#lumine is confused

[luuciidaasimon]

Snowhite and prince au doodle

[tppart]

Any of you recognize this person? 👀

[nocherrybombs]

Veterans of the Meme War

Arlecchino, scythe in hand: Disobedient children must face the consequences of their actions. Come, Lyney, Lynette, Freminet; we will settle this on the battlefield.

Lyney: Well lads, it's been a pleasure serving with you, but it looks like this is the end of the line. We fucked around, and now we're going to find out.

Lynette: No items, Fox only, Final Destination.

Lyney: And no airbag. We die like men.

Freminet: I did always say I was here for a good time, not a long time.

Lynette: Frfr. Hashtag relatable, hashtag YOLO.

Arlecchino, slowly lowering scythe: W-what does any of that mean?! Are you... is this rebellious behavior some kind of cry for help? Should I be worried about you three?

Lyney: It's okay, 'Father', the only thing you need to worry about is the mind goblin.

Arlecchino: And what, pray tell, is a mind goblin?!?

Lynette: LMAO, gottem.

Lyney: Mind gobblin' deez nuts! Attack!!!

Lynette, launching herself across the battlefield: Yeet!

[daringdoombringer]

Luminous is such an interesting character and villain to me despite what little screentime he got. A overlord of light so unbelievably petrified of the dark, he’s made it his mission to eliminate it from Skylands entirely. A mission that might’ve started with good intent, sure. Yet his fear drove him to do anything, to destroy anything or anyone in his way in the pursuit of ultimate light. Luminous didn’t care if he was labeled as a villain or madman for doing such. He doesn’t care as he believes what he’s doing is RIGHT. He doesn’t care that he was banished to Sunscraper Spire by Knight Light for doing what he did. He cares about nothing but feeling SAFE. I don’t believe Luminous is truly evil. He’s a man who was so consumed by his own paranoia and rage, it made him do unspeakable things in his own bout of twisted righteousness. He just wants to be safe. He just wants to be at peace.

He RUNS INTO THE GODDAMN PORTAL WHEN YOU TRAP HIM. NO OTHER VILLAIN IN THE GAME DOES THAT.

I wanna write a short fic of his redemption after he was Trapped and he learns to make friends and get over his fears and AAAA THIS DUDE NEEDS THERAPY.I WANNA SEE HIM HAPPY😭 he’s only known malice and loneliness being stuck in Sunscraper Spire for Eon knows how long I wanna give him a hug.

[stellcrwind]

Cecil honks at Lumine @goose-of-the-fatui

Lumine was a bit tired from her previous excursion now ends up jumping back and startled before she blinked a few times. The honk sent her off guard as she was now wide awake and looking completely confused. "Uhh.. you honked at me?"

[cute-cutie]

Question, why does paimon and the traveler suddenly know what a Saurian is???? Did I miss something in the dialogue?????

[botanists-little-cookie]

A Potion and a Sparkling Ring

Aslia x Hina | romantic fluff

a proposal fic? whaaaat???? okay but seriously i've started calling Hina my wife and then the potions event happened so uh. here we are i guess

"Oho, so you're the ones behind the potion shop I've heard so much about! When it comes to fulfilling requests, I heard the customer's wish is practically your command."

At the sound of her girlfriend's voice, Aslia looks up from the book she's reading. Sure enough, Hina is standing there, her eyes twinkling and tail wagging. The rabbit lady blushes, and buries her face in her book to the sound of Lisa's teasing giggle. As Paimon and Lumine greet the general and her companion, Aslia's mind drifts. A bag hangs off the back of rose chair, and this is the perfect situation for ro to make use of it.

A brief tug on rose arm makes rose look up. Lisa is tugging gently on her arm, a silent encouragement to go greet the guests. Kirara, who Aslia is only vaguely acquainted with, is rocking back and forth idly. Lisa greets the guests in her usual playful tone, while Aslia stares at Hina with a wistful smile as ro shoulders rose bag. Then ro basically sprints the short distance between the potions stand and the cauldron where the others stand, exclaiming, "Puppy!"

Hina barely has enough time to turn around before she receives an armful of her girlfriend, but her tail is wagging more than before. Aslia presses kisses all over Hina's face as the general giggles and manages to say, "Hey, Bunny!"

"Oh, this cutie seems to like you," Lisa teases. Aslia pulls away from Hina, rolling rose eyes playfully. Crossing her arms and turning to Lisa she grumbles, "Lisa!"

Lisa puts her hands up in surrender with a little giggle. She keeps talking, but Aslia stops paying attention. Ro is more concerned with rummaging around in rose bag, pausing when ro finally finds the item ro's looking for.

A small box.

She'd had this for months, waiting for the perfect opportunity to give it to its intended recipient.

And now here's the recipient, standing right in front of her, unaware of what Aslia holds in her hands.

"Hey, Shining Star, are you gonna help out?" Lumine asks, causing Aslia to jump and nearly drop the box. She approaches the cauldron, asking, "So, Lulu, what're we making?"

Lumine explains the potion the three of them will be making for Hina and Kirara. One to keep them, and the soldiers of Watatsumi, in peak condition. Aslia nods in understanding as she prepares herself for her role in making the potion. She leans over Lumine's shoulder, pointing out places to put ingredients to make the most efficient potion.

When it's done, Lumine pours it into a heart-shaped bottle, picked out by a blushing Aslia. Then Paimon attaches a decoration to the bottle, whilst Lumine sidles over to Aslia.

"So... Hina," Lumine giggles, "and that little box I saw?" Aslia lets out a squeak of embarrassment, rose face burning. Ro knows that Lumine has figured out what's in the box, so ro just nods a little. Lumine grins wide and chirps, "About time!"

"About time for what?" Paimon asks, poking their head over Lumine's shoulder as they pass the finished potion to it. Lumine takes the potion and whispers, "Aslia's hoping to get engaged."

"Again?" Paimon asks, louder than strictly necessary, prompting Hina and Kirara to glance over for just a moment before resuming their conversation. Aslia pulls out the box again, looking at it with a faraway stare. Paimon looks at rose, then over to where Hina and Kirara are speaking. Then back to Aslia, then Hina, then Aslia one more time. Recognition dawns on their face, and then a smile.

"Good luck!" Paimon chirps, patting Aslia on the back. Meanwhile, Lumine holds out her hand with a knowing smirk. Aslia tilts her head in confusion, before Lumine gestures to the ring.

"Put the ring around the potion neck. Hina sees the ring. You propose," she starts, before Paimon finishes, "Bam! There you go!"

The plan makes Aslia blush, but ro nods in agreement. Lumine holds out the bottle, and Aslia carefully works the ring over the neck. It's big enough - or the bottle neck is small enough, Aslia's not sure - that the ring slides down easily.

Then Lumine approaches Hina and Kirara, distracting them from their conversation. Paimon encourages them to try the potion, with Hina praising it with her usual genuine smile. Kirara tests it as well, also having nothing but compliments.

"Hey, what's this?" Kirara examines the bottle carefully upon spotting the ring. Then her eyebrows raise in realization, and she giggles with a playful, "General, I believe this is for you!"

"H-huh...?" Hina stammers, taking the bottle and staring at the ring. Aslia clears rose throat. Ro's down on one knee, rose hands out as if gesturing to the ring on the bottle. Ro just hopes ro looks more confident than ro feels.

"Hina... will you marry me?"

Hina blushes, her entire face burning red. Aslia can see her tail wagging as she stares at Aslia for a long moment before announcing her answer of, "Of course!"

Lumine, Paimon, and Kirara burst into cheers as Aslia leaps up, and then Hina pulls her into a kiss.

This, of course, is the exact moment that Lisa approaches. She compliments them, her usually playful tone entirely genuine. Aslia thanks her as ro removes the ring from the bottle and places it on Hina's finger. It's a black band, with an amber-colored gemstone in the middle. She'd had to pay Wagner a fair bit of Mora to get him to make it, but it was worth every single one.

"Well, I guess our afternoon tea is more of an engagement party now, huh cuties?" Lisa asks playfully. Aslia and Hina both blush, though Aslia is also rolling her eyes playfully.

"Now I'm really glad we decided to make that delay," Hina giggles to her new fiancée.

"So am I," Aslia replies with a fond smile, "So am I."

[viaetor]

SPECIAL HEADCANON I’VE BEEN WORKING ON which i may or may not write a future drabble about, but for now, just a simple post will do since i’ve been developing these with some dear writing partners of mine. to put it simply, since i’ll also be integrating this from hereon, my aether has a lowkey god complex when it comes to his (im)mortality.

as i’ve stated in a lot of other headcanon posts, he isn’t human; he’s a star-forged deity, a caeling. this means that his species is meant to live for billions of years, just like real stars would. he and lumine are quite young in comparison to other caelings, being around three thousand years old each. they are (or, well, were) known to be all-powerful, controlling cosmic elements and what have you, loved and respected by the astros above in the sea of stars, the prime of fighters and universe’s willmakers. therefore, having battle scratches or getting hurt was a luxury they’d experience once in a thousand years.

ever since falling in teyvat, aether lost his wings, his divinity, his strength, his ability to communicate with the stars, as well as his connection with lumine—he knows all of that, and he grieves deeply, for he feels those losses in his very core. but he doesn’t realise that, since he’s bound in teyvat by its laws and concepts, his very being bends to them. he’s stronger than most, sure, but that doesn’t mean he’s much more resistant than a regular vision holder human. and he refuses to see that (perhaps because he doesn’t sense it immediately). he bleeds a black, thick type of blood—yet because he has never been injured that badly before, it’s unconceivable to him to even consider that that blood on his hands is his. death doesn’t come easily as a concept to him either—others can die, it’s life’s natural cycle for humans and mortals alike, but him and lumine? no. that can’t be… right? so even if his vision is blurry and he’s dizzy, feeling his energy wearing out, he won’t ever think that there’s any actual danger to himself. he’s a warrior. he was designed for this. to fight, to protect, to serve. he can’t lose this, too.

[moonlights-thoughts]

How does math work in art???

[theloudlyhappy]

I want to read a fic where Lumine (or Aether I suppose) mentions or has someone mention their name and everyone is like “YOU ARENT NAMED TRAVELER???” or alternatively “YOU TOLD THEM YOUR NAME????”

[sociallyawkwardseal]

Prompt: Fictober: "Fine. Explain it to me."

Fandom: Lumine

Summary: Sera hasn't talked to Camille in a couple of weeks. Camille is desperate to find her and talk about it. (Takes place a few days after the initial incident).

Content Warnings: None that I can think of!

Words: 943

Through the crowd, Camille caught a brief glance of a familiar pink scarf. Though it was just out of reach, the face of its owner just out of sight—hair and ears hidden by a cap—she knew. She didn’t have to see her face to know that it was Sera. It was innate, almost like magic itself, the two had been so close to each other for so, so long, that even a few weeks of separation wouldn’t cause her to misidentify her.

“Sera!” Camille reached out, pushing past the couple as she shuffled through the small crowd of people looking at the farmer’s market booth. “Sera—” She lost sight of her for a moment and whipped around, her eyes scanning every face and outfit that she could.

Pink, pink, look for that pale pink scarf. She repeated to herself. Sera’s had it for years. It’s her favorite. She’s had it since we were in school.

When she saw the end of it, everything else in the world disappeared; the noise, the clutter of the walking path, the people nearby faded and left her alone in the cold winter sun with Sera. She reached out, seizing her arm and holding tight to the sleeve; her green eyes immediately flicking up to stare into her brown eyes.

“Where have you been?” Camille said, her eyes desperately scanning Sera’s face for any answer. Anything. “I’ve been worried sick about you—do you realize how long I’ve been trying to find you? You don’t answer my calls, my texts, you don’t answer your door or come over anymore—”

Not now. I can’t cry now. She scolded herself, her eyes burning as she stared at Sera’s aghast face. Ever since you accidentally took that stupid potion…

“Do you have any idea how much I’ve missed you…?”

“Camille…” Sera’s expression softened as she turned more to face her, her bag falling heavily against the bend of her elbow and rocking her only briefly. She reached out, taking Camille’s other arm in her own hand. “It’s a lot. And it’s just. Complicated. Dumb, it’s dumb…”

“Fine.” Camille replied, gritting her teeth as she squeezed Sera’s arm a little—a small reassurance that she was real, that she was here in front of her. That this wasn’t just a dream. “Explain it to me, then. Why are you trying so hard to avoid me?”

“I’ll explain. Just. Come on, let’s get off the street.” You’re actually about to cry… She tacked on silently, squeezing Camille’s arm in return before pulling away. Usually you’re so composed. A little grumpy, but… “Sorry about all of this.”

“God, I can’t believe I’m about to cry in front of you.” Camille hissed, still holding onto Sera’s arm as the two moved through the small crowd and towards a nearby bench. “In the middle of the street, at that.”

“It’s fine. I figured you would be upset…” Sera’s arm slid as she turned around to face her again; she moved to lightly touch Camille’s gloved hand, and waited for Camille to shift to hold her hand. “I really am sorry. I didn’t think it would bother you this much…”

“I hear you, I hear you.” Camille said, easing onto the bench as she held her hand loosely in hers. She squeezed, slowly relaxing. Sure, the warmth they shared was blocked by the gloves, but having her there, tangible, her voice grumbling and soft against her ears, it was reassuring enough. “So. Why…?”

Sera stayed quiet for a moment, avoiding eye contact as she rubbed her thumb along the side of Camille’s hand. She wasn’t sure what she was trying to look at—there wasn’t much of a crowd anymore, she wasn’t sure that there even was one to begin with, or if she herself just felt crowded and trapped. “It’s going to sound. So stupid.”

“As if you just running out of my place freaking out and swearing you would pay me back wasn’t stupid? Insisting it was your fault, when I was the one who left the bottle closer to you, saying that you would pay me back for all of it, what you drank, the ingredients to reverse it—you were sick. What if you were a different patient and I had done that?” Camille teased, a tiny smile pulling on her lips. “You didn’t have to do that, you know. We can work on getting the funds to change you back to—”

“No. I need to do this alone. You can say it wasn’t my fault all you want, but…” Sera closed her eyes, breathing a sigh into the neck of her scarf as she sank a little bit. “I practically lived there. I should have known better, or I should have called or texted and asked if one of the bottles you left out was actually for me… I wasn’t a normal patient. I was sleeping in your bed, Camille. Who does that?”

“Definitely not a normal patient. Our bed, though. You know I consider it ours.”

“Not the point.” Sera closed her eyes. “The point is: I wasted something you made. Something expensive that you made. And I’m going to pay you back. I just… Feel awful being around you until then. So… While I work on this, while I work on paying you back, I just… Need a little bit of space.”

Camille took a moment, processing what was said. She nodded slowly, and looked back to Sera’s face—though, it’s not like she looked back at her.

“Alright. I’ll give you that space. I’m just glad you were actually able to tell me now…”

[gaymergoose]

oops genshin posting again but holy shit the ending of bedtime story was really well done, that shit HIT

[poswiecenia]

what shatters you? ft. lumine.

betrayal.

you are so tired of giving your trust away , only to have it thrown back in your face ... your heart has been broken , again and again , by those you've mistakenly believed in. " perhaps this time will be different " , you say. my dear , it won't. your heart is too gullible for the cruel world around you.

tagged by: stole dis from @glacialswordsman tagging: @fckurselfie ( wise ), @tartagla, @dawnbrst, @dasniichts + anyone else who wanna <3

[yogirl-willow]

The Crimson Pact | Part 7

Characterizations | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12

SoulBond!AU

Pairings: Yandere!Saja Boys x F!Reader

Synopsis: You were never supposed to remember them.

Four hundred years ago, a pact was made—a blood-soaked bond tying five demons to one human soul: yours.

They’ve waited lifetimes for your reincarnation, cursed with obsession, tethered by fate.

And now that you’ve returned?

They’ll burn the world before they let you go again.

Warnings: Soul bond with the Saja Boys, Yandere themes!, obsessive behavior / possessiveness, romantic psychological tension, mentions of implied past death / reincarnation, intense emotional fixation, yearning, dark romance, hurt/comfort

A/N: Y'all this is it. The chapter I know many of you guys have been WAITING for. I think you know what I mean. I've been DYING to release this one. This part is longer than the others. Be prepared for the emotional whiplash (nothing too angsty - though backstory here is a killer). We're diving into some intense territory now with the bond. And after this chapter, the spice levels will rise. I hope you enjoy this one!

───────── ༺🜃༻ ─────────

The Saja boys are all demons.

They are wrath and ruin. Jealousy and death.

And yet, before her, they kneel.

Because she is the Heart. Because her soul is what keeps them from unraveling into true monsters. Because they were bound by her love and her curse.

They don’t just crave her—they depend on her. Without her presence, their minds deteriorate. Their bodies decay. Their hunger becomes unbearable.

Only Y/N’s touch tames the demon inside.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

Names (For those who get confused): Haneul (Abby), Seoha (Romance), Hwimori/Hwi (Mystery)

────────── ⚘ ──────────

Part 7

The Room Where We Return

You dream. Again. But this time, it’s not someone else’s memory. It’s yours.

You stand at the center of nothing and everything—void and light coiling like mist around your feet. Your skin glows, soft and pulsing, like something not entirely human anymore. Something caught between. Your hands are raised. Open. Trembling.

And from your chest—Crimson threads unravel. Smoke-like. Luminous. Alive. Each one stretches into the dark, winding through the void like veins, tugging toward five distant shapes.

Jinu. Haneul. Seoha. Hwimori. Baby.

You can’t see their faces, but you know them—by feeling, by pull, by pain. The threads sink into them, into their chests, hearts, cores. And when they twitch—so do you. You try to breathe. But it’s like those threads are lungs. And they are breath.

One thread pulses. Another burns. Another coils tighter. You try to step back but you can’t.

Because you’re not holding them. They’re holding you. And every line that connects you is both a leash and a lifeline. They glow brighter. You flicker.

And then—

You wake.

Gasping, heart pounding like it’s trying to claw its way out of your ribs. The room is dark. Cool. Quiet. But you aren’t. You press a hand to your chest. It’s still there—that echo. The phantom pull. Like invisible strings wound through your bones.

You sit up slowly, vision swimming, thoughts tangled. It wasn’t just a dream. You felt it. The connection. The weight. The heat of them inside you, wrapped in something more than memory.

Something deeper than even the soulbond. You don’t know the word. But you feel its shape. Not a passenger in their curse—but the anchor. The thing that lets them stay.

You swallow hard. Because that means…  If the threads fray— You all fall.

Theres a faint knock at the door. Then a pause. Not tentative. Not polite. Just… waiting. Like a predator letting you catch your breath. You don’t answer. But the door opens anyway.

He walks in like he owns the air. Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t ask. Just stands in your doorway with that quiet, unsettling stillness that’s somehow louder than shouting.

Baby.

His eyes find you instantly—tucked in bed, arms clutching the sheets, skin damp with sweat. Your breath’s still erratic, your chest still rising too fast. And his jaw tightens. Hard.

“Another dream?” he asks, voice low, flat. Not emotionless. Controlled but barely. You nod slowly. He walks closer. No hesitation. No uncertainty. Just that quiet, unshakeable pull.

He crouches beside the bed, one hand reaching for your wrist—checking your pulse without asking. His fingers are cold. Gentle. But the moment he feels how fast you’re beating, his face darkens. “I’ll destroy whatever’s haunting you,” he murmurs. Not a threat. Not bravado. A fact. A vow. You try to sit up, but he presses you back down with a firm palm on your shoulder. “No,” he says. “Rest. You’re not leaving this bed until your heart stops trying to escape your chest.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I do,” he snaps, finally looking you in the eye. And there it is. The storm. Quiet. Fierce. Controlled only by the thinnest thread.

“You think I don’t feel it?” he hisses, voice shaking now. “Every time you wake up like that. Every time you cry in silence. Every dream you don’t tell us about.” He leans closer, his lips almost at your temple. “I’d burn the world if it meant you slept peacefully.”

Your breath catches. The bond hums—taut, aching. He presses a kiss to your damp hair. Then another. His hand strokes down your arm, fingers splayed possessively over your pulse point like he’s branding you with touch alone.

“Next time,” he says softly, “call for me.” A pause. Then his lips ghost your ear: “I want to be the only thing in your dreams.”

He stands up slowly. Reluctantly. Like every inch he puts between you costs him something real. And before he leaves— He turns at the door, voice a whisper of steel: “If anything ever tries to take you again... it won’t live long enough to try twice.”

The door shuts. But you don’t feel alone. Not with how your pulse still trembles in your throat. Not with how your body still remembers his touch. Not with how, under your skin, every demon who loves you is starting to hum.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

The sky bleeds into dusk, soft violet bruising the clouds above. Crickets stir in the tall grass below. The city glows in the distance. Jinu leans against a stone wall, arms crossed, foot tapping impatiently against the gravel slope.

He checks his phone. Then checks the shadows. “She wants to meet and she’s late?” he tsked under his breath, scoffing. “Unbelievable.”

He shifts his weight again, jaw tightening. He hated this. Not the waiting. Not the secret meeting. But the distance. After everything that happened—after the old one, after the way you clung to Haneul like you’d die without him—Jinu didn’t want to be this far from you. Not for a second. Not while the taste of your fear still clung to his tongue like blood.

You should be in his arms. He should’ve been home. “Rumi,” he muttered, eyes narrowing. “You better be worth this.”

A figure appeared beside him, utterly silent. He shrieked. “Shit—” Jinu staggered back, hand over his heart. “You made me come all the way out here just so you could jump-scare me?!”

Rumi didn’t even blink. “Follow me.” She turned on her heel and started walking. He rolled his eyes, pushing off the wall. “Well, I’m thrilled you’re finally ready to talk. Although, I just want to clarify—this is not a date.”

She froze. “Date? No! Ew! What are you talking about?” she snapped.

Jinu held up the invitation she sent him. ‘Save the Date’.

Rumi groaned. “You’re so old. This is strictly a business meeting.”

Jinu sighed in relief. “Okay. Good.”

They walked side-by-side up the gentle slope, wind tugging at Rumi’s hair as the city lights flickered beneath them like stars. Then, finally, she spoke. “What if I told you there’s another way to get your freedom?”

Jinu’s brow raised. “Go on.”

Rumi stopped at the edge of the overlook, gaze on the skyline. “Help us win the idol awards. If Huntrix wins… the Honmoon will be sealed. Permanently. If we do this, Gwi Ma loses. The demons will vanish from this world. I’ll finally be free of these patterns. You’ll be free from him. No more debts. No more whispers in your head. You can stay—on this side, when the Honmoon is sealed.”

She looked at him now. “You could be free, Jinu.”

Jinu stared at her.

And then—he laughed. Short. Bitter. “You really don’t get it,” he said softly. He turned his back to the skyline, folding his arms again. “That’s not going to work. I’m not sealing us away.”

Rumi frowned. “Why not? You’ve always hated serving Gwi Ma—” Realization dawned in her eyes. “It’s her,” she whispered suddenly. “Isn’t it?”

Jinu’s expression hardened. And then—he nodded once. “Yes. It’s her.” His voice dropped into something deeper, darker, reverent and sharp all at once. “Our souls are tied to her. We’re soulbonded. Each of us. A bond deeper than blood or magic or fate.”

“She’s the reason we’re even here—you think we’d risk her? Gwi Ma made it clear: if we betray him, if we interfere with the destruction of the Honmoon, he’ll tear her from the cycle completely. No reincarnation. No afterlife. Just… gone.”

He met Rumi’s eyes now, fierce. “I’m not risking that. I’m not risking her.”

Rumi’s throat bobbed. Her fingers curled, face struck with realization. It made so much sense now. Why she’d seen you around them so often. That look in his eyes… So full of you. So absolute. So—

Familiar.

Is this how my father looked at my mother? she thought. Is this what he felt?

She shook her head. “But what if you didn’t have to lose her? What if—if the bond is strong enough—if she’s still on this side, you could stay too?”

“No,” Jinu snapped. “You don’t get it. Gwi Ma said that she’d be free of the cycle and become eternal. With us. If we allow the Honmoon to seal the way your side wants—she’ll die again. And this time, we won’t know if she’ll ever come back. We won’t know anything.”

“You don’t know that—”

“I do!” His voice cracked. “Because I’ve lost her before. Over and over. And this world doesn’t deserve her. Every time she’s here, it chews her up. Breaks her. And you’re asking me to stand there and let it happen again?”

Rumi flinched. “It’s for the world,” she whispered.

Jinu stepped forward, eyes burning. “She’s my world.” He stated with finality. “She’s ours,” he hissed. “And this world—this cruel, ugly, unworthy place—was never kind to her. Why should we be kind to it?”

Rumi’s breath caught. He turned. “You want your freedom. I get it. I do. But don’t ask me to lose her again just to buy yours.” And then—softer, barely a breath: “I won’t help you seal her away. I won’t let her suffer. Not for your plan. Not for anyone’s.”

He walked off into the dark.

Rumi stood frozen, chest rising too fast. His words echoed in her mind, louder than anything. She’s our world.

‘We’re soulbonded.’

Her hands trembled. Because… she’d read that before. In a letter. A letter she was never supposed to read. A letter written in a desperate, crooked hand. From a demon who once loved a human so much… he tried to build a bridge just to stay.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

The day off begins slow, sun pouring through gauzy curtains, the scent of coffee and toasted rice wafting from the kitchen. You blink sleep from your lashes, stretched beneath a blanket you don’t remember pulling over yourself. You’re not alone—Haneul is lounging on the floor near the couch, shirtless (of course he is) and barefoot, flipping through a magazine upside down like he’s been waiting for you to stir.

“Morning, sweetheart,” he drawls, not looking up. “Dream of me?”

You blink. “Who brought me out here? And No.”

“Baby did an hour ago. And you’re a liar,” he says immediately, grinning. “I felt your bond spike around 3 a.m. That was definitely me.”

You toss a pillow at him, suddenly reminded of your dream last night and Baby’s appearance by your bedside. Haneul catches it easily and stands, walking over and leaning down until his nose brushes your temple.

“If you were anyone else,” he murmurs, “I’d be mad you threw something at me. But you?” His lips graze your jaw. “I’d let you stab me if it meant you looked at me that way again.”

A shiver erupts down your spine at the close proximity. His bare chest and sculpted torso almost too much to handle. You gulp lightly as your eyes shift down. Haneul smirks at the heat in your eyes. “Flustered? Cat got your tongue?”

Your cheeks tinge pink. “Shut up.” You mumble and shove him playfully. He laughs and watches as you shuffle into the kitchen—only to find Hwimori perched on the counter, already eating your cereal. “You’re up,” he says around a mouthful. Then, more softly, “Smell better today.”

“Gee. Thanks.”

He nuzzles his head under your chin anyway. “I didn’t like yesterday. Your scent was wrong. Empty.”

“Glad to be back to normal?”

His grip tightens around your waist. “This is normal. You. Me. Us. Don’t forget it.” Before you can respond, your phone buzzes. 

It's a DM from Zoey: "Where’ve you been hiding? Let’s hang out!”

You hesitate and freeze for a second. This was so random. Why is she messaging you now when you met weeks ago? It was very out of nowhere. Was this a plan to use you to get to the boys?

The boys notice immediately. Jinu walks in, towel drying his hair, shirt loose over his abs. Yum. 

You blink, almost forgetting about the text for a second as you eye his form. Why did he look so good with his hair damp? 

“Problem?”

You shake your head to snap out of it. Bad, Y/N, Bad! You show him the screen without a word. He reads it, jaw ticking. Haneul peers over his shoulder.

“No.”

That’s all he says. Just no. Your lips quirk up in a smirk. You were starting to enjoy their possessive behavior a little too much nowadays. You raise a brow. “Excuse me?”

“You’re not seeing her,” Seoha calls from the hallway as he buttons his cuffs. “Too risky.”

“I can’t even go out with a friend?” You tease, fully knowing they would protest to that.

“She is NOT your friend.” Seoha interjects, eyes in disbelief. “Did you forget what we told you?”

Hwimori growls softly beside you. “No. You stay here. Where we can feel you.”

You cross your arms and fake pout. Seoha narrows his eyes at that. “Fine. If I can’t go out with her… who’s taking me out today?”

That gets their attention.

Seoha grins slyly. “Tricky girl… I volunteer!”

Haneul steps forward. “Absolutely not. She’s mine today.”

“I’m already holding her,” Hwi mumbles.

Jinu sighs like a disappointed king. “You children are embarrassing yourselves.”

You smirk. “Then are you going to take me, your majesty?”

He raises a brow. “You’re lucky I’m weak for you.”

────────── ⚘ ──────────

You end up in the apartment garden, curled up under Jinu’s arm as he introduces you to his demon spirit pets. The first is a massive blue tiger with unsettlingly large eyes and too many teeth.

You squeak. “Why does he look like that?”

“He’s sensitive,” Jinu deadpans.

The tiger blinks slowly… and lays its head in your lap. You freeze. “Oh my god.”

“He likes you,” Jinu murmurs, strangely proud. You release a slow smile as you feel the tiger purr while you scratch behind its ear. “It’s cute.”

Jinu releases a fond smile. The spirits have been impatient as of late, wondering when they’d finally get to meet you. He was worried you’d be scared at first. But as always, you tend to surpass his expectations. 

“You had this big guy as your companion for years and you never show him to me?!” 

“I was afraid you’d be too scared-”

“Scared? Look at him! He’s a little derpy guy- wait, I think I’ll call him that. Derpy.”

“Actually its name is-”

“Derpy! You like that huh?” You coo at the tiger, booping its nose. The tiger rubs his head on your shoulder. Jinu sighs, rubbing his hand over his face. He can’t win. Of all the names… “Haaaa well… I guess your name is Derpy now…” 

Before you, a bird in a hat lands on Derpy’s head. You stare. Its one eye narrows at you, and you almost squeal as two more appear underneath it. You look to Jinu, unsure, and he smiles in encouragement. 

“Does he… sing?”

“No, but he judges.”

The bird tilts its head and lets out a croaky caw. Then it hops onto your shoulder.

“She’s more affectionate with your freaks than she is with us,” Seoha grumbles nearby, arms crossed.

“She warmed up fast,” Haneul mutters. “If only she kissed me that easily.” he says, watching you kiss Derpy’s head multiple times in a row.

“I’ll kiss you never,” you shoot back.

He smirks. “So, later, then?”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. The day continues like that—soft bickering, stolen glances, hands brushing against yours when they pass you a drink, touches that linger just a little too long. Derpy and the bird roam free in the apartment now. Perching on shelves and sleeping in the living room. 

Seoha pulls you aside after lunch, guiding your hand to his chest. “Feel that?” His heart races. “You do that to me.”

You roll your eyes. “You always act like you’re one heartbeat away from writing a death poem.” He grins, teeth sharp, eyes soft. “And you always act like you don’t love it.”

You open your mouth to sass him again, but he leans in, voice brushing your ear. “If I’m dramatic, it’s because loving you feels like a scandal.” His breath fans your skin. “Loud, forbidden… and everyone wants to watch.”

You scoff. “Please. The only scandal here is your ego.”

He smirks—and then swoops in, arms curling around your waist as he litters kisses down your neck, making you squeal and squirm in his hold.

The boys shuffle into the living room, smirking like a pack of troublemakers. Seoha yanks you onto the couch and drapes himself over your lap like a spoiled cat, while Baby flicks through movie titles with deadly focus.

“Seoha, move,” Hwi grumbles. “She’s not a chair.”

“She’s mine,” Seoha mutters, refusing to budge. “And I happen to like being supported emotionally and physically.”

“I’ll support you with my foot,” Baby snaps, flinging a pillow at his head.

Just then, Haneul walks in from the kitchen, balancing three massive bowls of popcorn in his arms like a seasoned soldier. He hands one to you with a kiss to your cheek. “Some popcorn for my little soda pop.”

You wince. “You just shattered the dreams of millions of fans.”

He grins. “Good. Let ‘em cry.”

You’re silent for a moment as the boys get comfortable. A sudden thought enters your head and your hands fidget in your lap, eyes lowered like you’ve just committed a capital crime.

“I…” you whisper, biting your lip dramatically.

Five heads snap in your direction. Seoha straightens so fast, his legs retracting from your lap as he nearly falls off the armrest. “Whats wrong, baby?” 

Hwi perks up by your feet like a cat who heard a thunderclap. “Are you hurt?”

Haneul’s already beside you, crouched low, scanning your body for wounds. “Why are you acting like that? What happened? Tell me.”

Jinu bursts out of the kitchen with a drink in hand like he sprinted an Olympic lap. “Drink this. What’s going on?”

Baby’s the last to speak, voice tight with dread. “If someone made you scared, give me a name. Now.”

You press your lips together and swallow, glancing away. “It’s… pretty serious.”

The room freezes. Seoha’s jaw clenches. “You’re scaring me.”

“She’s scaring me,” Hwi whispers, eyes wide.

“I can fix it,” Haneul says, kneeling beside you. “Whatever it is. Just say the word.”

“I…” You inhale slowly, dramatically. 

“I… don’t drink soda pop.”

Silence.

Complete.

Utter.

Silence.

Jinu blinks. “What?”

Seoha releases a breath of relief. Hwi stares at you in disbelief. Haneul’s shoulders sag, a weight off his shoulders. And Baby… is glaring at you.

You look at them sheepishly. “I… I don’t drink soda…”

Seoha releases a breathy laugh. “I was ready to curse an entire bloodline,” 

“I already drafted a revenge plan for your tears,” Baby says flatly. “Color-coded.”

“What?!” You giggle at their reactions and the expressions on their faces. “Sorry- I-”

Jinu exhales, setting the untouched drink down with eerie calm. “You think this is funny?”

“I mean… yes?” you grin. “A little?”

He smiles. Too gently. “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

Before you can react, a hand grabs your wrist—Seoha pulling you onto his lap with a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Time for consequences.”

Oh shit. “I was just—!”

Haneul’s breath brushes your ear. “That lip bite earlier? You wanna play nervous, sweetheart? I’ll give you a reason to tremble.”

Hwi climbs behind you like a shadow, his arms wrapping around your waist. “Make the scared face again. I liked that.”

“Hey, hold on—”

“You like teasing us?” Baby’s voice is low, sharp. “Then take responsibility.”

Jinu sinks to his knees before you, pulling your legs apart slightly to settle between them. “You want attention? You’ve got all of it now.”

Your breath hitches. Seoha kisses the side of your neck, whispering like sin, “Say sorry.”

“I…”

Hwi’s teeth graze your shoulder. “Louder, pretty girl.”

You shudder. “I’m sorry.”

“Hmm.” Baby smirks. “Not sorry enough.”

Your teasing grin is long gone. Your flushed face? Still very much here. Your breath comes in sharp, shallow bursts. Their hands aren’t even really touching you—just fingertips, just breath, just barely brushing your skin—but your body is screaming for more. Heat pools low in your belly as they surround you like wolves, like they can taste the way you ache.

Seoha whispers against your jaw, “You like being toyed with, don’t you?”

Jinu hums against your inner thigh— infuriatingly untouched. “All that fuss for a little joke? You wanted our attention. This is what it feels like, love.”

“Now she’s quiet,” Baby murmurs, fingers tilting your chin up. “Where’d all that teasing go, little pop?”

You can’t answer. Your mouth opens. Closes. Nothing but a whimper. But just when you think you’ll snap, just when your legs tremble and the coil inside you threatens to unravel—

They all pull back. Hands gone. Heat vanished.

Seoha grins and stretches like he just got up from a nap. “Ah. Perfect. Let’s watch that movie.”

You blink. “What?”

Jinu flops onto the couch, remote already in hand. “You wanted popcorn and a film, didn’t you?”

“I—wait—what?”

“Shh.” Baby’s finger presses to your lips with a wicked smile. “Movie’s starting, sweetheart.”

Hwi pulls you closer onto the couch between them like nothing happened, wrapping you up in his arms while your heart still pounds like thunder. Seoha kisses your forehead like a reward, lips lingering just enough to remind you of everything you didn’t get. 

And then slowly, he whispers. “No soda pop for you then.”

Your thighs squeeze together. Your eyes burn holes into the screen. None of them say a word. But all of them know. And they’re smiling.

The movie plays. You try to focus. You really do. But your skin still tingles—memory replaying on a loop like a glitching reel. The way their hands barely touched you. The way they didn’t kiss you, or pull your clothes off, or devour you whole—but could have. And you would’ve let them. 

That realization sits warm and sharp in your chest. If they hadn’t stopped… if they’d kept going… You would’ve gone with it. You wanted to.

Your thighs press together as heat surges again, traitorous and low. You shift slightly on the couch, only for Baby to pull you back against him without a word—tucked between his legs, your back to his chest, his arms coiled possessively around your waist like a seatbelt you didn’t ask for.

You sigh softly. Maybe you did ask for it. In your own way. His breath brushes your ear. You pretend not to shiver. The screen flashes with explosions, dramatic music rising.

You don’t notice the glances. Not at first. The soothing lull of Baby’s warmth and breathing relaxes you through the movie, causing you to briefly close your eyes for a little rest. The plot wasn’t all that interesting…

Jinu. Hwi. Haneul. Even Seoha over his shoulder from the kitchen (where he’d gone to start preparing dinner)—stealing peeks at you between scenes.

Because somewhere during the movie, your skirt inched higher. And your panties—lace-trimmed and sinfully soft—peek just under the hem. You’re oblivious, shifting sleepily, too flustered by your own thoughts. But the boys? They’re practically feral.

Hwi’s whisper is half-growl: “So… we’ve been staring at her bum for 30 minutes now…”

“Thirty-five,” Haneul mutters darkly.

“Perverts!” Seoha calls from the kitchen, though his voice is far too amused.

“I’m not looking,” Jinu says without turning away. “I’m studying.”

“You’re the worst one,” Hwi replies.

Eventually, the credits roll. Jinu and Seoha disappear into the kitchen with the clatter of pots and sizzling pans. The smell of spice and garlic fills the air. But Baby doesn’t move. Neither do you. You’ve fallen asleep like that—warm, safe, curled up in his arms.

Hwi leans down and pokes your calf. “Dinner.”

Baby growls. Not even looking at him.

“She has to eat,” Haneul tries.

Baby just tightens his grip.

“She’s hibernating in your lap, not dying,” Seoha calls over his shoulder.

Still—no dice. You finally blink awake, lips parted, dazed. And Baby’s face is the first thing you see. Eyes dark. Expression unreadable. 

He utters, voice low, but eyes solely trained on your face. Piercing. “Dinner’s ready.”

You nod slowly, but something in his gaze pins you down harder than his arms. There’s heat there. You swallow hard. “Okay.”

But you don’t move right away. And neither does he. Because even now—after all their teasing, all your games—he looks at you like he’s still starving. And this time?

You’re not sure you want him to stop.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

Dinner is loud, as usual. They’re all gathered at the table—Haneul loading your plate without asking, Hwi curled at your side again like a cat waiting for scraps, Seoha arguing with Jinu about spice levels, and Baby quietly stealing bites from your plate like it belongs to him.

You’re halfway through chewing a piece of tteok-bokki when Jinu sets his chopsticks down. “We should move you to your room tonight.”

You blink. “My room?”

He nods. “The one we made for you. Next to ours.”

“We thought you’d want space,” Seoha says, brushing a thumb along your wrist. “But... it’s yours. It always was.”

Hwi’s voice is soft. “It’s closer. Safer.”

“More comfortable,” Haneul adds quickly, gaze unreadable.

“More ours,” Baby finishes, not looking away from you.

You chew slowly, the bite suddenly hard to swallow. Your heart thuds in your chest, soft and fast. They want you near. Not just sleeping in a guest room anymore. Not just a visitor in their apartment. This isn’t about logistics. It’s about belonging.

You glance at each of them—their expectant eyes, the way they lean in slightly like they’re scared you’ll say no.

And for a second, you wonder: Am I ready? To sleep so close to them? To share space. Trust. Intimacy. To accept what you already feel growing between you and these demons who have haunted your soul across centuries? The answer comes quietly.

Yes.

Because they love you. They love you like fire, like gravity, like fate. And you—you're starting to love them too.

“Okay,” you say.

The reaction is immediate. Hwi perks up like a puppy. Haneul grins, wild and bright. Jinu exhales like he’s been holding his breath since the war. Seoha smirks like he already knew. And Baby—Baby’s hand finds yours under the table and squeezes so tight it almost hurts.

They don’t wait. Dinner finishes in a blur, and before you know it, Baby is tugging you gently by the hand, leading you down the hallway. He doesn’t say anything. Just looks over his shoulder at you like he’s afraid this is a dream.

He opens the door. And you gasp. The room is… yours. But also, theirs.

The walls are a soft, warm gray with rich jewel-toned accents. There’s a massive window with gauzy curtains that let in moonlight, and on the far wall: a mural. A hand-painted scene of a mountaintop at dusk, a crescent moon hanging low over a silver lake.

Bookshelves line one wall—half empty, half filled with things they know you love. Notebooks. Art supplies. A sketch of you in a previous life curled up with a tiger. A pressed flower under glass. A faded drawing in childlike lines of a fox with wide, soft eyes.

The bed is huge. Obscenely so. More like a nest than a piece of furniture—draped in plush throws and layered blankets in varying textures. You spot a velvet pillow shaped like a moon, and a silky scarf you once lost… here now, tucked neatly on the edge like it never left.

A soft woven tapestry hangs above the headboard: the symbol of the Saja. Your fingers hover over it.

“They helped,” Baby murmurs. “All of us.” He points. The desk—minimal and clean, with a small crystal inlaid in the center. A moonstone. That was Jinu’s.

The warm-toned blanket with rough stitching? That’s from Haneul. It looks handmade. Because it is.

The incense burner shaped like a curled fox? Hwimori’s, of course. It smells faintly like the pine forests of a memory you can’t quite place.

And the mirror beside the wardrobe—an antique, silver-framed piece that glows softly under the light—was picked by Seoha. He left a note stuck in the corner:

So you can admire the most dangerous creature in this house.

You touch the edge of the bed. It feels like home. “I… don’t know what to say,” you whisper. 

Baby leans against the wall, watching you. His voice is low. “You don’t have to say anything. Just stay.”

A soft smile ghosts your lips and the five demons look at you with so much love, awe, and wonder. You loved your room. It had little pieces of them and everything you were to them through all your lives. It felt like you had finally come home. 

“Okay.” You breathe, looking up at their hopeful gazes. “I’ll move in tonight.”

Jinu smiled bright. “You- you like it?”  His eyes widen when your arms drape around his shoulders, like he doesn’t believe you're real.

“I love it,” you say again, softer this time. “It’s got bits and pieces of all of you.”

His breath hitches. For a moment, he doesn't move. Then—slowly, carefully—he wraps his arms around your waist, holding you like you’re fragile silk. His forehead presses to yours. “We waited,” he whispers. “Through everything. Every life. Every mistake. Every death.”

You smile, close, so close. And then you kiss his cheek. It’s light. Soft. Barely a brush of your lips. But Jinu goes still like he’s been struck by lightning. “Oh,” he exhales, voice wrecked.

The next second, he’s not the only one holding you. Hwimori curls against your side, hands wrapped tight around your waist, burying his nose in your neck. “She kissed him,” he breathes. “I want one too.”

Haneul’s hand lifts your wrist and he kisses your palm, then each fingertip with slow, deliberate presses of his mouth. “You like pieces of us, angel?” he murmurs. “I want you to have every piece. Every part.”

Seoha appears at your other side, tilting your chin gently with two fingers. “You shouldn’t say things like that, my love,” he purrs. “We might get addicted to hearing them.” He kisses your temple. Then your jaw. Then your nose, with a grin. “Let’s call it a blessing.”

“Or a curse,” Baby mutters—but he’s already pressing a kiss to the top of your head, arms locking around you from behind. “Don’t care. She’s home now.”

The air shifts. Warmer. Tighter. You’re cradled between them all—arms, hands, mouths pressing into every inch of bare skin they can reach without overwhelming you. Their touches aren’t frantic or rushed. It’s worshipful. Steady. Like this is something sacred.

Because it is. Because you said yes. You said home. You whisper, “I didn’t know I could feel like this.”

Seoha hums. “Safe?”

“No,” you say. “Wanted.”

That stops them. Jinu is the first to speak, voice low and hoarse. “You’re not wanted, sweetheart.”

You blink. He smiles against your cheek. “You’re everything.”

That warms your heart in more ways than one. You smile brightly. “Well, I’ll need a bit of help moving my stuff-”

“Say no more, baby. We’ll grab your things now.” Haneul beams. They shuffle out of the room, eager to get you settled as fast as they can. 

Baby stays, arms wrapped around you from behind with his eyes closed. Like he wasn’t ready to let go just yet.

You look at him and smile slightly. “Your room’s near, right?”

He nods. “Across the hall.”

“Can I see it?”

He pauses then pushes off you and gestures for you to follow. You walk into the darkened hallway, still holding his hand. And when he opens the door to his room— The air changes.

Baby's room is a hush of shadow and memory. The air hangs thick with sandalwood and something older, bitter, like scorched ink. No clutter. No warmth. Just walls steeped in silence. The kind of silence that feels alive.

The bed is enormous, like yours, but colder somehow. Sheets the color of bruises. Pillows perfectly in place. No folds. No softness. Not even a book by the bedside. It feels like a tomb. But it has pieces of you in it.

You step inside and the temperature shifts. This isn’t a bedroom. It’s a reliquary. A war memorial. A shrine.

Your gaze falls to a drawing mounted in a blackwood frame. You.

Rendered in harsh, reverent strokes. Hair pinned in the style of old court, gaze lowered in modesty. Regal. Fragile. Distant. You walk toward it. "Did you draw this?"

"Etched it," Baby replies from behind you. "With a blade."

You turn slowly. He’s still by the door, like coming in too far would break something. "After you died," he adds, voice flat.

There’s a long pause. Your eyes catch on something else—a lacquered box beneath the portrait. A ceremonial sword cracked down the middle. A ribbon, blood-stiffened and sealed in glass. And half-tucked under silk: a golden hairpin.

You reach for it.

"Don’t touch that." The words are quiet. But sharp enough to slice bone. He’s in front of you before you blink. His hand wraps around your wrist, not hurting, not tight. But trembling. He lets go like your skin scalded him.

"She wore that," he murmurs. "You wore that. The day you were taken from me."

You don’t speak. The air feels thick. Sacred. Your trembling hands brush his cheek and he leans into it like a flower to the sun.

"Tell me," you say.

He exhales and hesitates. Eyes pained. 

“Tell me. Please."

He looks at you like you’re a ghost. A sharp inhale, and then he begins. 

"I was the Emperor’s blade," he says, each word carefully unsheathed. "Born to a house that trained ghosts into men. I was a child when they first made me kneel in blood. By thirteen, they called me the Ash Blade."

He looks up. Eyes distant. "I executed ministers before I knew how to write my own name. I watched heads roll and learned silence was safety."

You sit down on the bed, legs tucked beneath you. He stays standing, hands clenched at his sides. "And then you came."

You lift your head. "The concubine from the South. Sent to seal a war with a smile. Everyone called you fragile. An ornament. A prize. But you weren’t. You had teeth. You saw everything." His voice cracks. "You saw me."

The silence between you is deafening. "You bowed to him," he whispers. "...The Emperor,” He spits the words out like poison in his mouth. “But you smiled at me. A smile you never gave him. Not once." 

His hand hovers near his chest, like the memory of it still hurts. "I never knew how to want. They trained it out of me. But then I needed you. And I didn’t even know what to call it."

You stand. "You called it love." His head tilts toward you like the word itself is too heavy to hold.

"They whispered we touched," he murmurs. "That you were carrying a traitor’s child. The Emperor grew distant. Then cold. Then...”

His voice drops. "He asked me to prove my loyalty."

You already know. But you need to hear it. "How?"

He looks you in the eye. "He ordered me to kill you."

Your stomach lurches.

"I told him no."

A breath. The world trembles.

"The first time I disobeyed... was for you."

You press your hand to your mouth.

"He called you defiled. He pulled the sword himself. I didn’t have time to react. You were reaching for me—"

He falls to his knees. "I held you. I pressed on the wound. I begged you to stay. You... you said my name. Not his."

Tears sting your eyes. Baby, the Ash Blade. The demon who was always first to ruin anything that dared to speak or touch you, was kneeling before you like a blade shattered. Broken. He choked on his next words: "I was soaked in your blood. The guards came. They thought I was trying to finish you. I killed them all. Every last one."

He looks up at you, hollow. "I carried you to the inner sanctum. The palace was burning. I laid you down and waited for the flames to take me. But they didn’t."

You kneel in front of him. "I made a deal that night," he whispers. "To never forget your voice. To find you again, no matter the cost." His breath shakes. "They told me I was cursed. Born to follow. Born to obey. And for years I did. I killed for kings. Slept in blood. Wore silence like a second skin. But the moment you smiled at me… I knew." His voice cracks. "I knew I would burn it all. And I did. For you."

Your lip trembles as he continues, eyes never leaving yours. "You were meant to be a pawn. A gift to the king. But you looked at me like I was more than a sword. You called me… human. That was my undoing." He clenches his fist. "You died calling my name. And I—" he swallows the words like poison. "I couldn’t save you."

His shoulders quake. "They said you were spoiled. That a shadow like me defiled something meant to be pure. The Emperor… he was the last one I killed. Not for revenge. But for taking you from me."

The silence pulses between you. Then— His hand moves. Slowly. His fingers graze the side of your neck… and wrap around your throat. Not tight. But firm. Possessive. He pulls you in until your lips are just a breath apart. His eyes shine crimson—wet with grief, wild with hunger.

"You’re mine," he breathes, voice shaking. "Do you hear me? You were always mine. From the moment I first saw you. You are not fate’s. You are not the emperor’s. You’re mine." A tear slips from his cheek and lands on yours. "I don’t trust this world. I don’t trust time. I don’t trust anything that isn’t my hands on your skin."

You gasp, body trembling as his other arm snakes around your waist, crushing you to him. "I won’t lose you again. I’d kill every god who tries to take you. I’ll tear this world to ash. I’ll carve out a future with your name on it and slit the throat of anything that threatens it."

"Baby…"

His breath catches.

“I’m not… that,” he murmurs. “My name… the one you called out before you left me… it was Seungho.”

It hits like thunder in your chest. Something sacred. Ancient. Yours. “Seungho,” you whisper.

The name tears through centuries. And he breaks. His breath catches—like he’s been punched in the lungs by time itself. His hand tightens around your throat—not to hurt, but to hold, to claim, to anchor himself in the moment he never believed he'd get. The moment the past bends, and fate surrenders. You grip his wrist, your pulse thudding beneath his fingers.

“Say it again,” he breathes. It’s not a plea. It’s a command stitched in agony. His voice trembles like he’s shaking loose from death itself.

“Seungho,” you whisper again, softer this time.

And that’s all it takes. A guttural sound rips from his throat—half-sob, half-snarl. His forehead falls against yours, breath shaking, teeth bared like a starving animal who’s finally found what he lost. He doesn’t ask if you’re his. You are. You always were.

He growls, low and dangerous, voice coiling like smoke against your ear. “You said my name. And now the world can burn. I don’t care. I don’t care about gods or rules or whatever fucking fate tried to take you from me. Say it again, and I swear I’ll never let you go. Not even in death.”

Your breath hitches. Your chest heaves. “I remember you,” you whisper. “And I’m not letting go either.”

Then he kisses you. Not soft. Not slow. Not careful. It’s carnage. It’s ruin wrapped in silk, obsession carved into the shape of a mouth. He devours you like you’re a secret he’s kept for centuries. Like every kiss is a scream of defiance against the world that took you from him. His lips bruise, worship, burn.

His hand cradles your throat like it’s his only possession. His other wrapped around your back, dragging you into him, into the storm, into the part of him that never stopped bleeding. “You said my name,” he murmurs again between kisses, like he can’t stop saying it now that it’s real. “You saw me. You chose me. You’re here.”

You nod, lips trembling, tears slipping down your cheeks. “I’ve always been yours.”

He groans—like that vow split something inside him wide open. He bites your ear. Kisses down your jaw. “You are mine. You belong in my arms. In my bed. In my eternity. Mine to worship. Mine to break. Mine to protect until the stars die.”

He presses you to his chest, heart pounding so violently you feel it against your ribs. You don’t fall. Not this time. Because he never let go. And he never will. Not again.

Not Seungho. Not the boy raised to kill— But the demon who was reborn just to love you.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

You and Seungho stay there, folded into each other like the aftermath of a storm. The quiet between you is thick with heat and memory. His fingers never leave your skin—tracing your spine, your throat, your face, like he’s memorizing you all over again. His lips press to your temple, your cheekbone, the corner of your mouth. Again and again.

Like prayer. Like penance. Like addiction. You whisper his name once more. "Seungho."

His breath catches. His lashes flutter against your skin. And though his hands still tremble, his heart begins to steady. You kiss once more—slower this time, but no less desperate. Then another. And another. Until finally… he exhales, forehead resting against yours. “I’m okay now,” he murmurs. “Let’s go back.”

You nod. He intertwines your fingers with his and leads you back to your room. But the moment the door opens—You freeze.

They’re waiting. The others.

Jinu. Seoha. Haneul. Hwimori.

All four of them—spread across your bed, your window ledge, the curve of your couch. Shadows drape their forms like cloaks, but there’s no hiding the glow of their eyes. Amber. Gold. Molten. Unholy. Their gazes hit you like fire. Not angry. Not jealous. Just… hungry.

No words are spoken. Because they felt it. The shift. The moment your bond with Seungho deepened. That sacred pull, tugging taut through the thread that links you all. The soulbond—fuller now. Almost complete. You’re radiant. Alive. Glowing like something divine.

And they are starving.

Their gazes trail your body like it’s wrapped in silk and sin. Like they could tear it open just to drink what’s inside. Jinu’s jaw tightens. Seoha’s smile is too sharp. Haneul’s fingers twitch like they’re resisting the urge to grab. Hwimori tilts his head, his pupils blown wide, mouth parted in a soft, animalistic sound that borders on a purr.

Seungho releases your hand. He steps back like offering you up. Or daring them. “She’s here,” he says softly. And it’s the end of restraint.

Jinu rises first, slow and deliberate, like a beast uncoiling from a throne. He walks toward you with a look that makes your knees weak—like he’s waited too long, suffered too much. His voice, when he speaks, is low and reverent.

“Our girl.”

The room seems to pulse around you. The bond sings. A note of desire so thick you could drown in it. Seoha grins lazily, eyes burning. “Don’t run now. You won’t make it far.”

“Wouldn’t want to,” you whisper.

Hwimori is beside you in seconds, arms circling your waist from behind, his breath hot on your neck. “You feel it too, don’t you? It’s almost done. Almost whole. We’re almost one.”

You nod, dazed, body humming with the truth of it. Haneul’s knuckles brush your jaw, lifting your face to meet his. His voice is a promise—and a threat. “We’ve been patient.”

Jinu leans in, lips grazing your ear. “No more waiting.”

They crowd closer. No touches yet. Just heat. Just intention. But it’s enough to set you ablaze. You don’t know who moans first—you or one of them. But it echoes. And you realize—

You’re surrounded by five demons. And all of them are about to lose control.

TO BE CONTINUED

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A/N: Mwahahahaha!! I think you all know what comes next. ;) I wanted to make Baby's backstory tragic. It fits best with how his character is with you and why he is the way he is. For his name, I decided on Seungho. Seung- “to bear, to inherit” + Ho -“vast, grand, overwhelming” I think it fits best because it reflects someone who carries deep burdens (like obedience, guilt, love). "Seungho" also sounds noble, quiet, and heavy with legacy—just like him, and I think it's perfect for a man who inherited centuries of silence and finally broke for love.

Let me know if you guys enjoyed this chapter! Next one is going to be spicy but it might take a bit more time to write as I don't usually write a lot of smut. I need time to etch the line between love and filth (lol). But thank you for reading as always! Comment, Reblog, and Like if you enjoyed it - I love seeing what you guys think!

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[sixeyesonathiel]

pirate!satoru who has a bad habit of picking up shiny things and an even worse habit of teasing the sweet mermaid he meets every sunset.

he first saw you while chasing a storm. his crew had warned him of cursed waters ahead, thick with fog and stories about drowned men who never sank. sea birds had stopped circling, and even the wind seemed to hesitate—but satoru liked cursed things. they were usually interesting. and interesting things always led to fun.

what was more fun than a girl in the sea, glowering at his ship like it had insulted the ocean herself?

he remembers that day like salt on skin. ropes whipping in the wind, the creak of the ship’s old bones groaning beneath his boots. gulls screeched overhead, barely heard over the crack of thunder. and then—your eyes, breaking the water like two shards of moonlight, locked onto his with that same look of unimpressed calm, as if you’d already judged him and found him deeply, deeply annoying.

you were tangled in another crew’s net, fins thrashing, hands cut red from rope. he didn’t free you out of chivalry—no, he wasn’t that sort. he just hated the other pirates. loudmouthed, greedy, and smug, like they were owed the sea’s bounty. they caged you like a prize pearl in a box. and that pissed him off.

“i owe you a favor,” you’d said afterward, voice soft like seafoam clinging to a quiet shore.

“you can owe me your company,” he’d replied, tipping his hat like a man far too confident for his own good.

turns out, getting under your skin was impossible. your metaphorical skin might’ve been made of coral and old secrets. he teased. you smiled. he flirted. you tilted your head in confusion. he poked. you thanked him.

like now.

he lounges at the edge of the ship, one leg dangling lazily over the side. the sun’s lowering behind him, turning his white hair gold at the edges, glinting off the pale sweep of his lashes. the breeze lifts the ends of his coat, fluttering it just enough to add flair. in his hands, he twirls two mismatched seashells between calloused fingers, idly rolling them together with a click.

a few crewmates are scrubbing deck nearby, trading quiet gossip about strange tides and the price of fish. none of them look over. they know better. at sunset, the captain talks to the sea—and she talks back.

then you arrive.

rising slowly from the waves like the ocean herself breathed you out. droplets cling to your collarbone, shoulders glistening under the fading sun. your hair, wet and clinging to your cheeks, frames the serene warmth in your eyes. you blink at him with that same quiet anticipation, like this ritual—this meeting—is the most natural part of your world.

he smirks, holding up the seashells. “oi, these yours?”

your brow furrows as you float closer, curiosity blooming across your face. “mine?”

“they look like your bra,” he says casually, letting them swing between his fingers.

you tilt your head. “bra?”

satoru leans forward on his elbows, grinning like the smug little shit he is. his eyes gleam with mischief, watching your expression intently.

“you know. the thing you wear over your chest?” he makes a vague motion toward your own shell top, then glances down at the ones in his hand. “though these—” he eyes the tiny shells, then very obviously eyes you, “—are definitely snack-sized. yours are, uh. not.”

you look at the shells, then down at yourself. then back at him. your smile spreads slowly, luminously. “they’re very shiny. thank you.”

he freezes. “wait. no, that’s not—”

your fingers break the surface and take them gently, like he’s handed you something precious. your touch is cool, damp, and feather-light against his knuckles. he tenses, a little startled by the sincerity of the gesture.

“i will wear them tomorrow,” you say, delighted. “they’re beautiful.”

he sputters. “they’re too—wait, you’re serious?”

you nod, already lowering back into the waves, cradling the shells like they’re pearls from a lover. “thank you, satoru.”

the sea folds over you in one smooth motion, and you're gone—your tail flashing silver in the last bit of sun, leaving only ripples behind.

satoru stares at his now-empty hands. then drops his face into them with a groan. “i was teasing, you little—”

that night, he doesn’t sleep right.

he tosses in his hammock, arms crossed behind his head, boots kicked off haphazardly on the floor. moonlight drips through the porthole like spilled milk, casting pale lines across his wall. every time he closes his eyes, he sees the way yours sparkled. hears your voice echoing in the back of his skull. "i will wear them tomorrow."

“they’re too small,” he mutters. “they were for crabs. or like, decorative. who even makes shell bras that size?”

he flips over and buries his face into the pillow with a frustrated grunt. wills himself to sleep out of sheer frustration.

satoru wakes with a start the next morning, tangled in the hammock’s netting like a man caught in his own trap. the wood above him groans softly with the sway of the ship, but inside his skull, everything is loud. echoing. relentless.

"i will wear them tomorrow."

the memory hits again, not so much a whisper as it is a war drum. a cursed prophecy. his breath catches, and he blurts out—“shit.”

he nearly tumbles out of the hammock, lurching upright like he’s missed roll call at death’s door. his coat is thrown over his bare shoulders in a crooked mess, one sleeve still twisted from sleep. one boot is half on, heel dragging noisily across the floorboards as he bolts for the deck like a man late to his own wedding. his hair is a disaster—white tufts sticking out in every direction, the ends tangled like salt-kissed seaweed.

his crew parts like startled fish, wide-eyed and wary. some lift their heads from mugs of lukewarm grog, others pause mid-scrub, the morning sun casting halos over buckets and ropes.

“what’s gotten into the captain?” a deckhand murmurs, still holding a mop dripping seawater.

“maybe the mermaid did curse him,” another offers, leaning on the railing with a skeptical squint.

“more like blessed,” a third snorts, biting into an apple with the smugness of someone watching a romance unfold.

satoru hears all of it. ignores all of it. his boots clack against the wood like thunder rolling toward a storm.

his strides are frantic, yet deliberate. his shoulders tense. his expression, usually carved from smug marble, is twitchy—like a man walking into his own trap with his eyes wide open. he rakes a hand through his hair—more chaotic than usual—and curses softly when it tangles between his fingers.

the morning air is salty, thick with gull cries and the faint scent of fish stew wafting from the galley. behind him, the sun has barely begun to climb, painting the deck in long gold strokes and casting shadows that stretch like sleepy cats.

and there you are.

rising from the sea like a myth rewritten.

your silhouette breaks the water with ethereal grace, droplets clinging to your skin like borrowed starlight. your hair, soaked and glinting like pearls, drapes around your shoulders, framing your face with moonlit strands. your eyes—curious and bright—search the horizon before landing on him. and there, nestled over your chest in all their misplaced glory—those fucking seashells.

tiny. ornamental. utterly useless in the face of reality. they barely cover what they’re meant to. they sparkle obscenely under the sun.

satoru’s spine locks like a rigged pulley. his pupils shrink.

he pivots too fast—then smacks directly into the mast.

thunk.

“ow—! dammit—” he hisses, stumbling back and grabbing his forehead like he’s been cursed by the gods themselves. one eye cracks open, pained and watery, just in time to see you waving.

“satoru! good morning!”

your voice is sunshine poured over seafoam. you tilt your head, cheeks dewy and glowing, sea breeze brushing through your bangs.

he spins again, half-hiding behind the mast, gripping it like a lifeline tossed from a lifeboat. his mouth is dry. his pride is dissolving. he forces a grin—shaky, stretched thin like fraying rope—and manages, “h-hi.”

his voice cracks in the middle like a boy in love. a boy in trouble.

“the shells fit nicely!” you call, hands floating over the water’s surface as you paddle closer. “they’re a little snug, but very shiny. i like them.”

his brain just stops.

“i—i figured you’d—uh—you didn’t have to actually—I was just—just teasing—”

his words trip over each other like drunken sailors on a tipping deck. his hands flap helplessly in front of him, like he can push the moment away through sheer air resistance.

you blink, thoughtful. your tail flicks behind you under the water, sending a ripple that bumps gently against the ship. “teasing?”

he breathes in too fast and immediately regrets it, choking on his own spit. he bends slightly, hand over his chest like he might physically keep his soul from bailing.

he looks at you. really looks.

the way your brows knit together softly in confusion. the way your fingers cradle the shells like they’re delicate offerings. how your skin glows, kissed by the morning light, shimmering where droplets cling to you. how the innocence on your face is devastating.

he drags a hand down his face, fingers smearing across his cheeks. his pale strands falls over his eyes. “you’re gonna kill me.”

you look genuinely concerned. “with seashells?”

he gives a defeated nod, letting his forehead rest against the mast like he wishes it were a guillotine. “yes. exactly that.”

you hum thoughtfully, still watching him. “do humans often give shells like that to show affection?”

he chokes again. this time, violently.

“w-what?! n-no, i mean—sometimes? not like—i wasn’t—it’s not—”

you smile, pleased with the answer you’ve crafted from his gibberish. “then i’ll treasure them. thank you again, satoru.”

you say his name like it’s a charm, a secret tied to your tongue.

he might actually die.

[chaussetteblanche]

and they were roommates

pairing : Spencer Reid x fem!student!roommate!reader summary : you are Spencer Reid's roommate, the team finds out about you when a case brings them to the university you study at word count : 2.5k warning : canon-typical violence A/N : the university is a random one I picked in Virginia, bear with me because I don't know how US university systems work, thanks :) I think this is a part one, there may be a part two or even more, idk, but tell me what you think !

part 2, part 3, part 4

"I- I'm sorry, what university did you say?" Spencer's frantic tone was immediately noticed by his colleagues. Suddenly, he seemed hyperaware of everything in the room. The loud AC, Derek's pen-clicking and the overwhelming smell of Emily's coffee. "Mary Washington University," JJ answered swiftly, eyes narrowed as she sent Reid a confused glance. The man in question mumbled a few words under his breath and shot up, grabbing his coat and scarf. "We need to go." His tone, unusually urgent, left no space for debate or questioning. He was out the door within seconds, followed closely by Morgan and the others.

When you'd applied for Mary Washington University, you had known you would have to get an apartment. You lived too far away to even consider taking the numerous trains and buses and subways to get there. So, when you had been accepted into your first choice of universities, you'd started apartment hunting. Or roommate-hunting, to be more precise.

To say you had been unlucky would have been quite the understatement. You'd visited four apartments so far and could not even consider living in one of them for a second. The first had been full of frat boys who made your skin crawl, the second was with an old, far right-wing couple, the third had been two sisters who'd yelled at each other for the whole time you were there and the fourth had been so crowded your were certain it was neither sanitary not legal for another person to live there. With the deadline of university starting and having to move all your things, you were starting to get quite anxious. But call it chance or fate, one day you stumbled upon an advertisement for an apartment in a nice neighbourhood with one person who seemed quite normal. This person was a state-employee (which meant a stable salary and that meant you wouldn't have to compensate for rent) who travelled often for work and liked to keep mostly to themselves. Not one for big parties, they preferred a night-in and rarely had people over.

So you'd put on your big-girl pants and had walked over to what you hoped would be your last apartment visit. You hadn't been expecting such a young person to open the door because of the way the advert had been written and because of what it said. "Hi, I'm Dr. Spencer Reid." You noticed he didn't hold his hand out and mirrored his behaviour. "Hi! I'm here for a visit!" You introduced yourself somewhat shyly, feeling intimidated. This man was at the most five years older than you and he was already a doctor?

He showed you around the apartment, which you liked very much. The rooms smelled like books and tea and everything was kept very clean. On the whole, it was tidy, even if a few books or articles were stacked in some odd places. The bedroom you'd stay in was large and luminous. After the tour, he made you a cup of tea as you discussed formalities.

"Uh, so, you’re a student, right?" he'd asked politely as he added a worrying amount of sugar in his earl grey. You bit back a teasing jest. You hoped maybe one day you'd get to place where you could comment on his daily sugar intake. "Yeah, um, I'm studying English Literature and Cinema." You stirred your tea, looking around the kitchen. Even though it was painted a dark, forest green, it still seemed luminous in the afternoon sun. "Oh, that's super interesting! I’ve always found texts in Middle English particularly insightful! I- I read the Canterbury Tales when I was about 10 years old. It’s fascinating the way in which issues which were already current then are still very present today, like in the Wife of Bath’s tale, for example-“

He cut himself off, leaning back into the couch. He rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks dusted pink. “Sorry, you probably don’t want me to ramble about what you already know.” “No, I think it’s amazing that you would know that, actually. What else did you like in the Wife of Bath’s tale?” Spencer seemed to brighten up at your words and thus ensued a lengthy discussion of the avant-garde themes evoked by Geoffrey Chaucer. You were fascinated by his knowledge and found his passion especially endearing. Lots of your professors weren’t even that passionate when talking of late 14th century literature.

After discussing rent, which you would afford by waitressing at a local bar, lightly touching upon political subjects (on which you seemed to agree on), he finally told you that he was an FBI agent. "Excuse me?" you spluttered, leaning backwards in shock. "I'm a profiler with the BAU, the Behavioural Analysis Unit. I can show you my badge if you want." He stood up and reached for his bag, but you stopped him in his tracks. "No, no, that's okay, I believe you. I'm just surprised, that's all, sorry." His expansive knowledge of so many things seemed fitting for an agent of the BAU. After realising you were the first person who didn't demand his badge as proof of his profession, Spencer granted you a small smile. "You don't need to apologise. I- I know it can be a bit... off-putting." He sat back down and looked you in the eye. "Is that a problem for you, living with a federal agent?"

You thought about it for a second. As a general rule, you weren't a big fan of cops. Even more generally, you didn't believe in the structure of today's society. But that was a big topic. Plus, a profiler wasn't really a cop, was he? "No, that's not a problem for me."

You'd moved in a month and a half later. Things had been slightly awkward at first and you'd had to figure out what kind of dynamic Spencer and you had. But eventually, you’d found your rhythm.

When Spencer left for work, you took care of his plants and sent him pictures of Geoffrey. Geoffrey was the cat you’d found on the street and taken in. He was named after Geoffrey Chaucer, author of the Canterbury Tales, your first common point of interest. Spencer had been reluctant at first, but you’d taken him to the vet, where he was tested and vaccinated, and the man had finally accepted him into your shared space. Now, he loved the little creature. Sometimes, you’d call him to ask how he was doing and whether he was safe. He’d always reply that yes, he was doing fine and no, he wasn’t in any danger, don’t you worry. He’d ask how you were doing and if you were staying on top of uni work and if you’d eaten and if Geoffrey wasn't being too annoying. As an orange cat, he had his particular tendencies.

When Spencer was at home, you'd always look forward to getting back from class. There was always that sense of comfort and ease when he was around. You had found a lovely routine quite easily. You'd both work or study, then cook, eat together and afterwards maybe you'd watch a movie or something. You were at a point where you could comment on his daily sugar intake, which he's started correcting since meeting you. He loved the Big Bang Theory and though you weren't such a fan, you loved the little laughs he let out and all the corrections he'd make. In general, you liked when he talked. Even more generally, you liked him. You also liked Friends and though Ross got on Spencer's nerves, he enjoyed being able to discuss it with you afterwards. The two of you got very close without even noticing.

Sometimes, you'd remember he wasn't just your roommate, but also a man. He'd make you a cup of tea and you'd stare at his hands a little too long while he stirred the honey in. Or he'd help you reach for a cup with his impressive height, his front just skimming your back with a shiver. He'd tell you to breathe and sit down when you were upset about something. A few times, he drove you home from a night out with your friends and laid his hand on your knee. He was the only one who remembered how you'd told him you wanted to kiss him.

With you, Spencer discovered many things he had never experienced before. A healthy, comforting and peaceful routine. A supporting, non-judgemental, healthy friendship. Easy laughter in the middle of the night and tired "good morning"s at dawn. Butterflies in his stomach whenever you touched him. A budding romance which kept him awake at night.

So when that was threatened, he just about lost it.

"Oh my God." "I can't believe this." "Is this a prank?" "Did someone call 911?" "What about her parents?" "Oh, that's sick."

Voices swarmed around your head, making you dizzy. Your hand rested over your mouth as you stared at the body strewn on the lawn. Much of the student body stood next to you, just as shocked. Mary Goldman had been her name. You'd crossed her just this morning in the main hall and had exchanged small smiles. You had thought that she looked really pretty today, but hadn't told her. You regretted that now. At the moment, her mascara had run down her cheeks and dried and her lipstick and been smudged. Bruises and cuts decorated her bare arms and legs and a big red stain sat on the side of her stomach. The contrast between her dead body and the green, thriving grass beneath her was haunting.

You turned away, feeling sick. You felt your friend's hand on your shoulder, a small source of comfort anchoring you to reality. Facing the road as you turned, you were surprised to see three big black SUVs speeding towards the crowd. You'd been expecting an ambulance, or cops. Not whoever these guys were. They screeched to a stop, drawing everyone's attention. A small dozen of people stormed out, all dressed differently though they all held the same aura of importance, knowledge and authority. You turned back to your friends. "Who are these-"

You stopped mid-sentence when you heard your name being called out urgently. You'd have recognised his voice amidst a thousand others. He spoke your name like no other. You frantically looked around, pushing your way to the large vehicles. When you finally spotted him, tears started pricking your eyes. "Spencer," you breathed in a half-sob. His eyes ran you over once, twice, assessing any damage. When he saw there was no physical wound, his shoulders sank in relief. He opened his arms and you rushed inside his warm embrace almost reflexively. Neither of you noticed the numerous pair of curious eyes observing your intimate exchange.

"Oh my God, Spence- What- What are you doing here?" you'd cried into his cardigan. You buried your face into his neck, inhaling the comforting scent he always bore. He wrapped an arm around your waist and another around your shoulders, holding the back of your head in a consoling manner. "We're- We're taking this on as a case, sweets. Are you all right?" He knew it was a stupid question but all the emotions and tension were barely wearing off and he didn't know what else to say. You pulled away but he kept you at arm's length, holding your cold, shaking hands in his warm, steady ones. "I- Yeah, it's just- I- I saw her this morning! How could she- Why would someone do this to her? To- to anyone?!" Spencer cooed and pulled you into another tight hug as you continued to ramble through your tears. When you'd eventually calmed down thanks to his words of reassurance, he pulled away softly.

Spencer understood what you meant perhaps more than anyone. The sadness, the shock, the anger, the need to understand. He gently wiped away the mascara under your eyes with his thumb. "I know, I- It's- Even I don't always understand, sweetheart, so don't- Why don't you go home? I'd come with you but-" You nodded, biting your lower lip. He gave you a sad smile. "I promise I'll join you as soon as this is over. You- you can make yourself a cup of tea and process all this and pet Geoffrey, okay? Classes are going to be cancelled either way." "I don't want to-" The look in his eyes kept you from arguing further. You nodded, giving him another hug. Before you left, an older man came over to you.

"I'm sorry to bother you, miss. I'm Agent David Rossi. I just had a question-" "Rossi," interrupted Spencer with a stern tone you'd never heard before. The older Agent raised an eyebrow at him. "Just one question." He turned back to you. "At what time did you say you saw the victim?" You inhaled shakily, running a hand over your face. "Uh, it must have been around quarter to eleven. I think- Yeah, somewhere between ten thirty and eleven." "Thank you, miss." You didn't miss the glance shared between the two men before Rossi retreated.

"Who was that?" asked Emily as soon as you'd left and Spencer had joined them behind the police tape. "No one," Spencer brushed her off as he kneeled next to the victim. Strangely, he hated the idea of someone who knew you dying. It felt too close to home. "C'mon, man, you lost your shit this morning, a girl you clearly know very well runs into your arms, you snap at Rossi and you expect us to believe you?" Derek raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. Spencer sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before looking up at the rest of the team. All were staring at him patiently. He stood up, swallowing.

"That was my roommate." He informed the team of your name and of how you'd been living together for a few years now. "Spencer, you've been living with a woman for years and you've never told us?!" Derek was all but hysteric. Hotch reminded him that everyone was entitled to a private life. "So, are you dating or something?" Emily prodded again. Spencer hesitated a second before answering. "No." Derek scoffed, appalled. "You mean to tell me you've been living with a beautiful woman like that for years and nothing's ever happened?!" "Not everyone is like you, Morgan," Emily reminded with a teasing smirk. Derek sent her an unimpressed look. "Look, let's all grill Spencer later, we have a case to focus on right now." Rossi, ever the voice of reason, directed everyone's attention back to the corpse laying next to them.

Needless to say, the BAU team did not need to interrogate Spencer or attack him with incessant questions to find much out. They'd seen by his behaviour that very morning how much he cared about you. They'd seen how relieved he had been when he'd seen you safe and sound. They'd noticed you'd only started crying when you'd seen him, a big sign of trust. They had never heard him call another by pet names such as "sweets" or "sweetheart". They'd read both of your body languages like a children's book and translated it easily.

Love. Comfort. Peace. Ease.