squad when he was no longer useful! It doesn't add up. Shadow 'the Hedgehog '05 would give its own answer by introducing the Black Arms and saying that the Eclipse Cannon was always supposed to be a secret trump card against the Black Comet. But, like... we know that's kind of a bullshit answer, right? You don't need enough power to blow up a whole planet just to destroy a comet.

Well, the new journal retains what we already knew, but it paints a much more complete picture.

See, long before Gerald ever made a Faustian bargain with Black Doom, he had already made one with an even greater evil: the military. GUN gave Gerald much of the funding for the ARK, Gerald's personal utopian research station in space, but it didn't take long for GUN to start pressuring him to design them weapons. Gerald tried to get GUN off his back by personally contacting the President of the United Federation, and the President gave him an alternative: how about, instead, you just use your genius brain to figure out the secret to immortality for us, so our soldiers can be immortal? Gerald was initially sickened by the notion and found it completely absurd, like chasing a shadow... but given no other option, the sarcastically named Project Shadow soon began in earnest. (Maria would later put a more positive spin on the name after Shadow's awakening, pointing out that a Shadow can show us the direction of the light, like she says in the game itself.)

Of course, this search for the ultimate life form didn't go very well, and without any results on that front GUN kept hounding him for weapons. Gerald would throw them a bone here and there to get them off his back. His research on Chaos resulted in the Artifical Chaos prototypes, which he worried would be used for warfare but could at least theoretically be used for search and rescue missions in floods, in his mind. But that wasn't enough. So he gave them Chaos Drives to power their mechs. And that still wasn't enough. He's got Emerl. He'll give them Emerl. They're not impressed by Emerl. They'll shut the whole ARK down if Gerald doesn't give them something big.

Fine! GUN wants something big? Gerald builds a huge fucking laser cannon into the ARK. However, as a middle finger to GUN, Gerald makes it so powerful that it would destroy the Earth if it was ever fired at any target on its surface. In other words, GUN now has their ultimate weapon of mass destruction, fulfilling his contract, but they can never actually use it. Oh, the delicious irony. (And also Shadow will blow up the Black Comet with it in 50 years yada yada yada.) Is this perhaps extremely shortsighted and naive of Gerald, to believe that such a weapon would never actually be used just because of the risk? Of course. But hey, that's Gerald for you. And I love this as an answer.

(Also, this, uh, kinda echoes something from real life! Remember the bit in Oppenheimer where he says all nuclear war will become unthinkable, and Edward Teller responds "until somebody builds a bigger bomb"? Yeah, Teller went on to conceptualize a superweapon codenamed Project Sundial that would have been able to kill all life on the planet, as the ultimate deterrent for war. This was never made for obvious reasons, but hey, there's a basis for this sort of thinking outside of heightened sci-fi! There's a whole Kurzgesagt video about this if you're interested.)

2) The Biolizard

The Biolizard is, of course, brought up as the initial failed prototype of the ultimate life form, from before Gerald met Black Doom. We don't really learn all that much about it that we didn't already know, but I just love the way it's framed in the story.

As you can see above, we actually get to see a picture of Maria holding up the cute little salamander that would end up mutating into the Biolizard through Gerald's experiments. (Researchers want to figure out how to replicate salamanders' regenerative abilities for humans in real life, too, so this was a natural starting point for the project.) And then, after it grows to a monstrous size and goes out of control, Gerald has to lock it away in an unused sector of the ARK. He needs to keep the poor thing alive for his research into harnessing Chaos Energy, building life support systems directly into it, but he doesn't have the heart to tell Maria what happened. So it just becomes this first dark secret weighing on his conscience. The Biolizard becomes Gerald's Tell-Tale Heart beating beneath the floorboards of the ARK. I love that.

3) Lost Impact was the breaking point for the ARK

Remember the level Lost Impact in Shadow '05? The flashback level on the hero path where Shadow is running around fighting Artificial Chaos enemies on the ARK 50 years ago? Yeah, that wasn't just a random incident. That was important, as we now know due to its placement on the timeline.

See, Emerl's rampage aboard the ARK that was chronicled in Sonic Battle and Dark Beginnings set off a domino effect. Emerl riled up the Artificial Chaos, causing Gerald to lose control of them. They became violent, and so Shadow had to stop them, as depicted in Lost Impact. The thing is, that incident sent an SOS signal to GUN telling them that shit was going down on the ARK. Gerald didsn't fully understand the trouble he was in and assumed that he'd simply be reprimanded by the higher ups, or maybe face legal action. But, well... the next time he heard from GUN, armed troopers were raiding the ARK.

So Lost Impact was the straw that broke the camel's back. I just really like that detail.

4) Maria

And, of course, there's Maria herself. Maria has often been more of a symbol than a character, this perfect embodiment of everything that's good and pure in this world who gets killed to motivate Shadow and Gerald's revenge plots. But I really like the wrinkles this journal adds to her and Gerald's story, and their relationship. This is the most fleshed out they've ever felt.

For one, the journal leans into the idea of Maria's intellectual potential. The rest of the Robotnik family is all geniuses, after all, and she was proving to be a really bright kid. She excelled in her studies on the ARK, and she even helped design Shadow's jet skates and inhibitor rings. When Maria died, the world didn't just lose a symbolic personification of purity. She genuinely could have been a hugely influential scientist who did so much good for the world. That's what Gerald wanted for her. But we'll never know, because GUN killed her.

Speaking of her family, their presence isn't just mentioned for the sake of fleshing out the Robotnik family tree. It's mentioned that as Gerald struggled to find a cure for Maria's illness through his genetic research, he faced mounting pressure from his family. They didn't want Maria to be up on the ARK forever. They wanted Gerald to hurry up and find a damn cure, or otherwise just send her back home to Earth so she could be with her family again. She'd been up on the ARK for so long that Gerald's coworkers started thinking that she had been born up there. Eventually she gains a baby sister on Earth who she's never met. A rift forms between Gerald's two sons, and he's unable to really deal with it because he's so consumed by his work. There's this sense that the family is falling apart, and that everyone is dreading the possibility that Gerald will never find a cure and that Maria will just spend her final years up in space and die far away from her family, because Gerald just couldn't let go. If that happens, it'll break the whole family. But he can't stop now. So he just keeps working. Curing Maria is the only way to win his family back, in his eyes. It can't all be for nothing.

But my favorite detail regarding Maria is this one paragraph:

Maria is growing into a lovely young woman. It breaks my heart that someone as bright and energetic as her is diminished by disease. There are no visible effects, and I've caught my fellow researchers muttering to each other, doubting her illness. It is infuriating. I find all my reason and restraint vanishes when she's slighted.

This is SUCH a great addition to the story! It's always been true that Maria doesn't really seem all that ill, just looking at her in cutscenes. With this one little comment, Ian flips that issue on its head and turns it into a story about invisible disability. She doesn't act like she's in chronic pain, so she must not be, everyone thinks. And this really, really gets to Gerald, as does the pressure from his family. He's dedicating his whole LIFE to saving her, and they think she's faking it?! It's such a small addition, never referenced elsewhere in the journal, but it adds so much flavor to the story, as does the implied family drama. It grounds Gerald and Maria and makes them feel more like real human beings, rather than being pure archetypes. It's just enough info to let my imagination run wild filling in the blanks.

You also get the feeling that Maria being such a walking ray of sunshine was the only real source of joy Gerald had left in his life before Shadow was awakened, and the only thing keeping him from snapping under pressure sooner. All this stuff just keeps piling on, everything's spiraling out of control, but at least Maria is keeping her chin up, right? It makes so much sense that losing her would make him go off the deep end when it's framed like this.

It's just... man, I never thought I'd care so much about Gerald and Maria. But that's the Ian Flynn touch. After years of less than stellar Sonic writing that seemed to be embarrassed of itself, I'm so happy to have new games coming out that fully embrace the history of the series like this, making its world feel so rich and real instead of just serving as an excuse for a string of platforming levels. I don't even like Shadow '05, but I'll be damned if Ian and the rest of Sonic Team didn't make something amazing by "yes, and"-ing Shadow's cringe past here. Sonic has truly reached levels of "we're so back" never thought possible.

[intoanotherworld23]

His Delicate Flower Of Rome

Summary: when Lucius found out you were Marcus Acacius’s daughter he knew he had to have you, and when the opportunity was right he wasn’t holding back

Warnings: explicit content, mature themes, smut, unprotected sex, slightly dom Lucius, submissive reader, smidge of spanking

A/N: hello my lovelies! I was genuinely surprised that there isn’t more fics of Paul or Lucius out there so I wanted to write something for him, and hope everyone likes it and share your thoughts on if I should keep writing for him! If you wish to be added to a tag list please let me know! Or if you have any requests do not hesitate to submit it to my inbox! Don’t forget to reblog and comment! Thank you! XOXO

Hall Of Hunks

Tag list for everything: @iam-laiya @rosie-posie08 @madzleigh01 @alwaysclassyeagle @mytbel0st @shanimallina87 @marvelstarker-mha98 @powellssugarbaby @lora21 @kmc1989

"That's it flower, that's a good woman." Soft praises echoing in your ear as you sank down on Lucius's erect length. His calloused hands caressing your skin so tenderly. "Are you feeling all of me?"

"Mhm." Struggling to find the right words as you concentrated more on adjusting around his cock. Twisting your face in an unusual manner he couldn't resist as he leaned forward to place light kisses on your heated cheeks and temple.

"Do the gods hold your tongue? Can you not speak?" Keeping his voice deep and low as his words teased you.

"Lucius please." Whimpering pathetically as you continued to grind your hips back and forth. Lucius chuckling at how eager and desperate you were for him.

"Do you enjoy fucking gladiators? Does that moisten your thighs? Does your father know what a whore you are?" He taunted you as you bit your bottom lip realizing that his words held more truth than you wanted. Soon as Lucius found out you were Marcus Acacius's daughter he wasted no time in seducing you. "I've been longing to feel this cunt around me for too long."

He loved the feeling of your skin touching his. The way your body had molded into his so perfectly. A fierce bloodthirsty champion of the arena was holding you like a delicate flower. Lucius was enjoying this way more than he intended, and was already planning on never letting you go.

"Gods you are tight." Large hands holding the fat flesh of your thighs his thumb stroking your skin soothingly. Feeling so warm and incredibly deep. "You have not been fucked the way you should be."

Nodding your head in agreement unable to speak as you wrapped your hands around his thick neck. Beginning to tremble as you moved your legs to raise yourself better. Lucious guiding your hips now as he looked down to where you two were connected.

"Take it easy I wouldn't want you to hurt yourself." Noticing how aggressively you were bouncing on his cock. Even as his hands swatted your backside in warning you still continued to ignore him. So lost in the clouds you didn't want to come down.

"I can do it Lucius." Assuring him with such innocent eyes he couldn't help but smirk at how badly you wanted this. "Gods you are so big."

"Fuck." He grunts before pulling your body on top of his as he laid along the bed. He was surprised how soft it was considering he had been sleeping on stone for so long.

Gasping as he lifted his knees and started to pound into your cunt with absolutely no mercy giving you exactly what you wanted. His lips warm and desperate as they peppered kisses along your neck and shoulder. His hands keeping a firm grip on your ass using it as leverage.

"Oh gods." Crying out as he growled in your ear with such animosity it had a shiver running down your spine.

"The gods will never make you feel like this." Hissing into your ear and in just mere seconds tears are glistening in your eyes with such intensity. "Only my cock can bring you to such pleasure."

"Yes, my champion." We're all the words Lucius needed to hear before he suddenly flipped you on your back his cock never slipping from inside you. Grabbing your legs and placing them on his shoulders, as he got right back into the same rhythm.

Drilling into your sweet spot as he leaned forward slightly his face right above yours. Lucius was oozing with confidence in everything that he did. Whether it was in the colosseum or the bedroom. Bit surprised that a man like him would want anything to do with the generals daughter.

"I'm close." Informing him as your body started to shake a fire igniting in the pit of your stomach. Head tossed back in complete ecstasy as you couldn't hold back anymore.

"Let go I am right here." Cooing into your ear like he was revealing his secrets. His deep and seductive tone was sending you right over the edge.

"Oh gods." Crying out as your orgasm was swiftly approaching still sensitive from your previous release by his tongue. Lucius looking down at your remarkable expression unable to look anywhere else. Loving that he was the one in control, and held all this power in your pleasure. It made him feel like a god.

Your senses were extremely heightened, and feeling overwhelmed and vulnerable. Not sure how much longer you could hold on. Lucius could sense this, and he knew what would help relieve you.

"Let me see those beautiful eyes." He instructed to which you immediately followed not seeing that he was reaching a hand down between your bodies to your puffy clit. Rubbing rapid circles making you scream hands scratching along his back surely leaving marks.

Your ribcage rising and falling with each quick breath. Hands falling down to your side feeling loose and numb. Stomach trembling from the resounding orgasm you just experienced. Your battered cunt was so sore from being stretched and abused. Feeling his hands gently caressing your trembling thighs as he stayed still inside of you.

“The gods have surely blessed me on this night.” Speaking trying to catch his breath as he smiled down at you.

“Seems the gods bless you every night.” Moving from underneath him his cock slipping out as he laid next to you. The only sound you could hear was the water fountain outside of your room, and the crackles from the fireplace. Expecting Lucius to gather himself, and never speak to you again.

“Take comfort in my arms, and I will hold you while you sleep.” Pulling your body against his before you could say anything. The unexpected gesture made you feel something that you’ve never felt before. “Sleep my delicate flower.”

[baby-yongbok]

Cat & Mouse

Lee Felix x Afab!Reader

✦ Genre - Friends to Lovers

✦ Word Count - 2.8k

✦ Summary - Felix is fed up with your game of cat and mouse and decides to flip the script for good. ✦ CW - Unprotected piv, Breeding kink, Degradation, Spanking (for like a second), Possessive Lix, [let me know if I missed anything♡ ] ✦ A/N - Writing jealous dom Felix was a bit harder than I thought. I hope I did it well! I've had this in my drafts for soooooo long. It's time to let her be free... even if I'm nervous asf. + reader is depicted as chubby/plus size and is a POC ♡ ✦ ´-Requested - Yes `♡´ No

✦ Masterlist✦

You have a bit of a bad habit. It started towards the end of high school and followed you through college all the way to now. What is it?

Felix. 

Being around him, teasing him, edging your connection and tittering between giving him more and nothing at all is a thrill that you’ve grown addicted to.

He’s been by your side through it all, pinning for your undivided attention and you feed into it just enough to get his lips on yours. You get him to your bed but never in it. You don’t let him have that. 

He falls for it every time, leaning into your trap and getting high off of the taste of your tongue against his just to watch you stick it down someone else's throat the next day. Just like tonight. 

It’s Chan’s annual holiday shit show that he dares to call a party and you’re on Jeongin’s lap, kissing him and pulling into the same trap you’ve perfected with Felix. Your best friend watches, seething and throbbing in his jeans. 

His mind comes up with excuses for your actions by default. He blames the alcohol, the atmosphere, himself. Everything but you and the game of cat and mouse you’ve been using against him. 

When Jeongin’s hand grips your ass you pull back for air and whisper something that the man under you barely recognizes as a lame excuse to go find your next innocent victim.

You head to the kitchen, looking for something strong enough to inspire your next hunt but then you see Felix. He’s already looking at you, his blonde hair is pulled back under a black beanie, he wears a white tank tight over his body that’s partially hidden under his varsity jacket. 

How could you resist?

The answer is, you can't. 

You saunter right up to him and he watches you. His grip on the glass bottle in his hand tightens and you smirk at the faint twitch of his muscles. 

The intent in his gaze is like cold water to your tipsy state. He sobers you up, gets you hot despite the chill of his undivided attention. You smile, planting your hands against his chest and he lets you, while he takes you in. His eyes follow the curve of your jaw, down the length of your neck and reverse back up to your lips. Then they flit back down. Is that a fucking hickey?

You take the bottle in his hand and gulp down a long swig, not bothering to ask. He doesn't stop you. His eyes are still fixed on the dark mark. His eyes trail down then up and over, looking for more and his fists tighten when he finds them.

"Jeongin?" Felix is asking a question, not stating the obvious. “You let him do that?” his gaze shifts from your neck to meet your eyes and suddenly you feel pinned. 

This look on his face is new. dark. 

"Yeah." You smirk, tilting your head and feigning your usual carefree act. "He's pretty good."

Felix grits his teeth. His jealousy is obvious, it always is but his anger is a bit harder to read. It’s rare that you ever see it. You know him well enough to recognize it though. The subtle clench of his jaw, the stiffness in his posture. And his gaze, hardened and unrelenting. Exposing.

“Shut up.” The bottle is snatched out of your hand and on Felix’s lips in an instant. He downs the rest of it and discards it onto the messy table beside him but you're still caught off guard by his response.

“What?” He tsks, staring back at you.

“I said, shut up.” You laugh. It comes out nervous, awkward, and forced. What’s going on?

"Lix..."

"No. Don't 'Lix' me, you can't keep doing this." His eyes are aflame, a dangerous glint and you shiver. Fuck, he’s actually pissed? “You're just giving attention to anyone who looks at you twice, huh? Anyone but me."

"It's not like that-"

"Bullshit. I see you. You’ve been playing this game for years. You wind me up then let me spin out of control while someone else gets to taste what I’ve been so patient for." Your eyes meet his. The tension between you is thick and you swallow, your mouth feeling suddenly dry.

"That's not-" 

“Don't act stupid. This isn't fair.” What happens next surprises you and pushes Felix over the edge. You grin. Your lips turn up in a way that’s not playful or coy. No. It's smug. You're proud. You've gotten him to break and finally crack, his true feelings exposed. He's done being ignored. 

"Well, you should've spoken up. I would've stopped." He's about to open his mouth, his temper growing and his neck shading a hot red when you press yourself closer. The game is shifting right before your eyes, you can see it in his. 

“Stop playing with me.” His voice is low, husky and deep.

“I can’t.” You bring your hand up to push a fallen strand of hair back from his face but his hand grips your wrist, pulling your attention back to him. 

"Can't? Or won't?" 

"Both." You mumble. “I can’t help myself.”

"Don't bullshit me." His tone is low, eyes blazing and half-lidded and you can't tell if he's challenging you or warning you. So you make it a challenge.

"What are you gonna do about it, Lix?" He pulls you closer by his grip on your wrist. Your chest is flush to his. The tight fabric of your shirts are all that’s separating you from him, the only thing prolonging your inevitable spiral. 

"Don't start anything you can't finish." He whispers but you can hear him loud and clear over the music. 

"Why not?" You ask, grabbing the collar of his jacket and pulling him closer, "Don’t you not want me, baby?" Your lip gloss stains the rim of his collar. Your perfume clouds his senses and he’s pulling you through the party and over to the stairs.

"Wait! Wait, wait." You're giggling, a giddy sound as he pulls you up the stairs. You're stumbling over his feet, your own, and the steps, "Lix, what’re you-"

"Shut up." You can't stop laughing and smiling, your heart racing. He's finally snapping, getting the balls to put his money where his mouth is. 

 “Felix, I am not fucking you at a party.” He's annoyed, his grip on your wrist is too tight and the hallway is dim. Felix leans down, pressing you against the wall at the top of the stairs and pushing some random drunk guest to the side to make room for you. His forehead to yours, locking your gazes.

“Where do you want me to fuck you then? Cause I’m gonna have you. I’m gonna wipe that pretty smile off your face and I’m gonna do it tonight. So, where do you want me?”

Your breath catches, your words lost in the sudden heat. The game is changing, you're the one losing control now. Your confidence is wavering. 

"Speak up." His nails bite into your wrist and he presses himself firmer against you. "Tell me, princess." 

You can't think, he's got you backed into a corner. Literally. This is all new, this side of him, a dark and dominant one that has you squirming and aching to get a taste of his lips again. The side that you’ve created.

"Tell. Me." You swallow. Your mind is foggy and he's looking down at you with that cold sharp gaze that has you sure that he’ll choose for you if you don’t act fast. 

"Home." You manage. "Take me home."

You've never seen him move so fast. He's practically dragging you out of the party and to his car, your heart pounding and mind racing. The entire drive back is silent. Neither of you can think. He can't decide how he wants to do it. Hard and slow, gentle and quick. All of the above.  

Felix parks his car, it’s crooked and he couldn’t care less. When the two of you get inside he gives you a second, just a second to kick off your shoes before he’s pinning you to the wall by the front door.

His lips are on yours, swallowing your gasp and taking away the breath you were holding. He’s never kissed you like this before. It’s possessive, wild, and so hot. The way he handles you is rough and quick. His hands grip your waist, pulling you forward then moving to cradle the back of your head with one hand while he walks you over to his room. It’s clumsy and messy but you make it.

The back of your knees hit the bed frame and Felix watches as you fall back. He takes it in for a second - the way your chest rises and falls with the rush of him. The way you look at him, trying to guess his next move.

"Are you nervous?" His voice is a whisper, his question almost a taunt. 

"No." There’s a waver in your attempt to be confident and he catches it. He smirks. 

Felix rids himself of his jacket then pushes his tank top up his torso just enough for you to see more of him. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip and his smirk turns into a smile. He’s definitely taunting you. 

"Liar." His hands find yours and he holds them above your head. His lips attach to your neck, kissing down the curve of it and biting his own bruises on top of the ones that Jeongin left. 

"Fuck, Lix." You moan. "I’m sorry." 

"Now she’s sorry" His hips rock forward, pressing his hard-on against your thigh. You try to hide the whimper that leaves you but it’s no use. He’s zeroed in, he’s in charge now. "Tell me why I should believe you. After everything, after all the times you've had your tongue down someone's throat and not mine." 

You groan, rolling your hips. "I’m sorry, I-" 

"I'm the only one that can have you, right, baby?" He whispers, his tongue runs along the shell of your ear and your breath stutters.

"Yes." You resign to the electricity coursing between the two of you and buck up into him, desperately chasing the charge of your bodies. 

 “Do you think that you being sorry is going to stop me from ruining you?”

“I don’t want you to stop.” The admission leaves you before you can really think about it. Your brain is fuzzy with thoughts of Felix, it always is but you’ve never given in this far. You can feel him smile against you, his tongue grazes over the bruises he’s created then he pulls back to get a better look at you. 

“That’s good, princess.” His voice vibrates his chest and through you before resonating in the space around you. “Cause we’re gonna play a little game.”

You’re losing it.

“You can do better than that, come on.” Felix’s grip on your hips is bruising as he guides you back against him. His idea of a game is much more cruel than yours or at least that’s what your brain is telling you.

He’s been building you up, chasing a high with you just to make a surprise turn when you’re seconds away from the pinnacle you’ve so desperately fucked him for.

“That’s it, that’s fucking it, baby.” He lets you go, letting you fuck back onto him while he runs his fingers through his platinum locks. You’re drooling at both ends, burning to the bottom like a forgotten candle with the way your orgasm is flickering into view with each stuttered roll of your hips against him.

“You’re not gonna get my cum like that, baby.” The sound of his hand coming down on your ass hits your ears faster than you can react. He spanks your other cheek right after, palming the flesh with a groan. “I should fuck a baby into you. I should - fuck - I should knock you up, keep you as mine forever, yeah?”

A sob is all that you can offer in return, a moan so lewd that it nearly doesn’t sound like you, “Please… let me.. Felix, please…”

 He can’t decide if he likes the sounds of you begging or moaning more. He leans over your body, holding you down so that you're full and still while he takes your hair into his fist and pulls back. Your eyes drift to meet his and it’s then that Felix feels real pleasure. When you look at him like he’s looked at you for years. Like he holds the key to everything you’ve ever wanted. 

“God, you’re so pretty, baby.” He rolls his hips and your eyes go with it. “Beg some more.”

“Please let me cum.” You whimper, fisting the bedsheets and curling your toes. “I wanna cum for you.”

Felix hisses a curse that you take as confirmation just before he starts moving again. He sits up, his fist still in your hair while his other hand grips at your hip. He thrusts into you a way that’s too neat to be reckless. It’s practiced and lethal and it’s tearing you apart. 

His grunts are so deep that they barely register beyond your gasping moans. You tremble and drip and grab at the mattress like it can save you from the fall you're taking. You clench and throb and Felix drinks it in with his bottom lip between his teeth. 

“I’ve got you, baby. Finish for me.” His voice is strained, his own orgasm flickers just out of view as he burns to the bottom. But he doesn’t want this to end. 

He lets go of your hair and reaches around to rub at your clit. You fall forward, your arms give out and your vision blurs as he prolongs the burn. “F-felix, fuck fuck, c-can’t..” His practiced pattern turns into something more wild as he gets closer to his own release. 

His hips slow and his thrusts shallow into a rhythm that has tears rolling down your cheeks and his jaw hanging slack. “Oh, fuck, look at me. Look at me, please.” You turn your head and press the side into the mattress to look at him. There’s a subtle tremble to your body. A vibration that Felix recognizes as raw unfiltered pleasure.

“Who knew you’d look so pretty crying under me.” He groans, bottoming out and pulling back just to do it again. He’s edging himself, using you to keep him right at the tip of it all while you ride his. “Doesn’t this feel so much better than your little game, baby?” 

You can feel it coming, your second or third orgasm. You’ve lost count. The minutes blur together and your words abandon you, your tongue is unstable and caught between your teeth. But Felix is relentless, too far gone in the moment that he’s waited forever for. 

“God, look at you, fucked out, you’d say yes to anything right now wouldn’t ya?” His voice is hoarse, deep. “Want me to fuck a baby into ya? You’re such a slut, listen to you. You want it.” It’s not in your control, or at least that’s what you convince yourself when his words pull a drawn out moan from you. Loud and pornographic.

“Say it. Say you wanna be swollen with my fucking baby and I’ll give you every last drop, princess. All of it. Say it.” His hips falter and his thighs shake against yours as his practiced thrusts turn into messy rutting. You moan, he moans and somewhere in between you two fit whimpers of each other's names. 

You’re gone. 

“Y-yes, yes, I wan’ it.” Tears are falling and your vision abandons you, going from blurry to white as another orgasm peaks. You take a breath, deep like him and you’re falling all over again, screaming and drooling and cumming so hard that Felix has to hold your hips up.

“Holy shit, that cunt ‘s gonna make me cum. Gonna fucking cum.” Now he’s lost it. He chases his high while you fall apart around him and he groans when it finally catches up to him. 

He’s finally got it. He’s got you.

He empties himself inside of you with every intention of pulling out but none of the control. His knees threaten to fold beneath him but he keeps himself up through the duration of his orgasm before collapsing onto the mattress. 

You’re panting, dumb with pleasure as the aftershocks surge through you. You want to say something, anything but nothing feels right. What do you say to the man you’ve finally fucked after years of teasing?

Felix decides to fill in the silence with something better than words. He pulls out of you with a small moan and turns you around. You’re barely settled in his arms before his lips are on yours, hungry and hunting. There’s a passion to it, something that you can only recognize as longing. The taste is something that you can only describe as Felix. 

You let yourself go, you let him have you and he moans once he feels the chain snap. The hold is gone. 

It’s game over.

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[norrisleclercf1]

Could you please do lando x reader woth reader being really clumsy and end up hurt herself

Don’t feel pressured to do this request if you don’t feel connected

Have a great day

A/N: OOoooo I've missed writing

"Max for the love of god, if you make me die again I'll-" Lando stops talking as he hears a crash from the kitchen and looks up into the camera like it was a scene in the office and sighs, "Hang on chat, my girlfriend might be destroying our home," Lando says and frog hops out of the chair and taking off the headphones.

"Baby, you alright in here?" Lando turns around the corner and stops and feels his heart stop seeing you lying on the ground with glass everywhere. "Fuck, Y/n," He says not caring he wasn't wearing shoes and rushes to your side, "I slipped," You grumble just accepting your fate not wanting to move. "You're surrounded by glass don't move," Lando says grabbing the broom and swipes a huge chunk of it away from you.

"Are you hurt?" He asks, trying to remain calm, but the panic is obvious from the way his eyes are moving around quickly. "Lando I'm fine, just I broke your fancy glasses though," You say sitting up and keeping your hand in a fist, Lando notices it but doesn't say anything in the moment, "Give me a second," He whispers kissing your forehead. Rushing back into the game room he quickly turns everything off without a second thought and doesn't even explain to Max, rushing right back to your side where you stand at the sink running cool water over your hand.

"You got hurt," Lando curses and you just sigh softly and looking at him tiredly, "It's fine, not even deep enough for stitches, just get those little strips you used for your nose," Lando makes a face, "No, I'll take a scar but you won't," Lando argues making you rest your head on his shoulder. "Lando please, it's literally a papercut,' You sigh knowing he'd continue freaking out.

You've always been clumsy, but in the way where you knock your hip, stub your toe, trip once in a while, and Lando was already protective and constantly keeping you from doing this, now he was seriously thinking about putting you in bubble wrap, maybe he should bring you to all the races to keep you from hurting yourself.

"I don't care, you could've been," Lando stops talking and you sigh and move closer into him. "Lando, I simply tripped and dropped the glasses, it's a small cut, that's it. I'm okay," You whisper reaching up with your good hand and press out the ridge between his eyebrows.

"I'll be more careful, okay," You whisper, as he turns to look at you and sigh tugging you close and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "I don't like it when you get hurt," He whispers having always kept an out for you, even before you two started to date. "I know, but I'm clumsy, it's going to happen," You whisper softly. "I'm going to wrap you in bubble wrap," He groans, making you smirk, "I'd like to see you try,"