#so it's not an overly difficult first page

[essektheylyss]

just straight up hadn't opened the music book for Jackrabbit that I bought a while back because I was like, well, I really am very much a piano beginner, I don't know if I'm at a level for this yet, and then decided to just try it and brute forced my way through the first page of The Woods in twenty minutes. not well, certainly at a glacial pace, but it was recognizably the opening of the song. maybe just picking out the music I like and focusing solely on that IS a viable method of teaching myself piano. whoda thunk.

[aliteralsemicolon]

I'll wait for your love - 18+

See part 1 | See Part 2 | Part 3 of We can't be friends (wait for your love)

The only thing you’re sure of is that you don’t want things to go back to the way they were and Spencer agrees that change may be for the best.

Spencer Reid X Fem! Reader

DISCLAIMER I do not consent to my work being used to feed/train AI and/or re-posted anywhere by anybody else This story is NSFW and contains graphic depictions + detailed descriptions of adult content. It is intended for mature audiences only, minors do not interact!  You are responsible for the content you consume. Make sure to read all necessary warnings. Please remember this is a work of fiction; if you don’t like it, don’t read. 

WARNINGS: Panic attack mentioned, slight PTSD depictions, case details (barely) mentioned, alcohol mentioned like once. Smut (not the focus at all): making out, nipple play, clitoral stimulation, praise, use of pet names (angel, pretty girl, etc). Proceed at your own risk.

Word count: 10.4K See notes at end for authors note & spoilers.

Avoiding Spencer wasn’t overly difficult on the flight back to D.C. You weren’t entirely sure how to face him after he risked his life for you, so you just pretended to be asleep the whole time. You even took a separate jeep from the tarmac to avoid a car ride back with him, and almost made a clean getaway to your car in the parking lot when Hotch stopped you. 

“I’m sorry to hold you back, but I do need the Anchorage report on my desk before tomorrow morning. It can’t be put off any longer.”

He looked extremely apologetic and you understood. You’re grateful he gave you as much time as he has. That’s how you ended up stuck at work til the later hours of the evening. Besides the few workaholics, security guards and janitors roaming around the corridors, the only other person there with you is Spencer, oddly. Even Hotch has gone home. You’ve spent more time stalking the doctor work through the pile of case files on his desk than you have writing in the one on yours. Only when you're caught do you look away. 

“Everything okay?” The innocent curiosity in his big eyes further reddens the hot embarrassment in your cheeks.

“Fine.” You mutter, dipping your head back down to the open page.

You’re never going to get this damn file done if you can’t get him out of your head, and him being barely three feet away from you doesn’t help. It’s very difficult for you to get your words from pen to paper. Anchorage wasn’t haunting you like it did at first. It was a traumatic event, yes, but alone isn’t the cause of this…block. Obviously the reality that you’re leaving is starting to dawn on you. Somehow your mind has linked this case with your departure and finishing this report makes it more official than your actual resignation. 

Plus, as much as you definitely hate Spencer, you do did care for him. The shock of him almost getting himself killed in front of you is another thing occupying your mind. It’s barely been twenty four hours since then, it’s still fresh. You can see him stand and grab his satchel in your peripheral vision, he’s preparing to leave. There are a lot of memories attached to that brown leather bag. 

Things he would carry in there for you when you forgot your own bag. 

You don’t make it obvious that you’re watching him gather his things in small glances. 

He bought extra hair clips for you to keep in there because you would often forget those too. 

It’s over now. No point in dwelling on it. You shake your head once he’s out of sight, trying to force him out of your thoughts. Now that he’s gone you’re hoping to actually be able to get some work done.

He taught you chess with the mini chess set he keeps in there. You discovered that you actually quite liked chess and would ask to play with him all the time. It was also his ‘secret’ weapon to help you calm down. 

You roll your eyes to push back the tears from the memories that refuse to stop playing. This can wait until you get home, it’s not important. 

It wasn’t the chess set that helped you feel calm. Spencer could win chess against you in just a few moves, but he would deliberately stretch out the game so you could have room to breathe. The longer the game, the more time you had to spend focused on the moves and slow down your thoughts. You could open up at your own pace. He would let you feel in control.

It doesn’t matter if he’s near you or not, Spencer has a way of invading your headspace wherever he is. Your train of thoughts is interrupted with a light thud on your right. You covertly roll the tears away again and turn to examine the source of the noise. A mug of coffee placed on your desk by

“Spencer?” You sputter breathlessly. 

“Sorry. I know you told me to stop. This is the last time I promise.” 

You don’t fully comprehend what he’s going on about, not expecting him to be here at all. 

“I thought you left.”

“I did– was. I was leaving, but I thought I’d make you some coffee before I go. Since you’ve been here a while.” He awkwardly explains. 

You steadily direct your attention back to the mug, reeling in what was happening. 

“Before you get mad, this really is just a cup of coffee from a colleague who thought it might help keep you energised if you’re planning to stay late. There’s no ulterior motive…”

He continues rambling but you’re not mentally present to hear any of it. 

He made you coffee. 

Even though you’ve been nothing short of an absolute bitch. Granted he was a bitch first, but the point is that he’s still thinking of your well being regardless. You can’t hide your tears from him this time. It’s the soft buzz of your name that draws you back to him. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you! I’ll take the coffee–”

His panicked sentiment is cut short when you jump out of your seat and shove past him. The breakdown you’ve been avoiding hits you like a ton of bricks. You run into the nearest empty office and he runs after you, making it past the door before you can lock him out. 

“Spencer p–please get out! I’m fine.” You’re pacing in the same spot, fanning away the stream falling down your cheeks, hyperventilating.

He doesn’t respond to you, instead cautiously taking your hand in his. You’re in too frenzied a state to care. He guides you to sit on the couch against the wall and you blindly go along with it, still trying to get yourself together. 

You want to stop the tears, but you can’t do that until you get your breathing under control. He slowly wraps his arms around you and you slump into him, head buried in his chest. You should try to fight it, you should push him away, but you can’t. Right now, surrounded by his scent, held in his arms, you don’t want to move. It’s not something you can properly explain, but the feeling is so comforting that nothing else matters. All you know is that you’re safe and that’s enough for you to allow yourself to finally break down. 

The first few sobs are loud, like there’s not enough air in the world to stabilise your lungs. They fizzle out into silent whimpers and you grasp onto the fabric of his sweater, balling it in your fist, just letting yourself feel. Spencer still hasn’t said a word. His right hand is rubbing circles on your back and his left hand is gently scratching just above the nape of your neck. 

You stay like that for a while, even after you’ve stopped crying. It’s been so long since you’ve been in this little bubble with him and you don’t want it to end. You pull away when you feel the strap of his satchel across his stomach as your hand drops to his lap. He visually follows every move you make. 

“You’re still wearing your bag.” You sniffle, leaning back. 

“I am.” He whispers, understanding that you no longer want to be touched. 

He stays in his original position; facing you, but now with one arm resting on top of the backrest and the other idly in his lap. You’ve moved so that now you're facing ahead with your back leaning against the cushions, pulling your knees into your chest. You had never found comfort in silence until the first time you experienced it with Spencer. Staying huddled, you divert your eyes towards him. There’s a distinct wet patch on his shirt. It’s less visible on his sweater-vest, but it’s there. 

“Your shirt’s wet now.” It’s almost impossible to make out what you’re saying with your mouth muffled against your arm, but of course, Spencer manages anyway. 

“It’ll dry.” He smiles, tone delicate. 

“But– germs.” You choke a little due to your previous crying. 

“It can be washed.” He’s using his comforting voice again. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

The silence resumes. Neither of you dares to move, trying to freeze this moment. It’s obvious that you didn’t grasp how badly you craved each other’s presence. 

“D–do…” The initial sound grabs Spencer’s full attention again. You take a deep breath, hoping he wants to stay here as much as you do. “Do you still carry that little chess set with you?”

A small, airy chuckle comes out from him. 

“Would you like to play?”

“Please.” 

He creates some more space between you and begins to set up the board once he’s pulled it out of his satchel. You move to accommodate the set up, now facing him with your legs crossed on the couch and shoes abandoned on the floor. You wait for him to make the first move. After the opening moves the game doesn’t seem to get any harder and you know he’s throwing the game. You’re okay at chess, but he’s obviously a lot better. 

“You’re going easy on me.” You mumble.

“Because you’re not even trying.” He replies blithely.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Like I said, you’re making it too easy.” He gently teases.

“Not that. Helping me. You hate me, remember?” You say it like it’s the most casual thing in the world. 

“I don’t hate you.” 

“You literally told me that you hate me.” You chuckle, numb to the hurt that sentence once brought you. 

“So did you.” He counters in defence, trailing your hand as it carelessly moves your queen to her demise. 

“I was angry.” 

“So was I.” He spared your queen, in turn leaving his king vulnerable. 

“It doesn’t matter now…” You don’t finish the rest of your sentence but Spencer still hears it.

You’re leaving soon anyway.

“It matters to me.” If he left something unsaid you choose to ignore it. 

“You’re letting me win.” You whisper, feeling the urge to cry some more, but there’s no tears left. 

He doesn’t make a move, bringing the game to a halt. He’s waiting for you to meet his eyes. You know what he’s going to say. 

“Spencer, don't.” You beseech.

“Why?” If you looked at him instead of the board you’d see the way his eyes are pleading at you. 

“There’s no point.” This time it’s your voice that cracks. 

You're looking everywhere else and it makes you too aware of your surroundings. Like how the couch is lined up directly under a window that anyone could peek into. 

“Leaving is not the only option.” He solicits. 

He regards your discomfort and closes the blinds from where he’s sitting, pulling you back into the privacy of your bubble. 

“There’s nothing that you can say to make things go back to how they were.” You bite the inside of your cheek, fiddling with a random pawn. 

It’s not a proper two way conversation. You’re talking to yourself just as much as Spencer’s talking to you. You’re both trying to convince you of what you’re saying. 

“Things don’t have to go back to how they were.” The squeaks in his soothing tone are starting to melt any resolve you have left. 

“There’s no reason for me to stay.” You oppose, trying to make any argument stick.

“I can think of more reasons for you to stay than for you to go.” 

There’s an underlying tension bubbling. Neither of you notice it over your desperate tug of war. 

“I don’t think there’s anything that you can say to get me to stay.” Another baseless sentence meant more for you than for him. 

“Give me one chance. One chance to convince you.” He can see your internal struggle at his request and he throws out one final plea to sway you. “For nothing more than closure.” 

Closure.

You’ve spent months in turmoil over the hows and the what ifs, trying to conjure answers to questions that wouldn’t stop pestering you. You couldn’t turn him down even if you wanted to. 

“Closure?” You repeat, eyes finally latching onto his.

“Closure.” He whispers back in reassurance. 

“Even if you can’t convince me?” You caution, not wanting to give him false hope.

He doesn’t say anything, thinking over the scenario in his head. He simply nods and you mimic the action, blinking away the blur in your vision and dragging around chess pieces. It takes Spencer a second to figure out that you were moving them back to their default places.

“Okay new game.” You announce. 

Spencer blinks in confusion, waiting for you to elaborate. 

“I can ask you any question I want and you have to answer honestly. If by the end of the game I’m not convinced to stay, you back off for the remainder of my time here.” You pause for him to interject, but he doesn’t. “That means we stay away from each other, only talking when needed for work. Even then as cordially and professionally as possible. No more trying to make casual conversation or bringing me coffee or anything like that.”

“Till the end of the game?” He studies you. 

“Yup.” You smack your lips together. “Til one of us checkmates the other.”

“This means you’ll actually give me a fair shot?” 

“Between the two of us, I’m not the one known for cheating at games.” You jab, trying to ease the tension you could definitely feel now. 

“I meant a fair shot at convincing you. As in you’ll seriously take what I have to say into account.” He discards your attempt.

“No, I know. The opportunity was just too good to pass up.”

He can tell you’re trying to hold back a laugh from the small smile on your lips. It’s as adorable to him now as it was the first time he saw it. 

“Any rules before we start?” He asks, unable to hide his own smile.

“Only that we have to be honest.” You answer, immediately dropping your smile.

“Okay.” He agrees, smiling slightly wider.

“Okay.” You nod again.

When he finally makes the first move it hits you that you don’t actually know where to start. Theoretically, you know what you want to ask, but don’t know how to ask. You don’t know if you should jump straight into the questions or start with some ice breakers. Nothing is said for about four to five moves when Spencer pauses the game. 

“Are you going to ask any questions or have you decided that you just want to play one last game for your closure?”

“Huh?” You snap your vision away from the board. “Oh, sorry. I was thinking.”

“Do you want to return to the game after thinking of a few questions to ask?” He raises his brow and relaxes his jaw.

“No, no, we don’t need to do that. Let’s keep playing, the questions will come to me.” You brush off his suggestion and motion for him to continue with his turn. He doesn’t.

“What?” Your voice raises and you scrunch your nose from perplexity.

“Sorry, it’s just that you’ve put us on a time limit and this is how you’re using our time?” He airs, failing to conceal his amusement.

“Well excuse me if I don’t exactly have a list of questions ready to go for you.” You narrow your eyes in annoyance. 

“Why would you suggest this if you don’t have any questions?” He tries to hold back his laugh and ends up snorting as a result. 

“I have questions!” You jabber, unable to maintain your annoyance. “I don’t know what– where do I even start?”

“Start with whichever one comes to you first.” He shrugs, finally making his move. 

A lot of things come to mind when you think about it. The thing that screams the loudest twitches a nerve and you become instantly irate. 

“Okay.” You nod, tone harsh and flat. “Let’s start with whatever the fuck possessed you on the last case. What was your thought process when you put your life in danger like that?”

He almost gets whiplash from the change in mood, his face literally reads ‘are you serious?’. 

“He was going to shoot you.” He states like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

“I was wearing a vest, I would’ve been fine.” You contend. 

“I wasn’t willing to take that risk.” 

“Risk?! You literally put yourself in danger for no reason!” 

“I think it was a pretty good reason actually!” 

“Spencer that was–” You stop yourself with a grumble, inhaling deeply. 

“It was instinctual, okay?” He softly explains. “I saw him aim the gun at you and I just reacted.” 

“Well it was a stupid reaction!” You whine. 

“I’m not going to apologise for it.”

The glare you give is piercing, you bite the inside of your cheek to hold your tongue before you say something you can’t take back. Spencer throws his head back and sighs. 

“But I will promise not to do it again.” He adds, not fully intending to keep it. 

This was slowly turning into another argument, both of you shooting back too fast with your responses. You aren’t in the mood for another argument. So you redirect your attention to the game. 

“Check.” You mumble, buying yourself time to think of another question. “Why are you here so late anyway?”

“I wanted to finish some work before tomorrow morning.” He replies, moving his king to safety. 

“Yeah, what’s up with that? You could’ve done those tomorrow as well.” Your voice softens out of curiosity. 

“I wanted to get them finished in case there were more tomorrow.” It’s not his best excuse. You don’t know what he means by that. He doesn’t know what he means by that. He’s lying to you. 

You scoff, poking your tongue against your cheek. “Wow. You really can’t not cheat during a game, can you?” 

“Right, sorry.” Spencer clears his throat after the initial confusion clears. Complete honesty, it was your only rule. “I wanted to be here.”

“For…” You egg on, purposely rolling your ‘r’s to prompt him. 

“I wanted to make sure that you were okay.” He admits, looking away from you. 

“Why?” You’re genuinely puzzled at the admission. “You’re the one who almost died. I mean, it was stupid and your fault, but still. If anything I should be checking up on you.”

“Check.” That’s the only response he gives you. He hopes that you don’t push further, but he knows that you will. 

His lack of response only forces you to think about the possible reasons by yourself, using context clues to figure it out. You are a profiler, after all. 

“Is this because of the panic attack?” You note how his jaw twitches when he swallows at the mention. “It is! You seriously chose to spend your night stuck at the office because of that?” 

“What else was I supposed to do? It’s not like you would talk to me, you literally refused to even look at me!” He gripes. 

“Spencer I think anyone would panic if they got tackled to the ground by a six foot man without warning. I’m fine.” You giggle.

“What happened to complete honesty?” It’s his turn to glare at you.

“I am being honest!” You protest.

“Lying by omission is not being honest.” He rolls his eyes.

“Okay Mr. know-it-all, what am I lying about?” You challenge.

“Seriously? You don’t remember?” His approach is doubtful and he just stares at your dazed expression.

“Fucking spit it out already, Spence!” 

Any sarcasm he had geared up for a response dissipates at your use of his nickname. He’s heard it plenty in the last few months, but not from you. For a moment things feel like they never changed. It stings in a bittersweet kind of way. 

“You sc–screamed– uh–” He clears his throat and rapidly blinks, his nose twitches in the process. “During that panic attack, you repeatedly asked me to stay with you. Y–you, uh– you said you didn’t think you could li–”

“Stop. Stop. Stop talking.” Your voice quavers and you hold your hand up, ears burning up. “I don’t wanna know.”

You don’t know why it makes your heart race the way it does, you don’t even remember it. He waits a while before speaking up again, wanting to be careful about how he goes about the topic without you shutting down.

“May I ask you a question?” He voices professionally, trying to make the conversation less personal so you don’t feel cornered. 

You nod, moving your king out of check.

“Is there anybody you will talk to about Anchorage? Without pushing them away?” He keeps the game going as he speaks to provide you with a distraction. 

“Woah– Anchorage? Where is that coming from?” You titter.

“I want you to remember that we promised to be honest and I won’t push if you ask me to stop, but I know for a fact that you aren’t okay.” He waits for you to stop him but you don’t, even though you know roughly what he’s going to say. “Panic attacks aside, your avoidant behaviour around the topic, inability to focus, being easily startled, you’re showing signs of PTSD.” 

“Spence, c’mon. I don’t need to talk to anyone. I already passed the psych evals.” You attempt to make light of the situation with carefully chosen words so you’re not lying. It was a futile attempt, you know he’s not willing to budge when he doesn’t give you anything more than a blank stare. 

“Why does this matter so much to you?” You sigh in defeat. “Whatever happened…that’s a part of the job, you know that.”

“I also know, first hand, that it takes over your life. You can’t run from it, no matter how much you try to.” His tone is soft as he speaks, yet you feel like he’s accusing you. 

“I am not running! Why would you say I’m running?” You object with a high voice, shrugging your shoulders. “And it’s not taking over my life. Also, check.”

“Because that’s what you do when you don’t want to deal with something.” He states point blank.

“Woah– so– that was entirely unnecessary.” You stammer, unable to deny it. 

“I’m not criticising you. I just happen to know you and I know that you have a tendency to run from your problems. And it is taking over your life.” 

“You’re profiling!” You gasp.

“You know that it’s not something we can just turn off! No matter how much we pretend like we can.” He waves his hands defensively. 

You can’t argue with that, your lips twisting to the side. 

“You want me to be honest?” You murmur sheepishly. 

“Always. Please.” He responds gently, wanting you to be as comfortable as possible.

“I don’t want to talk about it. I spend a good chunk of my day actively avoiding thinking about it, but somehow I always end up thinking about it anyway. At times it’s like I can almost feel…” You breathe in instinctively. “This is the first time in months I’ve been able to do anything without it lingering in the back of my mind. Can we please talk about it another time? I would rather talk about other things…”

Another time. 

“...right now.” 

You’ve implied that there will be another time to talk and he definitely caught it, even if he pretends that he hasn’t. You don’t even know if what you said is true, you got too comfortable with the familiarity of his friendship. It was something you said out of habit from back when you two actually were friends. Not even a full hour's worth of conversation with him and he’s already worming his way back in.

“Um–” You drag yourself further back on the couch, creating more physical distance. 

“That’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it at all.” Spencer senses your urgency to leave the situation and jumps into damage control. “It’s your turn.”

“No, um, I should– I should go. Thanks for doing thi– helping me.” You turn away from him, aiming for your shoes and ready to bolt.

“The game’s not over.” He points out.

“Yes it is.” You declare, still in the process of putting on your shoes.

“You said til checkmate.” He huffs, shifting out of his seated position. 

“I forfeit!” You throw your arms out in a shrugging manner, standing up after him.

“I can’t believe this. You’re going back on your word!” He doesn’t even raise his voice. He’s just hurt. 

“What’s the point, Spencer? Closure doesn’t mean anything, I’m still leaving! You can’t magically change my mind!” You yell, getting louder with each sentence. 

“I disagree. I think that you’re running again!” He blocks your way and yells back, maintaining his volume throughout. 

“Maybe you should think less!” You suggest, still yelling. Sarcasm is your defence mechanism when you have no actual defence. 

“You know what else I think?” He continues, emphasising the word ‘think’ every time he says it out of spite. “I think that you agreed to this thinking I won’t be able to convince you, but I am!”

“I don’t care what you–”

“I think you don’t want to finish the game that you started, because you’re afraid to ask the harder questions!”

“Stop.” You command, but it doesn’t deter him.

“I think that you’re scared to hear my answers because then it all becomes too real for you–” 

“Stop!” The words almost get stuck in your throat, but you choke them out. “You’re wrong.” 

“If I’m wrong then prove it. To both of us.” He sits back down and motions to the board. “Ask the real questions.” 

“I don’t need to prove anything, you’re wrong.” You uphold.

“So leave.” He challenges, knowing that you won’t be able to. 

If you truly believed that he’s wrong you wouldn’t feel the need to prove it, but you do and he knows that. You walk back over to the couch, head nodding from irritation, tongue poking your cheek. You kick your shoes off with a bit of force and return to your earlier position across from him. 

“Your move.” He reminds you as you settle in.

You don’t reply yet, but move your rook to set him up for the next move.  

“Check.” He smugly states.

“Who was she?” 

You don’t move, examining him close for any change in his behaviour. He obviously didn't anticipate that question first, snapping his sights back on you. 

“Sorry?” 

“The woman who greeted me at your door. That night at your apartment.” 

“Charlotte.” He replies, holding your gaze to show you he’s got nothing to hide. “We met at the library a week before.”

“Are you guys together?” You break away first, diverting your eyes to the chess board and trying to seem unfazed when moving your knight. 

“No, God, no.” He denies immediately. 

“I don’t know, she seemed pretty cosy for someone you met a week prior.” You don’t mean to sound as snide as you come across.

“No, it wasn’t like that at all.” He shakes his head. 

“You sure? Because I’m pretty sure I saw her mark you up with a kiss on your cheek before disappearing.” You don’t look at him, examining a captured pawn as you wait for him to make his move. 

“Mark me up?” He cognizes it instantly. “Are you…jealous?”

“What? No!” You vehemently deny, your voice rising in several pitches. 

“You are!” His eyes widen. 

“I am not jealous.” 

His jaw slacks and he lets out an amused scoff. He doesn’t say anything, making you feel the need to fill the silence. 

“I only bring it up because…I know you have a thing with…germs.” Your words falter because of your own uncertainty and you want to dissolve into the fucking floor. 

Spencer tries to suppress a smile by poking his tongue out slightly. If the atmosphere was lighter he’d tease you about it, but he doesn’t want to make you take off again. Still, he feels the need to clarify the events of the night. 

“I don’t know why she kissed my cheek, it was completely random.” He takes his time saying it, still fighting a smile.

You swallow nervously and purse your lips to the side in response. One question answered and you only have new ones in its place. Did she stay the night? Did she sleep on the couch or on his bed? Did he see her again? 

“I drove her home right after you left.” He can almost hear your thoughts. 

“Was it a date?” You softly gulp again, unsure if you even have a right to know.

“Yes.” He hesitates. 

“Oh.” 

“I wanted to try out casual dating for once.” He chagrins. “I honestly don’t know how you did it, it’s not even fun.” 

“No it’s not.” You chuckle dryly. “So no second date, I presume?”

“Definitely not. I was just stressed the whole time.” He chuckles with you. 

“Take a shot of tequila before you go next time, it helps settle the nerves.” You joke, jumping to give him advice you hope he doesn’t take. You can’t help it, it’s what you’ve always done. Even if it goes against what you desire. 

“While moderate consumption of tequila can help relax the nervous system, I will not be turning to alcohol for stress relief.” 

“Then blast classical music while you get ready and give yourself a pep talk out loud, it’s actually really efficient–”

“There won’t be a next time. For a really long time, if ever.” He interjects, miffed at your insistence. 

“You willingly plan on committing to lifelong celibacy?” You exclaim with a puzzled look. “Why?!”

Spencer laughs at how raw your reaction is. He didn’t plan on giving out any more details but, with that prompt he decides that it’s now or never. 

“I don’t think any future dates will appreciate me picturing someone else in their place the whole time.” 

Oh. 

Both of you lock eyes at the same time. This is not a road you’re prepared to go back down, even if that’s literally the whole point of this conversation. You’re too stunned to reply and Spencer uses this as an opportunity to be elaborate. He doesn’t want any misunderstandings this time. 

“I couldn’t stop pictur–”

“Shut up.” You blurt out the sentence in almost one word. 

Your heart’s racing like you’re standing on the edge of a cliff. You’re flustered, every part of your body is heated from how terrified you are.

“Y–you don’t have t–t…you don’t owe m–me an explanation.” You try to elaborate, contradicting yourself and stumbling on your words.

“I want to.” He reads that you’re apprehensive but pushes regardless. 

“Please don’t.” The tears that you thought had dried out were building again.

“Why ask if you won’t let me answer?”

You don’t have anything to say to that. Did you want answers? Yes. Still, you didn’t expect how hard they’d be to hear. He whispers your name and you scramble to think of your next move, and not in chess. You’re unable to even think about the game right now. You want to bolt, but you can’t even get yourself to move. So you deflect. 

“Because it doesn’t matter.”

“I disagree.” Although his tone is subdued, the pace of his wording is faster. “I think it does matter and that’s why you’re afraid to hear it.”

He’s right but you can’t bring yourself to agree. This is only going to over-complicate an already complicated situation.

“It’s not enough.” Your voice cracks.

“How can it be if you won’t even give it a fair shot?” 

“Fair?” 

It comes out louder than you intended. His words trigger resentment within you and you snap. 

“Nothing about any of this is fair! I mean, fucking hell, Spencer, four years. That’s how long we’ve been friends. I mean I’ve shared shit that I thought I would be taking to the fucking grave with you! You were my best friend for four fucking years and all it took was like, five seconds?”

You sob, softer than when you were first crying, but the frustration is clear. He reaches out to touch your hand, but you push his hand away. 

“No!” You choke, sobbing harder when you try to compile your thoughts. “Five seconds to destroy all of it! It makes me wonder if everything we shared, our friendship, was it ever even that strong?”

Your anger simmers to sadness, as evident with how your yelling fades into whispering in the last sentence. 

“I can’t even tell you when exactly those five seconds were. I mean, I know…but…I don’t. Where did it go wrong, Spence?” 

“I don’t know.” Is all he can say after a beat of silence.

He knows exactly where it went wrong. 

“Yeah, me neither!” You sniffle, immediately wiping a single tear that manages to escape. “So again, it doesn’t matter.” 

“When you took it back.”

“What?” 

“That’s where everything changed for me. You showed up at my apartment drunk, after your date with Nathan. Your exact words were ‘I mean as an amazing friend’.” His voice strains like he’s forcing himself to speak. 

Your gaze falls, eyes darting everywhere as you try to jog your memory beyond the one sentence you remember. 

“I don’t understand.” You croak.

“You know, if I wasn’t who I am, maybe you could love me the way I love you.” He chuckles bitterly, fighting back tears of his own. “That was– that was, uh, what you said before you took it back.”

“Spence, please…” You whine without sound, tilting your head back and chewing on your lip as a final attempt to stay composed. 

“No, you wanted to know where it went wrong.” He laughs falsely to downplay his tears. “You can say it doesn’t matter all you want, but the fact is, it does matter. It matters to me and I won’t let you run from it anymore.” 

You can’t look at him. Not with tears free falling down your face. You cup your hands together in your lap, pressing your fingers and nails together. 

“You told me that I couldn’t love you.” You struggle to sound your words. 

“I’m an idiot.” Another chuckle, but he sounds defeated. “When you said that, all I could think about was how badly I wanted to say that I do love you.” 

You tearfully laugh at this admission. 

“I only took it back because of what you said. I panicked. I thought I’d ruined things…which I guess, I still did.” Another laugh from you.

Spencer responds with the same regretful sound. 

The irony spurs another fit of giggles amongst you, this one slightly longer and infinitely more rueful than the last. You look anywhere but at each other until it grows quieter. 

“If you loved me, why the fuck would you tell me that I couldn’t love you?” You sound just as, if not more, defeated than him. 

“Love.” Spencer corrects without missing a beat. 

Your brows twitch up and your heart jumps. 

“I was so hung up on every single part of your sentence that I didn’t know what to say first.” He proceeds to answer you without leaving much room to process what he said. “I wanted to tell you that I do love you. I love you as you are. Not as somebody else.”

“But you didn’t say any of that.” You ignore all his admissions, not fully comprehending. 

“Like I said, I’m an idiot. I was in so much disbelief and that was the first thing that came out of my mouth.” He sullenly huffs.

You don’t reply, sniffling with your head down. 

“For like a second, I had everything I wanted. Then you took it back and it was like my whole world had been ripped out from under me. In those five seconds, you’d given me a taste of what I’d spent four years convincing myself I couldn’t have and I just– I couldn’t go back after that.” He adds after a stillness. 

After a short while, your focus shifts from your hands to the board in front of you. The game’s been long forgotten. You’re immersed in the conversation, in spite of how strenuous it is. 

“I understand why you were distant, even mean, at first.” You snivel. “But after a while you just became downright cruel.” 

Spencer doesn’t shy away from your gaze when you do look at him. His skin is as drenched from crying as yours is. 

“I mean ‘I don’t want to see your face’? I know that I don’t really have a leg to stand on anymore, but, what the fuck Spencer?” 

He doesn’t cringe any less with every reminder. He’s truly regretted the words since they left his mouth. 

“I wanted to hurt you.” He reveals. “I thought you were being deliberately cruel and I wanted you to feel exactly how I was feeling.”

“Deliberately?” 

He nods, hanging his head.

“I thought that you knew how I felt and were just trying to be funny or something.” 

“Well I didn’t. I wasn’t.” You cut him off with a constricted voice.

“Even if you did, it’s not an excuse.” His eyes are glistening from the outpour of tears, but he still lifts his sights back to you. “I’m sorry.” 

You don’t know how to acknowledge his apology at all. You’re not even angry anymore, all you feel is sorrow and regret for the way everything happened. An entire friendship down the drain due to an unfortunate set of circumstances. 

“This is so fucked up.” You say with another mordant laugh. “All of this could have been avoided if we just talked about it.”

It stung less when you had somebody to blame for it. Your vision blurs and you make no effort to clear it, letting yourself cry openly. 

“We’re talking about it now?” It’s almost a squeak, the way it’s spoken.

“Yeah, but,” your shoulders slump, defeatedly, and you have to pause to control your sob, “what good does it do now? I’ve already lost the best thing that’s ever happened to me in the most pathetic way possible.”

“I’m right here.” He counters in such a small voice that it gives your goosebumps. 

“Spencer, too many things have been said…”

“When you first joined the team, I instantly knew I liked you.” 

He chews on his lip and darts his eyes around while he contemplates if he wants to continue. 

“I thought it was because of your kind nature. You were so sweet to everybody.” He decides he does, but his voice shakes throughout. “You have this gift…you make people feel so good about themselves. Whenever you spoke to me, I felt like the most important person in the world. It was impossible not to like you.”

You want to pretend like you don’t know where he’s going with this. You want to stop him, but your voice is stuck in your throat.

“It wasn’t until you bought me coffee for the first time that I realised just how much I liked you.” He chuckles again, as he reminisces in the memory. “You didn’t even get my order right until the fourth time, but it was still my favourite cup of the day.”

“You make me sound like a saint.” You finally choke out, attempting to play down the confession so it doesn’t crush your heart. “The only reason I even started bringing you coffee is because you learned how I like my coffee first.” 

“Not a saint, an angel. I’ve fallen so deeply in love with you that there are times where it genuinely feels like I’m in the presence of an angel.” 

It’s stated with such sincerity that it knocks the wind out of your pipes. Your eyes are widened and you’re biting your tongue with your mouth closed, staring at him with your chin tucked. He seems so confident, even with the glistening from previous tears in his eyes.

“I wanted to be in your life in any way you would have me. Even when it meant that I had to accept you with other people. And it was bearable, until…” His reminiscence only ends at the memory of the night that changed everything. “Like I said, I couldn’t go back.”

The last part fades into another whisper, only then do you find the courage to speak up. 

“Exactly.” You stick to your denial. “It can’t go back to how it was before.”

Your heart is so sure of what it wants, but your head is blinded by fear. You’re at a crossroads, except one path, the path that leads to everything you long for, is clouded with a fog of uncertainty. The other path is so painfully clear, you can practically see what’s on the other side. A fresh start, where the risk of fucking up further doesn’t exist. What you don’t see is Spencer.

“Good. I don’t want it to go back to how it was.” 

Spencer’s waiting for you to enter the fog. He’s going to be there holding your hand every step of the way. 

“I’ve already handed in my resignation.”

“That matters less than everything you’ve claimed doesn’t matter.” He leans in, intensifying his eye contact. 

“I’m pretty sure Hotch is really close to confirming my replacement.” You comment half-heartedly. 

You’re trying anything to dissuade both him and yourself from acknowledging the obvious, but he doesn’t plan on letting you avoid it. 

“I love you.” He whispers softly.

“Spencer…” You begin when he takes hold of your hands and whatever you had to say disappears from your tongue. 

“I love you. With every atom that makes up my body.” He repeats himself with further elaboration to instil it in your mind.

“I’m scared.” You whisper back with a sob, finally accepting it. 

“Why?” His voice can’t be any softer, but it still cracks a little.

“Because, you can’t guarantee that it’s going to end well.” You allow your vulnerability to peek through. “And that’s going to hurt more. I’d rather leave now than fall deeper.”

Although you didn’t say it back, it’s an indirect admission that you love him too. And it’s enough for him to fight harder.

“I know that my credibility isn’t the greatest,” he coaxes a small, sad scoff out of you, “but I truly believe that this, us, we’ll work. Because I know that I’m going to do everything I can to make this work.”

He feels bolder when you don’t pull away from his touch, folding your fingers into your palms and cupping over them. You observe the sight as it unfolds in lieu of a verbal response. 

“I’ve spent four years judging any man that comes into your life, wishing I was in their place, swearing I would treat you better than all of them.” 

Spencer feels the need to fill in the silence and he lets honesty guide his confession. He leans in further as if he’s indulging his deepest secret. 

“Four years wasted wondering what could be, cursing out those idiots, but taking no action to make it happen. And that makes me the biggest idiot out of all of them.”

When he speaks like this, with his big, imploring eyes and prayerful tone, it melts your heart to a point where it almost hurts. The more he talks, the more you begin to lean in, opening yourself up to him.

“It took losing you to realise how badly I fucked up and for that I will never forgive myself. I know that I have no right to ask you to waste any more time on me…”

There’s no more resistance against the pull you both physically feel to each other. 

“...but I’m begging you for a chance to do today what I should have done way before yesterday.” 

Your faces grow closer by the second, you can feel each other's breaths against skin.

“And I’m going to spend every tomorrow proving what I said today.” 

The likelihood of him changing your mind with one conversation wasn’t very high, both you and Spencer knew this when you got into it. You’re not entirely surprised when he somehow manages to overcome those odds too. You take the step to close the gap and lightly press your lips to his. 

It starts off soft, there’s no lust, no ulterior motive behind it. It’s a simple confirmation that you’re both present and this is real. Spencer doesn’t shy away from the kiss, not that you’d call this a kiss. It feels more intimate, more unguarded.

Spencer pulls you onto his lap as he shifts and leans back against the backrest to allow more room for you. You wrap your arms around him and the kiss deepens. In the midst of you straddling him, he slides the entire chess board off the couch and the pieces scatter on the floor. It’s only when you feel that the kiss can’t bring you any closer to him does the lust emerge. It fuels a desire to prove that you both whole-heartedly belong to each other. 

There’s no pinpointing when the switch happens. All you know is that the feeling of his lips against yours is no longer enough. You cup his jaw in your hands, swiping your tongue on his lower lip and it causes his grip on your waist to tighten. He parts his lips for you and it starts what you can only call a dance with your tongues. 

Your breathing grows hotter, your hips subconsciously grind against him. There’s a prominent bulge that brushes against your heat and you whine into his mouth. Spencer grunts your name in response and then abruptly pulls away.

“Wait, wait, wait, slow down.” He breathlessly whispers against your lips. 

“What?” You whisper back with concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He gazes into your eyes, afraid that you might regret this later.

“I’ve never been more sure, actually.” You’re confident at first but the look in his eyes makes you pull back further. “Unless…you’re not sure?”

“No, don’t misunderstand me. I want you.” His tone rises just above the previous whisper with his clarification. “It’s just that the last thing I want to do is take advantage of you when our emotions are running high.”

“Four years, Spencer.” You lean in again, just brushing your lips against his. “The only reason you should be making me wait is if you’re not sure.”

He shuts that idea down by crashing his lips on yours. The kiss is so hungry, so desperate, it’s everything both of you have longed for and denied yourselves everytime you’ve been in each other's presence. It doesn’t take long for hands to start to roam. He traces the curve from your waist to your hips, stopping just at the hem of your shirt, tugging it like he’s asking for permission. 

You rush to undo your buttons and he meets you halfway, starting at the bottom. His fingers brush against yours as you two reach the final button and you pull the fabric off yourself. You do the same with his shirt, lips remaining locked, except for the small gasps of air you take in between. It requires a bit more manoeuvring with him, but you’re both soon shirtless. 

His mouth travels to your jaw and you shut your eyes from pleasure as he continues down to your neck. The stubble on his chin tickles your skin. You cup it, gently pushing him away with a giggle. 

“Forget to pack a razor in your bag, Dr. Reid?” Your voice is teasing, more playful than seductive.

He chuckles, airily, hiding his groan. He knows you’re being sarcastic, but the use of his title, with your voice in this context, catches him off guard. You moan as you feel his growing bulge against your heat when his arms tighten around your waist, pulling you into his kiss. You swiftly undo the clasp of your bra, but before you can take it off, Spencer grabs you from just below the hips and lifts you up off him, gently laying you down on the seat of the couch. 

There’s no room for hesitation as his lips find your neck again and he nips at the skin. Every suckle earns him short gasps and the grip in his hair tightens as he travels lower. He stops just above your breast, pulling himself up to sit on his knees. You stare up at him with a heated gaze, the nail of your thumb resting between your teeth with your lips parted to make up for the loss of his lips. 

He reaches for your bra strap and begins pulling slowly, searching your eyes for any signs of you withdrawing consent. All he sees is how beautifully they sparkle when you give him a light nod. It’s been too long since he’s seen the stars that you hold in your eyes, stars he accustomed himself to before he even got to properly know you. 

Gazing into his eyes, you’ve never felt more sure, more safe. You trust him implicitly and you’ve never wanted anything more. His constant need to make sure you're comfortable sends shivers down to your core. He slides the garment off you and Spencer’s beyond grateful that he’s already on his knees, knowing that if he was standing he’d fall to them because of the sight below him. 

His eyes don’t falter once, he’s trying to permanently etch this moment into his brain. He hovers his fingers above your body, thumb brushing against your hardened nipple and you softly whine. He looks awestruck, almost like he doesn’t believe what’s happening. You can’t help but wonder if he thinks your boobs look weird. 

“Beautiful.” The words fall out of his mouth in a whisper, as if on cue. He’s really just thinking out loud.

Before you can respond he lowers down and plants a small peck to your sensitive nub before taking it into his mouth. You gasp again, head lolling back in pleasure. One of your hands goes for his hair, while the other clings to his hand that’s already holding yours. He switches between sucking, pulling and squeezing; rolling it between his tongue and uses his teeth to squeeze ever so slightly.

“S–spencer.” A strangled moan falls from your lips. 

You tug his hair, whining and moaning as your hips roll against the strain in his pants. When your motions become continuous, he lets out his own strained groan and is forced to release your nipple with a small ‘pop’. 

“Angel, I really need you to stop doing that.” He murmurs in your ear with a gentle, gravelly tone.

As soon as the nickname reaches your ears your hips involuntarily buck up again, making his hips automatically push down against yours. His cock presses against your core and you both moan, his head falling against your shoulder.

“Spence, more.” You quietly whine in against his ear. “I need more.” 

“More?” He echoes back, turning his head so that your lips brush past each other when speaking. 

“Mhm.” You nod weakly as he brushes a strand of hair out of your face and weakly connects his lips with yours.

Even when he’s got you vulnerable and at your most compromised, he’s still as gentle as ever. You don’t feel him undo your pants or sneak his hand in them, but you definitely feel him press the pads of his fingers against your clothed clit. Air escapes through your nose in a huff of surprise and you hum in his mouth, hips jolting at his touch. He can feel your slickness through your underwear. 

“Oh, my pretty girl.” He sighs, breaking the kiss and directing his whispers in your ear again. “All wet for me?”

“Please..” Even with your broken whimper you beg him for more. 

“Like this?” His deft fingers swipe your panties to the side, fingers landing directly on the clit this time. 

They feel cold at first. The contrast against your heated body makes you squirm and you groan in a soft, high pitch. 

“What are you feeling right now?” He pries a verbal response from you, circling your bud lightly. “Tell me.”

“Good.” You sigh, eyes shut as you try to savour the pleasure. 

“Good?” His voice is still soft against your ear.

“Mhm.” You nod, one arm draping against his shoulder and the other hand running along his scruffy jaw. “So good.” 

“And this?” He adds pressure to his movements. “Does this feel good?”

Your hips buck again and he feels rewarded when you moan. There’s no doubt that the sound of your voice is his favourite. He especially loves it when it’s directed at him. Whether that be in the form of a laugh or your sweet moans. It makes him somewhat dizzy. His lips attach to the skin just under your jaw in an attempt to coax more. 

It’s very effective. Fingers working your bundle of nerves, circling and flicking while changing the pressure, and mouth kissing and sucking near your pulse. It makes your back arch, hand gripping his shoulder so you don’t float away. He’s careful not to leave any purple traces of him on your neck, mindful of you being bombarded with questions from your colleagues.  

“I love how reactive you are, Angel. You sound divine– fuck.” He can’t help the grunt that escapes him. “You are divine.”

His touch alone is enough to make you feel electric, but the sweet nothings he’s whispering in your ear will be what send you over the edge. It’s a foreign feeling, being reminded that he values you for more than just your body. Just under an hour ago you had incredibly high walls built around you and none of them are left standing as you exposed under him.

Spencer’s not the first man to touch you, but he is the first that loves you. It’s something you’re not at all used to and it feels as overwhelming as it does good. It transcends the want, no, the need for the man on top of you beyond lust or love. You plan to show him just how strong that need is tonight. 

The carpeted floor is littered with your clothes, carelessly thrown around and tiny chess pieces scattered around the abandoned chess board. Spencer’s comfortably lying on the couch, facing the ceiling and you’re lying directly on top of him with your face buried in his neck. 

You run your fingers back and forth along his jaw, scratching his beard in slow streaks. He’s enveloped you in his arms, one around your lower back and the other playing with your hair. It doesn’t feel as peaceful as it seems, both of you are afraid of being the first to speak. You know you can’t stay like this forever and you decide to bite the bullet. 

“Spencer?” 

You only get silence from his end. You know he’s awake because his motions in your hair don’t stop. You push yourself up to face him, trying to study his face. The sudden movement brings him back from wherever he was zoned out to. 

“Hm?” His features jump.

Does he regret it?

“What’s wrong?” Your voice shakes from worry. “You have this look on your face.” 

“Nothing’s wrong. I’m just thinking.” 

“About…?” 

“How bad we are at communicating.” He chuckles. “It’s concerning when you think about how all we ever do is talk.” 

Hearing this makes you snort and you fall into him again. It sends both of you into a short fit of laughter. 

“Oh that’s promising for the success of this relationship.” You giggle, sarcasm evident. 

Hearing relationship makes Spencer inhale sharply. 

“So you’re staying?” 

“Well obviously, Dingbat.” You scoff playfully at the question and shift upright, straddling him. “But we really do need to get better at the communication thing for this to work.”

Spencer mounts his weight on his hands by either side of him and pushes himself up to you, stealing a deep kiss. 

“Yes, we absolutely do.” He whispers, breaking away for only a second. 

The kisses fizzle in you a plethora of smaller kisses. 

“Spencer, I’m– serious.” You voice in between, loosely draping your arms on his shoulders. 

“I am too.” He says in a hushed tone as he pulls away. 

“I want to take it– this,” you motion between the two of you with your finger, “us, slow. Not four years slow, but, like, by a couple of months at the very least.”

“Okay.” He agrees, his eyes scouring your face with complete adoration. It’s not ideal, but he understands where you’re coming from. 

“That means that we start again. Romantically. We have to talk about a lot of things first.” 

He shifts his body out from under you, resting his back properly against the couch and pulls you back into his lap in one swift motion. Both of his hands graze from your shoulder to your wrist.

“How about…you come over this weekend,” He suggests, wrapping his arms around your waist for a hug, “we’ll do snacks, a movie, maybe an actual game of chess.” 

“That sounds like a date.” You wrap your arms around his neck to return the gesture and lean your forehead against his. 

“It’s not a date. Not yet, anyways.” He whispers. “I’m asking you to come over this weekend so we can talk about things properly, because frankly, I don’t think either of us is in the right headspace for it right now.” 

“Should I be offended at that?” You giggle, not entirely sure what he’s alluding to. 

“No!” He snorts with a high tone. “Dopamine aside, our Norepinephrine and Serotonin levels are too high right now for us to have a proper conversation about this.” 

“I’m not saying that you’re wrong, because you’re not, but I also think you’re just using science to try and confuse me, so that I agree to wherever this speech is heading.” 

“It’s times like this where your attentiveness puts me at a disadvantage, because this tactic has a hundred percent success rate on everybody else.” He grins and you chuckle, both leaning in for another kiss. 

“Can we hold off on starting over? Just for tonight.” He reluctantly voices, not wanting to push any boundaries. 

You draw back and raise your eyebrows with your eyes widened. 

“Spence, I have waited for years for this. You’re insane if you think I’m giving that up without relishing in it for at least a night. We’re not starting over until we’re both officially back on the clock.” 

“Okay.” He heaves from relief, leaning in for another kiss, but quickly withdraws with a new question. “Don’t you think the team’s going to be suspicious when we’re not fighting tomorrow?”

“Forget them, what am I gonna say to Hotch when I ask to withdraw my resignation?” You huff out a tiny groan. “He’s gonna hate me for all this paperwork.”

Paperwork reminds you why you’re here to begin with. You audibly gasp, jumping off Spencer and scrambling to put your clothes back on. 

“Fuck! Spencer, get dressed!” 

Spencer doesn’t share your panic, but adheres to your demand. You mutter a continuous line of obscenities as you throw on your clothes and when you don’t seem to be getting calmer, he intervenes. 

“Hey, hey, hey!” He coos as he steps towards you, still undressed on the upper-half. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong is that we’ve been here for hours!” You shriek, now fully dressed. 

You push past Spencer and grab his shirt, deciding that he was too slow on his own. He lets you dress him as he probes further. 

“That’s okay. No one’s going to notice this late.” 

“No– Spence–” You sigh, throwing your head back. “In less than four hours, Hotch is going to walk into his office expecting the Anchorage report on his desk. I’ve barely been able to get half of it done in weeks, how am I going to finish it in four hours?”

You shake your head and begin working on his buttons. He grabs your wrists, urging you to look at him. 

“You’ll have it done in less than one. I’ll help you!” His voice is light, airy, soft and accompanied with a chuckle.

“Spencer, you’ve already been here later than you need to be. It’s okay–”

“Let me help you.” He resorts to pleading, releasing your wrists and cupping your face.

You don’t have it in you to argue, his eyes staring back at you with sincerity. He wants to help. There’s no point in pushing him away, because as scared as you are about being too vulnerable with your trauma from that case, you trust him wholeheartedly. You know he won’t push for more than what you choose to share right now.

“Okay.” You nod and smile into the kiss he leans in for after the confirmation. 

“Okay. Now, you go and start some coffee.” he instructs softly with a wide grin, waving to the scattered chess ensemble. “ I’m going to clean up here and join you.”

“I love you!” You lean for another kiss and hushedly exclaim as you break away, receding towards the door. 

It’s Spencer’s turn to lose his breath. He’s affirmed his love for you countless times tonight and this is the first time you’ve verbally reciprocated it. He knows that it won’t be the last time either. That, to him, makes him the luckiest man in the world. He stops you from going any further by your arm and gently yanks you in his direction, crashing his lips with yours. 

“I love you too.” He whispers after the kiss, letting you go. 

Heat rises in your face again and you struggle to hide a huge dopey smile, one that Spencer has too. You’re floating on cloud nine, finally out of the blurry hurricane you’ve endured for months. There’s still a lot of things that you need to work out, but the thought of them doesn’t make you feel dread like it once did. 

"One word frees us of all the weight and pain in life. That word is Love." - Socrates

Spoilers: Yapperoni (so much dialog in this chapter), BAU! Reader, enemies (kinda) to lovers, hurt, comfort, love confessions (they might be a little too sappy, idk, I was sleep deprived), the praise made me giddy at some point, smut but I edge you by not writing out everything, happy ending.

AN - I have a little tiny fear that people (me) will nawt (I don’t) fuck with this monstrosity, but out of all my drafts, this felt like the most natural course of action. I thought it would be really fun to go from friends to enemies to lovers. Now, literally nobody talk to me about writing fics after this. Uni’s started, so I’ll be very inconsistent for a bit. Casual reminder: I am not Spencer Reid. I don’t have an IQ of 187. Any facts I make him spew could very well be bull-shit and he only spews them for the purpose of the story. I also have no knowledge of how the FBI works and lack a ton of common sense. A lot of things were made up for the purpose of this story.

A comment today keeps semicolon away (from showing up to your house and eating all your snacks).

Thank you for reading!

[glitzglamgunpowder-if]

"You were destined for a life better than this. A life free from violence, from bloodshed. But here you are once again, it's like you never left."

YOU were a child destined for greatness, for your name to be written into the pages of history. Whatever happened in your past didn't matter anymore. You were born with raw talent and charisma that couldn't be wasted, that people can only dream of. But your innate gift didn't mean your path would be easy. After the circus shut down, you stumbled through life delivering each performance like it was your last. You thought you've reached your peak, until a mysterious offer suddenly throws you into a life of crime.

Content Warnings [Will Be Updated]: Heavy Extremist Religious Themes, Depictions of Trauma, Poor Mental Health, and Violence/Criminal Activity

Play as a male, female, or nonbinary performer

Customize your MC’s physical appearance, façade personality, and choose a pseudonym for them

Befriend or Romance 4 ROs

Dedicate yourself to honing your natural talent

Choose your end goal and earn the fame you have craved your entire life

How do you want the public to perceive you? To be respected, or to be feared?

Learn more about the secrets of your dark past. Will you learn how the circus fell? How you ended up here of all places?

Will you acquire the fame you deserve, or will you fade into history?

Outline of Stats/Routes!!

Alistair/Alice Delacroix - THE RIVAL

AS you adjust to your new life, you hear rumors about your fated rival. One whose mind was poisoned to despise every fiber of your being. It's no surprise they're known for their ambition, their cunning, their ruthless nature. Their path led them to inevitable darkness, but will yours?

Trope: Forbidden Romance/Enemies to Lovers

Samuel/Samantha "Sam" Kaminski - THE BOSS

YOU are an acquired talent on behalf of the current wealthy owner of the elusive Spotlight Syndicate, one of the most popular bars of its time. They're one of the few people who don't question your mysterious past, who trust you as implicitly as the air they breathe. You know deep down they have a soft spot for you, one of their greatest assets, but they're motives are...difficult to discern. But is there a possibility your relationship could go beyond transactional business?

Trope: Boss x Employee/Age Gap

Hendrik/Helena Rietveld - THE BODYGUARD

YOU don't know much about them, nor do they seem willing to give you any more information than necessary for your safety. But one thing's for sure, they're loyal to the ones they serve. And given your new...circumstances, that may be exactly what you need: someone who would travel from heaven to hell and back if their duty called for it. Will you be the first to crack the unsolvable's code?

Trope: Bodyguard Romance/Potential Grumpy x Sunshine

Jesse Lê - THE FRIEND DETECTIVE

YOU never expected to see them again after...never mind that! They stand before you now, a completely reinvented version of themself. A stranger to everyone they encounter. Will you be able to slip off the carefully curated mask they've built and heal from your past together? Or will that smoking gun be laid to rest once and for all?

Trope: Childhood Friends to Lovers -> Detective x Potential Criminal

Physical Description of the ROs!!

Despite being a frequent IF player, this is my very first time trying to create an IF myself as someone with little coding experience (I'm more of a writer if anything). I'm definitely learning as I go, and I understand this may lead to mistakes or disappointment at times, so I preemptively apologize for them. I tend to become overly ambitious, and I want to make sure I always deliver on the promises I make. I say this because some of you may have ask about certain features being implemented and I will have to say "Sorry, I don't really know how to do that yet, but I'll try and learn how!" Hopefully, this will be a fun learning experience, and you all have a fun time on here! Sincerely, Mira <3

DEMO || BETA TESTER FORM || PLAYLIST || BLUESKY

[writingbuckets]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩

paige bueckers x tutor!reader

wc: 3.5k

synopsis: In a tense library setting, Y/N tutors Paige Bueckers in math, but Paige’s distracting flirtations make it difficult for Y/N to focus. As the session progresses, Paige's teasing escalates, and the playful tension builds between them.

warnings: flirting and sexual tension, mild power dynamics, explicit sexual content, public setting, sexual innuendos and suggestive themes

a/n: smut!! hopefully the next thing i post is for the hot take?

“Alright, so this is a basic setup for solving linear equations,” you said, your voice calm but tinged with a teacher-like authority. Your pen glided over the page, underlining the example problem with precision. “The key is to isolate the variable, so you want to start by simplifying both sides.”

The library was bathed in soft afternoon light streaming through tall windows, the rays casting long, golden streaks across the tables and shelves. The air felt still, heavy with the kind of focus that seemed to permeate academic spaces. Occasionally, the faint hum of the air conditioning broke the silence, accompanied by the gentle rustle of someone turning a page or the muted scrape of a chair being adjusted.

Across from you, Paige sat slouched in her seat, an air of nonchalance radiating from her. Her elbow was propped on the table, fingers cradling her cheek, her head tilted ever so slightly as though the weight of paying attention was too much effort. The textbook lay open in front of her, but its pages were pristine, unbent, untouched—like a prop more than a tool.

Meanwhile, your notebook was the complete opposite. The pages were covered in neat rows of equations, annotations, and diagrams, each one carefully designed to explain the problem at hand. You leaned forward slightly, your brow furrowed in concentration as you scribbled another step beneath the problem.

Paige’s eyes weren’t on the notebook. They weren’t even on the textbook. Instead, her gaze lingered on you—on the way your fingers moved smoothly over the paper, the way a strand of hair had fallen into your face, the way your lips pursed slightly when you were focused.

“Are you even listening?” you asked without looking up, sensing her lack of attention.

Her blue eyes snapped to yours, wide with feigned innocence, as if she’d just been caught red-handed and was scrambling to cover it up. The corners of her lips twitched, hovering between a smirk and a nervous smile. “Yeah. Totally,” she said, her tone overly casual, as though repeating your words would make up for the fact that she clearly hadn’t heard a single one. “Isolate the variable.”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back slightly in your chair to give her an expectant look. “Okay, then,” you said, your voice dripping with skepticism. “Tell me what the first step is.”

Paige’s face froze for a beat, her confident front cracking just enough for you to catch the flicker of panic in her eyes. She shifted in her seat, her fingers drumming lightly against the edge of the table as she stalled for time. Her gaze darted to the notebook between you, scanning it as though the answer might jump off the page and save her. 

She blinked once. Then twice. Each deliberate, slow flutter of her lashes seemed like an attempt to buy time, to summon an excuse that would pull her out of the corner she’d backed herself into. Finally, with a resigned exhale, Paige leaned back in her chair, the legs creaking softly under the shift in her weight. A sheepish grin spread across her face, one of those lopsided ones that managed to look charming even when it was entirely unearned.

“Uh… you know,” she began, her voice light and teasing, “this whole tutoring thing would be way easier if you weren’t so distracting.”

Your pen froze mid-scribble, and you looked up, eyebrows raised in disbelief. Heat bloomed across your neck, a quiet embarrassment sneaking in at her unexpected comment. “I’m the distraction?” you shot back, trying to sound exasperated but unable to keep the faint incredulity out of your tone. “You’re the one zoning out like we’re not cramming for your math quiz tomorrow.”

Paige shrugged, entirely unfazed, her smirk stretching wider, becoming more self-assured. “Can you blame me?” she asked, tilting her head slightly as her eyes scanned your face, her expression making it clear she was in no rush to answer seriously. “It’s hard to focus when you look like…”

She trailed off, letting the silence hang between you, knowing full well it would make you curious. Her hand lifted lazily, gesturing vaguely in your direction as if the rest of the sentence didn’t even need to be said.

“Like what?” you pressed, narrowing your eyes at her and crossing your arms over your chest, the action more defensive than you intended.

Paige leaned forward again, her elbow resting on the table as she met your gaze with a mischievous glint in her blue eyes. “Like that,” she said simply, her voice soft but firm, as though the words held a weight she wasn’t willing to explain.

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t completely hide the faint smile threatening to tug at the corners of your lips. There was a part of you—a small, secret part—that enjoyed her relentless teasing, even if it made concentrating nearly impossible. In truth, who didn’t want an attractive athlete constantly flirting with them? “Compliments won’t get you out of this, Bueckers,” you said, shaking your head as you tapped the open notebook with your pen. “Eyes on the notes. We’re finishing this problem before I lose my patience.”

She groaned dramatically, her head tipping back as though the weight of the request was unbearable. “Fine, fine,” she relented, her voice dripping with exaggerated defeat. Slowly, she leaned forward, propping her chin on her hand as her other hand hovered above the notebook. Her gaze skimmed over the words without much urgency. “Isolation of variables. Got it. So simple.”

The sarcasm in her tone wasn’t lost on you. “If it’s so simple,” you countered, shifting in your seat to lean closer, “then what’s the next step?”

Paige tilted her head, her eyes lingering on the page for a beat too long, as if stalling for time. The faint crease in her brow made it clear she wasn’t entirely sure what to say. But then, her focus flickered—first to your hand, resting near the edge of the notebook, and then upward, locking onto your face.

Her lips curled into that signature smirk of hers, the one that practically radiated confidence and just a touch of mischief. “Honestly?” she began, her voice taking on a softer, almost playful tone.

You raised an eyebrow, sensing the shift. “Yeah?”

“The next move,” she said, her gaze unwavering, “is probably asking you out. That’s gotta be easier than this math stuff.”

You froze, your pen hovering mid-air above the notebook, her words replaying in your head like a broken record. Slowly, you blinked, your brain scrambling to formulate a response as an involuntary warmth spread from your chest to your cheeks. “You’re impossible,” you muttered under your breath, shaking your head as you refocused on the paper in front of you, hoping she didn’t notice the subtle hitch in your composure.

“But you’re still here,” she quipped, her voice light and teasing, accompanied by a grin so self-satisfied it could’ve powered the room’s dim lighting. She leaned back in her chair again, stretching her arms behind her head like she didn’t have a care in the world.

You shot her a look, your eyebrow arched in mock annoyance. “Not for much longer if you don’t start paying attention,” you warned, though the corners of your lips betrayed you, twitching upward despite your best efforts to stay stern.

Paige tapped her pencil lazily against the edge of the table, her eyes flicking between the open textbook and your concentrated expression. A playful grin spread across her face as she leaned forward, resting her chin in her hand.

“You know,” she started, her tone light and teasing, “I think I could probably focus better if I was sitting next to you.”

You paused mid-scribble, lifting your head to give her a skeptical look. “What difference would that make?” you asked, though your voice wavered slightly under the weight of her mischievous gaze.

Paige shrugged, the grin on her face growing wider. “I don’t know. Something about proximity to greatness or whatever,” she said with a wink. “Plus, you could point out what I’m doing wrong in real time. Super efficient.”

You rolled your eyes, fighting the blush creeping up your neck. “Or you’d just get more distracted,” you countered, trying to sound unfazed.

Paige tilted her head, pretending to consider it. “Maybe,” she admitted, her voice dropping slightly. “But I think it’s worth the risk.”

You sighed, shaking your head as you tried to focus on the notes in front of you. But the warmth of her words lingered, and from the corner of your eye, you could see the triumphant spark in her gaze.

Without a word, she pushed back her chair, the legs scraping softly against the library floor. Before you could question her, Paige stood and casually made her way around the table, plopping herself down in the empty seat right beside you. The subtle scent of her cologne hit you immediately, and your heart rate spiked as the proximity closed the space between you.

“Paige,” you said, your voice low but exasperated. 

She leaned forward, resting her elbow on the table and her chin in her hand, her blue eyes gleaming with mischief. You blinked, completely thrown off by the sudden closeness. Her shoulder brushed yours as she leaned just slightly into your space, and you could feel your face heat up. “That’s not how this works,” you mumbled, looking down at your notes in a desperate attempt to avoid her gaze.

Her eyes dropped to your notebook, and she gestured toward it lazily. “Alright, teach. Show me how it’s done.”

You sighed, trying to suppress the fluttering in your chest. “If you don’t take this seriously—”

“I am,” Paige interrupted, her voice soft but sincere. She looked at you, her smirk softening into a small smile. “Promise. Just… don’t mind me sitting here.”

Before you even realized it, your concentration shattered like fragile glass, the words on the page blurring into meaningless scribbles when Paige’s hand, warm and deliberate, began a slow, almost hesitant journey up your thigh, slipping just beneath the edge of the table. Her fingertips grazed your skin lightly, tracing lazy, teasing circles that sent a shiver up your spine. The contact was featherlight but impossible to ignore, each movement deliberate enough to make your heart race.

Your breath hitched, and you instinctively glanced around the library, your eyes darting to the other tables to see if anyone might be watching. The muted hum of the room felt louder, the soft rustling of pages and faint whispers of conversation suddenly heightened against the thrumming of your pulse.

“What are you doing?” you whispered, your voice barely audible, a mix of shock and disbelief. Your gaze snapped back to Paige, wide-eyed, but she didn’t flinch.

She leaned in slightly, her lips tugging into a sly, self-assured smirk. “Helping you relax,” she murmured, her voice low and velvety, as though this was the most natural thing in the world. Her blue eyes sparkled with mischief, daring you to call her out—but the steady rhythm of her fingers told you she had no intention of stopping.

"Shh," she whispered, her hand inching further up. "Just relax and let me take care of you."

You bit your lip, your heart pounding in your chest as her fingers found the hem of your skirt. The possibility of getting caught only heightened the thrill, your pulse quickening with anticipation. Paige's hand slid under the fabric, her palm grazing against your bare thigh. You sucked in a sharp breath, your skin tingling at her touch. She traced light patterns on your inner thigh, drawing closer and closer to your aching core.

"Paige, we're in public," you hissed, but your words held no conviction. Your body betrayed you, your hips shifting towards her teasing touch.

"I know," she purred, her fingers dancing maddeningly close to where you needed them most. "But no one can see what I'm doing to you under this table. So, you just sit there and look pretty, and I’ll handle the rest, okay?”

The war raging in your mind was written all over your face, each flicker of hesitation and uncertainty etched into your features. Your eyebrows furrowed, then lifted slightly, your lips parting as though to speak but quickly pressing together again. It was a silent tug-of-war, the conflict within you mirrored in the subtle shifts of your expression, betraying the chaos swirling behind your eyes.

As Paige's delicate fingers traced tantalizing patterns across your skin, a shiver of electric pleasure coursed through your body. Her touch was like liquid fire, igniting every nerve ending and sending waves of intoxicating sensation straight to your core. You found yourself lost in a haze of desire, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as you struggled to maintain your composure.

The rational part of your brain screamed at you to stop, to pull away from whatever this was. But the primal urge growing within you drowned out all reason. Your body betrayed you, responding to Paige's skilled touch with a hunger you'd never experienced before.

As if in a trance, you felt your head slowly nodding, giving in to the overwhelming need that consumed you. Paige's lips curled into a knowing smirk, her eyes glinting with triumph at how easily she'd convinced you. That smug expression only fueled your arousal further, making you ache to prove just how dirty you could be.

At your agreement, Paige's eyes flashed with predatory hunger. In one fluid motion, she removed her hand from your thigh, leaving a trail of tingling skin in its wake. Her slender fingers curled around the armrest of your chair, nails digging into the fabric.

With surprising strength, she yanked your chair towards her, the wheels squeaking in protest. The sudden movement sent a jolt through your body, your heart pounding as you were pulled into her personal space. The scent of her perfume - a heady mix of jasmine and something darker, more primal - enveloped you.

Your bodies were now mere inches apart, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off her skin. Paige's chest heaved with each breath, the swell of her breasts straining against her tight top. Her legs parted slightly, inviting you closer.

The abrupt closeness left you dizzy, your senses overwhelmed by her presence. You could see every detail of her face - the flecks of gold in her eyes, the slight parting of her glossy lips, the flush creeping up her neck. The air between you crackled with tension, thick with unspoken desires and the promise of what was to come. 

Paige abruptly broke the intense eye contact, her gaze darting down to the open textbook on the desk. The sudden shift in her demeanor was palpable, like a switch had been flipped. Her long lashes fluttered as her eyes scanned the page, a slight furrow appearing between her perfectly shaped brows.

With a graceful movement, she extended her arm, her finger tracing a line in the book. The simple gesture drew your attention, almost hypnotically. You could see the delicate bones of her wrist, the soft skin of her inner arm, the way the fluorescent light caught the fine hairs there.

Her body language had changed subtly. Where moments ago she had been all seduction and hunger, now she affected an air of studious concentration. But there was a tension in her shoulders, a slight quickening of her breath that betrayed her act.

As you followed her gesture to the textbook, you caught a whiff of her scent again - that intoxicating blend of jasmine and musk, now mingled with the faint smell of arousal. The proximity of your bodies hadn't changed; you could still feel the heat radiating from her, could still see the rise and fall of her chest with each breath.

The moment of studious concentration was shattered as Paige's hand found its way to your bare thigh. Her fingers traced slow, teasing circles on your exposed skin, the sensation sending shivers of anticipation through your body. You felt the heat of her palm, the slight calluses on her fingertips, as she caressed your leg.

Paige's eyes lifted to meet yours, the fleeting vulnerability replaced by a smoldering intensity. The air between you was charged with tension, thick with the promise of things to come. You could see the dilation of her pupils, the flush that was creeping up her neck, the slight parting of her pink lips.

Her hand moved higher, inch by torturous inch, her fingertips grazing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. The flimsy skirt provided little barrier, and her touch felt like a brand against your flesh.

Paige leaned in closer, her breath hot against your ear as she whispered, “Tell me,” her hand continued its torturous exploration, fingertips teasing along the hem of your skirt. She pulled back slightly, her gaze locked on yours, "how badly do you want this?” 

Her hand slid higher, skimming the edge of your panties. Suddenly, her pinky and ring finger slipped underneath the elastic band, hooking into the side of your underwear. With a quick tug, she pulled them to the side, exposing you fully to her touch.

You hesitated before whispering out, “So bad, Paige, please.”

Paige's fingers stroked through your wet folds, gathering the slick arousal there. She brought her hand to her lips, wrapping around them, swiping her tongue across the digits in a slow, deliberate motion. "So good," she said, her eyes never leaving yours.

You watched, mesmerized, as she pulled her fingers out with an audible pop and returned them between your legs. Her fingers found your clit, rubbing slow, maddening circles around the sensitive bud. Pleasure jolted through you, your legs quivering and toes curling in your shoes.

Just as you felt something within you building, Paige moved her hand lower. You gasped as you felt her tracing your entrance, your slick arousal allowing her to glide easily across the delicate skin, Paige's lips curving into a wicked grin against your ear. 

"Feels like you want this," she whispered, dipping her finger teasingly inside your heat before retreating. "So wet. I wonder..." She dipped back in, this time adding a second finger to tease you as she withdrew. 

Paige continued her maddening torture, fingers slipping into you only to withdraw once more before you could get too accustomed to the sensation. Your thighs trembled, hands fisting in the arms of your chair as you tried to control your breathing.

"Feel so good," Paige murmured appreciatively, "I can't wait to feel you around my fingers." 

She pushed two digits deep inside you, finally giving you the penetration you craved. Your head fell back as she began to pump slowly, building up a rhythm. Her thumb found your clit, adding another layer of stimulation that had you squirming. "You like this, don't you?" Paige's breath was hot against your neck as she pressed open mouth kisses to your pulse point. "Being touched like this, in public where anyone could catch us. It excites you, doesn't it?" 

Paige's fingers were relentless, plunging into you at a steady, driving pace that had you seeing stars. Her thumb circled your clit, each touch sending bolts of pleasure coursing through your veins. The dual sensations were almost too much to bear. You felt yourself hurtling towards the edge of oblivion, your body tensing tighter and tighter. "Go ahead and cum for me," Paige commanded, her voice a dark, sinful purr. "I want to feel you soak my fingers with it." She pressed her thumb hard against your clit, the increased pressure finally pushing you over the brink.

Wave after wave of intense pleasure crashed over you, your inner walls clenching rhythmically around Paige's fingers, your teeth clutching your bottom lip in an attempt to silence your noises. 

Even as you rode out the aftershocks of your climax, Paige didn't stop. Her fingers continued to pump into you, drawing out your pleasure and making the intense sensations border on painfully overwhelming. You almost sobbed, you mouth forming an O, your hands coming down to clutch at her arm, nails digging into the skin there. "Paige, please," you begged, unable to tell if you were begging her to stop or for more. But she knew exactly what you needed.

Paige removed her hand from between your legs, your hips still jerking sporadically. Through the haze of pleasure, you saw her raise her hand, slick with your arousal. Rather than wiping her fingers off, Paige brought them to her mouth again. Your gaze locked with hers as she sucked them into her mouth, licking them clean. A low, throaty moan escaped her at the taste of you.

Paige leaned back in her chair, her trademark smirk firmly in place as she grabbed her pencil tapped it against the edge of the table. Her blue eyes sparkled with mischief, locking onto yours as if she’d just won some unspoken game, and in some ways, she had.

“So,” she drawled, her voice dripping with smug confidence, “the next step?”

[klausysworld]

Heyy could I please get a birthday story on the 12th of january? Just do what ever you wanna write as long as it as something to do with a birthday of the reader / Y/N

Please and thank you<3

Happy Birthday!!

In The Family

Birthdays were a complicated topic for the Mikaelsons. After living so long time became more and more insignificant and irrelevant to them, especially being vampires where sleep wasn't mandatory. Forever is a long time and yet if time is not real then forever is nothing at all.

For Y/N birthdays were everything. Her family always made a fuss over each other's birthdays, the celebration of the life they'd been blessed with and the ways in which they'd developed them.

However, Y/N knew that her vampire friends were overly fond so she didn't tell them when her birthday was coming up. Not even Rebekah.

She assumed they'd never ask either because it simply did not matter to them which she understood from their points of view and she never pushed the matter.

Y/N did her birthday as usual.

She went out with her friends the weekend before, minus Rebekah, Kol, Elijah and Klaus as she knew they wouldn't get along with her childhood friends as well as she'd maybe hope and so they didn't feel pressured into buying presents or embarrassingly singing happy birthday to her. Y/N got drunk and danced around deep into the night, laughing through the streets as she and her oldest friend stumbled to the hotel they were staying at for the night.

She was supposed to see her parents on her actual birthday, however they rang her all stressed out and upset saying that something important had come up and they'd have to see her the day after.

Y/N was a little upset of course that she wouldn't get to see them like normal but she understood and told them it was just another day and it could wait for a family emergency. They offered to send her gifts over, face time in the day when possible but she told them to wait until the day after and pretend her birthday had not been yet.

Her family were devastated to miss the day, they'd always made such a big deal in the past and so missing it for the first time was strange for everyone.

Y/N thought it wouldn't matter, that she too could pretend her birthday wasn't for another day...but she couldn't, not really; not truly.

Instead she ended up sat quietly on her couch, dressed for a day that wasn't going to start, watching a film she didn't really want to see and eating a microwave meal because she had forgotten to go shopping and to be honest she wasn't so sure she could afford it. Living on her own was difficult enough, especially when her job was so frequently interrupted by Mikaelson family drama; Rebekah always had her on call begging her to come over because something terrible had happened. Once Bex was okay, Y/N would find Kol upset and comfort him, find Elijah silently contemplating which was never a good thing and last but not least she'd find Klaus staring blankly at a half painted canvas, unable to conjure anything else onto the page.

She and Klaus had a complex relationship. They enjoyed each other's company and simply enjoyed each other but Klaus was too cautious of what happened to those her got to close to him and Y/N always feared she was imagining his feelings so brushed it off as much as she could. However, it was no secret that they liked each other, Rebekah teased them both endlessly and hoped they'd finally give in. Kol hoped Y/N would lighten Klaus's grouchy mood, and Elijah wondered if it were even possible for Klaus to love so purely again.

But still, their twisted family dynamic meant that she was the Mikaelson fire distinguisher which messed with her hours at work and therefore her pay.

On top of that, spending money on a hotel the week before and however much alcohol had not helped her cupboards nor her fridge. So her home remained empty and lonely for the majory of the day.

It was late afternoon, early evening when Rebekah messaged. It appeared to be urgent so Y/N rushed to be there for them, Fearing someone could be hurt or worse.

She sped in her car all the way there, probably gaining multiple speeding tickets which would catch her up in a weeks time. Her hands quickly pushed the doors open, her feet clumsily carrying her inside, her voice strained as she called out for Rebekah, then Klaus when she got no answer. A flood of worry filled her as she hurried up the stairs, checking each room but finding no one before going back down and bursting through the dining room swinging doors.

Her breathing was a state, her hair stuck to her forehead as she fell silent and froze. Each Mikaelson stood behind their place at the table, smiling as innocently as they could at her.

The table was covered in candles and flowers, a pile of presents in the centre. Her expression relaxed slightly and then softened, her eyes starting to sting as tears built up that they'd do something like this for her.

"You didn't think we'd forget did you?" Rebekah asked with a laugh, leaving her post and coming over in front of Y/N who was wiping her eyes.

"I never even told you, how...how did you know?" She sniffed and Rebekah smiled. "Nik found out." She whispered, as if the rest of the people in the room didn't have sonic hearing. Y/N's eyes drifted up to Klaus gratefully and he smiled back, his hands clenching slightly as he held onto the back of his chair.

"We thought we'd let you have the day with your family before making you come over." Rebekah grinned, grabbing her hand and pulling her to sit at the head of the table. "How was it with your family? Who came? Parents? Aunts and Uncles? Oh cousins- oh..." Rebekah shut up when Kol kicked the back of her leg, her eyes focusing on Y/N who was fighting tears.

"I'm sorry." She sniffled, her face red as Klaus too moved from his place and rubbed the side of her arm comfortingly. "My family couldn't come is all, it's not a big deal I just haven't ever done it alone before." She whispered and they each softened.

"You aren't alone anymore, love." Klaus murmured softly, kissing the side of her head and pulling her seat back for her to sit before tucking her back in.

"Yeah, don't worry darling, we're practically family anyways so you aren't really missing out." Kol shrugged, filling her wine glass making her laugh a little.

"I do hope we didn't worry you too much with the ominous text message, dear. I did tell Rebekah it was too harsh." Elijah apologised, frowning to himself but Y/N wiped her eyes again and shook her head with a smile.

"It's alright Elijah, it made for a really lovely surprise." She told him earnestly and his features relaxed as he nodded faintly.

Dinner started coming out only a moment later, all of Y/N's favourite foods as a picky eater loaded onto each of their plates and placed in front of them making Y/N blush pink and smile wide at their antics.

"See? This is my kind of dinner, good choice darling." Kol licked his lips, lifting a slice of pizza and letting it droop onto his mouth making Klaus roll her eyes and Y/N giggle.

As they ate, Y/N's eyes drifted round the room; seeing the extent of their effort as she looked at the dozens of balloons that had floated up. Then her gaze flicked to each Mikaelson. Kol was eating like a caveman, Rebekah was mixing her ketchup and mayonnaise like a child, Elijah was delicately cutting into his chicken nugget and Klaus...Klaus was looking back at her.

A small silence lingered over them, even as the others spoke between them. Y/N was brought back into it when Rebekah started telling a funny story about Elijah from centuries before, effectively embarrassing the usually stoic original and pulling a genuine laugh from Klaus.

They told Y/N about the faint memories they had of birthdays from when they were human, children especially and how they would spoil their little brother Henrik.

"In a way, you're our younger sister now. Much, much younger, you know...a thousand years give or take but still." Kol said with his mouth full. The sentiment there but his humour everpresent.

"Perhaps a sister to us however I do doubt she and Klaus would ever consider the other a sibling." Elijah commented and everyone's heads turned to him, not expecting the comment from Elijah's lips.

Rebakah started laughing first, then Kol which encouraged them all to fall into a cycle of giggles.

Klaus and Y/N flew past the teasings and continued with the evening. Eating icecream and chatting away before the cake was brought out.

It was a beautiful cake, almost magically so.

Y/N could feel her cheeks burn red and her smile go so wide it hurt when they sang happy birthday to her and clapped as she blew out the candles, telling her to make a wish. She made eye contact with Klaus as she did and Rebekah snickered.

An hour or so later Elijah began to pack things away, Kola and Rebekah suddenly disappeared and Klaus refused to let Y/N tidy up her own party so he took her upstairs.

They walked the stairs leisurely as if it were obvious something were waiting up there. Y/N wasn't sure what but she definitely hadn't expected his art room to be a romantically lit space. Music playing softly in the back ground as he stood before her and held out his hand for a dance.

He spun her to his chest, his hand in hers and the other on her waist keeping her close as they swayed against each other. His eyes stayed on hers, daring her to look away as he dipped her.

Barely a second went before both of them leaned into a kiss. Y/N's hand left his to hold onto his neck as he clutched her hips, holding her up to him as their lips moulded together perfectly.

Klaus pulled back, listening to her panting softly for lost air as he rest his forehead against hers and loosened his grip on her slightly. "You're family" He whispered, his voice uncharacteristically soft. "Your birthday is important and I promise we'll never, ever miss it."

"Thank you, Klaus. For everything today." She muttered quietly, almost shyly and he smiled, kissing her cheek just beside her lips.

"You're welcome, love. Happy birthday."

[muffinsin]

hi there! I just recently got back into the fandom (haven't gotten around to playing RE8 yet, but I do simp for the Dimitrescu ladies) I found your page and have spent countless hours reading through your various headcanons and oneshots--ugh, so wonderfully written!!! Thank you so much for providing such an amazing service for us all!

I do have a request for whenever you're able to answer/write: how would each of the sisters react to reader getting their bite mark tattooed on them? Like one day after being bitten, reader somehow manages to sneak off to the village to get the bite mark/imprint of each sisters' fangs permanently etched in their skin? More importantly, will this trigger extra possessiveness in them? 😏

Thank you!

Hey there :)! I’m glad you like my works, hon! Hearing such things is always such a work boost XP🙌 This is such a sweet and cool prompt! Let’s get into it

Masterlists

Bela

Out of her sisters, Bela is the one capable of holding back the most

She loves to bite and feed off you, but, ever so worried about your health, manages to hold back and allow her bites to heal, at least a little, before placing a new one

As such, it surprises her a little when you suddenly pin her- quite literally, against a wall- asking for her to bite your shoulder, right where your shoulder meets your neck

Her second favorite spot to bite at, the middle of your neck being her favorite

While a little reluctant and eying the bite at your neck, she complies after just a little bit of convincing

Despite her authoritative figure and position, it seems a few pleas and- especially- words of praise and little kisses are enough for your sweet girlfriend to give in

You grin as she bites down, moaning and humming at your taste, her face flushed and hips rolling a little

When she pulls away, she receives her kiss, and more

Your wandering hands and much praise have her completely forget that she meant to tend to your bite

Alas, this proves impossible when you leave her passed out on the bed, your lips pressing against her forehead as you pull the blanket over her

With a satisfied grin, you eye the mark on your shoulder

Bela’s bite mark has certain characteristics that are always the same

One of them being that her bite is always quite clean

Never messy, never too hastily put there

You smile, already anticipating the tattoo you have in mind

Her bite is perfect for just that

Out of her sisters, Bela’s bite is neither the smallest, nor the largest, but due to its neatness, you’re able to perfectly spot where what fang-like tooth dug in

With your girlfriend asleep and your goal set, you’re soon off to your appointment

Thankfully, your tattoo won’t take overly long to heal

That being said, hiding it from Bela until then proves…difficult

You want to show her only when it’s done, really!

Allowing her to feed only from the other side of your neck or your thighs, and making use of blindfolds during sex, you manage to hide it exceptionally well

You’re sure she knows something is up, but is waiting for you to come clean

Then, one day, you decide it’s time

Your tall, authoritative girlfriend is blushing slightly as she’s sat on your lap, your hand at the back of her head

Gently, you guide her to feed at your neck

When pulling off your shirt, though, she immediately sees the mark at your shoulder

You can’t help but giggle as she snarls, a hiss-like sound coming from her and her flies, her nose scrunched up and eyes furious

At first, she thinks one of her sisters dared lay teeth on you. She’s ready to swarm to them when you hold onto her hip

Upon closer inspection, she notices the neat mark matching the fang-like teeth in her mouth

You giggle as you see her tongue swirling in her mouth, as though to check whether her teeth align with the tattooed bite mark

Then, confused, golden eyes meet yours

“What do you think?”, you ask, a little anxious. You hope she likes it

For a moment, Bela only looks back at it for a moment, her cheeks heating up a little again

“I- like it”, she answers eventually

You gasp in surprise when you feel her lips on your-her- mark

“I like it”, she repeats, and you gasp when she breaks her own unofficial rule and digs her teeth in, just a little above the tattooed mark, despite the fresh bite at the other side of your neck

You’re shown just how much she likes it that night, receiving more bites from her than you ever have before, each placed before she kisses your tattooed one

From then on, Bela stands proud with you at her side, asked, allowed, to only wear clothing showing the tattooed mark

She treats it as an open claim, a sign of her possession over you, in a way

And not only she takes notice of it

Funnily enough, as though the small thing is magical, you notice the people around you treat you differently

The staff treats you with even more respect- and maybe fear- than normal. Your requests are tended to immediately, all your wishes are granted the moment you voice them

Her sisters, while still awfully curious about their older sister’s precious lover, don’t dare near themselves to your neck, as though the small mark was warding them off

They play nicely, now, a shine of respect coming through even from them

As though the small mark granted you some of the respect they automatically have for the eldest of the three

And, perhaps most enjoyable to you, is its effect on Bela

The woman’s more possessive, yes, but also melts for you even faster

Kisses are placed over the mark regularly, while a bite is placed at another spot on your body

She loves your surprise, and loves to sleep with her face at your neck, her lips pushed against the mark

You can never stop a smile from spreading on your lips as you see this

Cassandra

You wouldn’t say Cassandra’s countless bites placed along your body don’t hurt

In fact, they hurt incredibly much

Yet, at the same time, have you rarely felt as much pleasure as you get from them

Especially when she places a new one

Lacking her older sister’s control, Cassandra feeds from you multiple times a week

She ensures you stay healthy and always takes care of the bites after, making sure nothing gets infected and they heal fast and properly

Yet, she can’t tear herself away for long, can’t bring herself to leave your flesh to rest

Her favorite spots to bite at are your neck, thighs and wrists

What she finds particularly satisfying about drinking from your wrist is the clear display of her bite even when she’s done. There’s no hiding it from anyone

Between the three of them, Cassandra’s bites are the largest, and the deepest

Yet, unlike Bela’s, her bites aren’t just as neat. She digs in deep, makes a bit of a mess

Still, she tries not to damage your skin too much, tries to slice rather than tear with her teeth

At one point, an idea comes to you; the idea to tattoo her bite mark

Convincing her to bite you is no problem at all, really

Most of the time it’s you having to remind her you’re still healing, after all

Alas, when you make out and whisper a plead, and permission, against her lips, Cassandra immediately gets to it

You weren’t yet sure where you want the mark. Cassandra helps you out with that

You feel her sharp teeth dig into your neck and wrist, backside and shoulders

Only does she stop and drop her mouth open when you seek a little bit of revenge, your teeth coming down and digging into her skin

Briefly, you wonder whether you could leave such marks, maybe convince her to tattoo them, too

You quickly shake the thought away, though, aware her biology doesn’t allow such things, healing her body by far too fast for any marks to last

As sweet moans and gasps tumble from both of your mouths, you allow yourself to indulge in the two of you

The tattoo appointment can wait a little bit

After all, unlike her, you do not heal too fast

Settling for a tattoo on your back, you soon see about making an appointment

This only leads you to the true challenge, though

Having her bite you- that was no problem. Your sadistic girlfriend loves nothing more than to sink her teeth deep into you, to drain and suck

Getting an appointment- not quite the challenge, either

Due to Cassandra being your girlfriend, you enjoy quite the rank among the castle staff and even a reputation and respect in the village

Naturally, your appointment would be flexible and tended to whenever you choose

No, the most challenging part of your plan, by far, is hiding it from your girlfriend

Cassandra is, for a lack of a better word, not necessarily comfortable leaving you out of her sight

A mixture of worry and distrust placed deeply in her heart by lovers prior to you, you know, who mistreated and abused the trust she freely offered back then

And while you earn more of her trust each day, her worry grows, too

You are merely human, after all. Nothing but a fragile, little flower, or perhaps a vase made from glass to her

You’re sure, if you told her you went to the village, she would insist she comes along!

Yet, neglecting to tell her about it would likely hurt all the trust you worked so hard on getting from her

You choose a simpler, more truthful solution

Using her hazy, exhausted state after sex, you bring up the idea of visiting the village

For a surprise, for her, you add when she immediately offers she joins you

And perhaps you’re lucky she’s drowsy and tired, more interested in cuddling up to you like a large cat than fighting, so she doesn’t protest when you counter; you will take Bela with you, to watch out for you

Of course, she isn’t very thrilled when you ask her. Babysitting, at the village no less, is not something she’d consider exciting. Something she considers below her, even

And still, if only to keep her sister’s favourite human safe, she agrees. The tattoo takes only a little while, in which Bela scoffs multiple times whenever you hiss at the touch of the needle. At least, it has the tattooist pay extra attention to his work

You return to the castle with a sore back and a large smile

Immediately, she’s back at you, asking how it was, even with her body covered in blood from her recent play-prey

Then, her nose scrunches up a little. She’s circling you, as if knowing something is new

You giggle as her fingers slip into the pockets of your jacket and trousers, as if trying to find the surprise you promised her

Quickly, her amusement fades. She demands answers now, not one to be patient

You decide, you will let your love discover what she wants, if she is good to you

Humming, Cassandra doesn’t think twice to kiss you back, and is even more eager when you initiate more

Time passes, and you find yourself stripped bare, on your stomach below her, her beautiful, strong thighs on either side of your hips

She sees it, then, her dark, golden eyes flickering across the mark

She recognises it immediately, having seen her bites on your skin countless times

You gasp as your wrists are grabbed, your head pushed down so she can see the mark freely

She inspects it for long minutes, before you feel her lips and warm breath against your ear

“You, are mine”

Daniela

Not exactly unexpectedly, the third, youngest sister enjoys feeding just as much

She loves to feed off you, always, every day, every moment, whenever she can

Sometimes, though, the enthusiastic thing forgets that as a mortal, she needs to treat you carefully

Her biting and feeding certainly brings both of you comfort, joy, possessiveness, arousal and more, but also comes with the undeniable exhaustion it brings you as your body attempts to recover and your skin works on closing the wound as soon as possible

While her bite is the smallest, size wise, it is by far the messiest. And, the most painful

Despite the pleasure it brings you, you whimper each time her sharp teeth dig in

Not slicing, tearing into you

And tearing back out, hardly a clean cut, but a nasty wound she carefully licks clean each time

You can’t deny her though, and can’t deny that amidst the sting of pain, you always feel a great deal of pleasure

Her cool, bloodied lips against your sensitive neck, her warm breath tickling your skin

Her moans and little whimpers, desperate for your blood and touch

After a little while, you decide you want a temporary mark of hers on your skin

A bite mark. Hers

You choose your leg for it, knowing how Daniela loves to sink her teeth into nearly all parts of you. You wouldn’t want her bite off the ink

Daniela, thankfully, doesn’t question it at all when you ask her to bite the back of your leg

In fact, you can’t help but giggle as you lay down and feel her hands on you, keeping your leg still

She looks a little as though she’s about to devour a steak, really

Then, her teeth dig in again. This time, there is less pleasure, so you only grit your teeth and clench your fists

Thankfully, it’s over soon, and your ragged breath is replaced by little giggles when you pull her down on you and push your lips to hers

“I love you so much!”, she giggles

You grin widely. You know, she’s going to love your surprise!

Using Daniela’s tendency to be in her own little world and forget about time passing, you take a day off to get your tattoo

It doesn’t take long, thankfully, and you’re lucky enough to avoid trouble

Hiding the tattoo until it’s fully healed is a bit of a challenge, really, having such a clingy girlfriend

Still, despite her criminally cute pout, blindfolds covering her eyes and your teasing touches have her distracted enough to ignore your leg

You kiss her and ask her about her newest daydreams and fantasies when her eyes wander down, then smile widely when Daniela immediately starts rambling, her eyes closing and her body leaning into yours

She’s so precious to you

Then, finally, the day approaches when you can show her

“Dani? I’ve got a surprise for you”, you hum, which immediately gets her attention

Unlike her sisters, who are somewhat wary of them, Daniela loves surprises!

When the surprise turns out to be the bandage wrapped around your leg though, her energy and excitement calms a little

She knows, she has to control her strength around you, can’t be too excited or she might just rip off your leg

She pouts a little at the thought

Containing her strength, yet with a large smile on her black painted lips, she unwraps the bandage

When the tattooed bite is revealed, she tilts her head

Adorable, you think

You giggle when she leans down, as though inspecting it

She doesn’t remember biting you there today…

Then, as her finger gently prods your skin, she realises

You giggle again when a finger of her other hand taps the tattoo on her forehead, as though checking whether it’s the same thing. Your heart aches a little at the sight. You wish you could introduce her to more of the outside world

“Mine”, she whispers, then

You gasp as her grip tightens on you a little bit

“Mine”, she repeats. You smile back at her lovingly

“Yours”

In the time after, Daniela seems to take extra satisfaction from having the tattoo exposed

You giggle when soon, most of your clothing ends below your knees, just above the tattoo

You feel your face heat up and a smile spread on your lips each time someone notices the mark

[cheolsfae]

Hello:) I was wondering if you do a reading for how Stray Kids would be like with a sensitive s/o ( like the one for enhypen)? Thank you!!!🩷

Mhm!

*Disclaimer: Solely for fun. Please do not take this seriously! For entertainment purposes only!*

Minho's and Hyunjin's are so fucking sweet I swear to god! I'm loyal to changbin, loyal to changbin, loyal to chang-

𓆦 Chris (Bangchan)

Past: queen of wands, page of swords

At first, he'd be happy that he managed to pull someone as sweet as them. He could possibly have staked them out first though. Like been watchful of who was after them too. So like making sure he was the only one after them. Like he wants that person to himself. All of them for him and no one else. He might be the type to be absolutely confident in himself that he could pull them even if there was competition. Overly confident too.

Present: 4 of cups, 6 of swords (reversed), the star

I think he would be the type to kind of start walking on egg shells with this person once the honeymoon phase is over. Mainly because he's scared to hurt them. He doesn't want to say something that would cause them to be in pain. He wouldn't want to end things with them, cause they are someone who he is wishing for but it is difficult for him to be his most self with. So it would be hard for him to keep seeing someone like this. I'm not sure how long this would last.

Future: the emperor, 5 of cups

He would see a future with this person but ultimately, I don't think it would last very long. He'd be disappointed in himself for not feeling completely fulfilled in himself if he continued on hiding his true self from this person just to spare their feelings. Like yes, it's a nice thing to do but if you can't be authentic why keep up this facade for the rest of your life? It's extremely tiring to do for even an hour let alone a whole life time. That's just crazy. He would end up having to leave this person.

𓆦 Minho

Past: the hanged man, the magician

So when he came into contact with this person he'd immediately know he'd have to change things. Like the way he spoke about things, he'd know he'd have to say it in a more gentle way than what he is typically used to. He'd be so into this person, he might have been hoping and praying they would come towards him. Like they made the effort for him, doing all the extra-ness for him. But he'd also be giving the same energy. It's not all going to be one sided. He's going to want to change his ways for this person.

Present: 8 of pentacles, 6 of wands

He's going to want to be a better person for this sweet person. It's going to "force" him to really work on himself. He's going to want to be more open with this person, more affectionate. This type of person could really soften his heart (not that he's cold, he's just not flat out affectionate, it's more indirect) and be more willing to show the affection outright. It looks like he could be successful in this change if he was willing to put in the effort.

Future: page of wands, ace of swords

He really would want to keep expanding and seeing where things could go with this person. He would absolutely be more direct about what he sees in the future with this type of person. He'd be more willing to be more public with affection. This is the type of person, I feel would suit him best. This person seems to have lessons for him to learn.

𓆦 Changbin

Past: page of cups, 3 of swords

So, he's gone through this before. He is sensitive, regardless if he wants to admit it or not. He is. So if he was to make any sort of effort to get to know someone who was also sensitive, he'd be fearful of them hurting him more than he himself hurting them. He maybe a big buff guy but he's really soft and needs to be protected too. So, if he were to make this offer to someone more sensitive, he'd be extremely hesitant and they'd have to be willing to protect him like he is for them. Equal ground in that sense.

Present: 3 of cups, 10 of cups

Once he's gotten past the fear of them hurting him, he'd feel emotionally fulfilled. He'd be happy with everything that he's got going for him at that point. He'd feel like he's earned everything he's got with this person. He'd feel like he could actually build something with this person. I think that this person would feel the exact same way as he would. Really cute!!

Future: 6 of wands, the hermit

He'd feel like he's accomplished so much. He's a Leo, so of course he'd be feeling very prideful of what he's got both with this person and what he's got going for him career wise. I don't think this would be boastful energy but something more subtle. Not something like we are used to seeing from him, I feel like he'd be low key about being this happy, feels more genuine from him than his silliness. So like a sense of maturity with it.

𓆦 Hyunjin

Past: queen of pentacles, the world

Very nurturing and sweet towards this person, not a doubt in my mind that he'd be the absolute sweetest towards them. He views this person as his whole world. This could be something he does with every partner but especially if this person is very sensitive. He wants to protect them at all costs. Nothing is going to harm them. He wants to be their safety net. Will do whatever he can to keep them safe!

Present: 10 of pentacles, king of cups

He's emotionally stable enough to take care of them. He wants to be able to provide for them in any which way they need it. He wants to be their solid support system. He's always going to be there for them no matter how small the issue is. They stubbed their toe? He's right there making sure they are icing it, making sure they aren't bleeding, lmao. He's really there for them through thick and thin. Even if he doesn't particularly like them when they are arguing, he'd still bail them out of trouble in a heart beat.

Future: 4 of words, 7 of wands

He wants to get to a secure place with this person where he can be himself and still feel like he's putting a whole lot of effort towards this connection. Not laziness but a comfortable love. He wants to be able to enjoy it with this person no matter how slow moving they are.

𓆦 Jisung

Past: the star, 7 of swords

So he had hoped for someone like that. But I don't think he really would know what to expect from this person. So in the beginning, he'd be a little fake. He wouldn't exactly be showing his true colors right away. He'd be in a state of walking on egg shells. Hiding himself because he doesn't know this person very well.

Present: the high priestess, 7 of wands

He would be very suspicious of this person. He'd feel like they were definitely hiding something. Like they are working on screwing him over. He may have some serious attachment issues. He could have a disorganized attachment style. Like he has to leave before they can leave him or he has to be more clingy thinking that will get them to stay. Depending on what kind of attachment the other person has.

Future: 8 of swords, page of pentacles

He's going to be getting too much in his head if someone like this walked into his life. He'd definitely self sabotage because he doesn't think he deserves someone like that. He would end up bread crumbing them. Not intentionally but because he might have low self esteem when it comes to romantic conncections.

𓆦 Felix

Babylon by 5 Seconds of Summer is coming to mind for this one.

Past: queen of cups, 6 of swords

At first, I think they would both appreciate it. Like yes, I have someone who understands me. We are both on the same level. They would be letting go of old patterns they had prior to this connection. Like they would be able to be vulnerable with one another. No need to hide who they are with one another. Just bare it all and they'd accept each other, no hesitation whatsoever.

Present: queen of wands, 6 of cups

It would kind of start to move quickly. That's because they'd feel like they'd known each other for a life time. It'd be great and good for a while but then something switches and it kind of goes out and now they are constantly bickering at one another. Over silly little things too. Yes, there are growing pains but they shouldn't be all that often and it's going to turn incredibly toxic.

Future: knight of swords, the magician (reversed)

As quickly as this started it would end just as swiftly. No doubt that they care for one another deeply but eventually, I feel that it would end up turning into a game of who's a better manipulator. I don't think it would be intentional at first but it would more towards the end of it. It's like who's more daring to use their emotions to get what they want.

𓆦 Seungmin

Past: 9 of pentacles, judgement

So, at first he'd be hesitant to take this kind of risk. Because he does like his independence. He like's being on his own. No shame in that. He'd be going back and forth about what he wants from such a person but ultimately I think he'd take that risk. He's more scared of the harm he could end up doing to this person because he isn't completely healed but I think in this case, he would heal more if he got with this person. They'd do him no harm, they would help him learn and be better.

Present: 4 of wands, king of wands

He'd end up caving for this person. He'd end up taking the gamble. He'd start off really passionate but once he learned that that's not the type of person this person is, he'd tone it down a lot and be more true to the type of partner he is rather than putting up this front that he's all passion and nothing more. He'd be more down to earth.

Future: 4 of swords, 10 of pentacles

He'd definitely tone it down a lot. But don't get it mixed up, he's still deeply and utterly in love with this person just a more realistic version of love than what Hollywood makes it to be. It's more calming. This person is his peace and he wants to keep it that way forever if he can.

𓆦 Jeongin (I.N.)

Past: 5 of pentacles (reversed), 9 of pentacles

I think if/when he meets this type of person he's going to have released an old energy of holding grudges. He's going to be happy and living his best life. I think he would be more than willing to give this whole thing a shot. It would be something good for him, he'd be willing to give this whole thing a go. Even without knowing the risks that are involved with it.

Present: 8 of pentacles, 10 of wands (reversed)

He's also be the type to work on himself to better himself for this person. He doesn't want to be a burden to this person. Like having an emotionally stunted partner is not something anyone should have to deal with and he's hoping he isn't that way to that person, he wants to be someone reliable. A "man's man" if that makes any sense.

Future: ace of wands, 4 of swords

He's going to be very forward with this person. Just flat out direct mainly because he doesn't want them to over think. He wants them to know how much he cares for them. He doesn't want them to feel like they are being left in the dark. That's something that he wouldn't like being done to him so why do it to another person?

[kotton-kandy953]

━ 𝚂𝙰𝙲𝙲𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙸𝙽𝙴

➛ yandere!male headcannons × fem/gn!reader

title page┆word count: 0.4k┆warnings: second-person pronouns, kidnapping, manipulation, murder, obsessive behavior, stalking, toxic relationships, yandere themes┆a/n: would you believe me when I say I’m starting a bsd phase? would you believe that I am obsessed with ranpo?

general ! yandere ! ranpo edogawa hc’s x g/n ! reader

❝ you’re so sweet… why can’t I have a bite? ❞

Ranpo Edogawa would be a manipulative and obviously toxic yandere, mainly in guilt tripping and staking.

It’s not surprising that the “Worlds Greatest Detective” knows everything about you. From your favorite color to the average time you go sleep every night. So manipulating you would be as easy as solving a case is to him.

But him having knowledge of literally everything about wasn’t even the scariest thing about him; it was the constant feeling of eyes watching you that was much more frightening. You wouldn’t have ever suspected Ranpo of being a stalker.

On top of that, he’s a really clingy, attention starved brat. Even if you two are in a relationship not, he’ll make flirtatious and occasionally suggestive remarks towards you and never fail to bring you both into a firm embrace whenever you two see each other. Totally not to make others who may like you horribly jealous.

And the craziest thing about this, he doesn’t even try to hide his overwhelming attraction towards you. From the stalking to the flirting. He doesn’t care.

If you ever were to confront him about his embarrassing and inappropriate behaviors he’d only make up an excuse or ignore you like an immature child. Getting him to explain would be more difficult than you thought.

Moving on, I do believe that Ranpo would eliminate others who pose as “threats” against your relationship with him. But before resulting to murder, he would try his best to run them off psychologically.

He believes that murder isn’t always the only option to get rid of someone. A playful joke or what some may call a “threat” may be enough.

Making an overly complicated and difficult to decipher murder would be a piece of cake to Ranpo. He’s a “gifted” detective, after all. Covering up a murder without a trace would be easy. It’s just not something he’d prefer to do.

When kidnapping you, he’ll more so hold you hostage rather than kidnapping. Not only is it easier but you have that trust instilled inside you that he wouldn’t do anything bad to you when you both were alone. But I guess you were wrong.

In conclusion, Ranpo is a psychotic, manipulative, and clingy yandere. By far one of the scariest ones due to his supernatural deduction abilities.

My first bsd post!! I fear my danganronpa phase has come to an end :(

back to title page

[nikonladyz4]

I was going to put this in your comments, but my rant just got too long, so I decided to send it as an ask.🙃 Please humor me.

Thank you for posting your comment about Jimin's appearance on WeVerse recently. I'm actually astonished that Jimin is the one who went through the difficult experience, yet people (fans?) seem to think the difficulty they experienced due to his absence is more significant and important. Jimin likely went through a more difficult experience than he'll ever tell us - at the frontlines of rough assignment. He had to walk away from his career, where there have already been numerous interruptions at its height and in his youth. He was away from most of his family and friends. He has to readjust to the new phase of work and life. But he takes time to comfort fans in their "distress". Not just now, but throughout this entire experience. (Songs, letters, messages, etc.) New fans I can maybe understand because they don't know him as well, but existing fans should know that Jimin often takes time to get his products out and carry out his long thought out plans. (Re: He took almost a year and half to create all the products for his 2 albums.) Jimin was the last one to get a Spotify account then blew that out of the water once he had one (2nd highest and fastest rise). He had the least writing credits, only to add 2 albums worth of writing and composing (& producing) credits to his list when the time came. Before FACE came out, people kept asking anxious questions like "Can you show us your back tattoos?" He kept telling them to just wait for him. Be patient. Then there was a double page back tattoo picture in his album photobook, a huge, wall-sized back tattoo photo in his exhibition, and full on display of all of his tattoos during his and JK's travel series, Are You Sure?! Fans should always keep in mind that they do not know all the information that Jimin knows. There may be many reasons Jimin has not performed yet. Trust that whatever they are, Jimin will ultimately get things done and shine just as brightly due his own effort and design as well as the TRUSTING support of his fans. In addition to his past successes, have the results of his 2 current albums not proven anything? (first #1 Hot100, longest charting KPop song) One possible answer could be that Jimin may not feel totally prepared (in his estimation) to tour just yet. He likes to be overly prepared, overly rehearsed, etc. in order to feel comfortable presenting what he wants to show, which he said is always the best possible show for fans. He has said this out of his own mouth. I appreciate that Jimin does things on his own terms yet still cares enough about other people to address their concerns as well. As I often say, he's special. I hope his fans continue to trust him and give him the space and freedom to experiment and to operate in his own time and way without adding additional stress to his already stressful situation. Believe me, no one's standards are as high as his own for what he would like to show. The most fans can do is support & encourage him while staying out of the complaining, hostile conversations, allegedly on his behalf.

Thank you for sending this ask and being willing to stand by your statement with your name. You so elegantly expanded on what I said and you hit the nail on the head. We as fans talk about what we “want or demand” from Jimin and the members instead of wishing or requesting what we would like to see or receive from their music. These men have gone to hades and back while coming up through the last 12-15 years as artists and then having to stop at the peak of their careers to serve their country. They have all put their blood sweat and tears into developing their music as a band and as solo artist with their own individual colors. Jimin and the members have earned the right to work at their own pace and under the terms they desire. We as fans have to be patient with them and allow them the freedom to do so. Our wishes and desires should not supersede what they are trying to accomplish or achieve. We should not be dictating that they leave the company they built. They are intelligent, educated and experienced men with legal counsel to help them make the best decisions for themselves and their career. We don’t truly know what is happening behind the scenes unless they choose to tell us. We should be positive and supportive of our bias and the members at large.

[constanttea]

Employment Status: It's Complicated

Chapter One: Workplace Crush

This is me taking my shot at putting more Elias X Readers out into the world.

Work is slow today, more slow than usual. After dealing with a particularly juicy research project, you feel an overwhelming need to take a break. It is a bit like feeling sleepy after eating too much, and there is a light feeling fluttering around within you that you cannot quite put your finger on, like butterflies flitting around your skull. There are, however, more hours than preferable left in your day. So unfortunate. You dig through your bag you brought with you to work, considering taking out your phone and checking messages. As your fingers settle around the treasure they seek, a hair raises at your neck making you reconsider. It has a camera. Always watching, right–you really do need a break though. It can’t hurt. Can it?

You consider your options. You have a thermos of unfinished coffee, a book, your phone, and your wallet. You used to drink coffee much more, but you have been having less and less of an appetite these days, for food at least. Changes that pinch and pull at your insides like a second puberty. You could have questioned what you were going through more, you suppose, but no…one would expect that they are affected by what they surround themselves with. You have had a feeling for a long time that this rings true for you. As the strangeness of what you surround yourself with becomes more familiar, more satisfying. The questions and answers come to you easier.

Book it is. You pull out your book flipping to a random page. You have read it once or twice. There are pages worn and water stains on some pages from your tears and late nights. There is a dog-eared corner on the page that finds you. A warm flush rises to your face as you recognize the page. There is a mild personal shame at the scene you are faced with and the fact that you marked it to come back to. It’s the turning point in a painful strangers to enemies because of unfortunate misunderstandings and lack of communication becoming a romance. The characters have an incredibly heated and overly described kiss, and well, it’s–

“Well that doesn’t look like an antique mirror.”

Your shoulders tense and you lift your gaze from the page, tearing yourself away from the kiss, your eyes pause on his lips for a moment longer than they should have. You can’t help it, the scene on the page is still so fresh in your mind. If anything, there is a curiosity welling within you. You can’t voice it though, that would be entirely too unprofessional. “I finished up with it. I was taking a break. Seemed like a slow day.”

His vest is fully buttoned, sticking to his frame in a slim and tailored way. There is a dark beauty to him; Elias Bouchard is the kind of beautiful that is so hard to look away from. There is a loading period you always go through when you meet his gaze. You feel as if you cannot think for those first moments or absorb anything, but how can you? He has such captivating eyes that seem to drink you in. A beauty that is dark in the way that it takes your breath away and suffocates you, drowns you.

There is something almost lost in time about the way he holds himself. There is a bit of condescension there as well, but it doesn’t always bother you. If anything, you like a little bit of debate now and then. It’s healthy, and you feel like being difficult today. Elias really does bring out the worst in you.

You don’t feel that what you chose to do was wrong, so you turn your gaze back to the book. He clears his throat, and you turn the page. His hand enters your frame of vision as he slides the book out of your hand, the movement is hot and sharp against your hand, pinching at a finger as it leaves you. You turn to gaze back into his eyes, a rising annoyance like a whistling kettle sings within you. His eyes flicker from side to side, absorbing the page far too quick. Looking way too fast to possibly have read it. The kettle is whistling louder, your face feels so warm, and you would shed your outer layer right now if it weren’t for the fact that it wouldn’t prevent you from overheating. It didn’t help that you were working through that intimate scene right before you came in. The warmth is fueled by a pool of emotions and feelings within, the problem is so much deeper than your skin. Death by embarrassment.

“How chaste,” he comments. Shutting the book and placing it back on your desk with a touch so light it lands quieter than the noise from snapping the book shut. 

“Can I help you?”

“Do you know what day it is?” His hand finds the area just above his hip as he shifts his weight.

“It’s a…,” you pause, the heat traveling to your chest, choking your words, “Friday.” Shit. 

“Running out of work is one thing, but I don’t appreciate your lack of punctuality.” He towers over you, his words stabbing into you like sharpened pencils. You were supposed to have some evaluation today. Blah blah something about your work and how well or poorly you’ve been doing. Feedback or something. 

“Sorry, I…”

“The thing is you really are a fantastic employee. Your work is always impeccable. When you didn’t show up, I assumed you must have gotten caught up in paperwork.” You take a deep breath, trying to slow your racing heart. “...so imagine my surprise to find you red-faced reading a romance book down here.” Caught red handed, well, red-faced. Damn.

One end of his collar is quirked up at a slight angle like a page wrinkled the wrong way. It itches you to see. He calls out your name, tearing you from your trance, “You’re bleeding,” he announces. There is blood sliding down your index finger. When he took the book, some pages had sliced at your finger. The blood flows freely, dripping onto the surface of your desk. He sighs and disappears into a corner. The sounds of cabinets and draws flipping open and shut echoes and clatters in your ear drums alongside your heart, and your finger pulses with the beat of your heart. Paper cuts suck ass. He says words that go in one ear and out the other as he bandages your hand. You close your eyes, and the world rights itself. 

What an awful situation to find yourself in! Laughable almost. Reminds you of a scene in the book, but he’s your boss, and that’s a really weird thought to have. What happened to questioning your humanity? Maybe that ought to make a comeback. He is quick and practiced with his movements, his fingers are feather light over yours. His words scratch at you, finally starting to come together in something comprehensible. He had been showering you with the occasional kind word. You have come so far. You have learned so much since coming here. You are quite different than you once were. You get distracted easily, however. 

Ah, everything about him is so well composed and perfectly tailored. You can’t help but wonder what he would do if you interlocked your fingers with his. If you did something out of turn. 

“Can you stop that?”

“I didn’t do anything!” You have been sitting here quietly and quite patiently this whole time. Maybe you haven’t been the best listener, but you are just fighting away so many things right now. It’s so warm. You could do with a nap. You’re a bit embarrassed, and–

“I am flattered by your affections,” he raps his knuckle on the desk, asking for your attention, “--but they are quite misplaced. My position over you and our relationship is purely professional, and I am quite possibly the first male role model in your life that has offered you genuine feedback. Don’t mistake your own pride and preening for romance.”

Cold. Cold, cruel, and unusual from your mind reader boss. There are stranger things. For one, there’s a mirror with shadows close by in the background. They are always watching, of course you can’t see them on your own, but they’re there. It is hard to escape watching eyes without getting lost yourself. 

The rings on his fingers are thick and solid. They clink as he raises his hand, waving it in front of your face. “Maybe you should take the rest of the day off. Go home. You clearly aren’t up for any other work today.” 

There are so many things you want to say, but the words cannot bother to leave your lips. Is it even worth it? Won’t he know? There is a part of you that wants to bite and bark, argue with him. It stings, the blatant mention of your issues with the male gender stings and burns, sizzling beneath your skin. It’s not even that true. You have had other male influences. You didn’t have these thoughts about them, and it’s not like you choose to have the occasional gentle thought about your boss. He is so handsome and the skin of his fingers so gentle and soft. You can’t help it. What an unfair and rude accusation from him. It’s not even entirely true! You didn’t think about kissing Peter Lukas. And, it was bad luck and poor timing that led to him interrupting you when you were immersed in such an intimate scene. 

You pull your injured hand towards your chest, nursing your wounds, “Take me for dinner before you try to unpack my issues with older men, why don’t you?”

He sighs, his shoulders sinking with the heavy exhale, “For someone that is deeply inexperienced, you sure do have flirtatious tendencies.”

Whatever. You got the message. No more inappropriate comments. Lips zipped. You’ll try to stop the occasional thought you suppose, maybe you should take up tapestry and needle work. You stuff your book unceremoniously into your bag, standing up, your chair sliding back with a painful screech as it scrapes against the floor. It doesn’t even your heights entirely, but it does make it so you feel less looked down upon by him. 

“Loud and clear, Elias, I’m leaving. See you Monday.” 

You can feel his eyes glaring holes into your head as you speed walk away. Your ankle twists for a moment, a birdlike squeak escaping you. He snorts, so catching your balance and trying to slink away gracefully are not working out for you. The heat under your skin makes your palms sweaty and gross. You need to get some air anyway. The walk home will do you good. 

He raises his voice, “I am fond of you! Don’t go wallow around being self-deprecating.” His voice falls on closed ears. Bitch. You aren’t working right now. He can’t tell you what to do. You were dismissed. 

So maybe sometimes, you have inappropriate thoughts accompanied by lingering gazes! It’s not the end of the world. Right?

Could be worse. You could be Martin. That boy is head over heels, and Jon is quite dismissive of him. Maybe, it’s not so different. God, that’s embarrassing. The cycle continues.

Next Chapter: Meant to Be

Master Post

[sage-lights]

with you, there's no pretending

word count: 2165 chapter: 1/? Ever since freshman orientation, when Angela first noticed Amanda sitting in the gym bleachers, she’d been head-over-heels in love with her.

Angela was going to kill Arasha.  

Earlier that week, Arasha asked Angela if she could interview her about playing Grace Chasity in their high school’s upcoming production of Nerdy Prudes Must Die. Arasha eagerly volunteered to write this article for her journalism class, hoping that Angela’s insight would help her assignment stand out. Angela knew her friend had been working all year to impress her teacher and secure the position of Editor-in-Chief for the next school year.  

Just for fun, Angela made her best friend beg, playfully acting stubborn and difficult about the request—much to Chanse's amusement, who had a blast recording the whole thing and laughing at the two of them. In the end, Angela agreed, and the girls made plans to meet at their favorite local coffee shop on Saturday.  

That morning, she took Spork to the vet for a routine checkup, which, thankfully, hadn’t taken longer than anticipated. After making a quick stop to drop him off at home, Angela arrived at the coffee shop just in time to find a table near the back before the usual afternoon rush filled the place. She sat facing the door so Arasha could easily spot her when she arrived, then mindlessly scrolled on her phone to pass the time.  

Out of the corner of her eye, Angela noticed a girl with long, wavy brunette hair enter the coffee shop. She looked up, expecting to see her friend rushing over to greet her. But instead, in her place stood Amanda Lehan-Canto.  

Ever since freshman orientation, when Angela first noticed Amanda sitting in the gym bleachers, she’d been head-over-heels in love with her. She remembered leaning over and whispering (a little too loudly judging from the pointed looks the kids in front of them had given her) to ask Chanse who the new girl was.  

“Who are you talking about? There’s like a million people here,” Chanse responded, wildly swiveling his head around trying to figure out who Angela was referring to.  

Angela slapped his arm and pointed discreetly to the girl a couple of rows above them, “Over there, idiot!”  

“Oooooooh, someone’s got a crushhhhhh!”  

“Stop it! Could you be any more obvious?” She sunk further into her seat, “Do you know who she is or not?”  

“Nope, but I could find out.”  

Later, Angela learned her name and that she’d just moved to Los Angeles from Boston. Despite Chanse’s insistence that Angela should introduce herself and befriend her, Angela just hadn’t been able to bring herself to do it.  

That was almost four years ago, and even now in their senior year, Angela was no closer to Amanda than when she first laid eyes on her. Even when they’d been in the same AP Psychology class sophomore year, Angela had always been too nervous to say more than a few pleasantries. She didn’t want to come off as overly eager or that she was scaring Amanda away.

Angela admired Amanda from afar, how she greeted a table of friends with hugs and a “How are you?” and how freely she chatted and laughed with the baristas. The coffee shop seemed to brighten with her presence. 

But then Amanda turned and met Angela’s gaze. Shit, she’d been caught staring. Angela tried her best to recover, her face reddening. She turned in the other direction, pretending to search through her tote bag for something. She fumbled with her AirPods and pulled out a book, quickly flipping it open to her bookmarked page.  

“Hey! Angela, right?” Oh no, Angela recognized that voice. She glanced up at the girl speaking to her. Thank goodness for all those acting classes that taught her how to mask her emotions. She hoped her face looked calm and nonchalant, but also friendly and inviting. Oh, and maybe cool and suave as well. Honestly, Angela would take anything over looking overwhelmed at the fact that her long-time crush was now talking to her.  

“That’s me!” Just be cool.  

Amanda sat down in the seat across from her, and that’s when the panic really set in. “I’m Amanda. We had AP Psych with Mr. Hecox together.”

“Oh yeah, that’s right!” She prayed that her voice wouldn’t embarrassingly start cracking, “His class was definitely an interesting one, especially with the random dark jokes he’d thrown into the middle of his presentations.”  

Amanda chuckled lightly at her comment, and Angela felt her smile widen and her shoulders loosen. But when there was no indication of her leaving, Angela got nervous again.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to sound rude, but is there a reason you sat down? Not that I mind talking to you. Not at all. It’s just, um, I’m meeting my friend, Arasha, here in a little bit—oh, you might know her from Journalism then. Since you’re the Editor-in-Chief this year, right? Well, so you probably know that she’s writing a piece on the school’s musical, and she asked to interview me. So, I don’t think you can stay here for long. Oh my god, I sound super rude right now, don’t I? Shoot, I swear I—,” 

“Angela, breathe,” Amanda leaned forward and placed a hand over hers, interrupting her rambling. A thousand questions began spinning around in her head. Can she tell I’m freaking out? Is my hand abnormally sweaty? Am I making a fool of myself right now? Is she this touchy with everyone? Why. Is she. Touching. My hand?!

So much for keeping it cool.

“Did Arasha not tell you? I’m actually filling in for her. She messaged our class on Slack this morning asking if someone could take over because she woke up super sick,” Amanda explained.

“Oh shoot, maybe I missed that text from her,” Angela opened her texts with Arasha and briefly scrolled through to check even though she knows for certain that this a certified Arasha prank.

angela: you’re kidding me arash no way you’re sick

Immediately, Angela got a response. She could just picture Arasha’s smug face.

arasha: oh yeahhh i’m totally sneezing up a storm rn

angela: arasha lalani more like arasha lie-lani

arasha: lame but you’ll thank me later now go have fun on your date! but not too much fun ;’)

angela: NOT A DATE i hate you sm

arasha: you’re welcomeee

Amanda raised an eyebrow playfully, “Everything good with Arasha?”

“Yeah, everything’s good,” Angela fumbles with her phone again, shoving into the pocket of her zip up hoodie without even turning it off.

“Okay, good.”

“Good.” Oh no, did I just make it weird?

Amanda pulls her laptop out of her purse, “Ready to get started then?”

“Let’s do this thing.”

Amanda readied her fingers over the keys and looked over at Angela, ready to take notes like a professional journalist. “So, what can audiences expect from your performance as Grace Chasity in Nerdy Prudes Must Die?”

“Soup,” Angela answers cheekily.

“I’m sorry, soup?”

“Yep, soup! I mean who doesn’t like soup? A classic chicken noodle? Or a butternut squash soup?” Angela gasps animatedly, “What about a garlic tomato bisque? With a grilled cheese?! Come on, how could anyone hate soup?”

Amanda chimes in with a grin, “Broccoli cheddar though? Very divisive, I will say!”

“Ugh! I do secretly love a broccoli cheddar!”

“So do I! But have to ask again, Angela, what does this have to do with Grace Chasity?”

“You’ll have to wait and see. I will say though, Grace’s preferred soup is definitely dirty.”

Amanda laughs, “I feel like you’re purposely trying to confuse me now.”

“Gotta sell tickets somehow, Amanda!” She winks, to which Amanda laughs again. That sound, the resonance of it, settles into Angela’s chest and fills her with a blooming warmth. 

As the interview progressed, Angela’s initial jitters fade away. Each question Amanda asked felt less like an interrogation and more like a conversation she’d have with friends. By the time they reached the final question, she realized she’d very much enjoyed Amanda’s company.

“Alright, I think that’s everything,” Amanda closed her laptop and slipped it back into her bag. “Thank you again for doing this interview with me. I know I’m not who you were expecting, but I’m glad I got to chat about the musical with you anyway.”

Angela shook her head bashfully. “Of course, it was no problem.”

They both gathered the rest of their things and stood up, though Amanda suddenly moved in for a hug. Angela returned the embrace, even though she was still a little shell-shocked from the whole afternoon. Note to self: Amanda’s a hugger.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Amanda pulled away. “I always forget not everyone’s down for physical touch, and then I go and make it uncomfortable by hugging you.”

“No, it was alright. Don’t worry about it,” smiled Angela, reassuring Amanda. Neither of the girls said anything after that, leaving them staring at each other in awkward silence for a little too long. At least, it was awkward for Angela, given the whole “I’m in love with you” part. She really hoped she wasn’t smiling too much like an idiot. Maybe she should stop smiling. No, that would be off-putting as hell to randomly stop smiling. Maybe she should say somethi—

Amanda cleared her throat, “It was nice talking to you. I hope to see you around sometime.” Phew.

She waved to the retreating Amanda, “Yeah, I’ll see you around.” But there was still a voice inside her that urged her to say something more. This is your chance, Angela!

“Wait!” Angela called out, causing Amanda to turn back around. “You should, um, get my number. You know, just in case you have any more questions while you write the article.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Amanda handed Angela her phone with an amused expression. Angela carefully entered her information on the new contact page and passed it back to Amanda before saying a last goodbye and letting Amanda walk out.

Angela blinked a couple of times, hoping to snap back into the present. It didn’t help—she was too dazed from the whole interaction. Amanda Lehan-Canto had just talked to her. Holy. Shit.

After collecting herself a little more, she hopped in her car and drove home. Every moment of their conversation replayed in Angela’s mind: the answers she had given, the stupid jokes she had cracked, the way Amanda had sounded when she laughed. She pinched her arm over and over again to prove to herself that this all really happened.

As she pulled into the driveway, her phone lit up with a notification from her group chat with Chanse and Arasha—it was unfortunately named “ANGELAAAAAAA!” after the way her friends often called her name in disappointment.

arasha: your location says you’re home angela spill how did it go

angela: wtf are you stalking me

arasha: that’s beside the point

chanse: explainnnn pleaseee

arasha:  i set ang up on a date with amanda lehan cantooooooooo

chanse: A DATE?!

angela: NOT! A! DATE!!! it was an interview that arasha FLAKED ON

arasha: semantics

chanse: HOW DID IT GO

angela: it was chill she asked me about nerdy prudes and i gave her my number in case she had follow up questions

chanse: you gave her your number???? damn ang is finally make some moves took you long enough

arasha: YOU’RE FUCKING WELCOME MAN she would still be sitting on her ass pining away if it weren’t for me

angela: jeez it was just a casual thing calm yourselves

chanse: why don’t you text her and say you forgot to mention something earlier just to get the convo rolling

angela: um bitch i’m tryna play it cool here don’t wanna seem too eager plus i just realized i didn’t get her number…

chanse: angelaaaaaaaaaaaaaa dude you fumbled that big time

arasha: i put in so much work to make that happen and you fucked it wasted effort

chanse: you idiot i cannot believe you

arasha: you got no game fr

angela: Y’ALL I WAS PANICKING CAN YOU BE A LITTLE MORE GENTLE

chanse: no you don’t get a pass for this arash do you have her number

arasha: nah we text on slack also it would be hella strange if ang had her number without asking directly

chanse: ugh true i guess

At this point, she had made it up the stairs and into her bedroom. Frustrated with her friends, Angela tossed her phone onto her bed before promptly flopping down and burying her face into the pillows. And then, she screamed. So loud and so long that she barely heard the “ding” of a new notification.

Angela rolled over and felt around for her phone, already groaning at what she expected to be another annoying message from her annoying friends.

unknown number: hey this is amanda

Her eyes widened.

unknown number: i realized way too late that i never gave you my number so i thought i’d shoot you a text so you could saved it too :)

Angela threw her phone again and went back to screaming.

a lil author's note: i started this amangela high school au a longggg time ago, practically when this blog started because it's one of my favorite tropes to mull around in my mind. funnily enough, this first chapter was written for the smosh girlies week back in feb, but i deleted the whole thing because i hated what i wrote, so the first draft has been lost to time. then, i wrote it again and abandoned it again. it wasn't until my wonderful friend @babychosen asked me about it recently that i decided to revisit it and finally finish it for all y'all to enjoy! this is for @babychosen, @unknownteapot, @poppyfamily, and @shesmore-shoebill. thanks guys for always yelling about amangela with me <3

[fandomrose]

Alhaitham - Stress comfort.

Hello. I love this man and I need to sit in his lap while he reads so here this is.

Just fluff, a little suggestive at the end but you can read it as a massage session instead as it's not explicit in what he's implying.

But yea not much to say.

Please enjoy 💙

You return home from another exhausting day. They seem never-ending at the moment. You plod into the house you share with your boyfriend and roommate to find said boyfriend lounging on the sofa reading. He hears your approach, having known you were due to return and removed his soundproof headphones. He puts the book face down on the arm of the chair and beckoning you to join him.

"Your back, come sit." He said simply patting the sofa next to him. You flop down intending to cuddle but he immediately stands and heads to the kitchen. 

"Stay." Is all he says. If it were anyone else you would have berated them for a lack of manners and for being treated like a dog but you knew your lover and you knew that was just how he spoke. With the least effort necessary. (Unless he's waxing poetic in a language you've never heard about your body and attitude after a passionate encounter. But that's for him to know.)

You sigh and sink into the large sofa and wait like he said, too tired to get up. You look around and note the book isn't one he'd typically read. It was a fantasy novel... one from your childhood that you mentioned brought you comfort to read. It wasn't the best written or the most original story but you loved it and now he was reading it. It touched your heart and you couldn't help but feel the stress alleviate to make room for love from your boyfriend.

As you were silently swooning about Alhaitham he returns with a cup of something herbal smelling and a plate of food. 

"Here, a tea specially blended for your relaxation and palette and dinner. You've been working far too hard lately and since work has been easy on me since being willfully demoted back to scribe. It's the least I can do."

You chuckle and smile up at him taking the tea while he sits down with the plate in one hand, wrapping his free arm around you and stroking your shoulder with his thumb.

Casual intimacy was difficult for you both at first. With you desiring it but not knowing how to go about it and Alhaitham thinking he'd hate it. But the two of you figured it out and now he loves touching you and being close, during hot days it's not unusual that he will refuse to cuddle but he'll stretch out a foot to put on your leg, always touching you in some way. 

You were swooning again but trying not to make it obvious and inflate his ego more. But when you chance a look at his face he had a small smirk and a cocky look in his eyes. He could read you like an overly complicated 347 page philosophical thesis on silent languages.

"Thank you Alhaitham, this means a lot already."

"Hm you don't need to say it, I can see how grateful you are. You're an open book to me. I'm just glad it's helping, even if I knew it would." 

"Ttsh, arrogant ass" you say with nothing but love in your voice. In response he chuckles and squeezes you with his arm.

"Now, now, is that any way to treat your extremely generous and caring lover?" 

You sip your tea dramatically, "you know I mean it with love darling."

"Hmm, yes of course you are head over heels for me. You love this arrogant ass. How could you not." You sigh, meaning to sound faux annoyed but it just sounded blissful instead. He was only this dramatic and faux arrogant with those he truly cared for.

"Indeed how could I not-" In a smooth move you take his hand from your shoulder and press a kiss to the back of it before placing it back on your shoulder. You hear him chuckle in a way that makes your heart flutter. He kisses the top of your head before picking up his book again.

"Come on eat, you'll need the energy."

You could feel your face heat at the implications and you can just imagine his smug face. So you decide to play innocent.

"Why? The day is almost over."

He chuckles again and squeezed your shoulder. "Because someone looks like they could use some stress relief. If someone wants of course. If not we can skip straight to the bath."

You chuckle and sigh. "'Stress relief' hmm? That does sound nice."

"Then stress relief it is my كنز. Then the bath, you'll need it. Now eat L'amour de ma vie." 

"Alright alright love" you quickly eat, ready for what sounds like the best evening in a while. Moments like this remind you that no matter what happens during the day, your loving boyfriend will be there for you.

[theknightmarket]

i saw a post a while ago of someone begging for a damien x da fanfic based on i can see you by taylor swift and i haven't been able to get it out of my head since 😭

"I'll be waiting."

In which Damien and the DA are forced to sneak around despite holding the keys to the kingdom. TW: none Pages: 25 - Words: 10,000

[Requests: OPEN]

Even though you were roommates, you and Damien didn’t really know each other at the beginning of your tenure at university. You knew of each other, you knew that someone else slept in the same room as you, but you didn’t hold conversations. The maximum number of words you had exchanged in one interaction was a question about a fire drill, and, even then, it was less an exchange and more a statement of fact and an agreement. Needless to say, it wasn’t indicative of a budding friendship meant to last a lifetime.

In the present moment, you were sitting in your lecture hall, hoping that the wooden pew wouldn’t do any more damage to your spine than it already had. The need to listen to your professor’s monologue was nestled somewhere deeper in the back of your mind, but you weren’t overly worried about missing something. Half of your class were asleep, and the other half were on the way there. A seven o’clock talk on the differences between tort law and contract law wasn’t the most riveting thing out there, after all, and you found yourself glancing around the room to avoid knocking out then and there.

Your gaze landed on just the man you had been thinking of earlier. Damien was sitting on the opposite side of the lecture hall, head in his hand and a distant look glazing his eyes. Whatever was on his mind, it wasn’t optimistic. Had you been paying more attention to him when you were in your dorm at the same time, you might have known, but you hadn’t, so you didn’t. Your best guess was the mountain of work your class had been assigned over the weekend, mostly because that was the thing plaguing your own thoughts.

That mountain only grew as the class dragged on. New packets of questions to attempt and fail at, new chapters of your textbook to muddle through late at night until your eyes inevitably give up on you, new test dates to dread because working on your current subjects sucked up all the energy that you had so that you had none left over for revising the old stuff. In summary, you had half a mind to leave the hall and never step foot back onto campus again.

Fortunately for your education, it was only half a mind, and the logic center of your brain firmly reminded you that it was a bad idea. That left you silently thinking up ways to keep yourself sane before the clock hands finally ticked to eight-thirty and everyone scattered like rats before the professor had finished his last sentence.

You were one of the last to pack up, your limbs flailing about ineffectively. It seemed that the effects of too little sleep and too much coffee were working against you at the same time. Brain foggy and body energized, the only solution you could manage to come up with was a quick walk around the grounds. Autonomous but physically tiring.

It was as you were stumbling towards the old wooden doors of the lecture hall that you saw Damien headed in the same direction. You would have thought he would rush off amongst the other fellow students – what with his tendency to spend every waking moment at the library – but there he was, slow on the draw and lagging behind.

Something must have really been bothering him.

From your place a few rows away from him, you watched as he struggled with the door. It was a difficult thing to get open, and it was awkward to be the first person there because then you’d have an audience. It was always best to be in the middle of the pack, able to walk through without having to shove the whole weight of your body against it.

You unconsciously grimaced at the thought of doing that yourself when you’d get there after Damien had already gone through. At least no one would be there to see you and the door could be as uncooperative as it wanted, though in your state that might have ended with there being no door at all. Your grimace deepened with the thought of explaining that, too.

Except the possibility was wiped from your mind when you caught sight of Damien still standing at the doorway – or, more specifically, in the doorway. One of his arms kept his satchel close to his side while the other was stretched out to keep the door open. Briefly, you made eye contact with him.

He blinked.

You blinked.

And then you realized that he was holding the door open for you, so you tossed yourself over one of the pews and dashed to meet him. Knowing how heavy that door was made your arm ache in sympathy, and you didn’t want to make him wait longer than he already had been.

“Thank you,” you managed to get out in between light huffs. A law degree was not an easy thing to schedule an exercise routine around. You could only hope it wasn’t obvious.

If Damien did notice, he didn’t say anything. The only thing that came out of his mouth was a soft, “Of course,” before he was walking down the hallway. Although his manners might have played a part in it going unmentioned, you weren’t about shoot yourself in the foot by bringing it up. 

The ensuing silence was only slightly better. The corridor wasn’t long, but it was a misfortunate feature of life that walking beside someone without talking made time pass infinitely slower. This was especially so given your complicated relationship with the man whom you had fallen into step with. Were you supposed to strike up a conversation? It could only be surface level – something about the weather or the work or the campus – so was it worth it? You only had a minute before you’d be separating, anyway, which meant there was no real reason to get stressed about it even though you already were, and you could have been using that time you were worrying to actually talk to him, but there was a slim chance of him continuing the conversation, which would only make the interaction more awkward, and could you even call it an interaction—

“After you.”

You were torn out of your thoughts by Damien once again holding the door open for you. This time, it wasn’t the stubborn mule of the lecture hall’s door, but the exit to the entire building. You held back from glancing over your shoulder to confirm that you had actually crossed the entire hallway, and, rather, you shot him a small smile and ducked out into the fresh air. In your peripheral, you saw him return it with a nod.

You waited for him to close the door behind himself, figuring that it would be rude to leave without a goodbye, even though you weren’t certain what it was that you would be leaving. That, and you were planning to walk in the opposite direction of him, no matter what. The route you were planning on taking for your little equilibrium session was a circle around campus, after all, which meant it hardly mattered which way you went.

What surprised you was the fact that Damien didn’t make to leave when the click of the door signaled it was safely closed. Instead, he stayed put to say, “I’ll be seeing you tonight, then?”

Unprepared for the assumption, your grip on the strap of your bag tightened momentarily, and you swallowed before replying, “Yeah, you will.” It felt too stale to leave it at that, and you felt the impulse to continue. “Are you heading to the library?”

He hummed in affirmation. “I’ll be back late, so leave a note on the door if you’ll be asleep so I don’t wake you.”

“Will do.”

That felt a better place to end it, so you took a step on the brick path round the campus. Damien appeared to have no objections, and there was a small part of you that swore you saw him sigh in relief. You were in the same boat, though, and you forced yourself to give him a small wave that he returned before you were walking as casually as you could past the building’s wall and out of his line of sight.

There were only two thoughts in your mind. The first was that the last five minutes had been absolute torture. The second was a spark of horror at the idea of seeing him later that evening that made you stifle a groan.

You liked Damien. He was nice. But the fault didn’t lie with him, no, it was with you.

During the class debates, the pretend court cases, the mock bar exams, you paraded the personality of a charismatic litigator who knew the loopholes of a law like the back of their hand and could argue a client out of triple homicide with sixteen eyewitnesses and their head left at the crime scene. Only, the façade was a crime in and of itself because you stole it from the people you learned from. Nothing about it was yours, and it didn’t carry over to the outside world. Being able to prepare yourself propped up your confidence, leaving you in shambles when it fell. Case in point, Damien now knew you were an awkward mess, and there was a voice in the back of your mind that told you it was best to ask for a room transfer, or, to be safe, a university transfer.

At the side of the path, you spied a bench and rushed over to it. The walk had been an objective failure so far. The only thing it had managed to do was flip the states of your body and mind around; aches were developing behind your knees and your thoughts were bouncing around your skull like a ping-pong tournament. Not even mashing the heels of your hands into your eyes did the trick in getting them to shut up.

Sighing, you pushed up your jacket’s sleeve to inspect your watch. Only fifteen minutes had passed, and you had five hours to kill until your next lecture rolled around. Your muddled brain offered to return to your dorm and attempt preparation for the next test. It was poor, given that there was a seventy-five percent chance that nothing would take, but it was the best, and only, idea you had, so you would have to make do.

You sent a wistful glance towards the scenery, and then forced yourself to your feet to make the journey back to the sleeping quarters. You wished you were able to spend more time outside, but motivation was a cruel mistress and never struck when you were comfortable. Instead, she favored the unforgiving rigidity of your desk chair and the stuffy air that came with a window that didn’t quite open all the way. 

It was only after the last time you pulled an all-nighter that you understood why.

With dread settling into your heart, you realized that was going to be your future, so you hastened yourself in order to give yourself as much a chance of getting sleep as possible. You mulled over a plan in your head as you snaked between two buildings, worked your way across the stretch of grass, and clambered up the stairs to your dorm room. Solidifying your first goal of getting an hour of pure study in, you fished your key out from a pocket of your bag and then pushed it into the lock.

A frown pulled at the corners of your mouth when you realized the key wouldn’t turn. Pulling it out and retrying didn’t work, but you found that you didn’t need it in the first place. A lightning strike of fear flashed down your spine when the realization dawned on you that the door was simply not locked.

Explanations cut off questions in the shadowy corners of your mind, but they were to be replaced by more concerns like some mental hydra. You barely managed a deep breath to steel your nerves before you brought the door handle down and pushed inwards.

“Oh!” you yelped in surprise. Undignified, yes, but warranted considering that the man before you had told you he’d be in the library, not at his desk in your shared dorm.

A nervous grin spread on Damien’s face, as though he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, but you were the one to turn beet red with embarrassment.

“Damn, I’m sorry,” you hurried to say as you closed the door behind you with more force than necessary, “I- I thought- well, you told me, you know, you’d be the library, I just didn’t expect you to be—” you noticed how loud you were being and made an effort to soften your voice, “—here.”

You didn’t know whether his laughter was a good sign or bad one, but some of your fears were quelled when you risked meeting his eyes. They held no offence, only a slight bit of amusement at your expense that you could have done without.

“No, no, I’m sorry. I should have warned you.” He put his hands up in a gesture of acceptance of guilt. In his fingers, he twirled a pen that looked well-used, if the few spots of ink and bite marks were anything to go by.

You waved off his words with the hand that hadn’t slung your bag onto your desk and begun digging through it for your books. All manner of textbooks and lined pages were spread across the actual surface, but the notes that you needed were somewhere in the depths of your bag. Admittedly, you weren’t the most organized person, and you began to regret not nurturing the skill at the ten second mark of searching.

You cursed under your breath as you pulled open pockets and spread apart any files that might have contained a trace of it. This is what you got for trusting future-you to figure it out, when you knew damn well that they were just as bad as past-you at sorting.

“Are you,” you slowed down at the sound of Damien’s voice, if only to hear him better over the rustling of sheets, “are you alright?”

“Yeah, no, I’m just… looking for something.”

“I can see that.” Then came the scrape of a chair against wood, and then the light from the window was blocked out by him getting to his feet. “What do you need?”

You didn’t answer immediately, too focused on working open the little tear in the bag’s wall that tended to swallow the smaller pieces of paper, but when there was nothing in it save for random stationary, you stilled your hands. A single huff permeated the air as you offhandedly said, “My notes from the cohabitation contract lecture.”

How you managed to lose them, you had no clue; the only places where you ever took anything out of your bag were your dorm and the lecture hall, which only made it more concerning. If you had left it in one of the pews, then it was at the janitor’s mercy, but there was only a slightly better chance of finding it amongst your loose documents on your desk. That meant you either had to waste more time on a search through your textbooks for the relevant section or hope to wing it in the test, and neither appealed to you.

“Are these what you need?”

Your head snapped up at the sound of Damien’s voice breaking your concentration, and then it snapped to the side to see the open notebook that he had placed in the single empty space on your desk. You momentarily considered that he had found your notes, unknowingly knocked to the floor or some other likely scenario that made you look like an idiot, but you quickly noticed that it wasn’t your handwriting nor your book.

He looked almost bashful as he drew his hand away to straighten the lapels of his jacket, and, despite your attempts, he refused to make eye contact with you while he explained, “I copy my notes out into a separate book after the lectures.” A blush was rising on his face like the tide. “It helps me to consolidate information.” It crept from his cheeks to the bridge of his nose to his ears. “And having multiples means I’m less likely to, well, lose them.” It was though you could feel the heat emanating from where you were standing.

Considering how kind he’d been today, you decided to step in before he drove himself into a fever. “Thank you,” you said, slipping a blank sheet from your pile, “do you mind if I make my own copy?”

“Go right ahead.”

A genuine, non-nervous smile spread over your lips, and he was quick to follow suit. Good, he didn’t deserve to be so anxious, and you didn’t want to feed into it when there were much more daunting things to be worrying about.

You dropped into your seat and uncapped a pen, tossing over your shoulder, “You’ve been a lifesaver today, Damien. Really, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”

“It’s not a problem. I’m just glad to have been in the right place at the right time.”

That made you stop mid-sentence to ask, “Why are you here? You said you were going to the library.”

With your back to him, you weren’t able to see the blush that he had fought down struggle back up with a vengeance. He didn’t like being caught out, even when it hadn’t technically been a lie.

“Oh, I was, but I got there and found out that it will be shut for the rest of the week. A sign on the door said the lower levels were flooded due to a burst pipe, so the whole building has been closed.”

You hissed in sympathy at both the thought of those wrecked books and Damien’s tone of disappointment. You didn’t spend much time there yourself, but you knew a lot of other students and some faculty considered it like a second home, your dormmate included. Hopefully, it would be in full working order when they reopened, but, in the meantime, you didn’t want him getting upset about it. You’d seen many emotions on Damien late at night – annoyance, elation, a near constant wash of fatigue – but distress was not one that suited him.

“I guess you’ll just have to put up with me for the next week,” you tried to joke.

To your relief, you heard a chuckle.

“What a terrible punishment.” His chair squeaked as he collapsed into it. “I’ll have to request a room divider.”

“I’m not that bad. Not bad enough to warrant a physical structure built in the middle of our room, anyway. Besides, I think you should be paying more attention to the upcoming test.”

“Please don’t remind me. I’m ignoring it as long as I can.”

As mentioned before, you liked Damien, and that opinion hadn’t changed – if anything, your opinion of him had improved from having more interactions in the last hour than you had your entire year of sharing a dorm – but neither had you, and you tended to show your affection through needless teasing and relentless mischief for your own amusement. Therefore, your copy of Damien’s notes was abandoned on the table as you spun around in your chair to look at him.

“We have five days to prepare for writing three essays in two and a half hours without break.”

“No.”

“It’s on the relationship between the legal profession privilege and the legal disciplinary practice, and the obligations of attorneys for their clients as organizations and individuals.”

“Stop it.”

“It’s also taking place at eight o’clock at night because the people who make the schedules hate us specifically.”

“You are awful, and I am considering wading through the flood to get away from you.”

In an attempt to contain your chuckles at Damien’s deadpan expression, you feigned offence and gasped as dramatically as you could stomach. “You don’t mean that.”

He didn’t even blink. “Don’t test me.”

“Speaking of which…”

He tipped his head into the back of his chair and let out one final groan that launched you into a bout of laughter. Despite his theatrics, he didn’t last long before he was joining you with a surprisingly deep sound that seemed to vibrate your very bones, like the chiming of bells inside a church. You quite liked it, in fact, and you were slightly disappointed when you both trailed off into a long, albeit comfortable, silence. You also noticed that your sympathy about the state of the library had waned – if you were going to be under permanent stress, it was pleasant to hang around someone in a similar situation. Besides, what was wrong with enjoying it while it lasted? You were only going to be forced together for the next week, and it wasn’t as though it was going to have any permanent circumstances.

Right?

The sound of books clattering to the ground was one you steadfastly ignored as Damien nudged you into leaning against your desk with the weight of his body. His hands rested on either side of your waist, one absentmindedly rubbing circles that you could feel even through the layers of your uniform, while yours caressed his jawline to guide him closer. The only parts of you that weren’t touching were your mouths, but that was quickly rectified with a light tug on Damien’s tie. Immediately, your senses were doused by everything about him – the smell of his cologne, the sound of his breathing, the taste of his lips.

This wasn’t your first kiss, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. You found yourselves in this kind of situation regularly; sneaking a moment together in your dorm right before you had to rush off to class. All too often did one of Damien’s hands trail up from your side to card through your hair in a move that he had perfected, much to your chagrin given how weak it made you feel. He was aware of that, too, and you were sure it was half the reason he did it in such a risky position.

You caught a glimpse of your watch as you parted for breath, but you pushed it to the side in order to focus on diving back in. Damien accepted your silent proposition eagerly. 

The logical part of your brain tried to bring the image back to your attention because it was clear evidence that you were going to be late to class if you continued on your current endeavor. Both you and Damien had ten minutes to make a fifteen-minute journey from your dorm room to your lecture hall, so if you stopped immediately and booked it with your bags, you would get in without drawing much attention.

The emotional part of your brain wanted you to take this opportunity to bring Damien impossibly closer and melt into his embrace. A safe feeling of comfort and care enveloped you when you were with him, and willingly putting an end to it felt like a national offence. The press of his fingers and the swipe of his tongue against your lower lip teased a possibility that you wanted so badly to let happen.

However, no matter how much you cursed your law degree in that moment, you were forced to cut it short with a press to Damien’s chest. He acquiesced with only slight resistance, but he shot you a look of confusion with a furrowed brow and concern swimming in his eyes.

“We have to get to class.”

He huffed and snuck a kiss to your cheek. His mouth positioned next to your ear, you reigned in a shiver as he whispered, “Do we have to, though?”

Your breathy, “Yes,” wasn’t any more convincing than the look in your eyes, but he shifted back on his feet nevertheless, just far enough to make you immediately regret creating that space.

A puff of air battered against the nape of your neck. Ever the cuddler, Damien buried himself between your collarbone and your shoulder, slotting perfectly into the dip. There was no question about his stance on leaving, but you knew it was the responsible option to attend the lecture – you knew, but you didn’t have to like knowing.

In a bout of movement much like pulling a tooth, you twisted in Damien’s hold and slipped off the desk. If you had thought much more about it, you would have stayed on that desk until graduation, and those puppy-dog eyes gave you half a mind to jump back on.

“Come on,” you muttered, plucking your jacket from the chair, “we need to get going.”

You watched Damien right himself out of the corner of your eye. First was reknotting his tie, next was adjusting his cuffs, and, as you expected, was the flattening of his hair with a comb to get it just so. When there was little trace of recent events, he turned to you, your bag in hand. “We’ll come back, though, right?”

“Of course, it’s our dorm, after all.”

“You know that’s not what I’m talking about, my little monster.”

You exchanged a grin as you took the strap from his hands, and, slinging it over your shoulder, you tried to fight back the flare of red on your face. You didn’t say anything, but he must have gotten the idea from you proceeding to slightly tighten his tie closer to his collar.

You waited for Damien to get his own bag, then opened the door and locked it behind you when you were both in the corridor. One more glance at your watch meant you barely registered the click before you were off to the races – calculations ran through your head, possible shortcuts you could take to save the extra second, all manner of obstacles that would be best to avoid like the club members who stood outside the gymnasium – and, all the while, as you sprinted to the end of the hallway and down the flights of stairs, you hoped Damien was behind you. Every sharp corner you took, you fought the urge to move your head that inch further to look back at him, and the thought before choosing another direction was centered around grabbing his hand to bring him to your side.

But you couldn’t. You stayed staring forward and your hand remained empty throughout your journey across the campus grounds because they were the campus grounds; you weren’t in your dorm anymore, you weren’t alone anymore. Clumps of people meandered along the pathways that you pushed through, each with a pair of eyes that could catch you in the act.

As if fate were playing a cruel trick, the two of you dashed past a couple walking the edges of the flowerbeds. First-years, hand in hand, lovesick grins on their faces and eyes only for the other. Free. 

Regretfully but inevitably, your thoughts turned spiteful. Why wasn’t it a risk for them, why did expectations fall on your couple, a relationship forced underground, instead of them? 

Your thoughts turned guilty. Why hadn’t you interacted with Damien at the beginning of your year, why didn’t you try harder when it was easy? 

Your thoughts turned to an acceptance supposed to only come at the end of grief. This was how it was, and you were going to be late to class.

Huffing and puffing, you and Damien slid to a stop at the lecture hall door. Fixing your outfits after that moment alone was a moot point because rushing through the halls had done much worse for your state. Besides, you were going to draw attention anyway because, if the emptiness of the hallway was anything to go by, your classmates were in the room already. 

It was just you and Damien.

You exchanged a brief smile that was marred only by the reminder of the rarity of this situation.

“You go in first,” he said, nodding towards the door.

“Okay—” you settled your shoulder against the wood but didn’t apply any force so that you could whisper, “I’ll see you after class.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

And, with that dramatic goodbye that felt as though it suited one of the drama departments’ plays, you pushed through the door, grimaced at the alarm of creaking, and scurried to your seat before the professor could call you out for your lateness.

Sitting by yourself on one of the benches never used to be so disappointing. During your first few lectures, you had actually preferred the space. You used to pray under your breath when someone new entered the room, and then curse even quieter when they sat down next to you. You enjoyed being able to spread your equipment out, and elbows jammed into your side or knees edging slightly too close to you set off the fight or flight instinct in you.

That changed when your relationship with Damien began; the two of you would enter the hall as a pair, laughing over your jokes all the way to your seats, making bets on the number of times the professor would reference his divorce as you removed the materials from your bags. At the time, it was the highlight of college career – in the present, where you were shifting to get comfortable on the unyielding wooden pew, it was a memory you cherished in the silence and chill of the room.

No matter how much time you spent with Damien, no matter how much joy you got out of every interaction with him, no matter how much you loved him, you were both at risk every time you demonstrated those feelings. You saw the way your professor squinted at your bouts of laughter, and you saw the subtle shake of their head as you walked out hand in hand. You used to think you could handle it – it didn’t matter if anyone liked you as long as they stayed unbiased, and you would gladly trade a positive relationship for the better one you had with Damien. The problem didn’t lie with the staff themselves, no, the problem was with who they spoke to. Specifically, Damien’s family.

While you had officially flown the nest the moment you were accepted into the university, Damien was another story entirely; being the prodigal son of the definition of ‘upper-class’ meant that his leash was pulled tighter than a horse. He was trotted around like one, too, whenever he found himself back at home during the holidays. Every social event was used as an excuse to network, and the children of anyone who attended were little more than bartering chips.

Had your relationship started at the beginning of your studies, you might have gotten away with it, managed to slip under the radar and carried out your days in uninterrupted bliss. However, certain recent family events meant that all eyes were on Damien, and his parents circled above him like hawks, because God forbid both of the Whitacre children went astray. They would have been the laughingstock of the city if the golden boy went courting a commoner after their darling daughter ran off with that actor – and that was a fate worse than death for them.

As a result, Damien was given no leeway, and so neither was your relationship. You couldn’t afford to take the risk of public affection, you couldn’t afford to take the risk of public anything. For all your professors and Damien’s family knew, you were roommates, and that was all there was to it.

But you knew. There was never any doubt in your mind about your feelings for one another. You loved Damien, and Damien loved you. Your heart raced every time he looked your way, and those milliseconds of eye contact showed you unquestionable peace. You both understood the situation you were in, and you were there regardless. Loving the other in private was just what it took to be able to love, and you were willing to stick with him, despite the pain of walking into rooms alone.

Nevertheless, you did have to choke back a laugh when the creak of the door broke through the lecture like a shot from a gun.

“Mr. Whitacre, you are late!”

And the vicious red that spread across his face at getting caught let the laughter win as it overwhelmed you. Damien could only spare a faux-threatening glare your way and a mouthed ‘you little monster’ before he threw himself onto the closest bench, trying to keep his head and blush down. You supposed there were some benefits to turning up separately, after all.

Your rushing through the halls of the law offices sounded like a tap dance to the people milling about at the edges. It was a gait very specific to you, and anyone who had been there for more than a few days knew what it meant. The first thing was that you were very busy, but the second thing was that you were very nervous. There would be days when you had a full schedule – meetings and cases and trials and investigations – but that would produce a one-two-one-two clicking noise of your dress shoes. Sometimes you would have only a few important events, which would fill the building with a skittering pulse. Now, however, at nine forty-five in the morning, it was a frantic rhythm that initially appeared to skip beats and combine steps, but it repeated every couple of doors to create a false sense of chaos and rationale.

Nearly everyone that you passed knew that today would be a stressful time for you, but not one of them knew why, until you got further into the labyrinth of offices. The rooms of assistant district attorneys were gathered here, and they were in a similar state to you. Questions of how prepared everyone was punctured the air, calls for an estimated time of arrival split the little silence there was left over, and the only source of calm was from the district attorney himself.

You tried your best to avoid the hurricane of panic that swelled where the group stood. You skirted around the edges, trying to get to your own office without someone asking anything of you. The documents in your grip were of greater concern than the temperature of the water cooler, though nothing could top the thought that reigned supreme over your mind as you rounded the corner.

There were only three people who had a key to your office. Yourself, the district attorney, and Damien – and, considering that you had already seen your boss, Damien was supposed to still be in the city hall, and you were yourself, you had no clue who was pushing open your door and walking inside without your permission.

You quickened your pace, disregarding the rest of the prosecutors and beelining it towards your door. There were important cases in there, you couldn’t afford to let a member of the public see them withyour permission, let alone accidentally. You would be in serious trouble, and that was not something you could afford today. Really, you should have been excited, but this security issue was top priority; you could get demoted, you could lose your job entirely if someone off the streets, unknown to anyone there, completely random and without knowledge—

The mayor.

It was the mayor who was standing in your office.

Damien was standing in the middle of the room without having broken in because he had a key that you had given to him personally.

There was no need to worry.

“Good morning, Mr. Mayor,” you greeted, nodding slowly.

“Good morning to you, too,” he said in response, tone as welcoming as the rest of his interactions with the public.

You placed a hand on your door’s handle. “What brings you to my office?”

“I have a meeting with the district attorney in half an hour, and I have some questions that I feel would be better answered before it begins.”

Your blinds were already down from the night before, so all you had to do was push the door closed, register the click, and turn back to Damien.

For a moment, the two of you waited, staring at each other as you ran through the checklist in your mind. Everything was as it should have been, with you inside your office and the public outside.

It took just a second longer for your façade to fracture like ice on a lake – the crack spread across your lips, bringing a grin from ear to ear, while Damien took the few feet forward to bridge the gap. He left his cane leaning against the desk, and his steps placed just him in front of you, but he threw his arms around your waist to tug you closer.

Face to face, barely enough space for you to freely breathe, you couldn’t help but laugh airily.

“What are you really doing here?” you whispered, noting how the corners of his eyes crinkled at your voice.

“I know, I know.” His tone showed that you had much the same effect on him as he did you, and you didn’t miss him glancing down at your lips. He tried to redirect his focus to speaking, but the little huffs in between his words made it obvious it wasn’t working. “I’m early. I just… had to see you – before we got into legalities.”

As much as you should have reprimanded him for showing up before his scheduled appointment, you simply didn’t have it in you. Instead, you laid your hands on his shoulders, padded by his suit for the sake of the meeting, and leaned forward to swipe your mouth against his.

It was a sweet, gentle, infinitely too short kiss. Some part of you wanted to take the day off and drag him back to your apartment to savor the time you had available, but you were at work. You both were.

That was always the problem. After graduation, you were thrust into the world of work unceremoniously. No grace period, no gap year, no moment to spend together before you were once again in the public eye, except, this time, with more of a strain. Now, it wasn’t just Damien’s parents circling above: it was also the press, your bosses, the expectations of adulthood to get settled down but with no leeway to get to know someone. It was supposed to be a business transaction, not a relationship, and that wasn’t what either of you wanted.

So, once again, your relationship went underground. You shared glances in the hallway, clipped greetings over the meeting table, nods at exits and entrances – but, when you were alone, you made every second count in the dim lighting of candles, only the moon and stars knowing your secrets.

It was times like these that you never anticipated, when both of your schedules aligned just so, and Damien was able to surprise you right when you least expected it.

You supposed he had never truly escaped the manners of his aristocratic upbringing; he looked embarrassed to have shown his cards, his grip on your waist tightening and a redness spreading to the tips of his ears. You couldn’t have that, no matter how much you once would have teased him for it.

Pressing a risky kiss to his cheek, you muttered a quick, “Thank you for coming.” You then pulled out the closest chair from the desk before rounding to your side, doing the same so that you could fall into it. With the blinds closed and door shut, you had the freedom to be laxer in every way, not only with your affection.

“The office is nervous, you know,” you commented, tugging open one of the drawers.

“The whole office?”

You hummed. “Everyone except the DA.” Fishing around in the depths of your mess, you pulled out items you had meant to sort out later – ‘later’ being two to twenty working days.

Damien watched you do it from across your desk. Even after all these years, you hadn’t perfected the art of organization, and he found himself barely containing his laughter at your gradually increasing franticness. He’d give you a chance to realize, see if you could figure it out on your own, before he dusted off his shining armor.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen the district attorney in a panic.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him exhibit any emotion—” You unfolded a notepad but came back empty, “—I guess that’s what it takes to be a district attorney.”

“Now don’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s true, isn’t it? There isn’t a lot of room for feelings when you’re supposed to be completely objective.”

“I think there’s plenty of room.”

In glancing up to respond, you caught sight of something that Damien held out towards you, and, with a bashful smile, you took it. However, it wasn’t only the fact that he had given you exactly what you were struggling to find – the meeting summary and checklist – but the affection he looked at you with. Nestled beneath the amusement and restraint for teasing was a certain glint that made you flush from your cheeks to your neck. It was something you often saw, but, being simultaneously faced with your future, you were granted a sense of calm that only came in the soft spots between your work, and you wondered, briefly, if he were right.

But even though you doubted your love for Damien would ever fade, that wasn’t the only problem that faced you.

A knock sounded at your office door, cracking the bubble you had created.

Instantly, you shot up from your seat, while Damien pushed back his seat to follow suit in a much more sensible manner, grasping the top of his cane in the process. You willed the color in your face to disappear as you wrapped your hand around the handle and pulled.

Behind it was one of the other prosecutors in the office, and, behind them, was the DA talking to a secretary. Everyone else had vacated the area, likely to the meeting room where you were supposed to be.

They opened their mouth to tell you just that but stopped short at the sight of Damien standing in front of your desk.

“Mr. Mayor!” came their gasp, and you watched as their spine straightened like a soldier called to attention.

“Good morning, prosecutor.” Ever the humble gentleman, Damien nodded at the newcomer and stepped forward to shake your hand. A single movement up and down was all that was allowed before he was striding out of your office and towards the meeting room.

You counted yourself lucky that the persecutor hadn’t questioned you as to why the Mayor of Los Angeles was in your office before his appointment, but you also didn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth, so you snatched your keys from your pocket, ushered them out the way, and locked the door behind you.

You and the persecutor walked in rhythm next to each other, as if on parade, down to your shared destination. You were a few seconds behind Damien, but at every corner he took, you saw the heel of his shoe raise in a step and then disappear behind the wall. This was the precedent set all the way to the room, until you were outside the door that he had just entered.

“Are you not coming in?” the prosecutor asked, looking at you with curiosity but no suspicion.

You shook your head. It was your turn to wait outside, so that time could give you a better divide than distance could – give you a better chance of staying secret. These precautions were less necessary now, but neither you nor Damien were willing to take that risk.

With a light shrug, they pushed open the door and went in, letting it drift closed behind them. You just barely caught sight of Damien through the steadily waning crack.

One second. Two seconds. Three. Four. You counted each breathe in and out. Thirty seemed enough. With the final burst of air caught in your throat, you stepped through the veil.

There was no punishment for showing up slightly later now. You weren’t students sneaking around behind their college’s backs anymore, liable to be yelled at if something held them up in the corridor or prevented them from arriving at nine on the dot. You were adults. But, again, there was the matter of adult responsibilities and expectations of the public for the both of you.

Over the course of the meeting – which was on some business that the Mayor’s re-election campaign had with the legal branch of Los Angeles – you sent many a glance towards Damien. Anytime that he wasn’t speaking, he was sat up in his chair, listening attentively and even jotting down a few notes for his personal use. You were situated at one of the corners, and he was at the head opposite you, meaning that you had one hell of a time trying to be subtle. Luckily, you had done this many, many, many times before. When he was speaking, it was easy because – as much as you liked to tease him – manners weren’t unheard of to you. When someone else took the lead, however, you only managed to catch glimpses before you were forced to redirect your attention. You were working. You needed to pay attention.

As soon as the meeting started to slow, matters set aside for the follow-up session next week, you scribbled down the rest of the notes, frantically trying to create shorthand in the moment so that you could finish quicker. You felt every second drip by like a broken faucet, the unhurried march of time seeming to choose to make your life harder. Your fingers tapping on the table matched its pace.

“Very good, Mr. Mayor,” the DA said, rising from his seat to shake Damien’s hand.

You punctuated the end of your written word.

“Thank you for attending this meeting.”

You capped your fountain pen.

“We look forward to working with you in the future.”

The moment that the DA’s hand disconnected from Damien’s, you shot up from your chair alongside the rest of the prosecutors. You knew you had to wait to talk to him, but being the only one sitting would have been unprofessional. Waiting there awkwardly was just the same, so you busied yourself with sorting through your paper, tearing the most important piece out, until the room had mostly been vacated after shaking Damien’s hand.

When you were the last two people remaining, everyone having filed out, you stepped in front of him. In your behavior, there was nothing unusual. The two of you were what everyone saw: a prosecutor and the mayor. While one title held more status, your being in the same room alone was nothing to gawk at.

Much like when you had left your office, you clasped Damien’s hand with all the formal respect you could muster and shook it. He played along with an almost mechanical lift, his cane planted on the ground keeping him perfectly balanced and still. A silent goodbye and an exit to follow.

But before you let go, both of you took the too brief moment you had been gifted and made eye contact. In his, you saw the waves of affection stirring beneath the surface of the color, that shade that glinted like syrup in the light of the office window and was shaded by the feeling of twilight itself. In yours, he saw a crackle of flame that threatened to consume the whites but was kept at bay by the sheen of calm spread from one corner to the other. In both, you each saw love and devotion neither would ever part with.

He took a step back, and your hand returned to your side.

“Good day, Mr. Mayor.”

With a nod and a smile, you made sure that you had everything with you and then returned to your office. Although Damien had returned the actions, he was only able to keep the latter up for however long it took for the door to close. Meetings were tiring, but you made the longer ones worth it. He only wished he were able to get more time with you during them, sit just a chair closer, joke about the comments made afterward. Like how you did back in university post-lecture, whether that was from the professor or the Dean.

That period obviously wasn’t all smooth sailing. The secrecy he could have done without, but you were together, and that was enough. Now?

He turned to look at the door and sighed. Trying to revive the past was a fool’s errand, he knew that, but it didn’t stop him instinctively moving to worry the stick of his cane between his hands.

His eyebrows furrowed and the corner of his mouth dropped as he stopped himself short. Instead, he opened his hand, the one you had shaken before your departure, and looked curiously at the little piece of paper that you had left behind.

“Oh, my little monster,” he muttered to himself, trailing off only as his attention was stolen by the note.

You had folded it up into a neat square – sometimes he marveled at how disjointed your organization skills were – but the message was short anyway. ‘My house. Seven. Dinner.’ 

If someone, a prosecutor, a secretary, the DA himself, were to notice Damien leaving the meeting room with a grin stretched from one side of his face to the other, none of them would have raised an eyebrow, nor would they have connected it to you leaving at five o’clock on the dot with a smile much similar to his seemingly inseparable from your lips.

The knock at your front door startled you from staring straight at the stove. You had been waiting for it to explode, for flames to lick at the edges of the metal door, but nothing of the sort had happened so far. No, luckily, you had managed to make it to Damien’s arrival, right as the clock ticked to seven o’clock. Knowing him, even after years of being in a relationship, he had been waiting outside for fifteen minutes. Too many decades of training to be a gentleman prevented him for breaking decorum for the smallest things, and daring to timidly announce his presence a brazen minute early was one of them.

You took your attention off the stove for long enough to rush to the front door, swing it open, and practically drag Damien inside. The leaping of his eyebrows to his hairline was entertainment enough, but you were quickly distracted by the mental image of your stove melting. It pushed you to drop him into a dining chair and jump back to the kitchen.

“I’m sorry I haven’t set the table yet,” you called back through the doorway. You weren’t going to expand on why, not because it was out of laziness, but because you really didn’t want him to know about your half-hour battle with your sink.

As you searched for your gloves, you heard him respond, “It’s not a problem.” A moment passed in which you found and slipped them on before you barely picked up him muttering, “In fact, if I remember correctly…”

It was out of the corner of your eye that you saw Damien emerge from the dining room and head straight to the cutlery drawer. He held two placemats and coasters to his side, cane grasped in his hand, and pulled the drawer open to retrieve the knives and forks.

“You don’t need to do that,” came your protests, but they fell on deaf ears. He took them regardless and marched back to the table to set it up. You, being preoccupied with the hot tray you had pulled out of the oven, were powerless to stop him or the affectionate tut that escaped you. The most you were able to do was push the food onto a rack and say, “I thought you were supposed to be the guest.”

“And I thought you just cooked a whole meal—” He ducked back into the kitchen, “—so I should be helping you prepare.”

He wouldn’t admit the real reason why he was so eager to do something; he loved you and wanted to make things easier on you in any way that he could, but there was also a part of him that was so pitifully nervous at the prospect of having dinner together that he had to keep moving. This was not a common occurrence. In fact, he was certain you had sat through more meetings than meals together, and it was a sad inevitability that your letters drifted towards more pressing matters, even in private correspondence.

His heart pounded against his chest like a trapped bird, and the audible thump was its song that he hoped only he could hear. Stopped at the table to make sure everything was in place, he tried to put out the fire growing beneath his skin by shedding his jacket and rolling up his sleeves. There were few times he wore anything different to his suit or made alterations to it.

On your part, there were also few times that you saw these alterations, and the sight of Damien’s exposed forearms through the dining room doorway made you grip the two plates of food just ever so slightly tighter.

Still, you managed to keep your nerves intact long enough for the both of you to settle down at the table, sitting across from each other with the meal you had somehow made without burning the house down. Really, you were quite proud of yourself, but it wasn’t the thing that held most of your attention.

“Thank you for inviting me tonight,” Damien said, looking straight at you.

“Thank you for agreeing to it. I—” You took a deep breath in, “— I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too.” His shoulders dropped with the admittance, and your own accentuated grin dropped into a much more comfortable smile. “I can’t tell you how giddy I was when you slipped me that note.”

“How else was I supposed to ask you? I don’t trust your secretary.”

That last bit was, technically, untrue, so far as to say you didn’t trust her any less than anyone else when it came to your relationship with Damien. Regardless, it didn’t stop him from fiddling with his cuffs as he averted his eyes from yours.

Quietly, almost as though his words were the biggest secret in the room, he muttered, “We could always arrange some meetings.”

“What, so we can go over the best way to style your hair that doesn’t differentiate you from the working class?”

You followed it up with a chuckle, but Damien didn’t follow. Instead, he burned a hole into one of the paintings on the wall, a completely unassuming one that had been there for the past few years. If that hadn’t raised questions in you, the tops of his ears turning red would have done it.

“Not as such.”

You thought for a moment and then let out a faux-affronted gasp. “Mr. Mayor, you’re not suggesting what I think you’re suggesting, are you?”

The very concept of fake meetings coming from a man as honest as Damien made you want to explode with laughter. Mayor Damien Whitacre? The man who put a little tree on his desk because he didn’t leave his office even during the holidays? That Damien Whitacre was thinking of boldly betraying the integrity of his job?

“While I do try to stay humble,” he began with a roll of his eyes, “I must admit I thought I’d be given more leeway once I became the mayor.”

“But you know why you haven’t.”

He paused.

Your suspicions grew.

“Do I?”

“Yes. We both do.”

His eyes snapped back to yours. “What if we changed that?”

While you tried to prevent your frown, you weren’t able to recover from your shock before it was bending the edges of your lips. “I never took you for the ignorance is bliss kind of man.”

“It wouldn’t be ignorance, per say, just…” Damien’s eyes drifted off to the side, glancing out the window into the pitch black of the night. “What if we pretended it didn’t matter. It does, of course, God knows it does or else we would be much further along by now.”

With a quirk of an eyebrow, you silently asked what that meant, and in a tilt of his head, he silently answered dates, a proposal, marriage, a family. His gaze never wavered from yours.

“And what happens if it goes wrong? If someone makes us acknowledge that it does matter?”

“There is nothing wrong with us loving each other.”

You hated arguing like this because you didn’t know what you were actually arguing about, but you also didn’t know if clarifying would be any better. The pressure of your teeth grinding against each other only served to make you more unsure. You had so many problems acting against you, you couldn’t afford to become one of them.

“We can’t lose our jobs,” you said, “I have aspirations, and I know damn well that you love being the mayor too much to let it go.”

“I love you more.”

Slowly, painfully slowly, you brought your hands together under your chin, as if to give you time to prepare for your own words. “You can’t.”

“Alright.” A moment of silence. You hoped it wasn’t mourning. “I understand.”

Maybe if you were talking to another man, someone else who hadn’t gone through what you had together, you would have been right. He might have been getting up to gather whatever miscellaneous trinkets he had left scattered around your house throughout the years. He might have been searching for his key to your office. He might have walked straight out the door.

But Damien was not ‘another man’. He was him, and the only reason he was getting up was to round the table to kneel in front of you.

“But what if we make it so they can’t get rid of us?”

You could have made a joke – something about that being a dictatorship and how you didn’t know if that could apply to a city – but you held your tongue because there was a spark of hope in Damien’s voice, a little optimism that made your eyes widen, which you would be damned if you washed away. “What do you mean?”

“I know that we can’t do anything right now. I’m up for re-election, and you’re not the district attorney yet, we don’t have a leg to stand on. But if we were able to get such approval from our colleagues and the public that they can’t remove us from our stations, we could relax.”

You both knew what he meant by ‘relax’, the dates, the proposal, the marriage, the family, but you also both knew that it would be difficult – and even that was an understatement, it would be a nightmare to balance opinions of people while making tough choices. Your future wasn’t destinated to be easy for you – if it were, you wouldn’t be sitting in the house where you lived alone – but, then again, neither was your past. To expect it all handed to you on a silver platter would be a rejection of what made you you. The struggle, the strife, the sleepless nights stressing over every little detail your mind could supply you with.

When you were at university, you had made a promise that you would stick by Damien, and you weren’t about to give up now. Not when you had come this far, not when the man himself was looking at you as if all the joy in the world had been presented to him wrapped with a bow, not when you loved him and he loved you.

“We’ll try.”

“We’ll try?”

You nodded. 

“We’ll try.”

You didn’t have enough time to move even if you wanted to before Damien launched himself forward and collected you in his embrace. From this position, his hand on your jaw guided you down into a kiss that was laced with the excitement of a brand-new start. An agreement to try. You’d try. And you’d do it. As he leaned in closer and you brought your fingers through the hair near the nape of his neck, you thought that this might just work. He made relaxing sound easy, and, while you knew that was optimistic, the passion shared between the two of you had you thinking it wasn’t as outlandish as you once believed.

No more waiting.

[Thank you so much for this request! Since you mentioned another poster, I went and tracked them down so, @marinecanary, this is the one that I messaged about! Could I have technically just zoomed in on them as the DA and mayor? Probably. Should I have? Probably. Did I? Nope :D! Again, thanks for requesting, and I hope you've enjoyed reading this!

...also I didn't want to go into anything mature since nothing was requested specifically but uhhhhh. I do love Damien]

[csuitebitches]

I apologize for the long ask and if this question is a bit juvenile but objectively, how can one “gain” pretty privilege/gauge how they are viewed? I’ve done well in career pursuits for how early on I am ( I graduated in 2020) but started noticing that the invites to events/opportunities where one can really establish themselves not only professionally but socially, I was getting passed over by some higher up colleagues. In speaking to a female mentor who is related to my field and the same background as me (Black), she alluded that while my race may play a small factor in it, it’s more so my appearance that may be holding me back as the personality and poise is there. Some coworkers of mine who are brilliant and POC have similar credentials and positions as I and while we are all wonderful and hard working, they (who I feel are more beautiful and put together looks-wise) have discussed privately to me they have noticed a difference in treatment between us. While it’s not right, I am adult enough to know not to let things that can be fixed hinder the life I want. Your page is a wealth of information and I appreciate how encouraging you are!!

well. I’m going to be very blunt.

it’s all fun and games to say “oh fuck the beauty standards they’re terrible and they shouldn’t exist” yes, true, unfortunately they do exist and they play a bigger role than we imagine it to be.

the first thing you have to get right is your mindset.

you need to be strong enough to admit that you need changes in X, Y, Z area but not in A, B, C area. You also need to be a little loyal towards your racial identity (for the better or worse) because that’s what is going to make you stand out.

if you have a sensitive, overly emotional mindset and you get hurt very easily / become obsessive by nature, I highly recommend you to STOP reading now.

Understand what is considered pretty in your country and area. Even in one country, beauty standards can different from the north and south. Don’t exactly try to become attractive for the opposite sex but understand what they find attractive because these guys are your primary responders to your pretty privilege. Women will be kind on the surface and so it can be difficult to get constructive criticism from them.

Understand what YOU consider pretty. Who are the women who you think are crazy beautiful? What do they look like, dress like, how’s their hair and their make up, can you replicate any of it? Rule of thumb when it comes to hair and beauty - look at influencers / celebs who are of your racial background for the best fit.

there are always a few things that are universally considered “respectfully attractive” not “you wanna fuck me attractive”- semi modesty/ modesty outfits (my father always told me that when in doubt, go for a more conservative look), hygiene, well kept hair, clean nails and toe nails, soft skin, natural make up, natural hair colour, perfume, clothes that fit, skin care, a workout routine.

pretty privilege is not just the art of looking pretty. It’s also bringing in something of value on the table. Value = money / connections / knowledge/ humour / being the fun social person / whatever value the target group considers to be the most important for you to be relevant to them. Work on your soft skills. It’s better to look half baked but have solid soft skills than to look amazing and not know how to converse.

things that one normally notices when meeting someone new:

Skin - is it clear, is the make up overdone?

hair - is it messy or does it suit your face structure?

how you smell

teeth, when you talk - and dental hygiene

shoes - are they filthy?

shirt/ top - does it fit you well (always check that the seams on your shoulder and your actual shoulder line up), the colour of your clothes

body type, posture, how you carry yourself

start with incremental changes. Make a list of things you think you could improve on (this is not a list of “ugly” things, it’s an “improvement/ potential” list). Sort them according to ease of improvement (is this going to be expensive and difficult or affordable and easy?) and time (can this be done overnight or will it take some time).

Use point 1 and 2 only as launching pads. You do not have to look like Beyoncé, you’re simply understanding what her MUA and hair stylist does for her that could work for you. After a point, you have to ensure that YOUR identify sticks out and is still there, you’re not born to imitate someone else and also, it’s very obvious when someone is trying to be someone they’re not.

again. I repeat. If you’re going to get obsessive and make yourself sick over this it’s NOT WORTH IT. If you’re not mentally capable of making these changes, do not go through it.

[vhstown]

writing neutral readers; a guide

(neutral = unspecified gender, race, appearance, etc.)

hi hi here's vee, the one of (hopefully) many neutral fic writers for atsv, showing YOU how to write a neutral reader for your character x reader fic!!!!

this is mainly about romantic x reader fics!!

lil disclaimer: you don't have to write neutral readers if you don't want to! this is just for people who do and might want some advice :) all of these are what works for me — there are plenty of ways to write a neutral reader!

contents page for your sanity:

avoiding white-coding

being gender-neutral

re-direction / re-phrasing

my general thoughts and opinions

before we get started: why are neutral readers great?

inclusivity! a lot of the times it can be hard to find a fic right for you especially if they tend to be for a certain demographic

forces you to think outside of the box — you can't rely on describing the reader, so you have to describe character interactions more creatively (as you'll see me try to do a lot in this post 😭)

helps with immersion! a lot of the time overly-descriptive reader inserts can make it hard to... actually insert yourself into them

your fics can reach a lot more people if they're neutral (though this is just an added bonus lol)

some colour-coding for your wellbeing: blue = general advice + examples, pink = my personal input

1. avoiding white-coding

this is a big point i'd like to address first because it doesn't get talked about enough! and all of this is in reference to a post i saw like a week ago lmao

i haven't seen this term being used a lot but the general idea is when a piece of writing is catered towards a white reader (usually implied through description)

this is usually done unintentionally but avoiding white coding is an important part of writing totally neutrally!

general things to avoid

describing physical attributes such as hair + skin tone

for example describing hair as silky/smooth implies that it is straight + excludes the majority of other hair types / styles etc

also things like running your fingers through your hair can be impractical w certain hairstyles

i tend to just avoid hair in general ? if you want you can focus on other gestures (hand holding, cupping readers face or sumn)

or just reverse the roles entirely and have reader do the comforting gestures to the canon character

skin tone is definitely more subtle however it can be implied especially through things like blushing

people with darker skin tones DO blush, but it generally tends to be less visible or not at all

instead i tend to describe the feeling rather than the outward changes (face getting warm, getting flustered, heart rate increasing, sweating, stuttering etc)

2. being gender-neutral

okay this admittedly can be difficult to write sometimes

the general rule for a gender neutral reader is to avoid referring to the reader as male or female AND any physical description specific to a certain sex

gendered terms

some people like to use they/them when reader is referred to by other characters

instead of boyfriend/girlfriend you can use partner

i personally don't do these things as you'll see in my next point about re-direction!

there are PLENTY of gender neutral pet names in english

for languages like spanish which have masc and fem versions of words i tend to use nouns (usually non-living or abstract) which have a set gender (such as my heart, my love, etc — one of my favourites is cariño (darling) because it doesn't change based on gender)

though again i rarely write terms of endearment in other languages so i suggest you do your research!

physical terms (sfw only)

also for body inclusivity

again this mainly to try and avoid implying fem!reader but also body types just a tiny little bit

i tend to avoid mentioning body shape but if i do then i use something vague like "shape of your body" rather than "curves" or anything specific

you can just write down the body part without describing it physically (chest, waist thighs, etc)

eyelashes are ... unisex! no way!

you might want to avoid makeup but this is just a *general* suggestion

i tend to NOT describing clothing choices unless it's relevant to the premise of the fic — usually vague references like your school uniform, pajamas, shoes, favourite shirt, etc

you can also cheat this if reader is wearing the other character's clothes 😭 next point re-direction WOOO

3. re-direction / re-phrasing

(a personal choice of mine + totally optional)

re-direction is when you change the focus of a sentence in order to get rid of any words descriptions that may take away from the neutrality of the reader (as you see me talking about in the little pink text everywhere or in the little suggestions in blue)

Re-direction can be used for anything! I think there's a book that exists that uses no words with the letter e and a book that uses no pronouns at all (but don't ask me what they are because I have no clue)

It's not particularly easy or straightforward all the time and you might have to change more than one sentence but re-phrasing your writing can be a good challenge! (if you choose to do so)

for me i tend to re-direct to avoid using any sort of third person pronouns (he/she/they etc) or gendered terms and to avoid using insert tags like y/n

example on pronouns & gendered terms

for pronouns i usually change "he/she/they" to "you" or a noun

"She's not welcome here" could become "Your friend isn't welcome here"

Or the sentence may change entirely to convey the same meaning. The woman turned to you, speaking one simple command: "Get out."

I also tend to use more masc / neutral terms in casual settings like "dude" or "bro"

I also avoid the use of "partner" (though this is just nit-picky) ex. "Is this your partner?" might become "Oh, [character] talks about you all the time!" (entirely dependent on context and if you care enough lol — one of the less clear-cut redirections)

while you could obviously use they in this scenario i personally don't out of preference (to me they/them is an nb set of pronouns if the gender isn't ambiguous and blah blah blah) but it doesn't really matter

example on insert tags

"(Y/N), wait!" can become "Hey, wait!"

Or you could use "your name" rather than a placeholder. He called your name, running behind you. "Wait!"

like i mentioned before things like clothes and favourite foods all tend to revolve around the character rather than the reader. in a lot of cases writing about the foods the character likes or wearing the clothes the character owns can actually be more immersive than inserting your personal preferences into a pair of brackets (in my experience at least)

4. general thoughts and opinions

one big thing i wanted to point out is that it's actually good for your writing to "ban" yourself from using certain terms and descriptions. i find that i focus a lot more on describing events, emotions and character interactions rather than being caught up on the reader.

fem!reader and masc!reader are GREAT too! amazing beautiful wonderful keep writing those — but i think gender neutral readers help to avoid a lot of biases that might (albeit unintentionally) come with a specific gender

and being inclusive for all kinds of readers when you're writing a neutral reader is so important!

to conclude

if you exclusively write one type of reader that is absolutely fine :) write what you want and be happy doing it

neutral readers are GREAT but so difficult to write so pls don't worry if u mess up sometimes 👍

i am still figuring out ways to make my writing more inclusive and i wouldn't know without other people's input! so please feel free to drop ur personal gripes or advice

this post is subject to edits (cuz i always forget to add something and it is very ranty spammy random lol)

this post can be found in the "favourite posts" section of my navigation (pinned)!

reblogs r appreciated if u found it useful <3

[muffinsin]

Hi! I discovered your page recently and have been in LOVEEE with it ever since. It says your inbox is open, but getting full so i hope requesting something right now is okay! I was just wondering if you could do a dimitrescu sisters × teen sister reader? the reader is human and I think it would be cool to see how the sisters react and treat her (I think they would be really gentle because they're scared of scaring/hurting her) ty so much! <3 (I love your prompts)

Awhhh, this is such a cute, wholesome prompt! And funnily enough, I don’t think I’ve ever written HCs about a teen sister!🙌 I’m happy to hear ya like my prompts, hon :)

Let’s get into it🙌🥳

Masterlists

Bela

Bela is, by now, utterly used to her role as the eldest sister

And while she does consider and call Cassandra and Daniela her “little sisters”, they’re really not all that different as it comes to their ages

A difference of mere hours, really, biologically speaking

When she was a newborn fly spawn, they were newborn fly spawns

When she was a toddler, they were toddlers

When she was a teen, they were teens

When she turned into a (-responsible) adult, they did. Biologically speaking, of course. She’s certain especially Daniela hasn’t made it all the way there, at times

But, all in all, she’s very similar to her sisters as it comes to age, despite being the eldest and their older sister

And then, there’s you…

A new sibling, a new sister

A little sister

But…a real, far younger sister

A teen

A teen, whereas she has lived for centuries

Bela has been fond of you from the start. Sure, she wasn’t originally happy about getting another sister, but the moment she laid eyes on you and got to know you, she started to love you just as she loves and treasures and protects her sisters

At first, it’s very difficult for her to act as a sister, truthfully, rather than a mother

You’re just so…young, compared to her! It’s difficult for her not to get overly maternal, as she sometimes still tends to get with your older sisters

Bela tries to understand you, and your interests

That doesn’t mean she’s good at it, though. She doesn’t care much for things she deems a waste of time, and is hardly a troublemaker. This alone has her stray from anything that could be considered rebellious

She also has difficulty not telling on you to your mother when you do something, or to take matters into her own hands and scolds you

Technically, you know she’s supposed to do this, being the eldest and all

Still, it’s sometimes a little difficult for the two of you to connect

Especially with how unreachable Bela seems at times; so intelligent, such good manners. Loved or respected by nearly everyone despite her nature, purely because of how she presents herself

Mother’s heiress…

She seems so impossibly strong, in her own way. Of course, you partly look up to her. But it’s difficult to see yourself on the same level as her

Sometimes, you’re sure because of all this she must be Mother’s favorite, and it occasionally nabs at you, how you have no chance of getting to where she is

But, she loves you dearly, and you love her

She will always comfort and guide you, even help you grow

She’s your protector, in a way, helping you always

Especially when feelings get the better of you. She reassures you often; it’s okay to feel this and that, and that it’s perfectly normal to feel certain things at your age

She also puts you in your place when you’re in the wrong, though, gently telling you and ensuring you know: she still loves you after

And, actually, you find Bela gives amazing hugs, and while she isn’t the sister to hug without asking what’s wrong, you find comfort in that, too

Out of all of your sisters Bela is best at controlling her strenght

Which, sometimes, is a little unfortunate because she’s also the sister that refuses to wrestle with you for fun. Apparently, she doesn’t “see the point” in that

At least she feels utterly comfortable hugging you, knowing that she won’t hurt you

She would never hurt you

Cassandra

The first time she heard of having a sister, she was thrilled!

And when she met you the first time, the two of you got along instantly

Cassandra feels much less unreachable than her older sister

Much more- approachable

She’s sadistic, has a short temper- much like your mother, at times- and rough

But you love her, and she loves and treasures you

She’s the first to take you out on a hunt to the forest, is the one to teach you to fight and keep yourself safe

While she has a little more difficulty controlling her strength at times and therefore occasionally keeps her distance, she has never hurt you

Cassandra is, in her own way, a role model to you

She’s fierce and powerful

She easily takes down her prey and entertains you with her stories of her hunts and previous victims

She teaches you to be strong, teaches you what it means to be a Dimitrescu. And even when you can’t be strong, she’s strong for you, easily putting others in their place with a mere glance their way

Cassandra and you spend a lot of time together, and she’s genuinely interested in most you have to say

By now you know, she will not care for gossip or anything like that. The wrong sister for that, certainly. And you know, she won’t even bother pretending to listen to that

But, she’ll listen to all you’re genuinely passionate about, perhaps even participate if it’s for her

She encourages you to follow your hobbies and make the most of them

Like with her sisters, after all, Alcina allows you to choose at least one hobby and fully supports it. She will not stand for any of her daughters not pursuing anything, however

When you have difficulty choosing what could be fit for you, Cassandra is eager to help out

She shows you this and that, and is eager to try most new things with you

Cassandra is also the sister to turn to when you want to know what they and your mother were like a few centuries ago

The fun stuff, that is

She’ll tell you every detail she so easily remembers, occasionally also brag about things she did particularly well

Often, she’ll sprinkle in a few details you’re sure aren’t quite that true, but you don’t mind

You find, she also inspires you to be creative like that!

Speaking of little half truths here and there, Cassandra is the first to teach you how to lie and get away with it at the castle

Now, of course you’ve lied plenty times already in your life

But with Alcina, it seems impossible. Like she fully knows when you’re not being entirely honest

Even Bela seems to know, somehow, sometimes!

It’s infuriating, but Cassandra is quick to teach you

In return, she becomes about the only sister you are always truthful to

You never feel the need to lie to her, even when you’re planning on doing something stupid or risky

Often enough she’ll join in, or cover for you at least

When she does tell you not to do something, which is rare, you listen

You know, she means well, and doesn’t underestimate you or whatever you’re about to do

You value her opinion, and when she says not to do something, she tends to be right

Daniela

Daniela finds you utterly adorable, as she calls you

She doesn’t quite remember her “teen” years, really

But that’s okay

She’s every bit as playful and still has a bit of a habit to get herself into trouble, much like you do, occasionally

She likes to join you when you’re about to do something risky, and at times even is the one proposing it and whining to you about joining her

Of course, she will always keep you safe during those times

Though your mother is unhappy to say at the least when she catches you, her youngest, covered in dirt and blood from head to toe after your sister insisted throwing guts like snowballs is a blast!

In many ways, Daniela doesn’t quite feel like an older sister

She’s playful, a little immature, teasing, socially intelligent, and quite handsy with the maidens. She’s a little clingy and delusional, but always has your best interests at heart, the same as your other sisters

She always has some gossip to talk to you about, rambling about this and that she picked up while lounging and swarming about in the castle

She loves to read, and loves to share her favorite books with you

Unlike her sisters, she isn’t overly picky with her interests, either

She isn’t into mathematics or science. Aside from that, she’ll happily learn about all you’re interested in

She’ll participate in your hobbies, or lounge on your bed like a lazy cat while you ramble about your hobbies and fixations

She doesn’t mind at all. She loves to learn about new things, and remembers surprisingly much you tell her despite her short term memory span

Often, she remembers even more of your stories and ramblings than your other sisters do, as she’s genuinely interested in your hobbies, even when she has no clue about them

Daniela, in a way, feels like a best friend rather than a sister

She’s always there for you, will always protect and teach you. She’s silly, playful, will never say no to some good fun and often even convince you to “play” with the maidens or her sisters, seeing how much the two of you can annoy them until they notice

She teaches you to be strong too, yes, but perhaps even more so, Daniela has a way of teaching you how to get along with people

How to blend in with them, how to lure information from others by casually being around them

No, not by using some reverse psychology and what not like Bela. By listening. By being friendly. By making them ramble on their own

She teaches you to make friends, even with the reputation of your family, and how to effortlessly start conversations

And even when you can’t make a friend, she reminds you that you will always have your family

She teaches you, of course, also how to get what you want from Alcina

Generally, Alcina has a hard time saying no to any of her daughters. You’re all so precious to her, and there’s rarely a time she’ll deny a wish coming from one of you

Daniela, having been in the role of the youngest for the longest time and still having her sweet, pouty puppy eyes ready, teaches you how to get just about anything you want from your mother

Whether it’s clothing or toys (often in Daniela’s case those are servants), treats or anything from the outside world, she teaches you to properly ask for it

And yet; she has the hardest time controlling her strenght

She loves physical touch as a means to show her affection. She loves to hug her sisters even when they try to peel her away from them, acting all annoyed when they really aren’t, and she loves to wrap her arms around Alcina’s waist, hugging her whenever she can in exchange for some heat pats and scratches

With you, she must actively hold back

You’re…fragile

You’re human

You’re her little sister

She would never want to hurt you!

But, she can’t help it sometimes, and feels horrible when she hugs you and is just a tad bit too excited, causing her arms around you to be a little too tight

She always takes care of you after, her eyes wide and wet as she blinks away tears, feeling so utterly guilty for hurting you

You always reassure her; it’s not her fault

You still love her

She’s still your older sister

You still admire and look up to her

And it’s all it takes to have her smile widely again