#but i firmly believe that they still do that

[peaches2217]

So this just helped confirm what I already knew: the ins and outs of Christian theology has quickly reached hyperfixation levels.

[yueebby]

𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 (𝐢) – 𝐠𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮

contents. period piece, forbidden love, ooc, angst (eventual comfort), yandere emperor!gojo, lovesick!gojo, servant!reader, obsessive behavior, lowkey unreliable narrator, time skips, 7.2k words of gojo unable to process his feelings

notes. sorry for leaving everyone hanging after the prologue (make sure to read or reread since it's been a hot minute!) TT but here it finally is!!!...not proofread soz :x

series masterlist | chapter 1/2

You haunt his dreams, he’s sure. Gojo never believed in superstitions or the supernatural despite what all those old geezers preached. That was until your figure started to appear every time he closed his eyes.

The familiar scene of you gets cloudier every time it appears in his dreams, but he knows it is still you. It’s nearly comical how even his subconscious knew of your everlasting beauty. Everytime, the same sequence replays: a grand celebration he had hosted in the palace in honor of a prosperous year of his reign. The two of you were overlooking the guests, seated at the head of the room.

You’re wearing court attire that was altered to fit solely you (it hugged your body in such ways that made Gojo’s head spin), fabrics and dyes all originating from foreign lands. In your hair sits beautiful hair ornaments, swinging with every movement you make.

However, Gojo knows it is not the materialistic items that make you beautiful, no, he knows that it was simply you.

“Has anyone told you how unnerving your eyes are?” You quietly comment, eyes still trained on the party in front of you. Satoru cracks a slight smile, not ashamed in the slightest that he was caught ogling you.

“I thought you said you loved them?” He blinks at you, attempting to lean closer to show off his blue orbs. “You’re starting to hurt my feelings, beloved.”

You purse your lips, subtly leaning away before he can initiate improper conduct. He does not take your action well, snaking an arm around you to firmly cage you in his hold. Normally, you would welcome his advances but you’d rather not be publically humiliated in front of the entire Imperial Court and all of the influential clanheads of Japan.

“Please have mercy on me, Your Grace,” You whisper, eyes flitting across the room, making sure there were no eyes on you. Luckily, everyone was too absorbed with the luxurious goods Gojo had imported for the occasion. It was the anniversary of his coronation, after all.

He makes a noise of disapproval, “Can’t. Must let these people know that you’re mine.” Gojo closes the gap between you and sniffs your neck, softly moaning at your scent. He knows that if the geezers looked up from their silver spoons they would have a heart attack at his public display of affection. Not that he cares. His unorthodox ways may make them livid, but Gojo knows they won’t do anything. He was going to pave the way for the Golden Age of Japan— with you by his side.

“Your Grace!” You giggle at the ticklish sensation left by his warm breath. Any attempts of shying away from him are fruitless.

“Don’t run away,” His other hand firmly places itself on your clothed thigh, restricting your movements. All of this is hidden by the table that sits in front of the two of you.

You’re looking at him with those shiny eyes of yours, silently pleading with him. “Can’t this wait until tonight?”

He huffs, “I have suffered enough today without your presence. Ijichi kept begging me to finalize the preparations, but who am I to care? My flower was too busy having fun without me.” 

“You and your dramatics. I was only away to tend the gardens in the Consort’s Pavilion. Which, might I remind you, is fading by the moment because someone refuses for me to stay there.” You tut, picking up your chopsticks to eat the delectable fish placed in front of you. 

Gojo’s stare never falters as he watches you pick up a small piece, eyes shining as if he were watching a spectacle. “You know I can’t sleep without you.”

“And I, you.” You pop the piece inside of your mouth, chewing happily at the flavor that fills your tongue. “You know, I–” You began, but were cut off by the sudden seizing of your throat. 

The chopsticks in your hands clatter loudly with the porcelain they are dropped on. 

Gojo's breath hitched, his eyes wide and trembling with horror as he watched you struggle for air. "My love?” he choked out, his voice cracking under the weight of rising panic.

Your hands immediately travel to your neck to alleviate the sudden burning feeling that blossomed in it.

“[Name]!” He shouts, large hands quickly rising to cup your cheeks. In a desperate attempt, he squeezes your cheeks to get you to spit it out. 

"Poi–poison," Your voice was hoarse, your face losing its color by the second. Satoru was frozen with fear. “Don’t eat it…Satoru.” With those parting words, you lose consciousness.

“[Name]?” Satoru’s hoarse voice can’t stop repeating your name like a prayer, hands lightly tapping your cheek as if it was going to bring you back to life.

Gojo wanted to laugh. Even when you were dying, you worried about him. Not that it mattered. You weren’t going to die. He refused.

Sometime during your struggle the chatter had stopped, and all eyes were on you. Satoru looks up from you to bark orders to the guards he had placed around the room. They leave to summon the Imperial Physician while Gojo is left clinging onto your limp body, praying to the Heavens above that they will grant him one more miracle.

—

Back in his chambers, Gojo’s head pounds, but he’s not sure whether it was the speed he shot up from his bed or the dream itself. He feels hot, sweat running from his bare chest that heaves to bring oxygen to his quickly pumping heart. He’s nearly certain his chest is going to cave any second with the way it constricts with pain. It was like he was a geezer, he humors silently.

“Your Grace?” A delicate hand cups his cheek. 

He follows the direction of the hand, eyes slowly trailing up the feminine body it belonged to, barely covered as a result of the thin silk nightgown that highlighted her natural curves. “Are you alright? It was only a nightmare.” She cradles his face, moving slowly in his vulnerable state.

Satoru breathes heavily, eyes widening as they travel from her breasts to her face, beautifully illuminated by the sparse moonlight leaking from the window. Her dark hair falls past her shoulders, obscuring some of his access to her skin. His beautiful mistress. He’s sure that she is whispering sweet nothings into his ear, but the images of his memory keep replaying in his mind, occupying it from functioning properly. ”Himiko, how did you–”

“I heard you and I couldn’t bear it.” Her finger softly caressed his flushed cheek, trying her best to ignore the bewildered look on her lover’s face. 

THE PRESENT —

The journey to the Inner Palace was a blur. After a long goodbye, a horse drawn carriage was sent to the front of Yaga’s estate the very next morning. Your mind was elsewhere the entire time, too busy mulling over your past and now damned future. 

That is why when the carriage comes to a complete stop in front of the servants’ quarters, you are startled to meet two awfully familiar faces.

The two are silent, eyes carefully watching you exit the carriage. The purple set of eyes steps forward first to take your bags from you. 

“Ah thank you Mister—“ Your voice trails off, eyes looking up from the dark robes in front of you only to be surprised with a familiar face. “L-Lord Geto?” 

His lips quirk up slightly upon recognition. “Welcome back, [Name].” Your heart throbs at his indifference from the last interaction you had. It is quickly concealed by the excitement in your voice when your eyes spot a comforting pair of eyes.

“And Kento?” You light up.

Suguru raises an eyebrow at your familiarity with the Imperial Chancellor. He knows he should be relieved that you held no malice towards himself and Nanami, knowing the struggle you were subjected to when banished. However, there was a foreboding feeling gnawing deep within his soul. Guilt? Fear? It was hard for Geto to put a finger on it.

Nanami simply nods in acknowledgment, but stays silent under Geto’s watchful gaze.

“[Name],” The black haired man starts. Your eyes return to his face. “I wanted to be the first to greet you here, but I suppose Lord Nanami must have had the same idea.” He chuckles lightly, but the mirth never makes it to his eyes. You don’t notice Lord Nanami stiffening up.

“To say I am flattered would be an understatement, Lord Geto.” You return the same sugarcoated pleasantries. 

Geto must have noticed your unease, reminding you, “Please, there is no need to keep your guard up around me. I don’t bite.” His voice has a teasing lilt. It does little to soothe you. 

“Can you blame me, Lord Geto?” Your eyes meet his purple ones that narrow at your allusion.

“I suppose not.” He hums. “Though I must tell you that the incident was out of my power. I must carry that burden everyday, so I implore you to forgive me, [Name].” He throws out your given name once again like you were familiar. 

When you don’t respond, he continues, “I know, it is easier said than done.”

“You don’t say.” You bite your tongue as soon as the words leave your mouth. He fails to acknowledge how your last interaction was your banishment, served just by the man in front of you.

A sigh escapes Geto’s lips. "As a gesture of my accountability, I place myself entirely at your disposal. Simply name a favor, and it shall be fulfilled." You can’t detect anything but sincerity in his words, leaving you speechless. “Of course, it had to be within my power, but I shall grant you one request in return for your forgiveness.”

“I—” You were too shocked to form a thought. “I don’t know what to say.”

Suguru’s eyes crinkle, "Our last encounter may not have been pleasant, but I still consider you a dear friend, after all.”

“I am flattered to say the least that you had decided to grant me such honor,” you gape.

Geto shakes his head softly, “You shouldn’t hold me to such high regard. I could hardly bear the weight of your disfavor.”

“You know I don’t harbor any ill feelings towards what happened,” you say softly. It wasn’t Suguru’s decision what happened that night.

“I wouldn’t be able to live with myself otherwise,” the black haired man in front of you pushes. You relent. Perhaps you should just bite your tongue and accept the opportunity presented. “Please. Just think about it.”

You watch in silence as Geto turns around to walk away. His sudden offer leaves your mind racing. A man of his caliber, second to none but the emperor himself, would be able to grant any of your desires. Perhaps you should ask to import Western literature, tales of great fantasy— or, you could think bigger and ask to move back with your clan. Though you highly doubt he will entertain the latter, considering your indentured servitude to the Inner Palace. 

Your racing thoughts are diverted when you hear someone clear their throat to capture your attention. You perk up when you realize that Lord Nanami was still here, and you have completely ignored his presence.

“I am just as surprised to see your immediate return to the palace.” Nanami adjusts the glasses on his face, sympathetic eyes never leaving you. You flush under his gaze. It was quite embarrassing knowing the entire palace probably had caught wind of your incident with the emperor.

A nervous chuckle escaped your lips. 

“It wasn’t my intention,” you mumble. “But I suppose if fate has decided, there is not much I can do.”

“You truly believe that it was fate that brought you here?” Nanami asks, the hold he had on your arm tightening enough to catch your attention but not enough to hurt. 

“I-” You begin, words failing to conjure. “I’m not sure.”  You had thought that your banishment was fate, but now that you had been brought back, it felt like you were simply at the mercy of something cruel.

Nanami watches your eyes staring wistfully at the blue sky above, his own flickering to each of your features. He wonders if you know that your expressions gave you away. It’s more endearing than anything, from the flutter of your eyelashes, the wrinkle of your nose, to the furrow of your eyebrows. Only a blind man would deny the fact that you were easy to fall in love with. However, it would make a foolish man to dare to pursue you.

 He’ll appreciate you and your charm from afar where his head may stay attached to his body.

The comfortable silence shared between the two of you is disrupted by a flock of handmaidens passing by. Nanami tenses his jaw when the voices become audible. 

“Is it really her?”

“It’s said that she tried to sneak into the Emperor’s chambers.”

“Is that Lord Nanami? My, we must warn him about that whore that tried to seduce the emperor!”

“Poor Lady Himiko.”

Anger swells in your chest. Though you’re not sure what tale had managed to escape the servants’ quarters, but you pray that they may never reach the emperor’s ears. It was simply profane to the beloved consort, an offense that you know Gojo would never forgive you for. You can deal with nasty gossip, having previous experience, but you doubt you can handle being beheaded for conspiring against the emperor and his consort.

“I’m afraid no matter how much time has passed, the palace rumors seem to never die.” Nanami sighs, exhaustion evident in his gravelly voice. “I advise you to brace yourself. Within these coming days, the fire will only get hotter.” He doesn’t bother elaborating on his words, choosing to lead you to your new chambers.

“Thank you for the advice Nanami,” you exhale. “However, I am sure I’ll be able to manage on my own. After all, I’ve been doing it for quite some time.” The moment the solemn words leave your mouth his eyes soften. You quickly look away, flustered.

“I know you can, [Name]. I suppose my anxieties are misplaced, forgive me.” You can feel his stare bore into the side of your face. He sighs, “it is a habit that comes natural to me.” He worries for you. The words go unsaid, but you are able to decipher his double meaning.

Your heart flutters at his kind implications, eyes too shy to meet him once more. Instead, you choose to fix your gaze on the doors to the servants’ quarters. The blonde man beside you takes the liberty to open the doors to your new room. 

At the sight in front of you, your heart lurches.

Before you stands a familiar head of white hair, standing tall with his back turned towards you. His head was tilted slightly, as if scrutinizing something unseen, before he slowly shook it. Then, with an unsettling calm, he turned to face you, his gaze heavy with unspoken intent.

“I’ll take her from here,” Gojo’s icy voice breaks the silence that had overtaken you and Nanami.

“Of course,” Nanami bows deeply. You turn to bid the man goodbye, but he leaves hurriedly without sparing you so much as a glance. You can’t help but furrow your eyebrows in confusion, eyes longingly watching your old friend walk away.

The moment the shoji doors close behind him, Gojo clears his throat.

“[Name],” he tests the waters, his movements deliberate as he takes a slow, tentative step toward you, the air between you thick with an unspoken tension.

“Your Majesty,” You respond shakily, retreating a step as your breath catches.

“Please,” Gojo mutters breathlessly, his voice trembling with unspoken desperation, his eyes pleading with an intensity that only deepens the pit in your stomach. He takes two deliberate strides forward, the gap between you vanishing as though drawn by an invisible force.

“No,” You shake your head, pain flashing across your face. You won’t let him waltz right into your life after carelessly tossing you away, not without consequence. It is to no surprise that words seem to go unheard to the man in front of you. His eyes glistened in the dim lighting, fixed intently on your face, tracing each feature with a quiet focus, as if he were trying to burn them into his memory.

The world seemed to stay still just for the two of you. But it only lasted for just a moment.

“I’m so sorry,” Gojo mutters, a strong hand flying to the back of your neck tugging you towards him for a searing kiss. The instant his lips crash against yours, he lets out a soft whimper, as though the very act consumes him. Despite the passage of time, your body responds instinctively, like it was always meant to be this way.

It felt like the only thing that mattered was the fact that he was right in front of you, your fast beating hearts making contact with the way he had your chest pressed to his. All while pushing you against his body, Gojo allows his hand to trail down your back, revisiting every valley that he had once memorized.

“Mph,” your traitorous hands find their way into his head of white hair. He smiles into the kiss upon hearing his name leave your mouth.

“Yes?” He leaves a wet kiss at the base of your throat, bending down to continue his frenzy.

“This isn’t right,” the words came out of your mouth in a whisper, as if you almost didn’t believe them yourself.

“You’re wrong.” He inhales deeply, attaching his mouth onto your collarbone, ”I was made solely for this.” A small whine leaves his mouth when you hesitantly try to push him off. He uses his innate strength to fight your attempts.

“May I ask something of you?”

A kiss was placed on your jawline. Another on the base of your throat.

“Anything,” he breathes.

“Do you..” Your voice falters. “Do you love her?” Like you loved me? 

The trail of kisses come to a complete stop. For a second you fear you may have overstepped. The emperor’s silence was palpable. The only sound that filled your ears was the harsh thuds of your own heart. 

“[Name]...” he slowly stands up to tower over you with his height. The distant look in his eyes forms a pit in your stomach.

“Answer me,” you whisper, the pit deepening.

“I am just a man,” he reasons. Your heart drops at his answer.

“You could not even take an oath of monogamy,” you spit. “You are nothing but a weak man.” 

His eyes shoot up from their trance frantically. You fear that the lust he had been tempted with had worn off, and now you were left with nothing but wrath.

“I understand that I was nothing but a spoil of war, but you could have done me one last favor by allowing me to leave on my own accord. You did not have to cast me away,” your vision starts to waver with the tears that puddle in your eyes. “If I knew your heart had yearned for another I would have left.”

The set of blue eyes that stare at you are no longer the lively shade that you had grown to love. They have been replaced by an uncertain stormy grey. It was almost laughable. A man, so big, who had the world in the palm of his hand looked so small.

A cruel part in you enjoyed seeing the turmoil in his eyes after the events that had transpired.

“Had I known the tribulations I put you through, perhaps I would have put a second thought before choosing you.” Gojo exhales, pinching in between his eyebrows. “But I must assure you that you weren’t the only one suffering.” And for a moment you think you see lightning strike in those stormy irises of his. 

Your eyes widen at his confession.

He lets out a deep sigh, “The head maid will be here any minute. I bid you farewell. I pray that with our next interaction, your heart learns to soften.”

Ever for dramatics, Gojo leaves before you can get the last word.

—

True to his word, the head maid soon comes to assign your duties. You’re not surprised at your new set of responsibilities: tending to the emperor’s garden, sweeping the floors to his chambers, and overseeing his meal preparations. 

It is nothing out of your skill set, and you’re more than willing to accept your predicament rather than being burned alive for offending the emperor on numerous accounts. You suppose even Gojo was kind enough to spare you from that cruel fate. It almost softens your heart enough to decide to forgive him of his transgressions. Almost.

Your thoughts are interrupted by a loud clang of a pot. When you turn your head towards the direction of the sound, you’re met with the head maid’s stern gaze. Her eyes narrowed on the wooden spoon you had been mixing in the broth. 

Ah. She wanted you to perform the mandatory poison test before serving the food to the emperor.

However, just as you bring the spoon to your lips, it is violently swatted from your hand, clattering to the floor. Your eyes sadly linger on the spilled broth before snapping to the culprit, your gaze filled with disbelief.

"There were strict orders to ensure that the task did not fall to you," the head maid, Ogami, declared sharply. The elderly woman, with silver hair neatly tied in a tight bun and skin etched with the marks of years spent in service, raised a wrinkled finger in your direction.

You blink, taken aback by her sudden reprimand, the sharpness in her gaze leaving you momentarily frozen. It didn’t make sense—there had been no mention of any such orders, no one had informed you of any changes. You open your mouth to speak, but the words catch in your throat, swallowed by the weight of her unyielding stare. 

How strange.

Days pass by like a blur, your routine falling into place. When dawn arrives, you’re up to prepare the emperor’s garments for the day. Your mid-mornings grow even busier as the palace comes alive with activity. Whether mending torn hems or ensuring the ceremonial robes are free of imperfection, you move like a ghost through the corridors with hopes of going unnoticed. The emperor’s unusual antics, however, make it nearly impossible to slip by unnoticed. He seems to have a knack for drawing your attention. His antics often begin at ungodly hours, long before the sun graces the horizon, as he attempts to coax you into sharing the first meal of the day with him. You decline each time, yet his persistence never wavers, a boyish grin always accompanying his invitations. By the time the sun reaches its zenith, Gojo finally departs to attend to his imperial duties. It’s only then, in the quiet lull of his absence, that you find the chance to make real progress with your work.

“To say I am relieved because of your presence would be an understatement, [Name].” Nanami and you overlook the palace’s main courtyard. 

You smile, hands filled with silks that needed washing, “I could say the same.” The emperor’s outrageous requests were driving you mad. Your mind flashes to earlier that week when he had insisted on hand feeding you honey! You wonder how he survived without a personal servant before you took the position.

“His Majesty is as eccentric as ever, I assume.” Nanami’s eyes crinkle. 

You laugh, “You know him too well!”

“I didn’t have much choice,” he shakes his head, smile ghosting his lips. “We’ve known eachother since our youth.”

You perk up at the news, your curiosity piqued. The confusion must have been written all over your face, prompting Nanami to offer a quick clarification.

“It was brief, our time at the academy. But we were both under the instruction of Yaga,” he elaborates. Huh. What a small world, you think as Nanami paints an unexpected connection. 

“I am struggling to imagine you and him studying under the ever serious Yaga,” you giggle.

“I was in the year below him. It was Lord Geto and Shoko who were first hand witnesses to his nature.” Nanami tells you. 

You nearly dropped all of the emperor’s clothes, “Shoko?” The revelation that your own friend was acquainted with the emperor stopped you dead in your tracks. Had she known him personally all along? If so, she made no effort to reveal it. Instead, she appeared almost disgusted by him, though you had chalked it up to her disdain for the new ruling dynasty rather than a personal vendetta against the man himself.

“I am aware you were well acquainted with her in your time in the Outer Palace, no?” “Yes, but–” you pause, before eyes snapping back to Nanami. “How did you know?”

Nanami blinks, momentarily caught off guard. His eyes widen a fraction, and he opens his mouth as if to explain, but then falters, his words stumbling.

Before he can say anything, a soft, familiar voice drifts from behind you.

“[Name]!” A servant of Lady Himiko calls urgently, her voice laced with a sense of urgency. You turn to face her.

“Yes?”

“The emperor requests your presence in the ceremonial hall. He says it is of great importance and that you must make haste!” The girl exclaims, grabbing your only free arm and tugging you toward the hall.

You glance back at Nanami, your eyes silently promising him that this conversation is far from over. He gives a small nod, acknowledging your unspoken words as he bids you farewell.

“Ah, may I ask what the emperor requires of me?” you ask, trying to maintain some control over the situation.

“You’ll see,” she replies, her tone clipped. Without sparing you a glance, she pulls you forward with determination, clearly focused on her task.

Like a lamb heading toward slaughter, you find yourself helplessly being dragged through the grand doors of the ceremonial hall, your thoughts swirling with questions you can’t yet answer.

The expansive room was eerily empty, a stark contrast to its usual grandeur. The sunlight poured through the tall windows, casting long beams of light that danced across the polished floors, illuminating the intricate tapestries and the grand pillars that lined the hall. But your gaze soon shifted, focusing on the emperor’s seat at the very end of the room.

You had expected the usual scene: Gojo slouched in his throne-like chair, whiny and complaining about the mountain of paperwork he despised. But what greeted you instead was something far more unexpected.

A figure stood poised at the head of the room, commanding the space with an elegance that was undeniable. Anyone familiar with the court could recognize her signature choice of kimono—the rich plum silk embroidered with intricate gold patterns, delicate yet striking. Her hair, black as midnight and flowing like a river of silk, cascaded down her back in perfect waves, a stark contrast to her porcelain-like complexion.

It was Lady Himiko. Her beauty was legendary, whispered about among women across the nation, often compared to a living work of art. The rumors of her grace and poise weren’t exaggerated. Standing there, surrounded by her ladies-in-waiting, who remained perfectly still and attentive at her side.

Her eyes met yours, and for a brief moment, your breath was stolen. The stillness of the room was palpable, and you couldn’t help but wonder why she was here, in the emperor’s seat, with not a whisper of Gojo in sight.

“Ah, just the one I was looking for!” her eyes light up when she sees her servant return with you in her hand. The gleam in her eyes fill you with unease.

“Lady Himiko, it is an honor,” you bow.

“There’s no need for that! Please, stand.” She waves her slender fingers at you, or so it seems, but at her silent command, her ladies-in-waiting begin to move toward you.

You take a step back, instinctively using the emperor’s garments, still damp from your earlier washing, as a shield against their sudden movements. The soft rustling of fabric is almost deafening in the silence that follows.

Lady Himiko’s eyes narrow at the motion, her sharp gaze flicking to the garments you hold between you and her. A faint, almost imperceptible smile plays at the corners of her lips, but it does nothing to ease the tension thickening in the air.

“I understand the unspoken animosity between us,” she says, her voice smooth, but there's an edge to it that sets your nerves on edge. “I pray you will accept my humble apology.” She clasps her hands together, but her eyes remain calculating, never leaving yours.

Her words hang in the air, heavy with implication. “I had not expected the emperor to kindle such… passion for me so suddenly. It was neither of our intentions that fateful night we reunited after the days of our youth.” She shakes her head softly, laughing nervously. "How rude of me, I doubt you of all would want to hear about Satoru and I."

Your breath hitches, caught between surprise and a tightening knot of discomfort in your chest. The weight of her words presses down on you, and you struggle to maintain composure.

“I do apologize for bringing you here on such deceptive terms, but I had to get your attention somehow,” she continues. “As one who has been a former concubine, I wanted your counsel on how I should navigate this delicate matter.” If you didn’t know any better, you would say she was mocking you. But you knew Himiko wasn’t one you wanted to offend, so you bite your tongue.

Instead, you nod, steeling yourself against the discomfort crawling up your spine. “What is it that you need from me?” you ask, your voice betraying none of the wariness you feel.

Himiko’s ladies-in-waiting close in around you swiftly, subtly guiding your every step toward the emperor’s stand. The grand hall feels even larger as you’re led deeper into its heart, each step reverberating through the space.

At the end of the room stands Himiko, watching you approach with a distant gaze. The soft glow from the nearby windows catches on the polished surface of the wooden desk before her, where inkstones, brushes, and stacks of paper lie in disarray.

You pause, your gaze falling upon the desk, and that’s when you notice the manuscript she’s pointing to. Her perfectly filed nails trace the edges of the paper with deliberate slowness. Though you cannot read the characters from this distance, the emblems that adorn the papers are unmistakable. They belong to some of the most powerful clans in the empire, each one a mark of authority and influence.

As your eyes skim across the paper Himiko’s hand rests on, the characters seem to leap off the page in a rush of realization. It’s a proposal– one written by the notorious Zenin clan. You can almost feel the air grow heavy as you piece it together. The words speak of demands for more autonomy—an increase in their power, more control over the lands they already possess. And you know, instinctively, that if this were to pass, everything Gojo has fought for, everything he’s struggled to protect, would crumble into dust. His fight against the rigid clan-based hierarchy would be for naught.

For a moment, your mind reels. This is no mere conversation or request for guidance. This is a game of power, one where you’re being used as a pawn. Her eyes lock with yours, and the air between you thickens with unspoken understanding. She must’ve taken you for a mere tool to execute her own plans.

But you’re no fool, and that realization comes like a slap to the face. You straighten your posture, eyes hardening as the weight of the situation settles in.

“These seals...” Your voice falters as you stare at the emblems, your hand hovering over the manuscript as though touching it might implicate you further. The weight of the realization crashes down on you like a cold wave. You look up at Himiko, bewildered, your heart pounding in your chest. Meddling with state affairs, let alone tampering with the emperor’s documents was a crime punishable by death.

“Does the emperor know about this?” you demand, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and indignation. “This—this could be considered treason!”

“Careful with your words,” she says softly, her tone calm. “It is not treason when it is for the betterment of the empire.”

Your mouth opens as if to respond, but no sound escapes.

“The emperor has always held you in high regard,” Himiko says with a wistful sigh, her eyes narrowing on your figure. “I’ve no doubt he would find it impossible to refuse any command spoken by you.”

Her cryptic words linger in the air, their implications sinking into you. You’re left reeling, unsure of whether her remark is meant as flattery or a thinly veiled mockery of your banishment. 

She scoffs, her delicate façade cracking as her tone turns venomous. “The emperor may not know, but I see right through you. Seducing him to claim yourself as some spoil of war and twisting his mind to lead our nation to ruin—it’s sickening. Truly, a shame the assassination attempt failed.” Her words lash out like a whip, her civil mask shattering entirely.

You gasp, her implications cutting deep even as your heart hardens against the venom. Had she known–?

“Perhaps that is what the entire Court believes of me,” you manage, your voice trembling yet steady enough to carry your conviction. Months of whispered rumors and vicious gossip had thickened your skin, and you refused to crumble under her scrutiny. “But I will not allow you to sully the emperor’s reputation.”

As much as you detested Gojo, your disdain for the corrupt elders burned hotter. They had plotted your downfall, attempted to take your life, and now sought to undermine everything Gojo was fighting to build. You could not allow them to gain any more power in the Court  than they already held.

Himiko’s lips curl into a cold, triumphant smile as she picks up an inkstone and brush from the emperor’s desk. “As his Honored Consort and future Empress I command you to hold this for me while I pave the way for a greater future.” Her words are laced with mockery as she extends the inkstone toward you.

You recoil instinctively, shaking your head. “No. I refuse—” Your rejection is firm, your voice sharper than you expected, as you pull away, clutching the emperor’s garments protectively against your chest. 

The next few moments unravel in slow motion, as though fate itself had decided to humiliate you. Himiko’s gasp pierces the air as your sudden movement causes the inkstone to slip, spilling its dark, viscous contents over her elaborate kimono. The silk, undoubtedly crafted from the finest threads in Japan, drinks in the stain, the deep black spreading like a wound across the fabric.

“My lady!” Her servants rush to her side, their collective cries of alarm startle you. They push you aside as they fuss over her, their movements frantic as they attempt to salvage her now-ruined garment.

You stumble back, staring in disbelief at the disaster you’d unwittingly caused. “I—I am truly sorry—” you begin, but your words falter under the weight of the situation.

“What is going on here?”

The booming voice echoes through the hall like thunder, freezing everyone in place. You whip your head toward the source, your pulse quickening as your eyes land on the figure now standing in the doorway. The emperor himself, Gojo, commands the room with his presence, his expression a mixture of confusion and rising fury as he takes in the scene before him. By his side stands the owner of the voice, an elder, with an expression carved with barely restrained anger piercing through you.

Himiko lets out a sharp cry, her voice trembling with a convincing mix of distress and indignation. Gojo reacts instantly, rushing by her side, his features hardening with concern.

“I found her forging His Majesty’s signature,” Himiko exclaims, her voice wavering just enough to sound genuine. “When I tried to intervene, she lashed out and attacked me.” She trembles as she buries her head against the emperor’s chest.

It hits you—the full realization of her calculated scheme. This was her plan all along.

“I-I didn’t!” you stammer, your voice raw with desperation. “That wasn’t what happened at all– she was the one tampering with imperial documents. I tried to stop her!”

Gojo’s piercing blue eyes snap to yours, cutting off your explanation. His gaze, once warm and teasing, now burns with unrestrained fury. The bile rises in your throat as you see it. Anger, disdain, and worst of all, disbelief.

“Himiko,” he murmurs, his arms tightening protectively around her trembling form. Her soft sniffling only adds to the spectacle.

“To be caught tampering with imperial records is one thing,” Gojo finally says, his voice icy and cutting, “but to stoop so low as to accuse Lady Himiko? Was this an act out of jealousy? Spite? How pathetic. This is beneath even you, [Name].”

You feel your knees weaken, the tears you’ve fought to hold back beginning to pool in your eyes. “Please, you have to believe me,” you whisper, your voice cracking under the weight of his words.

His expression darkens further, the light in his sky-blue eyes replaced by thunderclouds. “Why would I believe you?” he sneers, his tone laced with contempt.

A single tear escapes down your cheek, followed by another, and then another, until you can no longer stop them. The dam of your resolve breaks, shattered by his cruel dismissal.

“Why?” Your voice trembles, breaking as the tears come freely now. “Why don’t you believe me?”

Gojo’s lips curl into a bitter smile. “Don’t make me laugh,” he says coldly. “How could I ever believe in one as base as you?”

His words cut deeper than any blade, piercing through the walls you’d built to protect yourself. You’d convinced yourself you were immune to his indifference, but the searing pain in your chest proves otherwise.

“Leave,” he commands, his voice sharp and final. “Do not look back. Your very presence stirs nothing but disdain within me.”

You stagger back, his words striking harder than any physical blow. He might as well have drawn his sword and ended it here. The infamous tales you had heard about Gojo were once glorious images that were painted of your beloved. You had never thought you would be on the other end of his blade. 

Without a word, you turn and run, your vision blurred with tears. The emperor’s garments slip from your hands, forgotten in your haste to escape the suffocating anguish. You don’t look back, even as the echoes of his disgust chase you out of the hall.

If there was one undeniable truth that Geto Suguru knew, it was that his best friend, Gojo Satoru could be an utter fool. Perhaps it was the inevitable result of a youth stolen too soon, replaced by the crushing weight of an empire resting on his shoulders. The brilliance that made Gojo a formidable emperor rendered him hopelessly inept when it came to navigating the labyrinth of his own emotions.

And as his closest confidant, bound by loyalty and friendship, Geto Suguru couldn’t help but feel the urge to shake some sense into him—to force him to confront what he stubbornly refused to see.

That is why, when your trembling form hurries across the courtyard, tears streaming down your face, Geto Suguru can’t help but halt you in your steps. 

“I’m leaving.” you declare, your voice raw, your eyes red and swollen. The words, so resolute despite your trembling tone, catch him off guard.

“What?” he asks, his brows knitting together in confusion.

“My favor,” you say firmly, though your voice wavers. “I want to leave this place.”

For a moment, Geto says nothing, his sharp mind scrambling to process the abruptness of your request. Then he shakes his head, his expression softening. “You know I can’t do that.”

Your incredulous gaze snaps up to meet him. “So you lied to me?”

“No, not at all,” he says quickly, holding up his hands. “I meant—I can grant you time off. But as someone under the emperor’s direct supervision, I can’t allow you to leave permanently. What I can do is give you one lunar cycle away from court.”

You hesitate, weighing his offer before giving a sharp nod. “I’ll take it. Just let me leave,” you reply, sniffling.

Geto watches you for a moment longer, his chest tightening at the sight of your despair. “I’ll make the arrangements right away,” he says gently. “I’m sorry we seem to meet only under such terrible circumstances.”

“I’m sorry too,” you murmur, your tone hollow.

He hesitates, searching for the right words to offer some semblance of comfort. “Whatever he did, I’m sure—”

“I don’t care,” you cut him off, your voice colder now. “He made his disgust for me perfectly clear.” You march past him, your steps resolute despite the trembling in your shoulders. “Thank you for understanding, though I must beg you to keep this between us. Who knows what might happen to either of us if he finds out.”

Geto exhales slowly, his composure steady but his mind racing. Just what, exactly, had his best friend done this time? Gojo’s antics always seemed to leave Geto cleaning up the aftermath, but this—this was something else entirely.

Just as he promised, there is a carriage waiting for you outside of the servants’ quarters. With heavy bags in hand and an even heavier heart, you make your way toward it, each step weighted with reluctant resolve. The irony of the moment doesn’t escape you, a sense of déjà vu washing over you, as though life had played this scene out countless times before.

You turn sharply, your bleary eyes meeting the calm, hazel gaze of someone you hadn’t expected to see.

“Nanami?” you breathe, disbelief coloring your tone.

He inclines his head in a polite nod. “Forgive the intrusion, but I insist on accompanying you,” he says, his voice as composed as ever. “The roads beyond the palace can be dangerous, especially for someone traveling alone.”

For a moment, you simply stare, caught between gratitude and confusion. The warmth in your chest battles against the ache that lingers from your earlier ordeal. “And what of the emperor?” you ask, forcing a faint smile. “Would he not throw a fit in your absence?”

Nanami lets out a quiet, mirthless laugh, the sound more bitter than amused. “Perhaps,” he admits, adjusting the luggage in his hands with ease. “But he was never one to share, was he?”

taglist. @wr4inn @sukioyakio @siopaoxcc @thejujvtsupost @bakananya @catobsessedlady @fiannee @sleepycow21 @kirashuu @deluludyslexic @isaacdaknight @bathroom-sand @arehzhera @lostinneocity @victoria1676 @uziwork @alexatiu @taenosaurrr @sukunasleftkneecap @toecurlingstories @yandere-stories @dreamsarenicer @hiyaitssans @getoicious @docosahexaenoic-san @goldenglow149 @amiorcani @step-on-me-melissa @erensswife1 @roses-and-reeses @ssc7514 @hyunsuks-beanie @crankyarchives @wooasecret @theiridescentdragon @mshitachin @kieralive @cake-with-the-cream @miffysoo @msvalsius @drthymby @sherryuki-callmeyuki @anonymous-creep @altgojo @aesukuni @sadmonke @luna-v-roiya @hightoasterr @rebeccawinters @paprikaquinn @frozenmallows

[devildomwriter]

THINGS THAT WENT UNANSWERED AND MY THEORIES

Why is Diavolo’s dad asleep? Where is he?

• In the game he went into a deep slumber in the bottom layer of the Devildom shortly after the brothers arrived

• I believe this slumber has something to do with age, state of mind, but most importantly the brothers and their extreme power. It brought immediately destabilization of power between the realms and I believe he may have granted his powers between the brothers when he named them—thus enhancing their sins (he split them between the brothers) as a demon without serious power or sin he may be resting to restore this energy over time or to stop the power imbalance that could threaten a war with the Celestial Realm.

What was the event that made Diavolo wish for peace between the three realms?

• In season one Diavolo tells MC that long ago something made him realize that there should be peace between the three worlds. MC supporting Diavolo in the past isn’t an answer as Diavolo already had this idea before meeting them and even before meeting Lucifer.

• I believe that one of the many wars between the Devildom and Celestial Realm happened within Diavolo’s life. The horrors of war are not exclusive to humans, a young idealistic demon like Diavolo would be traumatized into ensuring nothing like this happens in the future. It is mentioned in game that it was his father who first asked for a truce between the Celestial Realm and Devildom but it’s likely Diavolo was still alive in this time period and a war could have happened before all of this.

Will Simeon become an angel again?

• In the final lesson of Nightbringer Simeon is invited back to the Celestial Realm despite previously not having even been allowed back as a guest. They want to discuss his future and Lucifer advises Simeon to have a productive talk. Raphael also mentioned in OG season four that Simeon despite being human was much better at his “job” than he used to be.

• I believe Simeon is certainly becoming an angel again. He might be lowest rank like Luke until he discovers who he is as an angel again or he may be sent back to the ranks of Archangel. I hope he stays lowest rank for a while so he can prove his worth beyond such low ranks and will no longer be stressed by busywork. I believe Raphael will also protect him more from higher ups. I think the good example Simeon set for Raphael and Luke will reflect kindly on his future and whether he can become a seraph again considering who they became under his guidance.

What is Luke’s future as an angel?

• In the game, Michael specifically took Luke under his wing because he recognized his power. Even as a child Luke was allowed to work in the Celestial Palace. Luke came into being shortly before Lucifer and his brothers fell and idolized Lucifer once. Michael sent Luke to the Devildom to learn not to be so judgmental and to face the real world. While on exchange Michael notes Luke would be a good principality while Mammon thinks he could be a seraph.

Lucifer also believes Luke has a good future ahead of him as only Luke, Lucifer, MC, Solomon, and Diavolo noticed when Simeon was no longer demonic, not even the other six rulers of hell.

• I firmly believe that Luke will become a seraph. His latent power and guidance from Simeon, Raphael, Michael, Barbatos, and Lucifer leaves him as very open minded but firm in his convictions and morality. The timing of his birth being right before Lucifer fell leads me to believe he was created as a replacement for Lucifer and that he will take Lucifer’s place one day to lead the Celestial Realm alongside Michael.

Will Michael join the exchange program?

• In the game Michael hinted to Raphael that he wanted to and Diavolo also wondered if Michael might join one day. The others seem to believe it would be too much a hassle.

• I think Michael is the kind of person who would but wouldn’t do so normally. Maybe a very short exchange so he doesn’t stay away from the Celestial Realm for long. I also believe his presence would cause unrest in the Devildom which he may view as hostile towards the Celestial Realm. This is a great plot point I would have loved to see, especially with Barbatos and Solomon both worrying about war in the future as well as MC’s alliances.

Will there be another war between the realms?

• In Nightbringer it was hinted that things were getting more tense as more demons were trying to disrupt the exchange program and bring harm to the students. It’s also revealed that to have sent Lucifer to Cocytus the celestial realm also had to agree meaning there are also angels who strongly oppose the three worlds as coming together as both sides hold resentment for past wars and see the others as unable to change for the better.

• I believe that in the future there will almost be a war, but Diavolo will be able to prove how strong their bonds can be with MC as a prime example. MC has a connection to each realm, granting them a power so strong they need the ring to contain it which Simeon gave them and Michael allowed. The brothers and angels and others have consistently saved each other’s lives, seen past former beliefs and even a demon like Mephisto and an angel like Raphael, two people extremely loyal to their realms were able to become good friends. I believe Diavolo would use a memory ring or other power to display the greatest most significant moments between them as proof his dream can become reality or at the very least they can remain at peace.

Who is Nightbringer?

• The game more or less confirms it to be Barbatos with the teaser for the game as well as how Nightbringer and his abilities are described. Nightbringer also speaks to Solomon with the same annoyance as Barbatos.

• I firmly believe that Nightbringer is Barbatos. Barbatos brought MC to the past, disrupting the timelines and I believe this is why Diavolo asks Barbatos to never use these powers without his permission.

What happened to Solomon’s childhood friend?

• The game indirectly tells us what happens over several seasons. Solomon is said to have e summoned Barbatos at the risk of his own life as a child desperately seeking to use Barbatos’s power of time. At the time he was not the kind of person obsessed with knowledge and power but was granted power seen as cursed that led him to be hidden in a basement away from everyone but this one friend.

• I believe his friend died whether it was his powers at fault or not and he summoned Barbatos to revive his friend. It’s possible his friend died of natural causes and this is why Solomon wants to better the human world despite it turning his back on him; it’s all so children and humans in general don’t die of preventable things like his friend did.

What did the Little D.s mean when they said they’d take over the Devildom?

• In season two of Nightbringer the Little D,s laugh about taking over the castle and soon the whole Devildom.

• I think they believe they can overcome their counterparts, or at least they used to, and wanted all the power for themselves. I think after thousands of years they gave up on this idea.

Who in the Devildom betrayed Diavolo and had Lucifer sent to Cocytus? And who in the Celestial Realm agreed?

• In the game Diavolo was never able to find the results but in the modern timeline the House of Lords remains a hinderance to Diavolo’s ideas of peace between realms despite the successes he has had thus far. When Raphael asked around in the Celestial Realm he never got an answer despite being a seraph and it’s hinted that they probably know who it is among the higher ups but won’t share that information.

• I believe someone in the Celestial Realm reached out to demons they knew opposed Lucifer and not the other way around. The Celestial Realm is always in the Devildom’s business so must have known about the unrest and helped arrange Lucifer’s imprisonment in Cocytus, then sent an angel closest to him, Raphael, to read his charges as punishment to Lucifer (seeing how it affected his friends) and punishment to Raphael (for still having such a close bond with a traitor.)

Why is Barbatos forbidden from using his powers?

• In the game Barbatos is mentioned to not be able to use his powers without Diavolo’s permission on several occasions. No specific reason is given.

• I believe that when Barbatos (as Nightbringer) brought MC to the past, Diavolo at some point found out he’d caused a destabilization of their reality (but not exactly what it was he did) and ordered him not to use his powers.

Will the others ever find out about the time travel?

• In the final season Solomon tells MC that eventually they won’t be able to play off the brothers’ memories of MC in the past anymore. Barbatos is already aware of the time travel.

• I believe it will come out at some point for sure. They will remember more or come across concrete proof MC was actually there with them.

Why did Nightbringer take MC to the past?

• In the game the denkn claims it’s because it is where MC will find happiness.

• I believe that Nightbringer (Barbatos) lived in a reality much darker and bleaker than ours. I believe the brothers trapped in Cocytus triggered some kind of war or prevented Diavolo from fulfilling his dream so he used his abilities to find a way to correct it.

He sent you into the past before you became an exchange student with visions of the future he saw would happen if he brought you there to help the brothers.

Eventually you were selected as an exchange in the future, fulfilling the visions Barbatos foresaw. This part is tricky to understand but by Barbatos describes time as a thick heavy mud or soup and I believe he sees time running concurrently so even though your future hadn’t yet happened, somebody from that future was able to come help you in the past, Solomon.

It’s hard to explain but time sort of did a loop, MC of the OG was sent into the past to create the future they live in. This means at some point MC was in a very different future and knew a different and worse version of the brothers but their memories of them altered into the happy ones they would make as they changed the past—changing the future into a good one. I don’t have the IQ to explain beyond that, I tried and got lost.

Let me know if you have more questions

[sonicpositive]

MASSIVE Sonic 3 spoilers, don’t click on if you haven’t seen it. I need to infodump about one specific scene.

—

I wanna talk about the Super Sonic and Super Shadow fight scene, which may I say, was one of the COOLEST things to come out of the Sonic series thus far.

It posed the question, who would win? Super Sonic or Super Shadow?

It straight up told us the answer, with Shadow saying “you’ve won, so finish it!”

But Sonic didn’t win. I don’t think he would win that fight regardless. I think Shadow said that and gave Sonic an opening to kill him to prove a point.

Even while still on Earth, Shadow was goading Sonic about how they were alike, how Sonic was acting out of anger the same way he criticized Shadow of doing. He was trying to push Sonic to a breaking point. He brought up and mocked Tom, there’s no way he wouldn’t expect to be hit for that. At MOST, maybe he was caught by surprise, or underestimated Sonic, but I think he left himself open on purpose. Shadow is too skilled of a fighter to make that mistake.

Then Shadow, on the moon, tried to goad Sonic into killing him, “finishing” it. He stayed down, but I don’t think he was out or done fighting. We see that he wasn’t beat because of the Eclipse Cannon fight later. I think he feigned being beat to prove to Sonic that he does not have the moral high ground; Sonic can be dragged to the depths of anger, despair, revenge, and violence over something painful happening the exact same way Shadow was. And Sonic proved that Shadow was wrong about him.

Regardless, I think this perspective lends a lot to Shadow’s character as a whole, and his rivalry with Sonic. Though they hadn’t known each other long in this continuity, Shadow believes he is better than Sonic in every way. Even in the context of the movie, he probably sees Sonic as some naive, incredibly cocky and powerful kid who acts like he knows what’s right when he can’t even fathom what Shadow has been through. Shadow has to show that he’s better than him. That even when Sonic thinks he’s won, even in their most powerful form, Shadow still will rise above him.

And yet, Sonic still surprised him and proved him wrong. Because Shadow so firmly believed in his righteous pursuit of justice and revenge as the only way to go, until Sonic chose not to finish the fight and kill him.

And then, as annoying as he finds Sonic, he can respect him because he showed Shadow a way he hadn’t even considered. There’s something to be admired in that level of optimism, even if ultimately, Shadow still believes he’s better than Sonic.

Anyway, this concludes my analysis. Thank you for coming to my TEDtalk.

[pendwelling]

TWSB Genderswap AU thoughts...

(Felt like exploring their designs while in the middle of writing my "What if TWSB Was Genderswapped? : Gender Expectations, Trope Subversion, and How Jung Eunseo's Gender Identity Affects QPB" essay/analysis (which somehow took an somewhat academic turn) 😭 Please look out for that, whenever I finish it... TvT)

I actually spent quite a bit thinking about this lmao (my thought process would make much more sense if you read my essay but it's still a WIP so 🥹👍) Have some fun silly abridged thoughts instead! :

Cédric M. Riester —> Ségolène Benz Riester

I firmly believe that female!Cédric would look a lot like her mom 🥹 Like Mother, Like Daughter! Long hair is a hassle when you're a swordsman, so she keeps it short... (until she gets jealous over Yeseo and Chris bonding over braiding hair TSK)(actually canon tho LOL)

I also gave female!Cédric the name "Ségolène" (Sieglinde) since it's the French female form of "Siegfried" (to which the author originally confirmed was supposed to be his name until it was changed to better fit the Riesterian setting)! "Céline" was also an option, but there's already a Riester ancestor with that name (Ced's grandmother and Frédérique's mom) and I didn't want them to just switch their names or make her "Céline II", and I'm already SO biased towards "Ségolène" hahaha

(As for the middle name. Well. LMAOOOOO It's self-explanatory, but if you're curious, see the screenshots of my IG story justifications later below! I also just thought it was. really funny OTL)

Christelle Olivier Rambouillet —> Christian Aude Rambouillet

A pretty-looking young man by the name of Christian... I chose "Aude" as the middle name, since that was the sister of "Olivier" in the "Chanson de Roland" where the name comes from! It works well, I find, because Aude is also the betrothed of Roland, which ties in to "Christelle/Christian's" character setting of "love interest", and how Ga-in would eventually gain agency outside of it.

I kept male!Chris' hair long because of the significance it carries for Ham Ga-in who couldn't cut it out of respect/guilt for Ollie 🥲 It's quite a small but significant aspect of Ga-in characterization that would translate well into any version of their character: the notion of "this isn't my body, so I must take care of it well in the original owner's place". (And later, the implied future cutting of hair being the resolution of these dilemmas and internal struggle! I love Ham Ga-in a lot...)

(AND YEAH LOL CHRIS IS STILL SHORTER THAN CED, tho if you want to, you can choose to believe that Chris' 19y.o. body still has room for growth xD)

Jung Yeseo:

As for Jung Yeseo... hahaha her name can remain the same! I wanted to draw her as a pretty girl-next-door unnie, who looks studious, gentle, and cute (but surprisingly fierce when angry LMAO)

Major inspiration was taken from brown-haired shoujo-romance MCs! The original body of the MC from "I Raised a Black Dragon" was especially notable for me. Her design was really cute and always reminded me in some way of Yeseo... TTvT

Anyhow, she's naturally a girl who obliviously captures the hearts of both women and men 🥹👍

(And here's my initial messy IG story thoughts!) :

(Additional thoughts from my twitter/x thread 😭) :

In the first place, CeChri in a Genderswap AU would be so funny to me bc woah... Pretty Transmigrated Duke's Son MC x Handsome Crown Princess (who is taller than him)? Revolutionary. It'd probably be a very genre-convention-defying RoFan haha (I WANT IT)

ADDITIONALLY LAUGHING bc FredAu about the engagement would be like: "Sadie, do not worry, you'll like him. Young Lord Christian is a gentle young man known for his reserved personality, who is also very beautiful (reminds a bit of Alex when we were younger...)(insert nostalgic feelings)..."

🔥, after they've finally become acquaintanced: "Not beautiful at all."

🌊 "WTF????"

🔥 "Not gentle either (TSK)."

Ségolène would probably even get pissed off seeing Chris' long hair. As a knight, she always thinks about convenience. Besides, her father could pull it off because he was very beautiful.

🌊 "WOW! Are you really calling your own fiancé ugly then???"

🔥 "And short."

🌊 "............."

Also thinking about Yeseo first transmigrating, trying futilely to remember what Ségolène looks like. According to Eunseo, the main female lead is very beautiful, so Yeseo images a gorgeous woman with long ebony hair who would look amazing in ornate ball gowns worthy of her position as Crown Princess. A cold-hearted beauty.....

Reality —> Gorgeous, tall woman, broad-shouldered and muscular, with short hair and wearing a knight's uniform.

🌷 "!!!?" (JAW DROPS)

'Wow!? Are the standards for female love interests different these days??'

Yeseo is so flustered she can't raise her eyes (Ségolène is too tall 🤭)

"In the first place, isn't the gap between the FL and the 2nd FL too large...?"

Ségolène: Tall, stunning woman in a uniform with fierce eyes. Hair as dark as the night, a figure that looks undoubtedly very reliable and strong. Great with the sword, and would definitely cut you down without hesitation if need be.

Losna: Significantly shorter, gentle-looking beauty with sly eyes. Long golden hair that curls coyly at the ends, divine-looking yet somewhat enticing like a siren. Soft hands that have never touched a blade, but whose tongue could cut deeply while delivering words in the kindest tone.

🌷, heart pounding, flustered (DENSE): (chuckles) "If I were a man, my heart would definitely be in a frenzy! Even the MC is very pretty, too... They truly are the protagonists!!"

🔥 (piercing stare)(wants yeseo so bad)(is it possible for someone to be so lovable?)(cuteness aggression is so real)

🌊 (thinking about how to make yeseo their priest partner)(very determined and having fun)(already making plans to have everyone in an arranged official sleepover that lasts a lifetime<—somewhat warped view of marriage)

Whenever people see CYC together, it's as if the Empress, Cardinal, and Prince Consort have come back from their youth.

A cold-looking and stubborn Crown Princess with a sword, a young powerful Cleric with a gentle face, a Duke's strong and pretty son with long hair.........

FredAu: (fluffy atmosphere, warm sentimentality, fond memories.....)

🌊 "...? Why are they looking at us like that?"

🔥 (knows from FredAu's gazes that she has gotten parental approval)(like mother like daughter LMAO)

🌷 (doesn't know that her fate has been sealed TSKKK)

(If you can't tell, I'm having a lot of fun with this AU LMAO. Please look forward in 19474893 years when I finally finish my What-if Genderswap AU very-serious essay about this topic TTvT👍

[faelorelia]

My Byler Headcanon

Mike and Will continue calling each other “best friend” sometimes, even after they get together romantically. Depending on the situation, they’ll refer to each other as both “best friend” and “boyfriend”.

I firmly believe that having your significant other also be your best friend is the perfect kind of relationship.

Even when Mike and Will start acting like a couple – being affectionate and doing things most friends don’t do – they’ll still see each other as best friends.

Throughout their romantic relationship, they’ll keep doing the things they did as friends: playing D&D or video games, reading (and now also creating!) comics, talking for hours about everything, and even judging others together.

At the same time, they’ll share those deeply romantic moments: looking at each other with so much affection and devotion, kissing, and cuddling. They’ll intertwine their friendship and love in ways that will make their bond even stronger.

They’ll truly cherish the fact that their romantic partner is also their best friend. So, when they can legally get married in adulthood, they’ll proudly say they’re married to their best friend.

This kind of relationship – (childhood) best friends to lovers – is, in my opinion, the best one you could ever have. And it’s one of the reasons why I love Byler so much. ❤️

[it-was-summer]

... And Fall In Love Whenever You Can.

A/N: This fic genuinely had me tearing up as I wrote it. Therefore, it shall hold a sweet place in my heart. As a kid, I used to say, "If something makes you feel, then it is good." I still believe that today. If it makes you happy, sad, flustered, ANYTHING! To feel something while reading is such a beautiful reaction to media. I often cry at movies, I cry when I read romance novels, I cry when I read poetry, and I laugh when I do, too. I hope you enjoy it, and I hope you feel something, Em <3 (I also apologize for vanishing; I got sick, and it made me feel brain fog)

Link to the Ao3: ... And Fall In Love Whenever You Can Link to the: Yee olde masterlist Tags: Grief support group, mention of death(s), loss of romantic partners, struggling with mental health, tears, the rise and fall that is nonlinear healing, fear of forgetting a loved one, falling in love after tragedy, Spencer sounds like he had therapy, Maeve mentioned, guns mentioned, she/her pronouns for reader used at like one point, Reader's POV for the most part, Reader is in extreme denial and feels guilty, a secret other thing??, lightly proofread tehe!

Genre: Light Angst, Some? Hurt/Comfort, Fluff! Pairing: Season10! Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Plot: Meeting Spencer at a grief support meeting might be the best and the worst thing to ever happen to you- but it's all relative in the eyes of love.

Word Count: 9.781

You were pacing a dimly lit parking lot outside of the funeral home. It had been eleven months, two weeks, and three days since Alexander’s death. The grief meetings occurred every third Wednesday, and everyone was lovely enough. You just couldn’t find it in yourself to go inside this particular Wednesday. Because it was on this date, two years ago, Alexander had gotten on one knee at the aquarium and asked you to marry him. It was two years ago that you had said yes, not knowing that a little over a year from then, he’d be dead. 

Your feet kept making strides to the double door entryway, only to slow to a stop when your hands reached the door’s push handle. Then, you’d shake your head and turn around to circle the parking lot once more. With your luck, the meeting would be over before you even got the courage to go inside. 

A groan escapes your throat as you firmly put your hands on your hips, tilting your head to the Summer sky. “I’m sorry,” Your voice is raw, barely a whisper as you struggle to keep yourself from crying. You knew everyone said not to keep it in, to express your grief freely. It minimized stress. At least, that’s what the grief counselors say. 

The worst part was no longer knowing who you were apologizing to— yourself or Alexander. 

You were walking around one of the parking lot’s street lamps when you saw someone standing at the doors, frozen in place. It was like watching a mirror of yourself—rigid shoulders, twitching hands, shaking head. 

You approach the man slowly, your image warped in the reflection of the glass doors. He turns to face you before you can speak, and he looks like you did eleven months ago. His eyes have dark circles around them, tinted with a red water-line and dull cheeks. That doesn’t stop you from gracing him with a gentle smile, “Are you going inside?” 

His eyes meet yours for a second, looking away to glance back at the doors. “I’m not sure.” His voice is quiet, scared. He sounds like he is still on the fence. You nod, drawing your lips into a tiny line as you drop your hands to your sides. “Are you?” He asks, stepping out of the way for you. 

You feel your mouth open to say you are going inside, but the words never come. Instead, you shake your head side-to-side timidly. “I’m not sure either,” You laugh out feebly. He nods, a dull smile gracing his delicate features for a millisecond before looking off with a forlorn expression. 

“I was thinking about walking around the parking lot again… to try to gain the confidence to go inside. You’re,” you pause, wondering if it's a good idea to offer the man an invitation, “You’re welcome to join me if you’d like.” 

The man looks at you again, his eyes widening for a second. You’re sure he’s about to decline, return to his car, and drive away, but he nods. You feel yourself smiling. It’s a little subdued, but it’s real. You mouth a silent ‘okay’ as you move your hands to your pant pockets, stepping away from the doors with this mourning stranger. You figured you didn’t have to talk if he didn’t want to, so everything was quiet as the two of you slowly walked around the large parking lot. 

Eventually, your quiet stranger speaks, “Thank you,” 

You shrug a little, sniffling, “It’s daunting, especially the first meeting.” 

He frowns a little, watching your eyes flit over to him and then back to the night sky. “That obvious?” 

“Only a little, but that’s not a bad thing.” Your voice is gentle as your feet slow to a stop, a light smile appearing on your face as you stare into the night. Spencer tilts his head to look at the stars, silently hoping that what makes you smile will make him smile, too. “Do you see her yet?” You ask, voice like honey. 

He feels like crying as he says, “No,” He doesn’t even know who you’re looking at. 

Your right hand is coming out of your coat pocket as you point to Cassiopeia slowly, tracing the stars with your index finger. “Cassiopeia, she’s a little low right now, but in a few months, she’ll get higher. You see her?”

And Spencer does. He feels his body relax, just for a moment. “I do.” He feels himself smiling a little at the sky, and the feeling feels almost foreign. His gaze falls back to you as you stuff your right-hand pack into your pocket, “I’m– I didn’t introduce myself earlier. I’m Spencer.” 

“That’s alright; I didn’t introduce myself either,” you sigh before you tell him your name. He nods at your response and follows you once your feet start moving again. 

“Have you—” He motions to the funeral home in the distance, “ever been inside?” 

“Oh, yeah. I’m a funeral home grief support group regular.” You joke lightly, though the soft chuckle you let out sounds like a sad one. 

He nods, nervously adjusting the beige cardigan on his chest. “Is everyone—I mean—” He draws his lips closed as he tries to gather his thoughts. “Do you like it?” 

Your feet slow for a second as you think about it. Sure, everyone was friendly, and the support was more helpful than harmful. But did you like it? You give him a little nod when you answer, “Yeah, it’s been nice. Less,” You tilt your head slowly like you’re choosing your words carefully. “Less Lonely.” 

Spencer lets out a relieved-sounding sigh as he mutters a gentle “Right.” 

“I just,” You swallow carefully, “I’m having a hard time going in today. My fiancé proposed two years ago today. I just— I mean everyone inside knows, I just,” You trail off for a second, sniffling lightly as a cool breeze brushes against your watering eyes. “It doesn’t matter.” 

Spencer didn’t know what to say to that. With Maeve, he had barely met her in person before she was murdered in front of him— the future pulled out from under him. Nowadays, he spends his time rereading books, remembering conversations on the phone, and mourning her silently in his apartment. Sometimes, he didn’t know which would be worse: losing her when he did or ten years down the line. Nonetheless, there is no Maeve to help him answer that question. 

He struggles to find the words for a second before he nods, slow and unsure of himself, “It matters.” 

You grin at how scared he sounds, the sound of a man holding on to the memory of a face that keeps fading away in his mind. “I know,” you can feel the ghost of the engagement ring on your left hand, a ring that now lies in a coffin. 

As the two of you get close to the building once more, you ask, “Are you going to go in?” 

Spencer swallows hard, the knot in his throat making it difficult for him to breathe. “Maybe next meeting,” 

You nod, “Me too.” You stare at your car in the distance before you feel yourself standing in the parking lot with Spencer— unmoving. “I know it’s not a lot, and I know that I can’t help that much, but,” You pull your phone out of your pocket, opening the keypad cautiously before holding it out to him. “If you ever want to talk about it, or anything really, I’d be happy to talk with you.” 

Normally, Spencer would decline such a kind gesture. He would thank you, drive home, and find solace in something familiar. His fingers twitch lightly as he reaches out for your phone, staring down at the keypad for a second before he puts in his number. He doesn’t know why he wants to talk with you. He thinks it’s because talking with a stranger about Maeve seemed less daunting than talking about it with his coworkers— his friends. You barely know him, and that makes your offer seem safe. No preconceived notions, pity, or gentle promises of being there for him, just a stranger talking to another stranger. 

Two weeks go by like usual— no text from your stranger named Spencer, coffee for one at the café that was Alexander’s favorite, taking his mom to dinner on Thursdays, and so on. Sometimes, the days blur into a muddled painting filled with muted tones, and you try your hardest to remember when everything had a vibrant hue.

Most days are easy, easier than most, at least. It’s not that you forget about him. You remember him when you see a couple holding hands or golden retrievers going for walks, you think about him with everything you see, and it feels good to remember him. You’re happy to have known him so well, loved him so deeply. But all the love inside you has nowhere to go, so you go to his grave on Saturdays, hoping you can pour all the love in your heart onto a tombstone with his name on it. It never works, of course, but it helps. 

You're running late this particular Saturday morning. You have two coffees in hand—one of which always goes untouched—and you’re stuck on the metro. That’s when you see him again, your stranger sitting in the fluorescents of the railcar. 

Pushing through a small crowd, you approach him, slowly taking the empty seat next to him. Spencer doesn’t look up at first, his eyes glued to the book in his hands. That is until you’re leaning over to him to say a small “Hello,” 

He jumps at the sound, head snapping to look at you with wide eyes. He doesn’t know why he’s so surprised you remember him, but he is. “Hello,” 

Your eyes meet his, “Do you remember me? I-I’m sorry I shouldn’t have invaded–”

“No! I mean, yes, I remember you. You’re not invading my space. You’re fine.” 

You let out a relieved sigh, looking away from him for a second to look down at the cups in your hands. His eyes follow your gaze, and he offers you a shy smile, “Are you meeting someone?” Small talk was never his strong suit. 

You look at him, eyes lingering on his polite smile. “Oh,” you laugh like it's funny. “No, it's just me.” Spencer gives you a confused look, and you quickly answer his silent question. “I visit Alex’s grave. He loved black coffee. It was the most unsettling thing about him.” 

Spencer doesn’t know how you’re smiling so wide as you say it. How could you talk about someone you lost and smile so wide talking about them? Would he smile like that one day? Would he even have things to smile about, or would what-ifs haunt him until the day he dies?

You find that you hate the silence that follows, the lack of sound creeping over your skin, making you itch to say something more. “I’ve always liked cemeteries too, so bonus, I guess.” 

That gets you a sharp laugh, “You’ve always liked cemeteries?” Spencer’s eyes seem slightly brighter now, less red than two weeks ago, and they’re laser-focused on you. 

You happily nod, “Always thought they were beautiful. It’s a creation of love, a way for your love for someone to live on.”

“Not sure everyone thinks about them that way,” 

“Well, I guess they wouldn’t, and that’s alright with me.” You hum softly as the intercom announces in a static-filled voice that the railcar will be moving soon. “It’s quieter that way.”

Spencer glances towards the intercom for a second before turning back to you, “I suppose you’re right— about the quiet thing, not sure I agree with always liking them.” And he’s smiling at you, a real smile. 

You feel yourself smiling back, wide as ever, “What’s your opinion on cemeteries then?” 

“I’d like to say I don’t have an opinion on them, but if I had to form one, I would say they’re…” He trails off for a second, thinking about it more now. He laughs for a second, “Well, I suppose I find them rather serene.” 

Your eyebrows raise for a second as you study him. How he seems to be relaxing in the conversation, and you can’t help but consider extending him an invitation to your weekly visit with Alexander. The longer you stare at him, the more you think the worst he can say is no, so you ask. “Would you like to join me?” 

Spencer reels back slightly at the invitation; it feels intimate, yet he doesn’t want to say no. He wants to see what you see, to understand your mind, “I–” He looks away for a second, staring at the still-opened book in his lap. “If you’ll have me.” 

Once you are on the street, you hum lightly while walking beside him. Spencer doesn’t seem to mind very much, his fingers fiddling with the edges of his book that now resides closed in his hand at his side. He’s nervous for some reason. He doesn’t understand why you invited him, nor why he said yes. He thinks maybe he should announce that he has other plans, turn on his heel, and book it in the other direction. 

But when the two of you tread closer to the cemetery gates, you start talking again. “I hope you don’t find it strange that I invited you. It’s been a little under a year– well, a year next week– and I know it might seem weird, but I’d like to think he’s happy about me having a new friend.” 

He knows it is a coping mechanism, and he knows Alexander cannot feel anything anymore. Spencer’s a man of science, but hearing you say that makes him feel at ease. His shoulders unwind slowly, “He sounded like a nice person,” 

You let out a playful hum, “Sometimes. If he didn’t like you, he made it pretty obvious.” You pause for a second, glancing over at Spencer. “He was tall, kind of like you, and nerdy. But he was so funny; no one knew how funny he could be. They never listened hard enough, you know? I hated that people would talk over him in a crowd. To me, he was the only person worth listening to.” 

Spencer finds him smiling at that, following you as you take a left. He sees that you're smiling, too, and when the two of you get to his grave, you’re still smiling. You let out a happy sigh as you talk, introducing Spencer as “Your new friend.”

For a while, you tell him stories—memories from when Alexander was still alive—and he finds he doesn’t mind listening to them. He sees them as a great distraction from his lack of happy stories with Maeve. You’re laughing a little as you tell him of the time that Alexander’s mother wouldn’t stop sending him a massive, bulk-sized trail mix every time she sent him a care package in college. He had so many bags that they lived under his bed for the better part of four years. 

“Did he even like trail mix?” 

“Honestly? Yes, but he only liked the chocolate and peanuts. It would just be massive bags with an abundance of raisins inside.” You shake your head a little as you stand next to Spencer. 

Spencer lets out a slightly amused hum. His mind keeps going over how good you are with everything. You talk about Alexander openly. You don’t hold your feelings back. You smile so wide, even when you look at his headstone. He wants to know your secret— some secret to grief that he has yet to uncover.

His mouth opens briefly, closing quickly as he shifts his weight awkwardly beside you. He sucks in a nervous breath as he tries to muster up the courage to speak. “How do–” He sighs heavily, “I mean, I’m sure you struggle–” He licks his lips nervously, your eyes meeting his slowly. “When does it stop hurting?” 

You’re silent for a second, your soft smile fading as you stare at him. He’s scared that maybe that’s the wrong question to ask as he watches you turn your head to look down at Alexander’s grave. He is about to apologize when you whisper, “It feels different now.” 

Spencer’s mouth snaps shut as he waits for more, his eyes scanning your side profile slowly for some sort of sign that you’re uncomfortable. “Last year, it just felt like–” A pause, your free hand rising to your chest slowly. “It felt like someone had plunged a dull knife into my chest and left me for dead.” 

Spencer’s chest tightened for a second, his own heart feeling painfully dull as he listened to you. 

“But, I’m not the one who died. Alex did. I was so angry— disappointed that he had the nerve to leave me when we were about to start the next chapter of our lives together. I had–have– all this love inside my heart for him, and he’s gone. It took me a long time to understand that, to be okay with it.”

Your words catch in your throat, and you clear your throat quickly. The familiar burn of tears threatens to build in your eyes as you force yourself to look at Alexander’s grave. “He was so kind, and once I got past that feeling,” your voice sounded thick. “Life kept going, and so did I. He wouldn’t have wanted me to stop living my life. When you love someone, you only want them to be happy– with or without you.” 

You sniffle lightly, relaxing your shoulders slightly, “It never stops hurting, I guess, but days get better. I’m happy that I got to be a part of his life. I find some comfort in that. Somewhere, in the story of him, I’m there.” Eventually, you find the courage to look over at Spencer. When your eyes meet his, you find that he’s staring at you with a compassionate expression. You can see the understanding in his eyes. You swallow hard, pushing the emotional lump down your throat. 

“It does get better.” You whisper, your voice warm. 

Spencer nods quickly, mouthing a little ‘I know’ before his eyes trail away from you for a second. A cool breeze passes between the two of you when he says, “Just needed the reminder,” 

The next time you see him, it’s the third Wednesday of the month, and he sits right next to you. You find yourself smiling a little when he does, nudging his shoulder playfully as more people fill the space. He scoffs playfully, the silent gesture letting you know he’s happy you’re here. 

The meeting passes like usual: New members share their stories, grief counselors hand out business cards with their phone numbers, recurring members offer kind sentiments, and then, just near the end, your seat partner stands up. 

Your eyes widen for a second as you watch Spencer stand, his eyes laser-focused ahead as people turn to look at him. You watch how his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. A shaky breath leaves him as he tries his hardest to start talking. His hands flex for a second, pressing against his pants to wipe off what you can only assume is sweat. 

He stutters for a second, his confidence creeping away from him. You’re surprised when he turns his head to look at you. His breathing steadies as he watches you. “I’ve been having difficulties sleeping again. After,” His hands move a little as he speaks, his eyes periodically looking towards the rest of the group before trailing back over to you, “I just– I used to have a hard time sleeping, and lately, it’s been happening again. Every time I sleep, I see her, and I feel so–” He used to dream of her after her death, dreamt of touching her, but these were different. Dreams that constantly left him waking up feeling devastatingly alone. 

He shakes his head a little, “It’s been seven months, and I keep dreaming of everything that could have been.”  

The confession is met with comfortable silence and sympathetic looks, but not from you. You’re nodding, an encouraging smile spreading across your face. For some reason, he likes that better. “I don’t like leaving her when I wake up.” The admission feels like a weight lifting off his chest when he says it. 

There’s a pause of silence before he sits down, unsure of what else to say besides his admission. As one of the counselors begins to talk to Spencer, he finds himself listening intensely. Seven months, and he’s finally willing to take some much-needed advice. 

After that month’s meeting, Spencer has back-to-back cases. He’s keen on keeping in contact with you, which you’ve said he doesn’t have to do if he doesn’t want to, but he insists. He likes having someone to update, a friend waiting to see him when he’s free. 

The next time he’s free, it’s a rare Saturday. He’s been awake since five and can’t seem to go back to sleep. He does keep dreaming of Maeve, but they’re a little different now. This time, he was in a cemetery with you. It was freezing, the kind of cold where you could see your breath, and you were laughing about something when the two of you bumped into her. Maeve’s not angry. She just laughs and glances at Spencer before hugging you. You hug her right back and say something– and that’s when he wakes up. 

Spencer doesn’t like the feelings that stir inside him with that dream: confusion, curiosity, sadness, something else. The feeling is warm, tinged with an overcoat of sorrow, and he finds himself needing a good distraction. 

However, reading isn’t helping, nor is the crossword. So eventually, he finds himself getting ready to go out for the day in the search of a good distraction that will get his mind off his dream.

He doesn’t know why he thinks about the cemetery where Alex’s grave is on his way to get coffee that day, but he does. A part of him feels that a nice walk will do him good, so, coffee in hand, he finds himself walking… then taking the subway… then ending up in front of Alex’s grave… alone. 

Spencer’s lips slightly pout when he sees no coffee cup on the headstone. He knows that you have yet to visit your late fiancé today. He doesn’t exactly know why he’s visiting your late fiancé today; without you, it feels… strange. 

The longer Spencer stares at the letters etched in stone, the more he feels a realization dawn on him. He feels guilty… guilty for dreaming of you, guilty for craving your warmth right now, and guilty for a million different little reasons. 

Spencer feels his lips part for a second, a sigh escaping his lungs, before he whispers, “I’m a mess. " He knows he’s talking to thin air, but he feels lighter, admitting it to himself. 

“I don’t know what I’m feeling. All I know is that I shouldn’t be, and it won’t do anyone any good, and secretly I think–” He sucks in a cold breath of air, “Secretly, I think I don’t deserve it.” The grave is silent, of course, but Spencer smiles anyway. 

For a while, he thought his future had passed him by. A brief image graced his vision before leaving him blind. He can see now. He sees that he still has things to do, goals to accomplish, people to meet. Then he’s walking away. 

Two meetings and four coffee ‘dates’ later, you’re rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet as you watch Spencer laugh over something with one of the grief counselors. It’s a strange feeling to see him laugh so openly. It's heartwarming if you’re being honest. It’s hard to explain it, and the feeling is too intense– too raw. It’s a feeling you dimly remember, and suddenly, you’re nauseous. 

You have a crush, which is incredibly laughable because you’re an adult. The last time you had a crush on someone was three years ago, Alexander. This almost feels cruel. The longer you stare at him, the more real it becomes. 

Spencer catches your eye for a second and excuses himself from the conversation in his polite Spencer way. When he reaches you, he smiles warmly: “Somebody’s all smiles.” You hum with a playful roll of your eyes. 

Spencer pouts for a second, good-natured and playful, as he mutters a little, “When did smiling become a crime?” 

“It isn’t. I’m just being observant, and you have a nice smile.” You try to keep your voice calm and level, but he seems to catch on anyway. Spencer’s eyes seem laser-focused on you, studying you carefully. Internally, you’re beginning to pray that his profiling skills fail to notice the classic signs: your sweaty palms, wandering gaze, and too-tense shoulders. 

And if he does notice… you hope he doesn’t say anything. That’s not Spencer’s way, and you know it. “Everything okay?”  

You nod quickly, “I’m good, sorry, I was just thinking about… bills.” You know he catches the lie the second you say it; you can see it in his amused smile. 

“Bills?” 

“Bills.” 

“I’m not sure I like this story you’re going with, but if you’re sticking to it, I won’t pry.” 

You nod, letting your shoulders relax as you sling your bag over your shoulder. “Thank you,” 

“I was thinking,” Spencer starts as he grabs his messenger bag, following you out. “We could get dinner together Friday night.” 

“Why?” Your tone is a little flatter than you’d like it to be as Spencer walks you to your car. You'll admit the idea of being alone with him is nice, but the admission feels strange— still too raw, surreal. 

“Because…” He trails off slowly, hoping to find a better reason than it being because he wants to have dinner with you, but the longer he sits with the ideas, the more he feels like you’ll turn down his idea. He feels self-preservation take over, and for the first time (and what he hopes is the only time), he lies to you. “My teammates are having a get-together.” 

“Oh!” You say as the two of you reach your car. “And you want me to meet them or?” The idea seems less daunting. Yes, Spencer and you had been to get coffee together, but that was just coffee. Dinner seemed too intimate, but dinner with friends? Now, that was less scary. 

“Yeah! Yes, I think it’d be nice!’ Spencer’s voice cracks slightly before nervously clearing his throat in a weak attempt to control the anxiety that creeps into his tone. “Would you… like to meet them?” 

You’re leaning against your car door, and the air smells sharp with the promise of snow, and Spencer’s sure you’ll decline. You grin, nodding slightly, “Sure, I mean, it’s just dinner with friends. What time Friday?” Your arms fold over your chest, pulling your coat closer to your body.

“Six.” He doesn’t know how his fake dinner has a time, but he’s surprised at how easy it is to come up with one. “Nothing fancy. I’ll, um, text you the address.” 

You watch him for a second, trying to read him the way he reads you. His voice seems higher in pitch, and his eyes keep glancing at yours. You chalk it up to him being nervous. The combination of two groups already frying his nerves before it even happens. “Can’t wait. See you Friday.” 

Spencer stuffs his freezing hands in his pockets as he watches you enter your car and drive off. Then, the panic sets in. 

He’s tailing Derek desperately, “Listen, I know it’s rushed, but–” 

“I don’t see why you can’t just text her the address and ask her out. Straightforward.” Derek says as he takes the left towards Penelope’s office. “Or you could say we canceled and make it just the two of you.” 

“Considering I already lied to her once, I’d rather not lie twice. And–” He fumbles with his words for a short second. “It’s not a date. I just thought she thought it was one, and I panicked.” 

“What’s wrong with it being a date?” Derek asks, knocking on the door gently before entering Penelope’s office. 

“Date?” Penelope echoes back as she turns in her chair. 

Spencer holds out a hand defensively, “It wouldn’t— it’s complicated! Please say yes. You’re the first person I’ve asked.” 

“Asked what? Am I going to be asked?” Penelope chirps as Derek hands her a coffee. 

“Pretty boy here,” Derek motioned to Spencer with a light wave, “Lied to one of his ladies. Invited her to a team dinner that doesn’t exist.”

“A team dinner would be fun! With a new addition, too!” Penelope said with a sip of her coffee. “When?” 

“Friday,” Spencer mumbles, avoiding her gaze. 

“Friday, as in, tomorrow Friday?” She sucks in a breath of air, “Spencer…” 

He frowns and mouths a little, ‘I know’. He looks at them, pleading, “Please, even if it’s just the two of you…” He trails off slowly, watching Penelope and Derek share a look. 

“I’ll text the rest of the group.” 

“Not the whole story,” Spencer adds as Penelope pulls out her phone. “Please.”

“I’m already doing you one favor, boy genius.” 

Spencer is surprised at how many of his team members agree to dinner. JJ, Penelope, and Derek all promise to bring their respective partners. Rossi and Hotch politely decline, but given his sudden plans, he doesn’t blame them. 

However, by the time five-thirty rolls around, he can see that he’s been played. The first text comes from JJ, claiming that Henry is sick and that she can’t make it. Derek follows, saying that he accidentally double-booked and cannot cancel his reservation with Savannah. He can feel himself sending a silent prayer to Penelope before she, too, is texting him to cancel. 

So now, he stands outside the restaurant in a long brown trench coat and purple scarf tied tight around his neck. When you arrive, adorned with a cream sweater and rosy cheeks, you ask him the inevitable: “Where’s the team?” 

Spencer's throat tightens as he answers, “They’ve canceled, so it’ll be just us if that’s alright with you?” 

He can see your smile falter momentarily before you nod, “That’s fine, another time.” You shiver a little, glancing towards the restaurant. “Should we…?” Spencer, silently elated that you aren’t leaving, nods and hurriedly rushes over to open the door for you. 

Once seated, you are greeted by a slightly uncomfortable awkward silence. You’re sure that it will soon resolve itself, but Spencer seems too lost in his thoughts, and it becomes clear that if you want this long silence to end, you’ll have to speak first.

“I’m sorry every–”

“Do you–” 

The two of you stare at each other briefly before laughing softly. Spencer’s eyes crinkle a little when he’s laughing, a feature you seem to be adoring silently before he says, “I’m sorry that everyone canceled.”

You push out a little breath, your gaze falling to the menu on the table. “That’s okay, I’m sure everyone has busy lives.” You shrug a bit before glancing up at him, “I do have a question for you, though,” You watch as Spencer’s back straightens, and he gives you a small smile as the ‘go ahead.’ 

You flatten out the front of your sweater nervously, “Do you think it’s weird that I was supposed to meet your friends— the team?” 

Spencer gives you a slightly confused look before you quickly add, “I don’t think it is, but I was talking to my coworker about tonight, and she said it seemed like an excuse for a date. Then I explained it, and she called it weird, and I don’t know—Do you think it’s weird?” 

Spencer can feel his cheeks heating up against his will, and his head shakes from side to side, “No! No, it’s not weird.” he pauses, thinking about it for a second. “Well, maybe a little. But not for you, for me. You’ve never expressed an intense interest in meeting them, but they mentioned bringing someone, and I thought—” He motions to you with a shaky hand, “Thought you’d be a good person to bring to dinner. You’re lovely, and my friend, and I—”  he feels the rest of his words die in his throat. He wants to tell you that he wants the team to meet you. He wants everyone to see how wonderful and kind you are. 

He feels his mouth dry, realizing he wants you to meet the team now. He wants a third party to witness your calming effect on him, and, most importantly, he wants them to like you because he likes you. 

A slow ringing grows in his ears at the full realization of his feelings for you. Your smile, usually calming, has his heart leaping in his chest. He finds himself leaning closer when you say, “I didn’t think it was weird either,” 

Spencer lets out a little huff of relief, “Good, that’s good.” His heart was beating fast in his chest. He knew he had feelings for you but was unaware of how deep they ran. 

“Though I will say, it is strange that they all canceled.” 

He feels awful lying to you. He can count two lies now and doesn’t want to tell a third. “Yeah, I can’t explain that one. They all did it at the last minute. I’m sorry.” 

“I don’t mind, though I was scared this was all a set-up for a date.” You laugh as if it’s the silliest idea you’ve heard. 

Spencer can feel his heart in his throat, his breathing quickening slightly. “Would it be bad if it was?” he can’t stop the words from spilling out, his eyes widening at his sentence.

Your surprised face stares back at his, breathless as you look at him. You’re about to say something when the waitress comes by to take your order. You manage a slight, polite smile as you order before you’re staring off at Spencer. His nervous eyes flicker between the waitress and you as he orders quickly. 

When she’s gone, you stare at each other with bated breath. You draw in a slow, calming breath when you say, “I don’t know,” 

“You don’t… know?” 

“I just, I haven’t thought about—” You pause, knowing it’s a lie. “I have—” You correct gently before you let out a frustrated sigh. “I thought we were friends.” Your voice cracks slightly. 

Spencer draws his head back at that, “We are friends. We are. I didn't know if you ever thought about—” He doesn’t know what he’s saying. What is he aiming for here?  

“Anyone dating you would be lucky, Spencer.” You say, sweet and gentle. You don’t know how to save this situation. Your love for Alexander will always be in your heart, strong and genuine, but… looking at the man across from you. 

You watch his fingers nervously trace patterns on the glass of water in front of him, how he’s looking at you with such a sweet expression. You just didn’t think this would happen to you. You were sure that Alex was it. He was all you would ever know— you had resigned yourself to it. 

Would you be a bad person if you fell in love again? After everything, it feels… selfish, dirty, wrong, terrifying. “I’m not sure I’m your best option.”  Is what you settle on. 

Your heart silently breaks as you watch Spencer’s face fall. His nervous fingers slow their movements until he whispers a sad, “Right.” There’s a pause, like he’s deciding what to do next. He then nods, like he’s coming to terms with something. 

“Right, I’m not saying I’m looking–” His brown eyes scan your face, “I’m not even sure I want something like that. I don’t know why it sounded like I was. I just want you to know that I—” He swallows thickly, “I like being your friend.” 

“Me too! I like being your friend, too.” 

“Good!”

“Great!”

His smile doesn’t reach his eyes, “So we’re on the same page?”

“Same chapter and everything.” 

Spencer lets out a huff of a laugh at that, nodding slowly. 

The rest of the dinner seems normal; the interaction from earlier seems to be brushed under the rug, and you’re grateful it is. However, the topic kept worming its way into your train of thought. The nagging thought of ‘What if…’. 

It's not a terribly horrible idea to date Spencer. If you were honest with yourself, you had thought about it before—not obsessively, just in passing. A little whisper of an idea, lovely and new. It was nice to fantasize about love, but it was just a fantasy. You had a great love, and you were grateful. 

Wanting more than that was greedy. 

After dinner, Spencer insisted on walking you home. He wouldn’t listen to a single one of your protests and simply convinced you with a firm, “I’ve seen what happens to people when they go off alone late at night,” 

The reminder made you readily accept his company on the cold December night. Walking by his side, watching how your feet started to sync in step, your mind began to wander. What did a date even feel like? It had been so long since you’ve had a date… you weren’t even sure you would know if you were on one unless it was explicitly said. 

The thought makes you chuckle, earning the interest of one Doctor Spencer Reid. “What’s on your giggling mind?” 

“Nothing,” You sigh, glancing over at him. “I was just thinking about how long it's been since I’ve been on a date. I don’t even think I would know if I was on a date if I was on one. Someone would have to sit me down and explain it to me,” 

Spencer’s lips quirk upwards at the idea, listening to you. The sweet look he’s giving you is not lost on you as you continue to ramble, “I mean, I’m not even sure I remember the last time I tried to look for a date.” 

“Care to take a guess?” 

“Uhm,” You draw out the sound as you think, your tongue wetting your lips. “Six months ago, maybe, kind of, sort of?” 

Spencer’s clever mind quickly realizes that this failed dating experience happened a month before he met you, and then he notes that it also happened ten months after Alexander’s death. “And.. What do you mean by that? How does someone, kind of, sort of, maybe look for a date?” 

You roll your eyes, “It wasn’t really my idea. My friends convinced me to go on some dating apps, and I tried!” You laugh lightly, “Well. I pretended to try. I just didn’t like it. It wasn’t what I expected.” 

“What were you expecting?” 

Your feet falter momentarily before finding their pace next to Spencer again, “Something from a Nora Ephron movie, maybe? Something like You’ve got Mail.” As you say it, you see the strange look on Spencer’s face, and it makes you grin. “It’s a romantic comedy.” 

He mouths a soft ‘oh’ and feels awkward because he still doesn’t know what you mean. You’re quick to explain, “It just means I had high expectations. Alexander and I were friends for a while before we,” You trail off before you wave the sentence off with your hand. “I just didn’t like it. Felt too forced.” 

Spencer understands that part, slowly taking a left with you. “Haven’t tried that yet.” 

“I wouldn’t recommend it.” 

He grins and nods, “What do you recommend?” His curious mind was getting the better of him. His left hand slipped out of his coat as he waited for your answer, his knuckles dangerously close to yours. 

“In a world seemingly becoming increasingly dependent on technology for everything? I’d recommend shooting your shot with every pretty stranger you see.” It's a joke, but the idea of Spencer asking for the numbers of every pretty person in DC made your chest feel strangely tight— a light reminder that your crush was still going strong. And you’ve already turned him down.

“I’m not sure you’ve been paying close attention to me these past four months,” He jokes lightly. 

“Oh, trust me, I have been.” The words tumble out before you can stop yourself, and you can feel your cheeks growing impossibly hot. 

Spencer’s quick to tease, “You have been?” 

You nod, trying to act like it's nothing but friendly, but your nervous breathing might give you away. You take a steady breath, happy to think that if he sees red on your cheeks, you can blame it on the cold weather. 

Instead, he slows to a stop just steps away from your apartment complex. You stop, turning to look at him, and when you see him, all composure leaves you with one little glance. Spencer’s ears are red, his hazel eyes glued to yours, and his hands nervously fidget with his long purple scarf. 

He draws in his lower lip nervously, his brow furrowing in the way that lets you know he’s meditating on something in that beautiful brain of his. His hands move as he begins to talk, “I have been too,” 

With that, you feel all the air knocked out of you, and your trembling fingers hide in your pockets. You’re not sure what he wants you to say or do. It feels like a confession, making your heart pound in your chest. His sweet eyes study you, “I’m not sure what I—” He steps closer. 

“Not sure what I want. All I know is that I feel something—” He makes a weird motion with his hands like he’s trying to shape his feelings with his hands. “Hopeful? I don’t know! I just,” 

“I know.” You rasp out, nodding quickly. “I know.” You repeat it because you do know. You know what he’s feeling, that dangerous feeling of tentative hope, the sense that something is beginning again. The world shifting into focus and becoming colorful again. 

Spencer’s gaze softens as that, and then the two of you just stare at each other for a moment. Guilt seemed to creep into your chest, invading your heart the longer you stared into those pleading brown eyes. Some part of you wanted to give it a shot, take him in your arms, and just let go. The stubborn part of you couldn’t let go of what you once knew. 

What would you say to your friends— or worse, Alexander’s family? Thinking about being happy with someone else again felt like a betrayal. 

Spencer could see the shift in your demeanor, the way your eyes glossed over with emotion, your back rigid, and he knew you weren’t ready. The feelings you were feeling were ones he wrestled with weeks ago after visiting Alexander’s grave. “I visited his grave without you a few times.”

 Your brows knit together at that, stuttering gently as you manage a soft “Why?” 

“I felt guilty about how I feel about you. I thought visiting his grave would make me back down, but it didn’t. I visited Maeve’s grave and thought about my feelings there too. She would have liked you.” 

“Spencer, don’t–”

“You told me once that he would’ve wanted you to be happy with or without him. Why can’t you let yourself be happy? I know it’s uncharted territory; it is for me, too, and he knows you don’t love him any less–” 

“You didn’t even know him!” 

Spencer's lips draw into a tight line at that. You can’t stop yourself before saying, “You don’t understand the love I had for him. It was different from how you felt about Maeve. It was special.” 

Your breathing is heavy, and you're trying to stop yourself from crying. The second you say it, you regret it. Your rigid posture slacks, and you step towards him quickly, but he steps back once you get closer. 

“You don’t get to say that,” his voice is colder, his eyes cast down to his hands. Then he takes a sharp breath and looks up at you; his warm hazel gaze turns cold. “My love for her was just as special as yours was for Alexander. I can see that, even if you can’t. But at least I can see when something exceptional is right in front of me. Unlike you, I didn’t want it to slip through my fingers again.” 

Your mouth feels dry as you try to respond, anger and guilt fighting an internal war inside you before Spencer turns on his heel and says, “Goodnight,” 

The snow starts again as you watch him walk away, blinking flakes out of your lashes, cheeks red from the tears falling as you watch him disappear around the corner. 

The conversation is still fresh in your mind at dinner with Alexander’s mom Tuesday night. She lives just outside the city in Maryland, so whenever she made her way into the city, you made it a point to meet up. 

She watches the way you’re staring at your sandwich. The intense look you’re giving the meal almost makes her laugh. “Don’t be upset with the club. We can always get you another sandwich, dear.” 

You raise your head slightly at that and let out a nervous laugh, “No, the sandwich is fine. I’m just thinking. I’m sorry, Shannon.”

Shannon lets out an understanding hum, waving you off with a simple flick of her wrist as you apologize. “Is it work?” 

You give her an easy smile, “Ah, no. It’s… confusing and probably boring; don’t worry about it.” She gives you a little look that says, ‘Come on, really?’ and it makes your smile widen. 

“When you retire, everything is confusing and boring, so lay it on me.” 

“Shannon, please, I promise you don—” 

“I will make you pay for this meal; do not force my hand.” 

“I am paying?” 

“Exactly. Now tell me what’s on your mind.” 

You slump in your seat and nod in defeat. “Alright, well,” you wet your lips nervously, trying to figure out the best way to tell her. “You remember last time I mentioned that I had that friend from the group? The genius—Spencer.” 

Shannon nods, motioning for you to keep going slowly, “Well, lately, he and I have become aware of some feelings for each other, and I–” You can feel your legs trembling, “He just doesn’t get it. I can’t do that to Alex or you. He just doesn’t understand—” 

“Sweetheart, slow down.” She held up a hand, an amused look on her face as you rambled at the speed of light. “Start over.” 

You let out a little huff, trying to calm your growing nerves. You roll your shoulders back, gaining some composure, “I have feelings for him, and I thought it was just a passing crush, but now it’s getting so messy. And he told me that he has feelings for me too, but I told him off, and we haven’t talked in four days– which would be fine if we didn’t fight, but we did— and I don’t know.” 

“You don’t know?” 

“He’s really sweet and great, but I just… I keep thinking about my love for Alex and don’t want to let go of him.” Your voice gets quiet with the admission. “I’m happy loving just him, only him.” Your voice shakes lightly, forcing your gaze down, your eyes filling with tears. 

You hated telling her this— hated telling her that your stupid heart found itself attached to someone other than her son. You mentally prepare yourself for something, anything, yet you still cringe when you feel her hand rest on yours. 

“He’s dead–”

“I know–”

“No, listen,” Shannon says sternly, watching as you lift your gaze to meet hers. “He’s dead. Every day, I have to remind myself he’s dead. I know you do, too.” She frowns for a second before she gives you a weak smile. “But, you? You’re alive. You’ve experienced a loss no one should have to experience at your age, and yet here you are. Would he be ecstatic over you falling in love with someone else? Not quite, but I know my son. He wouldn’t want you to be alone. Or worse, unhappy.” 

You blink away tears, your bottom lip trembling, “I don’t want to forget him,” 

“Who said you’re going to?” Shannon jokes lightly, giving your hand a light squeeze. After a moment, she whispers, “Knowing Alex, he probably sent Spencer your way.” 

You laugh at the idea, but the sound dissolves into a little sob, “He would.” 

Shannon brightens momentarily, “He was always jealous of how good you were at trivia night. Maybe he wanted someone to beat you for once?” 

“Spencer can!” You laugh harder than you should, but you can’t help it. You picture Alex’s face, joking about how you have too much useless knowledge in your brain. 

As your laughter dies away, a wave of anxiety rolls over you. “I was awful to him last Friday.” 

“Then make it up to him,” 

After much deliberation, you knew you would, or at least, you would die trying. The next meeting was in two weeks, which seemed too far out. After three texts, two calls, and one voicemail, you decided to go to him. 

You had been to Spencer’s apartment once before and were sure it was on this block… maybe. It was early Saturday morning, and you could only hope he would look out his window and see you pacing the sidewalk. 

But an hour passed, and the cold wind forced you into a coffee shop down the block. Shivering as you waited for your coffee, you glanced at the unread texts you sent him one last time before stuffing your phone back into your pocket. 

Clearly, he didn’t want to see you, much less talk to you. You chewed on your bottom lip, lost in thought until you resolved that seeing him at the next meeting would have to do if he didn’t text you back before then. 

And so, two weeks and no texts back later, you sat in your usual foldable seat and waited. But he never showed. Your eyes watched the doors patiently, and you counted every last participant, thinking that the next one had to be Spencer. 

But they weren’t. He was nowhere to be found. You had sat on your feelings for him for weeks, sat on with nasty comments and behavior for two weeks, and found yourself still waiting. He didn’t have to attend every meeting, but you felt even more desperate than before. Hating the feeling, you left halfway through.

It wasn’t like you could force him to talk to or forgive you. But it hurt knowing just how much you had hurt him. Were you being selfish for wanting a chance to confess to him again? Was it selfish how you looked for him in every crowd? 

The unfortunate reality of your pain was that you were so scared of falling in love again that you pushed love away before it could even touch you. You found yourself driving to Alex’s grave that night. It was out of your way, but you didn’t want to go home just to wait by the phone again. 

After parking in a nearby parking lot, you found yourself standing in the middle of a very dark, isolated cemetery. If Spencer were here, he would say how dangerous this was, maybe even throw in a statistic just to solidify his point. 

You smile, eyes adjusting in the moonlight as you look down at your dead lover’s grave. You crouch, touching a bouquet of almost-dead flowers at the foot of his grave. “Was I bad at this with you, too?” Your fingers trace the brittle petals of a dying rose. 

You can hear the crunching of gravel and slush approaching you, and a part of you freezes. As the sound gets closer, you can hear panting, your head turning cautiously to look for your rapidly approaching company. 

When you see the silhouette of a man not too far down the trail, you tense. How stupid were you to be in a secluded area in the middle of the night? You curse under your breath and stay crouched, hoping it’s just a late-night jogger passing through and that he won’t see you if you stay low. 

Your eyes stay on the figure, and you mentally go over possible escape plans when you see it— a messenger bag. What kind of serial killer or jogger wears a messenger bag? Your tense shoulders briefly relax for a second at the thought. 

Then, a hint of moonlight illuminates your huffing stranger— messy brown hair and a crooked tie. You stand, “Spencer?” You say his name when he approaches you, the moonlight letting you get a glimpse of his soft eyes for a moment. “What are you… How’d you know I’d be here? What are you doing here?” 

“You weren’t at the meeting,” He huffs, leaning over to rest his palms on his knees. 

“I–” You scoff, slightly amused. “I left early. Did you show up?” 

“No,” he admits, his tone becoming sharper as he catches his breath. “No, I–” he hesitates for a moment, “I saw your car on my way home, and I got worried, and I–” He roughly drags a hand through his curls, “You shouldn’t be in isolated places like this late at night.” 

Your shocked expression melts, and your lips quirk into a slight smile. Spencer sees this and responds sharply, “I’m being serious!”

You hold up both hands, “I know, I—” You sigh, a slight chuckle following the sound before you say, “I knew you were going to say that. I could hear your voice when I parked across the street.” 

“Maybe you should listen to it sometime,” 

You nod, and then a moment of cold silence follows. The two of you stare at each other for a long moment before you feel your lips moving against your will, “You never called,” 

Spencer can feel his heartbeat quicken, “Wasn’t aware I had to.” 

“You didn’t have to. I just would have–” You cut yourself off, nervously licking your lips. “I wanted you to.” 

Spencer stays quiet before he replies with a soft “I’m sorry,” 

You find your smile returning as you shake your head, “That’s my line,” 

He lets a little chuckle at that, ready to tell you it’s okay, when you quickly add, “I’m sorry for how I acted three weeks ago. I shouldn’t have been so cruel or close-minded, and I should have been honest with you about my feelings. I’m sorry I pushed you away. I’m sorry for implying your love for Maeve wasn’t special. Oh, Spencer,” You let out a heartbroken sigh, “I feel terrible. I was such a bad friend, and these past few weeks, all I’ve wanted to do is make it up to you.” 

You can feel the tears threatening to fill your vision, your cheeks burning in the cold as you let out a meek, “Tell me there’s something I can do to make it up to you,” 

Spencer can see your pleading eyes in the moonlight, and his chest tightens at the sight. Ignoring your calls and texts wasn’t easy, but he was convinced that it was the right thing to do. You weren’t ready to move on, and neither was he— not completely, but he didn’t want to try with anyone else. He only wanted to try with you. 

He swallows thickly when he says a sweet “You’ve already done it,” Then you’re beaming at him, and he’s right back where he was three weeks ago. As you dry your misting eyes, he softly confesses, “I watched You’ve Got Mail.” He pauses, smiling lightly when you give him a surprised look through your tears. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you, so I–” He nervously moved his hands as he talked, “I watched any Romcom that I could get my hands on because I—” 

You smile as he trails off, his hands twisting together in that nervous way that tells you he’s scared to say the rest of his sentence— he’s too afraid to say he missed you. “Me too,” You confess, “I missed you, too.”

He nods, a grin on his face as he looks at you. He can feel his confession rising in his throat, his lips moving awkwardly as he tries to gain the confidence to confess to you again. 

But, before he can say anything, you’re speaking, “I don’t know if you still feel the same as you did three weeks ago, but I–” You swallow hard, clearing your throat softly. Your hands move with you as you speak, the cold making them feel slightly stiff. “For the longest time, I couldn’t imagine myself happy with anyone other than Alex.” You blow out a sigh, glancing back at his tombstone. “I thought one great love was enough— I only deserved one. I was happy with that, and I felt lucky for it.” 

You can feel yourself trembling, and you don’t know if it’s the cold or your nerves getting the better of you; nonetheless, you keep going, “But lately, I’ve been thinking— hoping really— that you’re the expectation.” You squeeze your eyes tight at that last bit, trying to calm your breathing as you wait for his response. 

“If anyone deserves more than one great love, it’s you.” Spencer’s voice sounds closer, soft. 

When you open your eyes, you realize he is closer, inches from you. You gaze up at him, giving him a light smile when he whispers, “We can take it slower,” 

“I like slower.” 

He laughs and nods, “Me too,” he holds out a cold hand for you to take, “Let me walk you to your car?” 

You stare at his palm, watching your cold fingers intertwine with his. The sensation makes the tips of your fingers buzz with anticipation. You feel his hand gives yours a slight squeeze before guiding you to the parking lot across the street. 

It’s not the last time you walk side-by-side, holding hands in the middle of the cold East Coast winter, and he’s determined to make sure it’s not your last. 

And whenever anyone asks how the two of you met, Spencer lets you tell the story, his hand slipping into yours as you say, “Well, it’s a bit of a long story.”

[doeidawn]

doeidawn's kinkmas day nine ❆ mirror sex

KINKMAS 2024 | PREVIOUS DAY | NEXT DAY

getting ready for a friend's christmas party turns out to be difficult when gaz keeps interrupting. 1.5k

❆ pairing: gaz x fem!reader

❆ tags: MDNI/18+; cheeky kyle; fingering; praise; watching yourself/mirror sex

“Kyle, darling, do I look alright?” You call out from the bathroom in hopes that your boyfriend was nearby to hear it. After one too many internal debates about how you looked, you decided it was best to call in the man who never got tired of looking at you. Granted, he’d say you looked good no matter what, but a little confidence boost wouldn’t hurt.

Especially not when you wanted to cringe at the anxiety in your gaze staring back at you in the mirror. Huffing a sigh and running your hands over your dress did little to soothe your raging nerves. It felt like being an insecure teenager all over again—Am I overdressed? Is this too much makeup? Will this still look good with a jacket? The internal monologue was never-ending and consistently annoying. All it did was eat up time that quickly ticked away as the Christmas party grew closer.

The soft patter of footsteps comes from the side before Kyle appears in your peripheral, standing in the doorway to the bathroom. You find his lack of response…odd. Unlike him. Looking over at him, you find his eyes looking at just about every part of you that wasn’t your face.

“Kyle,” you call out again, softer this time, hoping it’ll grab his attention. When he still doesn’t make eye contact, only humming in response as his gaze lingers on your chest, you relent. “Is this…okay? Do I look alright?”

That makes him look you in the eye. He stares at you for a moment before sauntering into the room. Wrapping an arm around your waist, he settles behind you, resting his head in the junction of your neck and shoulder. He holds your gaze in the mirror, soft brown eyes boring into you. 

“Are you seein’ what I’m seein’?” He gestures vaguely to the reflections.

“I think so.”

“Then you should know you look fuckin’ gorgeous,” the last half of his sentence is muffled against your neck as he dips his head to plant a kiss on your soft skin. “You could rival a damn princess lookin’ like this, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t stop yourself from smiling. “Well, I don’t know about that. But thank you.”

“Well, I do.” His kisses turn heavier, wet flicks of his tongue, as his hands skirt down to your hips. “I almost don’t wanna leave now. I want my princess all to myself.”

“Kyle—”

“I know, I’m a selfish bastard aren’t I?” His teeth brush against the curve of your jaw, nipping playfully. “But I can’t help it when you look this good.”

“Going to the party was your idea,” you remind him with a playful nudge of your elbow. “I regret asking for your input. Go on, I need to finish getting ready.”

“...What else d’you need to do?”

“My hair’s a mess.” You gesture to your head like the thought is obvious. To you, it was. Though you had a tendency to nitpick your looks in time like these. 

Kyle studies your reflection for a moment, an incredulous look on his face like he can’t figure out what else you could possibly do to your hair. “That’s fine,” he shrugs. “You can do your hair.”

But he doesn’t slip away like you’d intended him to do. Instead, he keeps his hands planted firmly on you, running them up and down your sides, trailing over your curves like he hasn’t touched them countless times before. You stand and wait for him to move away, but it never happens.

“Kyle.”

“Mm?”

“Are you gonna let me finish getting ready?”

“I am letting you finish.” He says it so matter-of-factly. “Go on and do your hair. I can keep my hands down here,” he emphasizes by groping a handful of your ass, “and stay out of your way.”

You didn’t believe that for one damn minute. Staying out of your way wasn’t possible when he got his hands on you. What would start out as innocent touches and “no, baby, we don’t have to fuck, just let me feel you up,” would turn into desperate sex in the blink of an eye. You weren’t very good at keeping yourself from getting distracted, and he was perfect at grabbing your attention. 

…So maybe that’s why you didn’t question it when hands on your hips turned to one dipped beneath your dress. And why kisses on your neck turned to filthy words in your ear. You had barely done anything to your hair before he got you distracted. 

“Ky’...” You whined while trying to keep yourself stood straight. “I need to finish up.”

His fingers ran over your slit, spreading you open as they glided through the slick arousal clinging to your skin. Your clit was already swollen and puffy from where he’d been teasing you while you tried to focus. His fingertips circle your entrance and you nearly feel your knees buckle underneath your.

“‘M not stoppin’ you, love.” He mutters against your temple before kissing the sweat on your brow. 

“Yes you are…fuck, you’re teasin’ me like a bastard…”

“Not my fault you can’t focus.”

Your retort is interrupted by a shameless moan as his fingers slide inside you, embarrassingly easy thanks to how wet you were. You have to lean over the countertop to hold yourself up as your knees go weak. How the hell he didn’t find himself distracting was beyond you; burying his fingers to the knuckle inside you didn’t exactly help you get ready any quicker. 

Looking in the mirror before you, you found Kyle practically studying your face. He watched the way your lips fell open and your eyes fluttered when he pushed deep. It’s almost like he was testing what reactions he could get out of you. Curling and twisting and pressing his fingers, he wanted to see you squirm.

He settles his chin on your shoulder, smiling when you lean your head against his. “Look at you, there’s my pretty girl,” the smooth softness of his voice makes your cunt flutter around his digits. 

His lips hit your cheek in a soft peck, the complete opposite of the intensity in his eyes. You felt like he wanted to devour you, lil you’d never leave this bathroom again if he could have things his way. A Christmas party was the last thing on your mind despite still being dressed up for it. The more he touched you, the insistent pressure against that sweet spot deep in your cunt, the more you wanted to stay home with him. 

“Fuck, you’re annoying, you know that?” You huff between moans. There’s no real bite to it, and he knows that—the tight hug of your slick walls around his fingers proved that plenty true. 

Kyle chuckles in your ear. “Ah, you love it.” You did, but you’d never admit it. Especially not when you were trying to prove a point about wasting time. “Love it when I give my princess what she needs, huh?”

His fingers curl just right, focusing in on that spot that made you jerk on every thrust. Your mouth falls open in a gasp, knuckles white as you grip the edge of the counter to keep yourself steady. If it wasn’t for his hand supporting you, you might’ve stumbled on your weak legs. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, blown-out pupils staring back at you, painted lips stuck under teeth as you bite your lip.

“Yeah, look at yourself, baby.” His encouragement is enough to convince you despite how awkward it feels at first. “Look how pretty you are when you cum for me.” 

You can feel his eyes on you, see him in your peripheral, his gaze branding you like an iron as he worked you over the edge. It was strange watching your mouth drop as a sharp moan poured from your throat, seeing your body quiver as you jerked into his hand. You couldn’t keep your eyes open long enough to watch your entire orgasm hit you, too overwhelmed by the constant fullness that sent sparks through your body. 

Thankfully, Kyle seemed more concerned with making your pleasure last instead of policing where your eyes were. He battered that soft, sensitive spot, groaning in your ear when you soaked his hand in your cum. He kept himself pressed close, an arm wrapped around you to support your weight in case you needed it. 

An almost smothering amount of kisses covered the side of your face, trailing from your temple to the curve of your neck. It was almost like he wanted to keep you distracted with the sensation as he slid his fingers out of you. A soft pat to your thigh and he’s pulling your dress back into place like nothing happened. You stare at your reflection for a moment, noticing the slight smudges of makeup where his lips brushed over your skin and the small red marks he left spackled along your neck.

“C’mon,” he sighs with one last kiss to your cheek. “We better get goin’. Don’t wanna keep anyone waiting, yeah?” He slinks out of the bathroom before you can catch your breath and respond. So much for looking nice.

[daystarpoet]

•ྀ༅ imprisoned padawan, stressed husband. ೄ

anakin skywalker x gn! reader. set in the end of s4 (i think) when ahsoka gets blamed for everything. first time every writing anakin on here, hope it isn't too out of character.

anakin grumbled something under his breath, jedi robes moving along his steady, and angry steps. he wasn’t wearing the usual smile he put on just for you, whenever you met in secret. he had, in fact, been quite out of his charming, and playful personality for the past couple of days. but given what had happened, could you really blame him?

the whole event was just outrageous. she sat, as of right now, in that lonely cell guarded by commander fox— who wouldn’t even let anakin talk to her. his padawan was no cold-blood murderer, he knew that much. even so, the recording seemed to prove otherwise. a few seconds in camera were enough to convince almost the entirety of the order of her culpability.

anakin wasn’t going to stop until he found who was truly guilty, and made them pay for all the pain they were causing ahsoka. sure, obi-wan was on anakin’s side—and though he didn’t express it as openly as his former student— he still firmly believed her to be innocent.

“I won’t let my padawan be the scapegoat of the council’s failures.” anakin’s grip on your waist tightened. he had never had a great relationship with the Jedi council, and this was a breaking point. “what happened to letta turmond—and the temple— is not on her.”

“ani…” you sighed, running your fingers through the chestnut waves. you didn't need force abilities like his to notice his anger, it was visible—to everyone. the creases on his eyebrows, the grumble on his lips, the rigid steps.

“you know her. you know she'd never do that.” your husband pulled away from the embrace enough to be able to meet your gaze, seeking for a flicker of doubt or dissagreement.

“anakin, i'm not questioning ahsoka's innocence. i just think that you need to stop for a second— to think.” you placed your hands on his checks, trying to bring some calm to your husband's mind. in reality, anakin did not want to stop, every minute he waited was another minute of his padawan stuck in that cell. but he knew better than to try to argue with you.

“maybe.” anakin, sighed, hugging you again, and resting his chin on top of your head. for a moment—and just for a moment—he could breathe, he could feel hope. being with you had that effect on him.

[gmikaelson]

The Assistant | K.M

Summary: Your were captured by Klaus Mikaelson after he caught you snooping around in his house unattended. Somehow, you end up as his assistant.

𐙚⋆˙˚◞♡ ✮⋆˙ ₊˚⊹♡ : ̗̀ 𐙚⋆˙˚◞♡ ✮⋆˙ ₊˚⊹♡ : ̗̀ 𐙚⋆˙˚◞♡ ✮⋆˙ ₊˚⊹♡ : ̗̀ 𐙚

(Y/N) was thrown recklessly onto the cold hard basement floor that belonged to the all-mighty Klaus Mikaelson, the big bad original hybrid that everyone whispers about. He kneeled to her level, getting a little too close for comfort.

“Now why would such a pretty face risk being ripped into pieces coming here?" He teased the smirk on his lips quickly fading as he waited for her response growing impatient by the second as the both of them sat in silence.

(Y/N) sat up and scooted back from him. Shit, she thought. I've been caught. She tries to play it off but knows he can hear her pounding heart with his vampire hearing. 

"I...Uh...I heard that this would be a cool party to go to. I was just looking for the bathroom upstairs" she gulped, "please don’t hurt me" she immediately spews out 

Klaus' eyes gleamed with predatory amusement as he observed her futile attempt to create distance between them both. The scent of her fear was intoxicating, and the rapid drumming of her heart echoed like a symphony in his ears.

"Love, do you really expect me to believe that pitiful excuse? I can smell the vervain in your pocket... tsk tsk" He moved with supernatural speed, suddenly appearing and crouching behind her, his breath ghosting against her neck. "And here I thought we could have started this evening honestly."

His hand shot out, gripping her wrist with calculated force – enough to restrain but not enough to break bones. Yet. The ancient vampire pulled the vervain-filled vial from her pocket with his other hand, examining it with mock curiosity before throwing it against the opposite wall, letting the glass shards and liquid trickle to the floor.

"Now, sweetheart, shall we try this again? Who sent you to my home? And do choose your next words carefully – I'm not known for my patience, and I find torture to be such a tedious way to start an evening." His voice carried a dangerous edge beneath its velvet smoothness, blue eyes flickering with barely contained violence as he awaited her response.

(Y/N) kept her gaze straight ahead, goosebumps trailing down her skin as she felt his hot breath against her skin,  “okay, so what? You found vervain in my pocket. This town is full of vampires. I’d be an idiot not to have some on me…and in me” she added, wanting to make it clear that he can’t compel or drink from her. “And…no one sent me”

Klaus chuckled darkly, the sound reverberating through the basement. In a flash, he had her pinned against the wall, his forearm pressed firmly across her collarbone. His other hand traced her jawline with deceptive gentleness.

"Darling, your defiance is as admirable as it is foolish. While I do appreciate a woman with spirit, let's not forget who you're dealing with." His eyes momentarily flashed amber, revealing his hybrid nature. "I can smell the vervain in your system, yes, but that won't protect you forever. I have all the time in the world to wait it out."

He leaned closer, his lips nearly brushing her ear as he spoke in a hushed, threatening tone. "And as for no one sending you... I've lived a thousand years, love. I can tell when someone is lying to me. The question is, what should I do with you while we wait for the truth to surface?"

"Perhaps I should introduce you to my art studio upstairs? I find that red is a particularly inspiring color to paint with." His smirk grew wider, revealing the hint of fangs. "Though I must admit, it would be a shame to mar such a beautiful canvas too quickly."

Was he threatening her…or flirting?

(Y/N) smiles, although hints of nervousness still played on her face, “Well I guess we’ll have to get to know each other really well in the three days you wait for the vervain to leave my system. Until then, I’m afraid you won’t get anything out of me without compulsion”

Klaus' eyes sparkled with intrigue at her boldness, a genuine smile replacing his threatening smirk. He released his hold on her but remained close, creating an intimate cage with his body.

"Three days? My, my... aren't we presumptuous?" He reached out, twirling a strand of her dark golden-brown hair between his fingers. "What makes you think I need compulsion when I have such... persuasive methods at my disposal? Though I must say, your audacity is refreshing. Most people would be begging for their lives by now."

His expression shifted to one of calculated interest as he studied her features more intently, like a predator assessing its prey. "You know what? I think I'll take you up on that offer of getting to know each other. Let's start with dinner - and before you worry that pretty little head of yours, you'll be sitting at my table, not on it. Though I do recommend you don't try to run... my hospitality has its limits."

"Follow me, love. Let's see if your wit remains as sharp over a glass of wine." He gestured toward the stairs, maintaining his dangerous charm while making it clear that this wasn't actually a request.

(Y/N) gulps, adjusting her hair, not looking away from him. She also adjusts her shirt, "I wasn't worrying. I told you, I have vervain in my system so you can't drink my blood" she starts walking up the steps and out of the basement. Most of the partygoers were gone, just the people who lived here remained...and the people they were feeding off of. 

Klaus followed closely behind her, amused by (Y/N)’s continued display of bravado. His hand found the small of her back, guiding her past the grotesque scene of feeding vampires with a possessive touch.

"Sweetheart, if I wanted your blood, a little vervain wouldn't stop me. I've endured far worse pain in my millennium of existence." His fingers traced small circles on her back as he led her toward his private dining room. "Though I must say, your confidence is either incredibly brave or remarkably stupid. I haven't quite decided which."

He pulled out a chair at an elaborately set table, his movements graceful yet predatory. The candlelight cast dancing shadows across his features as he poured two glasses of wine from a bottle that probably cost more than most people's monthly rent. "You see, love, I find myself intrigued. Most people who sneak into my home are either suicidal or working for someone powerful enough to make them feel brave. Yet you... you carry yourself differently."

"So tell me," he sat across from her, his intense gaze fixed on her face, "what makes a beautiful woman like yourself risk everything to enter the lion's den? And please, don't insult us both with another story about looking for the bathroom."

(Y/N) takes a look around, "how about you answer me first?" she lifts the glass to her lips, taking a small sip, "do you just randomly have the table set in case there are any impromptu dinners that need to be held?" She ask, lookin at him over the rim.

Klaus leaned back in his chair, a mix of irritation and amusement playing across his features. He swirled the wine in his glass, watching the deep red liquid dance.

"Careful, love. Your charm won't distract me from the fact that you're still avoiding my questions." He took a deliberate sip of his wine before continuing."Though to satisfy your curiosity, I always keep a proper dining setting. You'd be surprised how often I entertain... unexpected guests. Some leave satisfied, others leave in pieces. The outcome usually depends on their cooperation."

Standing smoothly, he moved behind her chair, his hands resting on her shoulders with a touch that was both intimate and threatening, causing her to flinch slightly. "Now, since we're playing this little game of quid pro quo, how about we make it interesting? For every question you answer truthfully, I'll grant you one of your own. Lie to me, however..." His fingers tightened slightly on her shoulders, "and I might have to reconsider my generous hospitality. What do you say, sweetheart?"

"What if I don't have an answer for you?" (Y/N) says, her voice steady despite the rapid beating of her heart

Klaus' fingers traced up her neck, sending an intentional shiver down her spine before he leaned down, his lips barely grazing her ear.

"Now that's the first honest thing you've said all evening." He moved back to his seat with supernatural grace, picking up his wine glass with a calculated casualness that belied the predatory gleam in his eyes. "Though I find it hard to believe someone as intelligent as you would risk entering my home without purpose. Perhaps you don't have all the answers, but you certainly have some."

Rising again, he circled the table slowly, like a wolf stalking its prey. "Tell me this much, love - did you come here of your own accord, or are you another pawn sent to distract me while some pitiful plot unfolds? Because if it's the latter..." His expression darkened dangerously as he stopped beside her, "I should warn you that I've already dispatched the group of vampires who tried to breach my study while you've been keeping me... entertained."

(Y/N)’s heart skips a beat at what he says, just the confirmation Klaus needed. She shrugs, "I told them it would be foolish to try and distract you. My turn,"  She reaches for an egg roll, biting into it, "define what exactly you mean by 'dispatched'?"  asking with a hint of worry in her tone

Klaus' expression shifted to one of lethal satisfaction, clearly pleased to have caught her in her admission. He reached out, thumb brushing away a crumb from her lower lip with deliberate slowness.

"Ah, so you were part of their little scheme after all. How disappointing." His voice carried a dangerous edge as he gripped her chin firmly, forcing her to meet his gaze. "As for your question, love... let's just say they're currently redecorating my courtyard in various pieces. Though I saved their heads - might need them for identification purposes. Perhaps you'd like to help me with that?"

In a blur of movement, he had her pushed against the dining room wall, one hand pressed beside her head while the other still held her chin. "Now, sweetheart, since we're finally being honest with each other, why don't you tell me exactly who 'they' are before I decide whether you'll be joining your friends in their artistic contribution to my garden?"

The breath was slightly knocked out of her chest at his actions, "bold of you to assume that they are my friends" (Y/N) responds. 

Klaus' eyes flickered with intrigue as he leaned closer, his body effectively caging her against the wall. The scent of her perfume mixed with fear created an intoxicating combination.

"Not friends then? Even more interesting." His free hand trailed down her arm, a deceptively gentle touch that contrasted with his threatening posture. "Tell me, love, if they weren't your friends, what leverage did they have to make such a clever girl take such a foolish risk? Because right now," he pressed closer, his lips ghosting along her jaw, "you're the only one left alive to face my... disappointment."

His fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her head back slightly to expose her neck. "I can hear your heart racing, darling. Is it fear? Or is there something else you're not telling me? Because I'm starting to think there's much more to this story than a simple distraction attempt."

"nuh uh,” she says boldly, “I think it’s my turn to ask a question. I just answered yours"

Klaus let out a dark chuckle, his breath warm against her neck. Instead of pulling away, he pressed closer, one hand still tangled in her hair while the other traced patterns on her hip.

"By all means, love. Your attempt to maintain control of this situation is rather... entertaining." 

His eyes gleamed dangerously in the dimmed lighting, a predatory smile playing on his lips. "Though I should warn you - my patience isn't infinite, and dawn is still hours away. Ask your question."

He pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, his gaze intense and calculating. "But choose wisely, sweetheart. The nature of your question might reveal more about you than my answer will about me."

"Hmm," (Y/N) takes a moment to think about her question, "What’s your favorite painting technique?" She asks curiously. She can see the slight pinch in his brows that form at her question. 

Klaus' expression shifted from dangerous to genuinely surprised, then intrigued. His grip on her hair loosened slightly as he studied her face with renewed interest, searching for any sign of mockery but finding none.

"Of all the questions you could ask while pinned against my wall..." He released her suddenly, taking a step back with an appreciative smirk. "I prefer oils. They're unforgiving, much like myself - every stroke must be intentional, decisive. The depth and richness they provide is... unmatched." His eyes darkened with passion as he spoke about his art. "Though I must admit, I'm particularly fond of mixing my own colors. Sometimes with... unconventional materials."

Moving to the side table, he poured more wine into both glasses, his movements precise and elegant. "Now, love, since you've shown an interest in my artistic pursuits, perhaps you'd like to see my studio? Though I should warn you - some of my recent works are still... fresh." His tone carried both an invitation and a threat, reminding her of the bodies he'd mentioned earlier.

"I would" she answered with a small smile, "and I would like to inform you that you just asked me a question and I answered it truthfully. The ball is now back in my court." (Y/N) walks over and takes her wine glass. 

Klaus' lips curled into an amused smile as he inclined his head, acknowledging her clever manipulation of his own game. He gestured toward the ornate staircase with an exaggerated bow.

"Quite the skilled player you're proving to be, aren't you, love?" He followed closely behind her, his hand finding its way to the small of her back once again as he guided her up the stairs. "Though I must say, your interest in art rather than self-preservation is... refreshingly unique. Most people in your position would be asking about escape routes by now."

As they reached the top of the stairs, he paused, turning her to face him with supernatural speed, her breath hitching at the sudden action. His eyes searched hers intensely, a mixture of suspicion and fascination evident in his gaze. "Go on then, sweetheart. Ask your question. But remember - while you might be clever enough to play this game, I've had a thousand years to perfect it."

(Y/N) turns her head, looking down to the courtyard, "who are the other people who live here?" she asks, turning around and stepping closer to the railing. 

Klaus moved to stand beside (Y/N), his shoulder brushing against hers as he gazed down at the courtyard below. The moonlight cast shadows across his sharp features, highlighting the dangerous beauty of his profile.

"Ah, curious about my family, are we?" He turned to face her, leaning casually against the railing. "My siblings - when they're not daggered in boxes for their betrayals - occupy this compound. Elijah, ever the noble one in his suits; Rebekah, my sweet sister with a rather unfortunate taste in men; and occasionally Kol, when he's not causing chaos elsewhere." His tone carried both affection and threat when speaking of his family.

He stepped closer, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear with deliberate gentleness. "Though I should warn you, love - any thoughts of playing my siblings against me would be... unwise. Family feuds are strictly an internal affair, and I'm rather protective of what's mine." His eyes flashed dangerously despite his soft touch. "Now, since you've shown such interest in my household, tell me - what exactly were you looking for in my study while your... associates created their distraction?"

(Y/N) hesitates for a moment, taking a breath before speaking. "They spoke about a weapon...one that could take you down. That's what I was supposed to find," she says, looking into his eyes as he tucks her hair back

Klaus' expression darkened dangerously, his hand sliding from her hair to grip her throat - not tight enough to choke, but firm enough to demonstrate his power. His eyes flickered amber for a moment, betraying his hybrid nature.

"And here I was, starting to enjoy our little game." He leaned in closer, his lips nearly brushing against hers as he spoke. (Y/N)’s breath caught in her throat. "Tell me, sweetheart, did they happen to mention what kind of weapon? Because I've spent centuries ensuring that anything capable of killing me was destroyed." His other hand gripped her waist possessively.

"Though I must admit," his grip relaxed slightly as a cruel smile played across his lips, "sending someone as captivating as you was clever. They clearly knew my... appreciation for beauty. But they severely underestimated how many beautiful things I've destroyed over the centuries." His thumb traced her bottom lip, the gesture both threatening and intimate. "So what's it to be, love? Will you tell me everything now, or shall we wait for the vervain to leave your system?"

(Y/N) tilts her head, not answering his question. Suddenly her lower lip started quivering and her chest heaved as tears formed in her eyes.

Klaus' expression shifted minutely, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features as he watched her tears form. His grip on her throat loosened, though his hand remained in place.

"Now, now, love. Don't tell me those tears are for the people who sent you to your death?" He studied her face intently, centuries of experience making him search for any sign of manipulation. "Though something tells me there's more to those tears than simple fear or regret."

His thumb wiped away a tear that escaped down (Y/N)’s cheek, the gesture surprisingly gentle for someone who had just been threatening her. "You mentioned they weren't your friends. Were you perhaps... coerced into this suicide mission? Speak freely, sweetheart. I find myself rather curious about what could drive someone like you to attempt such a foolish endeavor."

"T-they lied to me" she mumbles, turning her face away from him, wiping the tears with her hand, leaving a trail of mascara,

Klaus caught her chin gently but firmly, turning her face back towards his. For a moment, his expression showed genuine intrigue rather than its usual threatening demeanor. In a swift movement, he guided her to a nearby chaise lounge.

"They lied to you?" His voice carried a dangerous edge, though it wasn't directed at (Y/N). "Do elaborate, love. I find myself particularly... interested in those who would use deception to orchestrate plots against me." He settled beside her, maintaining an intimidating presence while showing unexpected patience.

His hand moved to rest on her knee, a gesture that could be interpreted as either comforting or possessive. "Tell me everything, sweetheart. And do keep in mind - I can still tell when you're lying, tears or not. Though something tells me," his thumb wiped away another stray tear, "these particular tears are quite genuine."

"I...I was seeing someone. I didn't know he was a vampire. A few days ago he told me that he needed me to do something for him and when I refused, he told me that my sister would be harmed if I didn't cooperate," she sniffled, "said all I had to do was go up to your study and grab this...weapon. They said you'd be distracted by the party. And now, like the idiot I am, I realize they never told me exactly what I was supposed to get. They planned on me getting caught.” she said in realization, grappling with revelation, “so that when you take me to the basement, they go in themselves." 

(Y/N) turns to Klaus, "They deliberately sent me in because they assumed you'd kill me instantly" I cry more, "How could he do this to me?"

Klaus' expression darkened dangerously, but for once, his anger wasn't directed at her. His hand moved from her knee to cup her face, thumb brushing away tears with unexpected tenderness.

"Ah, love. The oldest trick in the book - using an innocent's heart against them." His other hand clenched into a fist, veins appearing briefly under his eyes before he controlled himself. "Tell me their names. Particularly this... boyfriend of yours. I find myself suddenly very interested in having a chat with someone who would orchestrate such a cruel manipulation."

He pulled her closer, his predatory nature momentarily overshadowed by a protective anger that surprised even him. "And your sister? Where is she now? Because if they've harmed her..." His eyes flashed amber again, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, "I might have to demonstrate why I've survived a thousand years while others have perished trying to outsmart me.” 

"I don't know any of them, but I'm assuming you killed them all already when they went into your study. As for my sister, she's with my...I don't even want to call him boyfriend anymore. His name is Liam Johnson."

(Y/N) takes his hands into hers, "Please Klaus, I'm begging you" she pleads, "I know we don't know each other and you owe me absolutely nothing but please help me save her. She's too young for this vampire business. I'll do anything you want. please. “ The please comes out as a broken whisper. 

Klaus' eyes darkened at her touch, a complex mix of emotions crossing his features. He intertwined his fingers with hers, studying the delicate contrast between their hands.

"Liam Johnsen," he repeated the name like a death sentence, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "How convenient that I already know exactly where this particular vampire likes to nest." He reached up, brushing her hair back from your tear-stained face. "And as for owing you nothing... well, let's just say I have a particular distaste for those who use innocent siblings as leverage. Hits rather close to home, you might say."

In one fluid motion, he stood, pulling her up with him. His hand cupped her face, thumb tracing her bottom lip as his eyes bore into hers with intense focus. "I'll help you retrieve your sister, love. But understand this - once this is done, you belong to me. Consider it payment for my assistance." His voice dropped to a dangerous purr. "Do we have a deal, sweetheart?"

(Y/N) nods her head furiously, "Yes. please just help her. She doesn't know about any of this. She’s only 15 and doesn't know about the supernatural. I just want to keep her safe. please klaus. I will be forever indebted to you"

Klaus' grip on her tightened possessively as a predatory smile spread across his face. He pulled her flush against him, one hand tangling in her hair while the other wrapped around her waist. (Y/N)’s forgot how to breathe for a moment

"Forever is a very long time, love. Be careful what you promise to an immortal." His lips brushed against her ear as he spoke. "Though I must admit, your devotion to your sister is... admirable. It reminds me of someone I know." The last words carried a hint of personal meaning.

He pulled back slightly, his expression turning deadly serious. "Now, listen carefully, sweetheart. You'll stay here where it's safe while I handle this... situation. And by handle, I mean I'm going to remind dear Liam why crossing an Original is a fatal mistake." His thumb traced her jawline with dangerous gentleness. "Don't worry about your sister - I'll ensure she returns home with no memory of this unfortunate evening. You, however..." his eyes darkened with possession, "You'll be staying right here where I can keep an eye on my newest... acquisition." 

She nods, taking a seat as he walks away. She wipes the tears from her face, "Please hurry. I do not want to imagine what the asshole might have already done to her since his friends are dead"

"No harm will come to your sister, love. You have my word." He pressed his lips to her forehead in an unexpectedly gentle gesture. "And contrary to popular belief, I always keep my word." His expression darkened dangerously as he pulled away. "Though I can't promise the same mercy to those who thought they could use an innocent child to manipulate their way into my home."

In a flash, he was down by the doorway, his hand resting on the frame as he turned back to look up at (Y/N) one final time, "No harm will come to your sister, love. You have my word. And contrary to popular belief, I always keep my word." His expression darkened dangerously. 

"Though I can't promise the same mercy to those who thought they could use an innocent child to manipulate their way into my home. And when I return... we'll discuss the exact terms of your newfound indebtedness to me." 

With that, he vampire sped out of the compound, leaving behind a very worried (Y/N). 

•_•-•_•-•_ •_•-•_•-•_ •_•-•_•-•_ •_•-•_•-•_ •_•-•_•-•_•

(Y/N) dug a hole into the carpet of Klaus’ study, unable to sit still. Klaus appeared suddenly, startling her, his expression cold and calculated as blood stained the edges of his formerly pristine shirt. His eyes tracked her startled movement with predatory focus.

"Your sister is safe at home, tucked in bed with no memory of this evening's... unfortunate events." He moved to pour himself a drink, maintaining a deliberate distance from her. "As for your former paramour, let's just say he won't be manipulating any more innocent women into his schemes."

He took a slow sip of his bourbon, watching (Y/N) over the rim of his glass with dangerous intensity. "Now, about our arrangement, love. Since you've proven yourself either brave or foolish enough to enter my home once already, I think it's only fitting that you remain here where I can ensure you won't be involved in any more plots against me. Consider it both protection and insurance."

(Y/N) sighs in relief, sitting back down, nodding her head, "Okay. I’ll...stay here. although I’ll have to come up with some excuse so my family doesn't worry" she sniffles, thinking about what to tell her family. 

Klaus observed her from across the room, his posture relaxed but alert, like a predator assessing potential prey. He swirled the bourbon in his glass methodically.

"You'll tell them you've taken a job as my personal assistant. The pay is excellent, of course," his lips curved into a cold smile. "And you'll be free to visit them - under supervision. I'm not completely unreasonable, love, but I'm not foolish either." He set his glass down with deliberate precision.

Moving closer, he towered over her seated form, his eyes hard and calculating. "Let me be clear, sweetheart - while I've helped your sister, don't mistake that for trust. You entered my home as part of a plot against me, regardless of the circumstances. Consider yourself lucky that I find you... intriguing enough to keep alive."

She nods standing up. She looks at him for a moment before wrapping her arms around his neck, hugging him, "thank you" she whispered closing her eyes and relaxing against him

Klaus stiffened at the unexpected contact, his body going rigid. After a moment, he firmly grasped her shoulders and pushed her back, his expression hard and suspicious.

"That's enough of that, love." His voice carried a warning edge as he created distance between them. "Don't mistake my assistance for kindness. I'm not your savior, and this isn't a fairy tale." His eyes narrowed dangerously. "I'm still the monster they warned you about."

He moved to the door, his posture tense and predatory. "One of my hybrids will show you to your room. I suggest you get some rest - tomorrow we'll discuss the exact terms of your... employment. And sweetheart?" He paused, casting a cold glance over his shoulder. "Don't try anything foolish during the night. The consequences would be... unfortunate."

He disappears and a few moments later, one of his hybrids comes to escort her​​

Klaus watched from the shadows of the upper balcony as his hybrid led her down the corridor. His expression remained calculating and cold, fingers drumming thoughtfully against the railing.

"Make sure she stays in her room, Darren." His commanding voice echoed through the hallway, causing his hybrid to straighten immediately. "And do keep in mind - if she manages to escape on your watch, you'll wish I had left you suffering through those transformations in the Appalachians."

He turned away, his footsteps echoing ominously through the compound as he headed toward his study. The night's events had left him with much to consider - particularly the curious mix of bravery and vulnerability she’d displayed. But trust wasn't something Klaus Mikaelson gave easily, and one rescued sister wouldn't change a thousand years of paranoia.

𐙚⋆˙˚◞♡ ✮⋆˙ ₊˚⊹♡ : ̗̀ 𐙚⋆˙˚◞♡ ✮⋆˙ ₊˚⊹♡ : ̗̀ 𐙚⋆˙˚◞♡ ✮⋆˙ ₊˚⊹♡ : ̗̀ 𐙚

A/N: so excited to finally get this out. Any feedback is appreciated

This was getting too long so I decided to split it. I’m so happy with what I can up with. The banter is just *chefs kiss*

Stay tuned for part 2!

I love you ♡

P.s. let me know if you want to be tagged when I post the second part

[ray935sworld]

A cozy evening, wine and a kiss

rosquez reconsilation fluff

21.12 winter writing

Vale knew he had been lucky in life.

He had managed to get a the top of his beloved sport for years. He had carved his name in the history books, never to be forgotten. He had gone done as a legend.

Most of it was hard work. Some of it was a coincidence and a good chunk was just an insane amount of luck. He had been at the right time at the right place to say the right thing.

But no amount of luck could explain how he ended up here.

He was sat in his own living room, a big house, in Italy. Still it was cozy and soft.

It was a calm winter evening. Christmas was almost there. He would soon dive back into the Christmas hazzle of preparation. It was cold enough that he refused to go outside if it could be avoided.

But right now there was no cold. And it wasn't just the fire that was crackling in the background of the barely lit room. The flames were dancing in a secret rhythm. He could see the flickering but he didn't care.

Instead he was too focused on the reason why there was a warmth in his heart and his whole body. It felt like his organs had been wrapped in the softest blanket imagineable. It was a feeling he was willing to chase for the rest of his life.

He looked at him - the reason. The reason for everything. The reason for his happiness, his insanity, his sadness, his hate, his love, his luck, his believe in love and a god and everything good.

Marc.

Not Marquez. Not the ant. Not a racer.

Just Marc.

And he wanted to do anything to make Marc his Marc again. He wanted to be greedy and just take. He wanted to take until there was nothing left to grip.

But he didn't want that. It felt too forcefully, too much anger, too much of the things he banned to the past. He didn't want to prove anything.

He wanted to give in. He wanted to lean in his touch and make him take everything he wanted. He was willing to give him anything and more.

He looked at him.

Marc sat next to him, in a chair that had a slight ankle to it so they were slightly facing each other.

His eyes were shining, reflecting the flames of the fire. He was speaking. Something about Shira and Stitch. Vale was too fascinated on his voice to actually hear him say a word.

He was holding a glass of wine in hand. His delicate finger were placed on the glass. His thumb pressed against the curve, his pointy finger softly wrapped against it.

He looked gorgeous.

His other hand was resting on his own thigh. Sometimes he lifted it to underline with words with gestures.

Vale nodded along, agreeing, asking question. He would do anything to keep him talking. He just wanted to keep him here, at his side, as long as possible.

They already had dinner together. Vale had cooked. It was the perfect date. And Marc did notice all the thoughtfull gestures and little thing the older man had remembered to make it as perfect as it had been.

It had been their first date. Not just their first date after everything went down, but their first real date. Vale wanted to do it right this time and it showed.

But now Marc saw Vale's soft gaze slightly unfocused. He looked like he was fixed on him but not in a predatory way. Not like it used to.

He looked at him in a way he had never seen before. Like he was everything. Like he was the sun and the moon and everything else.

He giggled softly at that thought and decided to be brave. He leaned over and whispered. "You're staring Vale"

"I know" he replied. His voice held no emotions other than honesty and love, careful bleeding through, as if he wasn't sure if it was okay. "You are very handsome. The most gorgeous man I've ever seen. How could I not watch your every move?"

"You're being very sweet tonight... I like that" he had been thinking about a more sassy comeback, one that borders on being rude. But he didn't. He didn't want to destroy this moment.

He could test the limit later. In a few weeks or months when they stood more firmly. And he was sure this later would come sooner or later.

"So, sweet Vale... Tell me what you want. What do you wish for?" he asked and leaned in some more. His arms were stabilizing him on his chair. He crossed the short distance between them almost completly.

There were still a few centimeters, but not much.

"I... Nothing. I'm happy to have you here." "I know but I also know that there is something else that you want." he said teasingly, because after all he still knew him.

"Maybe but that doesn't matter now. You're drunk. I'm not-" "You promised me honesty. I'm asking you what you want. Right now. I'm not saying I'm going to give it to you. I'm not drunk, Vale. Slightly typsy at most. So please..."

He put his hand on his face. He felt his cheeks for the first time in years. He felt his stubbles against his hand. He looked at him. He noticed all the signs that time had passed, all the little detail were time carved it away through them.

He looked at him and didn't saw the man that used to hurt him. He saw someone else. Someone he would trust. Someone he could love again.

"Please talk to me, Vale. Talk to me" he said and felt the older man leaning into his touch. "You are so beautiful" he replied. "You already said that." "It's true. You are so beautiful. It drives me crazy. I just want to kiss you again. Just once. But I don't want to rush this. I want to make it right. I want to make up for everything and show you how much you mean to me"

Marc smiled and nodded. He accepted.

"If you're afraid it's to soon for you to kiss me, I'll kiss you" he offered and before he got an answer he leaned in.

He kissed him.

It was one of the few things he did slowly, without going in head first. He was careful, soft, no demand, just looking for how it would go.

And he met Vale as he did. His Vale. The real Vale.

He felt how careful he moved his head to make it easier for him to kiss him. He was making things easier nit harder.

He felt his dry lips against his own and didn't mind. He felt his skin heating up at every movement and just grinned.

He was happy.

He had his Vale back. And Vale had his Marc back.

based on this

[mundrakan]

Advent calendar 21.

For @caslyra who challenged me to write gen, aka platonic Remus & James. I will try, and I will try hard for you :)

When Remus is upset, he is harder to find than Sirius. They share the tendency to hide, but while Sirius prefers heights, Remus buries himself in deep darkness, as if he didn't deserve the light. James still figures him out. The abandoned classroom two doors down from the Potion Dungeon is his usual go to. And it's a bit scary, really, just two amber eyes in the dark. If James didn't know him so well, wasn't so sure he is very much not the monster he believes to be, he would keep the door firmly closed. But that's not an option, not what friends do. So he steps in, sits down on one of the few unbroken chairs and waits, until Remus is ready. Even when the door falls back into the frame and drenches the room in shadow. "I can't get anything right. I mess it all up." James still keeps it silent. Remus always needs a while. "What will I do, when... people find out?" "You did the right thing." James inches closer. "And no one will find out. Sirius and I... we already got detention from Minnie." "Really?" Remus sniffs and suddenly James has an armful of distressed boy pressed against him. He smiles. It would be so much simpler, if he didn't have a werewolf, a rebel and a scaredycat as his friends. But god, would it be boring.

You want a microfic too? Let me know. I have one spot left until the 24th, and am willing to go all the way to the 31st, given I get enough asks ;)

[deezee112]

The worst ending 6 : The Lion’s Lament

The worst ending 5 | The worst ending 7

Yandere!Leona Kingscholar x GN!Reader

A/N : I'm starting to feel sorry for them. I mean, y/n, you've been dying in every route. Bear with it a little longer, there's only 21 rounds left.

Warning : possessiveness , obsession , and emotional manipulation. , Depictions of toxic relationships and controlling dynamics. ,Themes of death , grief , and emotional distress. , Scenes that may be unsettling or triggering

Tags :

@iris-arcadia

If you want me to tag you please tell me.

English is not my first language.

“ Well. ” you muttered to youself as the boy sat up, his amber eyes green with intelligence. “ This is going to be... interesting. ”

The boy stretched languidly, his sharp teeth peeking as he yawned. He gave you a slow, assessing glance, as if judging you worth.

“ I’ll name you Leona. ” you decided.

He tilted his head slightly, but said nothing.

“ cool. ” you muttered, crossing your arms. “ You look like trouble already. ”

Raising Leona wasn’t easy.

From the start, he showed signs of stubbornness and pride, as if he were born believing he was king of the world. He would ignore you calls, sulk for hours when reprimanded, and refuse to admit when he was wrong. But for all his arrogance, there was something endearing about him.

He was fiercely protective. When you burned your hand on the stove, he hissed at the pot as if it had personally offended him. When you worked late into the night, he’d drag a blanket over your shoulders, muttering, “ Don’t catch a cold, idiot. ”

Still, there were moments you could barely tolerate his antics.

One night, You woke to find your chest feeling unusually heavy. Groggily, you opened your eyes to see Leona sprawled across your body, his head resting on your stomach, his tail lazily flicking.

“ Leona. ” you groaned, trying to push him off. “ Get off me! ”

“ Meow. ” he replied, deadpan, refusing to budge.

“ Don’t ‘meow’ me! You’re not a cat! ”

“ Could’ve fooled me. ” he muttered, eyes still closed.

“ Leona! ”

He finally rolled off you with a dramatic sigh, flopping onto the bed beside you. “ You’re so uptight. You should be honored I chose you as my pillow. ”

“ Honored, my— ” you cut yourself off, glaring at him as he smirked smugly. “ Just go to your room! ”

“ Nah, too far. ” he replied, closing his eyes again. “ Night, herbivore. ”

Despite your irritation, you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. He could be insufferable, but moments like this made you feel... less alone.

As Leona grew older, his attachment to you deepened, but so did his jealousy.

He despised seeing you interact with others, especially men. The few times someone came to visit you, Leona would sulk in the corner, glaring daggers until they left.

“ Leona, what’s your problem? ” you asked one day after a particularly tense encounter.

He shrugged, not meeting you eyes. “ I don’t like them. ”

“ You don’t even know them. ” you pointed out.

“ Don’t need to. ” he replied, his tone clipped.

“ Leona— ” you began, but he cut her off.

“ They’re not good enough for you. ” he said firmly, his green eyes meeting you with startling intensity. “ No one is. ”

You sighed, ruffling his hair. “ You need to work on that temper of yours. ”

But Leona didn’t see it as a temper. To him, it was justice. No one else deserved you time, you attention—you affection.

The day everything fell apart was supposed to be ordinary.

You had gone out to a local gathering, leaving Leona at home. He had asked to come with you, but you insisted he stay. “ It’s just a few hours. ” you said. “ You’ll survive. ”

But he didn’t feel like he could.

Every minute you was gone felt like an eternity. The thought of you laughing, smiling with strangers, made his blood boil. By the time you returned, he was pacing the living room, his tail swishing furiously.

“ Leona, what are you doing? ” you asked, frowning.

“ Where were you? ” he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

“ I told you, I went to a gathering. ” you replied, setting down you bag.

“ With who? ”

“ Does it matter? ”

“ Yes, it does! ” he snapped, his voice rising.

You stared at him, taken aback. “ Leona, you’re acting ridiculous. ”

“ Am I? ” he growled, stepping closer. “ You just leave me here, alone, while you go off and— ”

“ Enough! ” you interrupted, you tone sharp. “ I am not going to justify myself to you. You’re not a child anymore, Leona. You need to grow up. ”

His claws extended involuntarily, his anger bubbling over. “ You don’t get it, do you? You’re all I have! ”

“ And that’s the problem! ” you shot back. “ You can’t keep clinging to me like this. It’s not healthy, Leona! ”

The words cut deeper than any blade. For a moment, he froze, staring at you as if you had just betrayed him.

And then he snapped.

Leona’s claws swiped out before he could stop himself. The force of his strike sent you stumbling back, you hand clutching your side where his claws had torn through you shirt and skin.

Blood seeped through your fingers as you stared at him in shock.

He took a step back, his green eyes wide with horror. “ I... I didn’t mean to— ”

You collapsed to the floor, you breaths shallow. He dropped to his knees beside you, desperately pressing his hands against the wound, trying to stop the bleeding.

“ Don’t die. ” he whispered, his voice trembling. “ Please, don’t die. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t— ”

You hand reached up, weakly brushing against his cheek. “ Leona... ” you murmured, you lips curving into a faint, forgiving smile. “ It’s okay. ”

But it wasn’t okay.

You hand fell limp, your eyes closing as your body went still.

Leona sat beside you grave, his head bowed, his hands trembling.

“ I killed you. ” he whispered, his voice raw with guilt. “ You were the only one who ever cared about me, and I killed you. ”

The wind rustled the leaves above him, but no answer came.

For the rest of his days, Leona carried the weight of his actions, haunted by the memory of the one person he had loved—and destroyed.

In the end, he was a king without a kingdom, a lion without a pride.

And it was all his fault.

[knottedhearts]

The space between us: B.E

a/n: This is part three, the final. If your havent read one or two, go read! If you want ofc.

Enjoy!

The next morning, sunlight streams through the bedroom window, painting soft patterns across the bed. You’re still holding Billie, her head resting against your chest, her breathing steady and calm. Neither of you slept much, but the weight of last night’s fight feels lighter now—like a storm that’s left the air fresher, even if the damage still lingers.

Billie stirs first, her blue eyes fluttering open as she looks up at you. For a moment, it’s quiet, and then her gaze drops.

“I feel stupid,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper.

You brush your fingers through her dark brown hair, gently untangling knots from last night’s tears. “Don’t,” you reply softly. “You weren’t stupid. You were honest. And I needed to hear it.”

She closes her eyes, leaning into your touch. “I just—when I think about losing you, it makes me panic. Like I can’t breathe.”

Your heart aches at the vulnerability in her voice. “You’re not losing me, Billie,” you say, tilting her chin up so she has to look at you. “Ever.”

Her lips tremble, but she nods, letting herself believe you. “I know I overreacted. I should’ve trusted you.”

“And I should’ve been more careful with your feelings,” you counter. “I should’ve noticed how this was making you feel before it got to this point.”

She sighs, pulling back slightly, though her fingers still linger against yours. “So, what happens now?”

You sit up, leaning back against the headboard. ���We talk more,” you say firmly. “No more bottling things up until they explode. If something’s bothering you—or me—we deal with it before it gets this bad again.”

Billie nods but looks down, picking at the edge of the blanket. “And Luke?”

You pause, choosing your words carefully. “Luke is my best friend, but you’re my girlfriend. If seeing him as much as I do makes you uncomfortable, we’ll find a balance—one that works for both of us. I’m not willing to lose you over this.”

She studies you, her blue eyes searching your face for any hesitation. When she finds none, she exhales softly and crawls closer, resting her head on your shoulder.

“I don’t want you to stop seeing him,” she admits. “I just want to feel like I’m enough. Like I’m the one you’d rather be with.”

You tilt her face toward yours and press a soft kiss to her lips. “You are enough. More than enough.”

She kisses you back, slow and tender, and when she pulls away, her eyes are clearer—like some of the weight she’s been carrying has finally lifted.

“Can we just stay here a little longer?” she asks quietly.

You smile, pulling her closer. “As long as you want.”

The two of you sink back into the pillows, the morning light warming the room. It’s not perfect—there are still cracks that need fixing, insecurities that need mending—but it’s a start. And as Billie’s fingers intertwine with yours, you know you’re both willing to fight for it.

[thetepes]

Sorry I HAVE to jump in with her post about pocd and therapist. I cannot speak to universal expereinces but a few things.

1. Pocd is a manifestation of ocd that makes you fear you are a pedophile. It is an intensely irrational fear and the people who suffer from it are disgusted at the idea. Not like ‘oh they don’t wanna be caught’ but ‘this goes against every fibre of my being and I cannot bear to live with myself if its true.’ Study on it is still new because the shame it brings people prevents discussion of it. But again, I HAVE to stress it is an irrational thought antithetical to the sufferers morals. The two are not the same and I am so angry predators have a new term they can hijack.

2.I dealt with fears like that which were manifested due to sexual abuse and access to pornography at a very early age. Discussion with a therapist involved peeling back the layers, working through that trauma, discussing my feelings, etc. never have any of my therapists suggested ‘acting on’ that shit. I believe she is either lying or saw some bullshit unlicensed therapist, or even just people in her horrifying hugbox,who validated her fantasies cause they’re into that shit too.

3. Sometimes coping mechanisms are bad. Coping mechanisms are often created during the moment and under stressful situations where proper help was not an option. They often only work for the situation you are presently in, and become an obstacle to your growth when you leave that situation. It’s taken years to undo my own and I’m still working through others. But because they make you feel secure, it is really tough to detach yourself from them. So many people I’ve met stay firmly rooted in their coping mechanisms insisting they are valid and make them feel safe. Like yeah bud. So can smoking. Something making you feel good does not equate it to being right.

It terrifies me that communities like this are allowed to exist

Ageplay =/= POCD =/= pedophilia

Coping mechanisms and addiction are horrifyingly close together and the just...handwaving assumption it's all fine because it's a coping mechanism is becoming all too common.

Here for you, anon, proud of you for doing the work to get to a better place.

[steddiealltheway]

By some twist in fate, Eddie and Nancy become friends.

It starts when Eddie sees her at The Hideout standing out very much in the sea of dark clothes wearing a lavender sweater and jeans. Eddie tells his band mates he’ll be right back when he rushes off to Nancy, noticing how people are starting to stare at her a bit.

“Nance?” Eddie asks, hands in the pockets of his black jeans trying not to make it obvious that he’s fidgety. He knows that she can defend herself, but it looks like some of the guys in the bar are going to test it, and he hopes his presence will make them back off a bit.

Nancy turns and her eyebrows furrow before she gives him a tight smile. “Eddie? What are you doing here?”

“Just finished up a gig. What are you doing here?” Eddie asks.

Nancy looks around and loudly says, “I was just here to see you play. I can’t believe I missed it.” She throws her arms around Eddie and whispers in his ear, “I’m looking into something.”

As she pulls away, Eddie smiles and puts his arm around her. “How about we talk outside?”

Nancy nods and walks toward the exit. Eddie turns and waves Gareth off as he stares at him with his jaw dropped.

As soon as they’re outside, Nancy lets out a deep breath and Eddie rushes off to his van, not trusting the few people outside staring. He opens the passenger door for Nancy and goes quickly to the driver side. When the door closes, Nancy immediately says, “I know this probably sounds crazy, but I think there’s a dog fighting ring below The Hideout.”

Eddie sits back and takes in the information. He shrugs. “Okay. I can believe that.”

Nancy rambles on, “And I know there’s not great evidence and it’s a shot in the dark but-” She stops and looks at Eddie. “You believe me?”

“Yeah. You’re one of the smartest people I know, and the Creel stuff checked out, so why wouldn’t I believe you?”

“I gave you no evidence,” Nancy says as if she’s trying to talk herself out of her own theory.

Eddie shrugs again. “Then, give it to me.”

And she does. Telling him about a dog she saw chained in the backyard of someone’s house with marks consistent with an attack. How the only time the owner brings the dog inside is when he leaves his garage to drive to The Hideout, although he usually parks in the driveway which means he probably doesn't want people to see him putting the dog in his car. How he parks at the back of the bar in a fenced-off section that only a few other cars can go in. How she’s seen dogs in the other cars and even barking in the back that fades almost as if the noise starts traveling down. But this is the first time she’s gone inside.

“Well, that all sounds pretty damning, but you’re going to have to stop your investigation style.”

Nancy crosses her arms. “What does that mean?”

“I mean, you stick out like a reporter, and your notebook was sticking out of your pocket in there. No one is going to talk to you, and if they think something is up, then you risk them relocating. So, I suggest we give you a metal makeover and you let me drive you here in my van because your shiny little car is just as suspicious.”

Nancy looks a bit pissed as she states, “I don’t need your help or protection.”

Eddie smiles. “I know you don’t, but I would be a great undercover buddy and excuse for your presence at The Hideout.”

Nancy narrows her eyes at him. “Why are you helping me?”

“One, you saved my life. Two, this sounds like an adventure,” Eddie says throwing his arms out with glee.

Nancy tries to suppress a smile before she sighs, “Fine, but if you blow the case…”

“I’m dead, and I never go on anymore adventures with you. Got it.” Eddie holds out his hand with a wide smile, and Nancy takes it, shaking it one time.

It feels like the start of a wonderful friendship.

-:-:-:-:-:-

“Wow,” Eddie says staring in awe at his work.

“I feel ridiculous, Eddie,” Nancy says, dark eyeliner smudged around her eyes, chains dangling over her tight black pants, and one of Eddie’s band t-shirts tucked into them.

“Well, you look absolutely metal,” Eddie says with a bright smile.

Nancy rolls her eyes but smiles.

Eddie thinks for a second before announcing, “We should stop by Family Video to show off your new look.”

Nancy scoffs.

“I always stop by on Wednesday! Please,” Eddie practically begs. He can’t wait to see the look on Steve’s face when he sees her. He wonders if Robin will be there too.

Nancy gets a little investigative twinkle in her eye. “You stop by every Wednesday, huh?”

Eddie eyes her. There’s no way she knows about his crush or the fact that he stops by every Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and sometimes Saturday and Sunday depending on if Steve's working the weekend shift. He tries to brush it off. “Yes, so I must stop by today. Right now actually, so you’re coming with, Wheeler. We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”

Nancy narrows her eyes at him.

“Alright, we’re doing this the easy way. Got it,” Eddie says, voice cracking a bit with fear that only Nancy can evoke. Luckily, she follows him to his van and gets in willingly.

A quick trip over and a surprisingly pleasant conversation later, and Eddie is dramatically entering Family Video. His heart skips a beat when he spots Steve at the counter looking at him, and he nearly forgets the reason for his dramatics. Then, Nancy clears her throat, still hiding behind him, and Eddie makes eye contact with Robin who is raising her eyebrows expectantly.

Luckily, the store is empty when he dramatically announces, “Lady and gentleman, I present to you-”

“Ruth,” Nancy whispers behind him.

Eddie moves to the side and dramatically presents, “Ruth!”

Robin looks like she’s about to die on the spot, and Steve well… he looks a bit shocked.

Eddie hooks his arm around Nancy and walks her up to the counter. “What do you think Steve?" His heart tugs a bit as he notices the way Steve doesn't look at Nancy but instead focuses in on Eddie's arm draped around her shoulders. His jaw flexes and his nostrils flare as he looks at Eddie and nods. "She looks great like a female version of you." He tries to smile at him, but it comes off forced and almost scary.

Eddie's arm guiltily slides off Nancy and a blush settles over his cheeks. He feels weirdly embarrassed as he passes Nancy off to Robin who stutters while complimenting her.

Eddie takes the break to look at Steve who stares at a stack of tapes, fiddling with them as if to make it perfectly stacked. "Didn't realize you two were so close."

"We're working undercover on a case," Eddie says with a big smile, feeling almost giddy with excitement.

Nancy laughs, overhearing him. "We're investigating something," she corrects, but adds on, "An adventure." Her eyes light up and her eyebrows raise, and Eddie feels an intense platonic love for the woman.

He glances back at Steve who continues staring at his tapes. "Sounds fun," he says flatly.

Eddie feels another shoot of pain in his heart, almost stricken by guilt. He and Steve have been talking and relatively close for the past few weeks, but suddenly he gets weird when he becomes friends with Nancy?

It strikes Eddie suddenly. He's jealous.

Of course Steve would be jealous of Eddie parading around with his ex-girlfriend! It makes so much sense. He probably thinks he's corrupting her or something.

When Robin asks Nancy more about her investigation, Eddie can't help but lean over the counter and mumble, "You know that there's nothing happening between me and Nancy, right? She doesn't like me like that at all. Trust me. Don't have to worry about her being taken or whatever especially by me," Eddie rambles out, laughing at the end to add to how ridiculous the thought even is.

Steve looks at him confused. "That's not- that isn't..." He shakes his head and goes back to his stack. "I don't have feelings for Nance."

Eddie almost scoffs at that because hello. All signs point to jealousy. "So, you're not jealous?"

"No of you," Steve mutters still fidgeting with the tapes.

Eddie nods. Maybe he's just having a bad day or something. "Great, glad we cleared that up. But uh- are you okay?"

Steve nods and gives him that same tight smile. "Yup."

Yeah, he's definitely not fine, but he's not gonna push it. He glances over at Nancy to ask if she's ready to go, but then he sees the way she's leaning over the counter toward Robin, chatting animatedly about her evidence while Robin listens with heart eyes, practically drooling as she asks Nancy more questions. And what's even more interesting is the way Nancy gets flustered as Robin asks questions she hadn't thought of before and a blush slowly appears on Nancy's cheeks.

Eddie watches in awe as the two form more theories with their ideas bouncing off of each other as they slowly lean closer and closer until Nancy's arms are pressing against Robin's. Eddie softly smiles. If Nancy can tease him about his crush, he's going to certainly tease her about hers.

"Watch it there. You might start drooling if you stare too hard," Steve mutters to Eddie, hurt evident in his tone.

"Why would I be drooling?"

Steve rolls his eyes and loudly announces, "I'm going on my break." The two girls jump apart as he storms off to the back and slams the door behind him. Christ. What has him in such a bad mood?

"Damn, what did you say to him?" Robin asks with her arms crossed.

Eddie raises his hands. "I have no idea."

Nancy raises her eyebrows. "Oh, I have an idea, but come on. I think that was our cue to leave." She turns back to Robin and very regretfully says goodbye before Eddie follows her outside.

"Really, I have no idea-"

"He's jealous, Eddie," Nancy states with a small smile.

Eddie fidgets and says, "Well, he told me he wasn't after I explained you don't have feelings for me."

Nancy laughs, and Eddie stares at her. "What am I missing?"

"He's not jealous of you! He's jealous of me. He likes you, Eddie, and don't tell me I'm wrong because I know what he's like when he likes someone."

Eddie stops to think about the way Steve had hardly paid attention to Nancy and gave all his attitude to Eddie. But that can't be true, and he knows he can't say that to Nancy, so instead he stirs the pot. "And you like Robin, and she likes you back!"

Nancy's jaw drops and she splutters, "She doesn't- I don't- She... That is not what we're discussing right now!"

"Here's what I think," Eddie says, ignoring Nancy's attempt at changing the topic, "I think that you should go to The Hideout with Robin because you two clearly work well together, and she's a better investigator than I am. Plus, you two have the experience after the whole library and asylum thing."

Nancy takes a second to consider it and asks, "But what about you? I know you wanted the adventure."

Eddie's stomach flips a bit at how caring Nancy Wheeler is. "I think I've had enough adventure in the Upside Down to last a lifetime. Plus, I have a weak stomach, and I might throw up if I saw a dog fighting ring."

Nancy smiles and huffs a laugh. She looks down at her feet a moment before looking at Eddie with a determined look that scares him. "If I go with Robin, you'll take her work vest and cover the rest of her shift. Plus, I get your van so we have a ride."

"Deal," Eddie says handing her his keys without thinking.

"Have fun with Steve," Nancy says with a big smile running back into Family Video.

Shit, he had forgotten about that part.

Eddie races inside, but it's too late, Nancy is already talking to Robin about the plan. She hands over her vest to Eddie and squeals, "Tell Steve I'm not sorry at all."

The bell on the door rings as they both race out. Eddie sighs and makes his way to the back, hoping that Steve won't entirely lose his shit at the news.

He knocks on the door and gets a, "Leave me alone, Robin," in response.

"It's Eddie. Robin left with Nancy," Eddie says loudly through the door.

It quickly opens with Steve looking a bit frantic and confused. "She what?"

"She left to investigate with Nancy. I'm covering the rest of the shift."

Steve stares at him for a few seconds and sighs running a hand over his face. "I didn't mean to make you lose your chances with Nance. That was a dick move, man. I can cover the rest of the shift on my own, and you can go with them."

Eddie crosses his arms. "I told you she doesn't have feelings for me."

"Yeah, but you have feelings for her clearly. You couldn't take your eyes off of her after that whole makeover of yours. Turned her into your perfect girl or whatever," Steve says angrily, and Eddie sees that same jealousy returning.

"Why are you getting so jealous?" Eddie asks outright, refusing to fully rely on Nancy's explanation.

Steve runs a hand through his hair and rests it on his hip. He looks at Eddie for a few seconds, eyes wandering all over his face before blurting out, "Because I like you! Okay! And I thought maybe you did too because of how often you come in and talk to me, but clearly, I was wrong." He brushes past Eddie and goes back to that damn stack of tapes, fidgeting with them again.

Eddie takes a deep breath and says, "Steve?"

Steve tenses up, and Eddie continues, "You realize that I don't have feelings for Nancy because I have this huge overwhelming crush on you that I never thought would go anywhere, right?"

Steve turns around quickly. "Huh?"

Eddie slowly walks up to him. "Nancy tried to tell me that you were jealous of her, and I thought it wasn't possible. That there was no way that you could like me like that. In fact, I'm pretty sure I'm dreaming right now."

"Me too," Steve says with his eyes wide.

Eddie stops in front of him and cautiously smiles. "So, what now?"

Steve smiles back. "You know, I once heard that if you want to wake up from a dream, you just grab someone in the dream and kiss them."

"Really?"

"No," Steve says stepping closer. "But I think it's worth a try."

"Me too," Eddie replies as he leans in and does what he's been dreaming of doing for weeks now. Steve's lips are soft and warm and Eddie feels like he could get lost in the way they move against his.

Sadly, Steve breaks the kiss and says, "Huh, not dreaming, which also means that I need to temporarily put the closed sign on the door."

Eddie's eyebrows furrow, still confused as to why the kiss ended early. "Why?"

Steve jumps over the counter and flips the sign. "So we can properly kiss in the back without the fear of people coming in. I'm still on my break, you know, and I know exactly how I want to spend every minute of it," Steve says all matter-of-fact as he makes his way back to Eddie and tugs him into the breakroom.

God bless, Nancy Wheeler.

(Oh, and Nancy's investigation pans out exactly as she expected. She busts the ring pretty fast, and in her article, she thanks ((her, now, girlfriend)) Robin and even Eddie for their help. And trust me, the fruity four go on plenty of adventures together. Plus, Eddie and Nancy are very willing to give their partners their platonic soulmate time, so they can also hang out.)