#Raven Cincaide about me

[miss-cincaide]

𓍼 Raven:

A university student who puts herself into an overworked- hectic schedule in a feeble attempt to feel something. In love with fictional men and spends (the little) free time every day on writing and fantasizing about said men.

Are we in the same fandom and wanna fangirl, write and rave together? My DMS are always open ꨄ︎

𓍼  Learning and Re-learning writing. 

I write whenever and whatever comes to mind. NSFW is admittedly not my strength and whenever I do write it, it tends to get in the grounds of toxic and dark content. So this channel is very much me learning the do's and the don't and a chance for me to express both my darkest fantasies and the pure, unadulterated loving fluff.

𓍼 Prompts?

If wanna know how the hell I come up with the stuff on here? Me too! But if you're more curious about my prompts you'll find them on: @raven-cincaide-words. That blog is a space which has:

Writing Advice and motivational info

Beta reading options

Weekly writing prompts starting November

Larger prompt sets for special events AKA Kinktober, Flufftober, Advent Calendars etc.

𓍼 So, who's Raven? The heck I know, but if you do figure it out. Please let me know

|Main |Raven|Rules & Requests |Masterlist | Links 

All fics are unique works by © miss-cincaide 2024. Do not copy/repost/translate or spread my work(s) without my explicit permission. If you see any of my work(s) reworked/reposted/copied anywhere, please inform me!

[seiwas]

masterlist

・・・・・ this is the masterlist for my one year anniversary collab event! minors dni. links to each fic/art will be updated as they come; if you're interested in joining, you can check out this post for the guidelines! this masterlist will stop updating on july 25, 2025.

fics

boku no hero academia

ꕤ bakugo katsuki

feelings left unspoken by @peachsukii # fluff fluff fluff. just how katsuki acts in love. sfw. summary: bakugo’s hidden love language is touch. any and every kind. hand holding, arm slung around your waist, hand at the small of your back, ankles hooked under a table, etc.

[title tba] by 🌱 # early relationship katsuki summary: tba

untitled by @gfguren # f!reader, pro-hero!bakugo, hurt/comfort, established quirk, strangers to friends(?) to lovers summary: bakugou likes to think he knows everything, can handle just about anything that's thrown his way with flying colors and then some. so why can't he figure out this tug in his chest, or the upset in his stomach whenever you come around lately? you with your stupid quirk and all your stinkin' audacity. who do you think you are to figure him out with one little touch, one measly brush of your fingers against his anyways?

ꕤ todoroki shouto

[title tba] by @withclawandvine # sfw, established relationship summary: tba

haikyuu

ꕤ iwaizumi hajime

[title tba] by @merumis # tba summary: you’re not unfamiliar with a regretful hookup, but last night’s might just make the top of your list. still, you and iwa planned this roadtrip to see your friends months ago—surely things won’t be different. so why does he keep looking at you like that? and why is his cold water bottle always against the back of your neck?

ꕤ kuroo tetsurou

[title tba] by @tetzoro # sfw ; tooth rotting fluff ᡣ𐭩 summary: kuroo tetsuro has spent his whole life looking after others. it’s something that came naturally to him, as simple as breathing. it never fails to catch him off guard when he finds you doing the same for him and yet, he can’t help but melt under your tender care.

ꕤ ojiro aran

he's not subtle! by @noosayog # gn!reader, sfw, fluff summary: maybe he’s not one for over-the-top declarations, but it’s all the same when he makes it this obvious.

ꕤ sakusa kiyoomi

love me from your point of view by @irisintheafterglow # pro player!sakusa x rockstar!reader, strangers to lovers, secret relationship, character study, angst/fluff, sfw summary: you teach sakusa kiyoomi how to love, in spite of the cameras and the gossip.

jujutsu kaisen

ꕤ fushiguro megumi

[title tba] by @raven-cincaide # sfw summary: tba

ꕤ fushiguro toji

untitled by @cuntcure # nsfw, fluff, morning sex, very domestic and soft! summary: most mornings, you are only partially roused to a place just beyond being fully awake and coherent.

[title tba] by @pmpmyread # f!reader, mostly fluff, with suggestive themes and implied/non-graphic smut summary: tba

ꕤ gojo satoru

i won’t come back to you broken (i’ve been away too long) by @kissxcore # sfw, blind!gojo, angst probably, jjk spoilers summary: in which you prove to gojo that every part of him is loveable, even without his eyes.

and five more by @mieiri # gn!reader, fluff fluff fluff! summary: boyfie! satoru sleeps on your shoulder. you think about him in the meantime.

ꕤ nanami kento

[title tba] by @selarina # sfw, anniversaries summary: tba

the ghost of u by @em1e # a little bit of angst, sfw. summary: the intimacy of sharing music.

ꕤ sukuna

[title tba] by @miss-cincaide # nsfw summary: tba

wind breaker

ꕤ hiragi toma

bloom by @melon-fodder # sfw, 'shedding' as little signs of your partner being in your space summary: over time you fill hiragi’s heart and home with little pieces of yourself.

ꕤ togame jo

[title tba] by @shinuko # tba summary: tba

art

jujutsu kaisen

ꕤ gojo satoru

romantic encounter by @mididoodles # gn!reader, sfw description: cat!gojo and bunny!reader cuddling/sleeping.

ꕤ nanami kento

[title tba] by @mididoodles # selfship, fluff description: tba

thank you for participating, and enjoy!

[saywhatjessie]

He's being so brave about it

Advent Calendar Day 18! (prompts by @raven-cincaide-words) Today’s prompts: Ice skating | Athlete | Spontaneous Date Fandom: Ted Lasso - Pairing: RoyJamie .3k[Ao3]

Roy clenched his jaw, doing a Sharon approved measured breath before hitting “call”.

“You dying?” Jamie asked, picking up immediately. “Did you fall and you can't get up?”

“No, you fucking muppet,” Roy growled. He paused to take another breath. “No, everything's fine.”

“Then why you calling me?” Jamie said, sounding both irritated and concerned. “Don't you have Phoebe today?”

“Yeah, and you're coming, too.”

“Mint,” Jamie said, immediately sounding happier. “Where we going?”

Roy sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Phoebe wants to go ice skating.”

“Roy, your doctor said–”

“I know what she said, which is why you need to come skate with her.” Roy fumed. “I'm feeling very vulnerable and shit and I'm being so brave asking for your help so can you please shut the fuck up and get fucking ready so you lot can have fun on the ice while I sit with your coats.”

Jamie was quiet, letting Roy breathe on it before speaking. “Yeah, mate,” he said, casually, in the voice Roy knew he used to spare him the embarassment of being treated softly. “‘Course! Little skating date with Phoebs should be fun! I'll bet her she can't do as many laps as me and tire her out real quick.”

Roy snorted. “Not sure about that. She's a proper little athlete now – she trains suicides and everything.”

“Yeah, but you'd never made her do half the shit you make me do. So I think I can still take her.”

Roy grunted, hiding a laugh. “I'll pick you up. We can head over together”

“Yeah, you gonna pick me up?” Jamie teased. “Treaty me nice, see if you get lucky?”

“It’s never luck with you,” Roy said fondly. “You’re a sure thing.”

Jamie laughed. “I definitely am. Love you, see you soon.”

“Love you too.”

[by-speaker]

Talking (ENG. VER)

Prompts by @raven-cincaide-words

After the god left, Philza lay in bed tossing and turning, trying to think what the fuck had just happened. Should he tell his foster mother? No, Rose probably might have an aneurysm. 

Philza tossed and turned in bed, his mind whirling like a hurricane, he was the centre, but it wasn't quiet, the centre of the hurricane for once wasn't silent. 

He could hear Rose's disappointed voice, she had fought so hard to have custody of him and save him from the eye of the hurricane he lived in. Only out of the kindness of her heart, what could he tell her, that in a moment of sheer stupidity he bound her soul to that of death?

Philza sighed, running his hands through his hair, How was I supposed to say this to Rose, he thought, Hey, mum, remember you told me not to do anything stupid last night? Well I linked my soul with the god of death, but don't worry he doesn't want to kill me, he's just a possessive freak, the thought made him let out a nervous laugh, but the laugh died quickly in his throat. 

He rolled over in bed, staring at the ceiling, what if he didn't say anything? After all, it felt like a drunken dream or hallucination… No, he couldn't lie to Rose, not after everything she had done for him, besides Missa couldn't be real, could he? His eyes were too deep, his lips too perfect, his presence was too… divine. 

No, he couldn't be thinking like that about a God, he couldn't be thinking like that about death. If he went on like this he was probably going to go nuts, and he was only seventeen, he couldn't go nuts so young, he didn't even know what he wanted to study yet. 

The sudden light in his room startled him, standing in front of him, again, was Missa, those galaxies she had for eyes piercing him again. 

‘I can hear you thinking, querido, you worry me.’ Said the god, in that sickly sweet tone with which he addresses Phil. 

Phil himself startled, genuinely scared of what the god might do to him, ‘What are you doing here?’ 

‘Can't a God care about his beloved?’ he said with an intoxicating sweet smile. 

‘I'm not your beloved, I'm just a stupid drunk who kissed a statue on a dare.’ 

Missa laughed, ‘Even Persephone ate the pomegranate seeds by mistake.’ 

Philza felt his heart race at the comparison. ‘I'm not Persephone,’ he said, trying to sound firm despite the tremor in his voice. ‘And you are not Hades.’

Missa tilted his head, his smile never wavering. ‘No, you're right. We're much more interesting than they are, don't you think?’

Philza pressed himself against the wall, as if he could melt into it and escape this situation. ‘Missa, please. This… this can't be real. You can't just claim me because I kissed a statue.’

‘Oh, querido,’ Missa moved closer, sitting on the edge of the bed. Philza could feel the chill emanating from his body. ‘I don't claim you just because of the kiss. I claim you because you are special. Because you woke me up when no one else could in millennia.’

Philza swallowed, his eyes fixed on Missa's. It was like looking straight into the cosmos, beautiful and terrifying at the same time. ‘But… but I'm nobody special. I'm just a normal kid, with normal problems. I have a foster mother who cares about me, friends who dare me to do stupid things, grades I need to keep up with to get scholarships, and ordinary problems, I'm just ordinary, Missa.’

Missa reached out a hand, almost touching Philza's cheek but stopping millimetres from his skin. ‘And yet it was you who brought me back. That makes you extraordinary, Philza.’

Philza closed his eyes, unable to hold Missa's gaze any longer. ‘I can't… I can't handle this. I'm seventeen, for God's sake. Not only that, but I can't be tied to death.’

‘Age is irrelevant to immortals, querido,’ Missa whispered. ‘And as for being bound to death? Aren't all mortals, in one way or another?’ Said the God, an almost beautiful smile plastered on his face.

Philza's eyes snapped open, surprised by the depth of those words. ‘I… I don't know what to say.’

Missa smiled, and for a moment, Philza saw more than possessiveness in those cosmic eyes. He saw loneliness, he saw longing, he saw what more than a millennium of loneliness could do in a man. ‘You don't have to say anything, Philza. You just have to accept that this is real. That I am real. That what binds us together is real.’

‘But what about my life?’ asked Philza, his voice barely a whisper. ‘What do I tell Rose? My friends?’

Missa rose, his ethereal figure glowing softly in the gloom of the room. ‘That, my dear Philza, is something we will have to discover together. After all, we have all eternity ahead of us.’

With these words, Missa began to glow, his room smelled of marigolds, the sound of crows rang out and thunder rolled in the distance.

‘Wait,’ Philza said, surprising himself. ‘Will you come back?’

Missa's smile was the last thing to fade. ‘Always, querido. I will always be with you.’

And with that, Philza was left alone again in his room, his body trembling and the floor of his room littered with orange petals and black feathers. Philza was left questioning what had just happened. 

[bloodycotton]

Day number thirteen. and i was talking with my roomie about how i recognized alfred's voice in Infinity train (S3 E3) and told me that i was down bad... and i agree.

Prompts by: @raven-cincaide-words

(English is NOT my first language)

Day 13.- Forbidden Love

Otto Octavius (Spider-man 2) x Fem!reader

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

Being a hero is a complicated job, with no pay or rewards, of course, unless it's a hot dog the seller gave you for saving him, or a pastry a nice old lady gave you. 

But that didn't stop you, and it won't stop you now, or at least you were beginning to consider it, as your back hit the concrete hard. 

"Shit..." You grunted, a sharp pain shot through your spine and your muscles protested at the blow. 

It took you a few long seconds to sit back up on your wobbly legs, which gave Otto time to approach you, with the heavy metal tentacles. 

"I can almost feel sorry for you" Otto approached you, and you could see your own reflection in his dark glasses. "But then I remember that you're a hero, and it was me who just smashed you into the ground, and it passes" His laugh was cruel, and his joke was honestly bad, but it made you feel awful. 

After all, he was no longer that nice, kind professor who complimented you on the good work you were doing. 

You sighed, and your breath sent another almost electric shock of pain to your ribs, but you still looked at him, even though he couldn't see your face thanks to the mask, Otto knew you were defying him. 

His cruel grin widened even more. 

"Oh, the little heroine won't give up, will she?" his tentacles lifted him off the ground, causing you to crane your neck up to look at him, making you dizzy. Apparently the slam against the concrete affected you more than it should have. 

But you moved your head, nodding. You were going to fight to the end, even if it hurt your soul to think of hurting him. It was an eternal battle against yourself.

"I'll never give up... Doc Ock" You sneered his new name, it felt... bitter. His new name sounded to you like you were putting a tombstone on Otto, your Otto. 

His smile faltered for a moment, but then it widened again, even more cruel and vicious, then he chuckled, after all this was nothing more than a game to him, unconsciously breaking your heart. 

"Then I'll make you give up," he said, his threatening voice sounding mordant. Then you knew you were not going to win the battle, two of his tentacles moved with the speed of light towards you, and your wounds, tiredness and the heaviness of your heart did not let you react in time. 

You felt the air, compressing around you, his tentacles had trapped you, squeezing your soft body between the cold metal, the pressure in your bones was agonizing, overwhelming, but there was always a small glimmer of hope. 

"Otto..." Your voice barely made it out of your throat, his rough, hard hands pulling roughly at your mask and, in the process, leaving you exposed.

"What do you think, little heroine, that I can feel sorry for you?" His voice was a sharp whisper, but there was something in his gaze that told you that, deep down, the internal battle still raged, he knew you and did not wish to hurt you, but quickly that little flame was extinguished. 

Its tentacles squeezed even tighter, and you heard a crack, pain shot up your spine from the tips of your toes, and a ringing in your ears. Your eyes opened and for a second you wondered at what point you had closed them, you looked up at him, your eyes collided, and you couldn't stop the tears from welling up in your eyes. 

Though your body still protested the pain, your heart burned with the memory of what you once shared. You remembered the long nights in his lab, discussing science and dreams, and how he inspired you to be better.

"I love you, Otto" You said to him, on the verge of unconsciousness, if you were going to die it was better to say it now and not pass to the other side with the burden of never having confessed it. 

You felt the air on your face, his tentacles let go of you, dropping you to the cold hard ground. 

He was gone, he spared your life.

[raven-cincaide-words]

Back To The Basics

A prompt list for those who feel the need to refresh genres to get back into the hang of writing. Use the words within their genre-categories, take inspiration from the different categories or around all across like a writing bingo. Your imagination is the limit!

Some questions to ask yourself when working with one-word prompts (example with ‘disappointed’)

What does ‘disappointed’ mean? How do you usually write it (is it angst?) and can it be the opposite? Why is the character disappointed? What do they do about it?

How is it shown/ How does the reader know the character is disappointed? Why is it important/ Why should the reader care that the character is disappointed? 

Can you twist ‘disappointed’ into something more complicated? What happens next? And so on

If you like this prompt list, feel free to check out more bellow. Also don't forget to tag me so I can see what you do with these!

Main| Raven | Beta & Rules |Prompts | Masterlist | Cred & Other|

All fics and beta work are unique works by © raven-cincaide 2024. Do not copy/repost/translate or spread my work(s) without my explicit permission. If you see any of my work(s) reworked/reposted/copied anywhere, please inform me!

[ravencincaide]

Important info!

Hello my lovely followers! I am sorry that this isn't a fic update. But I do have some exciting news for you: First of all, I am slowly coming back into writing fanfics. It's NOT BSD yet but I am hoping to come back to my ongoing fics and promised requests next month. (I haven't forgotten about you! I promise!) For now, to all of my JJK fans, by popular demand I've set up a new account where you can read my JJK (and eventually other fandom) stuff: Raven-Cincaide (@raven-cincaide) For those of you looking for writing advice, prompts, beta reading and such. I have been locked out of my words account so set up a new one: See here, Raven-Cincaide-Words (@raven-cincaide-words)I will also be sharing my general thoughts on writing, struggles and sneak peaks there. Finally for my more observant followers, you'll notice that a lot of (hopefully all but I'm still working on it!) my NSFW stuff is set to private now. Unfortunately some minors have been lurking about there and just being downright shitheads and braggy brats that they're in places I don't want them to be and then rubbing it in my face. Once blocked they crying and spam me from additional accounts for blocking them, clouding my inbox. So since people can't behave and I am not in the emotional state to handle this type of kindergarten stress I am going to move ALL my NSFW stuff to a separate account: Miss-Cincaide (Still being set up!- @miss-cincaide). It will be easier for me to block people but also posts shorter thirsts and also start up with headcannons for those into it. BUT!! It is not only going to be reposts. Rather Every.Single.Fic is going to be re-written, and have either a follow up, a surprise or something extra posted at the same time as the re-written stuff. So you'll not only be reading updated versions of old fics- but seeing some brand new dirt as well ;) The goal is to be done with everything by Oktober (So there'll be two posts of naughty dirty per day during kinktober month, yaay!) Hope you're with me on these changes, thank you everyone who's been checking up on me. And slowly, Raven is flying back!

[raven-cincaide]

ⓘ RULES: This is a DARK SFW-heavy, not spoiler-free blog.

This means that those below 18, AKA minors, are welcome in this space to a certain degree! NOTE! Just because I don’t post PWP, NSFW, and SMUT on this channel that does not mean  ALL content is suitable for ALL ages and publics. Read the warnings carefully! 

If you don’t like dark content, cursing, swearing, violence etc then- what the heck are you even doing on a JJK and other fanfic blog? Jesus on a Motorbike. Just block me at this point. The same goes if you just don't like my work. No hard feelings.

ⓘ 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐃𝐍𝐈: if you lack basic common sense: You know the drill at this point, and if you're uncertain feel free to ask. My dm's are always open. Note! If you cannot separate fiction from real life, this place isn’t for you.

ⓘ Blocked?: If you detest self-shipping (including x reader fics or YN fics), dark content or similar questionable material, we don't belong together. Similarly, censorship, ignoring rules, and incompatible personalities might be other reasons why you stop seeing my content.

ⓘ In addition:

 DO NOT claim, plagiarise, repost, translate into different languages, or feed my works into AI. 

DO NOT spam my inbox wondering why I haven’t responded to a request. I get easily overwhelmed...

DO NOT ask for NSFW content; it belongs to Miss Cincaide. 

BUT ALSO  CONCERNING WRITING:

Please DO!! COMMENT and  REBLOG my posts <3 it keeps me motivated.

Please DO!! Engage with me. DMS are the easiest way to get a hold of me.

Please DO!! Tag me in posts, challenges, random posts, and games, and don’t hesitate to send me TikTok/YouTube/Instagram links or similar through my ask. I might even type something out based on them ;)  Please DO!! Read about my requests and follow them. You'll find them here: request rules.

Note! that first and foremost this blog is all about fanfiction.

And most importantly, have FUN!

Main |Raven | Rules and Requests | Masterlist | Links

All fics are unique works by ©ravencincaide 2024. Do not copy/repost/translate or spread my work(s) without my explicit permission. If you see any of my work(s) reworked/reposted/copied anywhere, please inform me!

[saywhatjessie]

I am so mixed up (that I cannot tell you)

Advent Calendar Day 13! (prompts by @raven-cincaide-words) Today’s prompts: Christmas Cleaning | Enemies to Lovers | Kisses Fandom: Ted Lasso - Pairing: RoyJamie 2k[Ao3]

“How the fuck did you get so much of your shit into my house without me noticing?”

“It ain’t your fault! Your eyesight’s gone all funny with age. You can’t be expected to see shit more than 3 inches from your face.”

Roy growled and Jamie winked back. 

Roy had been volunteered by his sister to host his family for the holidays. It was fine: he had the biggest house and guest rooms that could hold his parents for the week of Hanukkah as well as Ruth and Phoebe if they wanted to stay over any of the nights. He was also the best cook and absolutely refused to make latkes in the Little Tikes playset Ruth called a kitchen. So he’d agreed, figuring he could get some plastic to protect his kitchen from oil splatters and just tidy up the living spaces for his family to gather.

He had not realized how much of the surface area in those living spaces was filled with Jamie’s shit.

“When did you even wear this?” Roy asked, holding up bright pin track pants, disgusted. “Why are they here?”

“Wore that when I pulled your bike!” Jamie told him, brightly. He snatched the trackies out of Roy’s hand and shoved them in a giant laundry bag he’d had in his car. “Have you not seen the fan photos? I look well fit. You look like a belland.”

Roy growled, kicking pairs of Jamie’s shoes away from the door.

He supposed that helped explain it. Many times after their early morning training sessions, Roy would let Jamie shower at his place before they headed in to Nelson Road. And also he would come over after training to eat before late night training.

But that still didn’t explain why Jamie had left things here.

“How many bum bags do you have?” Roy asked, incredulous, yanking about three out from between the couch cushions. ”Is there anything even in them? How do you just forget them here?”

“Ooh, I’ve been looking for this one!” Jamie said, excitedly relieving Roy of a bright silver thing. “Well flash, innit?”

“It’s ugly as shit,” Roy told him. “And still doesn’t explain why it’s here.”

Jamie snorted. “I lost this one over a month ago, mate. Maybe start asking yourself why you never clean your place.”

Roy growled again and Jamie rolled his eyes, heading up the stairs.

Roy rumbled quietly to himself. Little prick. Roy cleaned his fucking house.

He went into the kitchen to check the damage on that. He knew his kitchen was absolutely clean – he used it every day – he just wanted to make sure he moved any clutter off the counters so it didn’t catch any stray grease. Hanukkah was the oiliest holiday of the year: thank you Maccabees. 

The kitchen was just how he left it. The stove was clean, the dishes were clean and put away, the floors were swept and at least surface cleaned. He had drawings Phoebe had done hung up on the fridge. Roy sighed in relief: this space, at least, was free of Jamie Tartt.

He started carefully removing the things from the fridge, knowing that those oil droplets could fly and not wanting to ruin any of Phoebe’s work. He took down a couple drawings, photos, Phoebe’s participation ribbon for children’s pole vaulting or whatever. He smiled at them, fondly, as he removed them and gently slid them into an envelope that he’d store safely away in his office until his kitchen could be deep cleaned. 

Then he hit non-Phoebe stuff he’d forgotten he’d put up there. Training schedule. Dietary list. Match calendar. He couldn’t remember why he’d hung those up – it made sense for him to think about these things as a coach but why were they in his kitchen?

And then he saw the ‘Good Boy’ tracker with little golden stars on it and he remembered. Of course. Of course these were for FUCKING Jamie.

The Good Boy tracker was actually a work of genius: nothing made Jamie work harder than the promise of a gold star. He could run that extra kilometer, do a hundred more burpees, and make that fiftieth crossbar kick if Roy promised him a little gold star by the finish. He couldn’t help but smile seeing all the stars proudly stuck to it. It was a nice reminder of how far they’d come.

The calendar and schedule were old so Roy just threw those away. But the dietary list and gold stars went into the envelope. He couldn’t help being a good coach, now, could he?

He moved onto counters once the fridge was clear and was again relieved by the familiarity of it. Roy’s cookbooks got stored in his office with the envelope, his jar of utensils got put in a cabinet, jars of flour and sugar got put in the cabinet as well as the ENTIRE spice rack. 

He hesitated over the salt and pepper shakers. They were little black greyhounds, bought for him for secret santa sometime in the last few years. He loved them so much, he couldn’t stand to put them away. He figured they would be easy enough to clean later.

Roy had just finished stowing everything away and gave the counter one last wipedown when Jamie came into the kitchen hauling his overstuffed laundry bag. He let out a low whistle.

“Fuck, it looks so empty in here.” He noted, frowning at the naked fridge. “What did Phoebe do to piss you off?”

Roy rolled his eyes, turning to wipe down the cabinets. He only wanted to have to get through one layer of grime when this was over. “Her stuff is safe in my office. You’ve never seen a kitchen during Hanukkah, everything gets fucking covered in grease.” He grunted, rubbing his socks against the tile and wondering if it would be worth it to do a deep clean beforehand. “I put away everything I didn’t want to see ruined.”

Jamie hummed in understanding but then scowled at the stove. “Well I guess fuck me, then. If you hated the little greyhounds, you didn’t have to use them.”

Roy frowned back, turning to look at the stove. Right, the salt and pepper shakers.

“Oh, no, I–”

“They weren’t easy to find, you know,” Jamie said, slouching against the wall and folding his arms, defensively. “Greyhounds ain’t exactly a friendly shape for salt and pepper. And no one makes things black you like it so it took a long fucking time to find something you could use in your kitchen that you would like and would remind you of your team. Like I spent ages on this shit so if you don’t like them, re-gift them to Higgins or something, I’m sure his wife would use them.”

And Roy remembers, oh fuck. Right. Jamie had been his secret santa that year. He’d loved the gift so much but had hated Jamie so he’d completely divorced the two from each other in his head. He’d forgotten completely.

He looked back at Jamie, his anger, and didn’t actually think he deserved it. “I do use them. You’ve seen me cook with them. I use them every fucking day.”

“Well how do I know you’re not just using them to make fun of me? You didn’t think they were worth saving or whatever.”

“How would using them be making fun of you?”

“I don’t know, maybe to remind me how unimportant they are? How pathetic it was for me to try so hard to get you a present?”

“Why would I even do that? I didn’t even remember they were from you!”

And that was the wrong thing to say.

Jamie’s head jerked back, his face going completely frozen even while Roy could hear a soft gasp being sucked in through his teeth.

Then, before Roy could react, Jamie’s teeth clicked together, his jaw tense, and he nodded. “Right. My mistake. Why would you remember?”

He heaved his laundry over his shoulder and nodded again. “Happy holidays, Roy.”

“Wait, no, fuck.” Roy scrambled around his kitchen island, his socks skidding a bit as he ran into Jamie gripping his arm. “I love those fucking salt shakers.”

Jamie snorted, turning enough so Roy could see him roll his eyes. “Right.”

“No, I do!” Roy said, desperation making his voice hoarse. “It makes me happy every time I look at them. I couldn’t bear putting them away. I told myself they would be worth cleaning by hand myself after the holidays.”

Jamie kept frowning, his eyes narrowed in mistrust.

Roy growled, pulling Jamie back and shoving him in a chair at the kitchen island.

“I’m not fucking lying,” He grumbled. “I forgot you gave them to me because I loved them too much to think they came from you. I sublimated it.”

Now Jamie’s eyes were confused. “Like the Beatles? The yellow sublimate?”

“That’s submarine you goddamn numpty.” Roy sighed, leaning his weight on the island. “Sublimate. Like repress or some shit.”

Jamie made a soft noise of understanding but looked away from Roy.

Roy sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“Fuck.” He said, banging his fist on the island. Jamie didn’t jump. “I should have known it was you, though.” Roy sighed. “After Uncle’s Day. Should have known you’d have gotten me another one of my favorite presents.”

“Yeah?” Jamie said, his eyes getting some of their lightness back. “More than those custom trainers from Beckham?”

Roy rolled his eyes, but couldn’t stop his relieved smile. “More than the goddamn sunglasses from Elton Fucking John.”

Jamie gasped, the sound much more welcoming than the last one. “You’ve got sunglasses from Elton John? Why haven’t I seen them?”

“Because I don’t trust you with them, I already have to lock my trophy room when you come over to make sure you don’t masturbate into my old jerseys.”

Jamie choked, going bright red. Roy huffed a laugh and clapped him on the shoulder. “It’s fine. I’ve got no use for more trophies: things I lock in a room and never get to look at.” He pointed at the stove. “Those little shakers are with me every day. So thank you, Jamie. For the gift. I don’t know if I thanked you properly for them at the time.”

Jamie swallowed, still bright red and avoiding Roy’s eyes. “No, but you well hated me at the time so–” He shrugged, the laundry bag sliding off his shoulders and back onto the floor.

Roy grunted, putting a hand under Jamie’s chin and tilting it back.

Jamie’s eyes looked up at him, wide from shock. Whether from Roy’s earnestness or the fact Roy was touching him so softly, he couldn’t be sure.

And he couldn't think about it or he was going to lose his nerve.

He leaned forward and kissed Jamie softly on the mouth. Roy could hear the breath halt in Jamie’s body, the muscles in his back and neck tensing in surprise, but his mouth was loose, accepting Roy without protest and pressing back like it was as natural as blinking.

Roy pulled back just enough so he could say. “Thank you, Jamie. Really. You’re a good boy.”

Jamie squeaked, his eyes still wide and his body moving toward Roy like Jamie was fighting not to chase Roy’s lips.

Roy just smiled, leaning in to kiss him again once, very quickly, before pulling away completely.

“Why don’t I make us some supper?” Roy asked, turning back to his kitchen. “Reward for cleaning up before my parents get here.”

It took a look time and several unsuccessful attempts at speech before Jamie said. “You shouldn’t cook, you just cleaned the kitchen. Why don’t we get takeaway?”

Roy looked at him, nodding again in approval and delighting at Jamie nervously looking away. “Good, yeah.” He bit back a smile as Jamie squeaked again. “I could use a kebab.”

[by-speaker]

Rituals (ENG. VER)

Prompts by @raven-cincaide-words and Happy Halloween!

There were rituals that were purely Missa — lighting incense every morning, leaving offerings of fresh bread and water, murmuring blessings in Nahuatl while hanging fresh cempasúchil in the windows. Santa Muerte had its own traditions to uphold, after all.

There were rituals that were uniquely Philza's — boiling water three times for morning tea, hanging horseshoes over every new door, whispering ‘white rabbit’ on the first day of the month. The Angel of Death had his own customs to observe.

And then there were the rituals they had created together, as a family.

Every night, without fail, Missa would tuck Tallulah in while Philza read a story to Chayanne. Then they would exchange children — Philza would kiss Tallulah's forehead and tuck in her nightcap, while Missa would sing softly to Chayanne until his eyes closed. It was their nightly ritual, as sacred as any ceremony.

‘Why do they always have to do everything in that order?’ asked Chayanne once, half asleep.

‘Because that's the way it should be,’ Missa replied simply, running his bony fingers through his son's blond hair. ‘Like the sun rises every morning and the moon rises every night.’

Sundays had their own rituals. Philza refused to do laundry, of course, but he compensated by helping Missa clean the altars. It was a curious sight - Death and the Angel of Death, side by side, dusting off the offerings and swapping wilted flowers for fresh ones.

‘Isn't it a bit redundant that Death has an altar?’ asked Philza once, as she held up a fresh bouquet of cempasúchil.

Missa smiled, his eyes sparkling with amusement beneath his mask. ‘Isn't it redundant that the Angel of Death fears bad luck?’

Tallulah had her own rituals as well. Every morning, without fail, she brushed her hair exactly one hundred times — she had counted it once and refused to do it any other way ever since. Then Missa or Philza (whoever was available) would braid her hair, always ending with a purple ribbon.

‘It has to be purple,’ she insisted in sign language. ‘It's the colour of royalty.’

‘Of course, princess,’ Philza replied each time, as Missa hid his smile behind his mask.

Chayanne, for his part, kept a secret ritual that not even his parents knew about. Every night, before going to sleep, he would take out his Technoblade stuffed animal and tell him about his day in whispers. He would tell her about his training, about Tallulah's antics, about the stories Missa brought back from her travels, about Philza's superstitions.

‘I know it's silly,’ he once confessed to his stuffed animal, ’but I like to think that somehow you can hear me.’

What Chayanne didn't know was that Missa, being who he was, could ensure that somewhere in the afterlife, Technoblade smiled every time he heard his little admirer's stories.

[by-speaker]

Graveyard Dare, (ENG. VER.)

Prompts by @raven-cincaide-words

When you're a teenager you often do stupid things, like drink and smoke, kick mailboxes, have unprotected sex, well the list goes on and on. But this was definitely the stupidest thing Philza had ever done in his entire life. 

Why, you ask? Well, he revived the god of death with a kiss. 

Yes, they had been drinking, but it was the last night of his senior year, Philza was the only one without a date for prom, Fit, Cellbit, Charlie and even Foolish, were teasing him because he had never kissed in his life. 

They were doing the only thing teenagers do in a small town, walking around and drinking beer, until, without quite knowing how, they came to the cemetery. 

They jumped over the fence and started eating Doritos and biscuits at the foot of the statue of the god of death. 

It was very cold in the cemetery, but with so much beer in their bodies they didn't really feel it, between jokes, the subject of Phil's first kiss came up again. 

‘How come you haven't had your first kiss, Philza?’ asked Roier, genuinely interested in the answer. 

‘Yes, Philza, how?’ scoffed Cellbit, taking advantage of his boyfriend's question.

‘Uh… well, unlike you guys, I need my grades to be near perfect to get scholarships.’ Philza said, taking a big gulp from her can. 

Fit let out a laugh, ‘Fucking orphan.’ 

‘Shut up, baldy.’ Philza said, throwing the empty can at Fit. 

Fit dodged the can, which landed on Pac who was sitting next to him, ‘Oops, offended the prince.’ Fit laughed. 

‘Hey, maybe what Phil needs,’ said Charlie, leaning on his boyfriend, Mariana, ’is a little help from the supernatural.’ He said, pointing upwards. 

They all looked up, the statue of the god of death, Moris, was standing there, his closed eyes and skull mask glowed almost like something mysterious, his scythe was what held him up, and his robes rather flattered him, no doubt the god was a beautiful thing to behold. 

Philza snorted, though he wasn't going to deny that the idea intrigued him, but he wasn't going to admit that, ‘Don't be ridiculous.’ 

‘Dare, dare,’ his friends began to chant, which angered Philza, who staggered to his feet. 

‘Bet?’ said Phil, clearly not in his five senses, ’look at me.’ 

A couple of shouts of victory were what followed on his short walk up the pedestal with the statue. 

‘That must be illegalisimo,’ he heard Vegetta say, ’or at least not very hygienic.’ 

Philza closed his eyes and planted his lips on the statue's cold lips, for a moment everyone fell silent as he heard a couple of claps of thunder fall. 

‘Shit!’ shouted Foolish, ’Let's go before it starts raining!’

So they ran, like the rats in Ratatouille, each one for home, praying that it wouldn't start raining before they got home. 

Philza didn't really think much of what had happened, until in the early hours of the morning, around 4am, she opened her eyes and a man was standing in her room. 

Philza sat up with a start, opening his eyes wide, in front of him was a teenager about his age, his black hair reached his shoulders, his eyes shone like galaxies, his skin was pale as if the sunlight hadn't touched him, his black clothes looked as if the universe itself had folded to create the fabric. 

‘Who? Who are you?’ shrieked Philza, cornering himself between the wall and his bed, ’What are you doing here?’ 

‘But, querido, don't you remember,’ the boy said, ’you kissed me today, I am Missa, you woke me up, now you are mine.’

A shiver ran down his spine, what on earth had he got himself into?

[by-speaker]

Enemies to Lovers (ENG. VER.)

Prompts by @raven-cincaide-words

First part

It had been a while since he had signed his marriage contract, the ceremony was due to take place in a couple more weeks and everyone in the palace was going crazy, they had to accommodate a lot of nobles, royalty, and gods. 

Missa was bored with all the preparations, tired of the maids poking and prodding and measuring, but most of all he was fed up with Philza. Always nagging, always complaining that Missa didn't know what he was doing, in reality Missa didn't know what he was doing, and worst of all.

“If you were a real god, you would know all this.” Complained Philza again, Missa clenched her jaw, because she knew that if he opened his mouth this alliance would be over instantly. 

The patience of both was at its limit. The palace tensions grew and grew, Missa stood by while the maids poked and prodded and bored him with their deadly chatter. Until Philza burst in, one of his guards following close behind. 

“Missael, move,” he said, grabbing him by the arm and dragging him out of the room. 

“Hey, watch it, mortal!” Missa said, pulling his arm from the emperor, being careful not to kill him. ‘What's wrong with you?’

Philza turned around, somewhat annoyed, but he looked concerned, something in his eyes glowing with something akin to urgency and anxiety. 

“For once in your immortal fucking life could you do as you're told without question,” Philza replied irritably, Philza.

“No!” Missa snarled at him, finally releasing his grip, “If you don't tell me what the fuck is going on, I'm not going with you!”

Philza sighed in frustration, “Some rebels and lesser gods are attacking the palace, apparently they appreciate our union as much as we do.” 

Missa's eyes widened in surprise, “Who would be stupid enough to attack the Arctic Empire?”

Philza let out a bitter laugh. “Apparently, a group of lesser gods who think our union will unbalance the power in the pantheon. And some mortals who think I'm betraying the empire by marrying a foreign god.”

Missa frowned, processing the information. “Well, I suppose they're right about one thing: neither of us wanted this marriage in the first place.”

For a moment, something akin to grief crossed Philza's eyes, but it disappeared so quickly that Missa thought he had imagined it.

“That doesn't matter now,” Philza said, his voice turning serious. “What matters is that they're attacking my people, my home. And believe it or not, that includes you now.”

Missa felt a pang of guilt. Despite their differences, Philza was trying to protect him. Missa was silent for a couple of seconds. The idea that he a minor god, was now part of the most powerful empire in this dimension because of a mere commitment to his mother was almost chilling. 

Yet here he was trapped in a marriage he hadn't asked for, being attacked for reasons he didn't understand. 

“And what am I supposed to do?” the god asked, almost offended.

Philza looked sideways at him, his voice a little softer this time, “Protect what is yours… even if you don't want to accept it. This is no longer just my kingdom, it's yours too, darling.” 

The god was surprised at the emperor's statement, your kingdom, he had never thought of it, to him the Arctic Empire was a cold and distant place, just another burden, not something that belonged to him. But the way Philza said it, that seriousness and conviction, made him take the threat more seriously. 

This was no longer a game. 

Missa was silent for a moment, processing Philza's words. The reality of his situation was beginning to settle in his mind. He was no longer just a minor god trapped in an unwanted marriage; he was now part of something bigger, something that people were willing to attack and defend.

“My kingdom,” Missa murmured, testing how the words sounded in his mouth. He looked at Philza, his eyes shining with a new determination. “You're right. This isn't a game any more.”

Philza nodded, a small smile of approval curving his lips. “I'm glad you understand. Now, we need to move. Are you ready to defend what's yours?”

Missa summoned his scythe, the weapon materialising in his hands in a swirl of dark energy. “More than ready. What's the plan, Emperor?”

“First, we need to get to the throne room,” Philza said, unsheathing his own sword. “From there, we can access the secret passages and regroup our forces.”

They began to move through the corridors of the palace, the sound of battle growing louder and louder. Missa was surprised at how natural it felt to fight alongside Philza, as if they had been doing it for centuries.

As they fought their way through a group of attackers, Missa couldn't help but notice the grace and power with which Philza moved. It was almost… supernatural.

“You know,” Missa said, dodging an attack and counterattacking with his scythe, “for a mortal, you fight like you've had centuries of experience.’’

Philza laughed, a sound that somehow managed to be both amused and dangerous. “Maybe there's more to me than you think, little death.”

[by-speaker]

Arranged Marriage (English Ver.)

prompts by @raven-cincaide-words

When you are a minor God you often don't have many freedoms, when you are the son of death you have even fewer freedoms. Now they were sitting in a very fine sitting room, patiently waiting for the emperor of the arctic empire, the Blood God, Missa really wasn't happy with what was about to happen, but she had no say in the situation.  

“Ah,” after waiting a while, a man with pink hair and boar tusks entered the room, “My dear death, it is always a pleasure to have you here.” Said the God, opening his arms to greet his mother.

“Oh, Techno, we've known each other for millennia, please tell me Catrina.” Said his mother, rising to accept the God's embrace. 

The God's blood coloured gaze fixed on Missa, and looked him up and down, “As you wish, Catrina, so this is the boy?” said the God with a smirk. 

“It's a pleasure to meet you, sir.” Said Missa with a reverence.  

“I hope you had a good trip,” said the God, “Please sit down, Philza was in a meeting, he will join us in 10 minutes.”

Philza, that was the name of the mortal he was to marry. It was a pledge he made when he was about 500 years old, he didn't know why his mother had made him keep his promise. 

“Of course,” his mother said with a smile, sitting down in one of the elegant armchairs and patting her side so that he would sit close to her. 

They stood for a couple of minutes in tense silence, as the Blood God drank something red from a goblet, Missa preferred not to think about what it was. 

“So… young muerte,” the God said, twirling the goblet between his fingers, “What do you think of the whole thing?”

The question puzzled him, he had been so far into his own little world that he hadn't been paying attention, “It is an honour to do my duty, sir,” he replied, automatically, he had never thought about it, he had simply had this mission thrust upon him, and as mortals died in a couple of years, Missa didn't expect to become attached to the man. 

Techno let out a laugh that sounded almost like a growl, “Ah, the young gods, always so politically correct.”

At that moment, the mahogany double doors opened, “Sorry for the delay.” In the doorway stood a blond man, large black wings, glistening in the glare of the candles, his mere presence seeming to take up the entire living room. 

Missa turned his gaze to observe the man, his voice was soft, but sounded firm, his eyes were an icy blue, and immediately settled on Missa, where his purple eyes met those ice blue ones causing a small shiver to run down her spine. 

“You must be Missa,” the mortal said, holding out his hand for him to shake. 

“I didn't know mortals were so comfortable with the gods as to call them by their first name.” Missa said, not touching the man, he hadn't put on his gloves and could probably kill him with a single touch. 

Philza arched an eyebrow at Missa's response, his cordial smile morphing into a displeased grimace. “And I didn't know lesser gods were so rude as to not shake the hand of the emperor of the Arctic Empire.” He said, retracting the hand he had extended. 

The silence was too tense, until Catrina stood up to intervene, “Excuse Mors, Emperor, he is not used to interacting with mortals, he always forgets his gloves’ said his mother taking Missa by the shoulder and squeezing him hard, hurting her son on purpose. "His touch is fatal to mortals, I'm so sorry.”

Philza narrowed his eyes and snorted, “it's alright,” he said in a voice laden with distaste, “I suppose we are to forgive the young god's inexperience.”

Missa growled in offence, “Inexperience? Forgive me, Emperor, but I hope you do not mistake my caution for inexperience.”

The temperature in the room seemed to have dropped a couple of degrees, the tension in the air could be cut with a knife. 

“I'm sorry I didn't shake your hand,” Missa said holding out his hand with a macabre smile, “Would you like to shake it now and find out what's going on?”

Philza let out a dry laugh, “Nice try darling,” he said in a sickly sweet tone, “but you won't be able to get rid of me that easy.” Phil's smile turned ice-cold, “I'm afraid you've misunderstood me, little god, I'm not here to win your approval.”

Missa narrowed his eyes, his aura darkening subtly. “And I'm not here to be your divine pet, Emperor.”

Catrina and Techno exchanged worried glances as the atmosphere in the room grew increasingly hostile. 

“Why don't we sign the contract?” Techno said trying to break the tension. 

Catrina shot a warning glance towards Missa, her eyes sparkling with silent reproach. Missa forced himself to calm down, though to still feel the weight of Philza's icy stare, who wouldn't take his eyes off him, as if he wanted to cut his head off right then and there.

Philza, with a smile that didn't reach his eyes, walked over to the huge mahogany desk that dominated one side of the room. ‘I think it's fitting. Then we can both get this ridiculousness over with as soon as possible,' he said with a tone of apparent nonchalance as he sat down in the chair and spread out a parchment. His eyes never left Missa's, daring him to back away.

Missa advanced slowly towards the desk, each step echoing through the room like a cold echo. He stopped next to the Emperor, who tipped the scroll towards him without a word. The letters in black ink seemed to glow in the candlelight, describing in detail the pact that would bind them together.

Without taking his eyes off Philza, Missa took the quill Techno held out to him. “Is this all it takes to seal the union?” he asked, his voice laced with sarcasm, as if the formality was merely a mockery of their freedom.

Philza let out a dry laugh. “You'd be surprised how many imperial unions have been signed like that. Though, of course, you may have other ideas about betrothal, little god,” he replied, his tone mocking.

Missa narrowed his eyes, every fibre of his being screaming at him to disintegrate the insolent mortal, but he knew that to do anything else would only put his mother in an awkward position. He signed with a final stroke of the quill, his name appearing on the parchment with a grim glow.

“Good,” Philza declared, signing his name under Missa's, not taking his icy gaze away. “Looks like we're… stuck.”

They both looked at each other, not giving an inch. Techno cleared his throat, breaking the silence with a tone that tried to sound casual. “I suppose you'll have time to get to know each other better soon. I've prepared a special wing in the palace for you to live in together.”

Philza and Missa seemed to tense up at the same time, both looking at Techno as if he had just said the most absurd comment in the world.

“Live together?” they asked in unison, their voices heavy with disbelief.

“Oh, come on,” Techno said, barely containing a mischievous grin. “It would be the most convenient thing to do. After all, you're officially engaged now.”

[by-speaker]

Kisses

Prompts by @raven-cincaide-words

The breeze was blowing over the wall, it was that warm, almost sweet breeze that autumn evenings always bring. Missa was walking around the potato farm because he needed a moment of peace, don't get it wrong, Missa loves his family, but sometimes he just needed a moment to be quiet with his thoughts and to be able to hear where she will send him on his next mission. 

He was enjoying the afternoon sun on his skin, when he felt the sound of footsteps approaching where he was. He recognised the footsteps immediately, Philza, it brought an immediate smile to his lips. 

 But he didn't turn around, he knew that at some point the blond would catch up, and so he did, in a moment Missa felt her boyfriend's arms around her waist and a hard kiss on her cheek. 

‘Hey, mate ~’ Missa smiled as he heard his lover's voice in his ear, ‘What are you doing out here all alone?’

‘Talking a little with the goddess,’ Missa replied, snuggling Phil into his neck. 

‘Do you have to leave so soon, darling?’ Missa could hear the pout in Philza's voice. 

Missa turned to look at him, the sunlight reflected off his hair, and his blue eyes sparkled like a bright river current, Missa was right, Philza was pouting. He gave him a smile and started smoothing Phil's hair, then gave him a kiss on the pout. 

‘You know I wouldn't leave,’ he said with a smile, ’but duty calls, querido.’ 

Phil wrinkled his nose, still pouting. ‘But the children miss you so much.’ 

Missa felt her heart melt at Philza's adorable expression. Leaning down, he gave him another soft kiss, this time on the tip of her nose.

‘Do only children miss me?’ asked Missa, his voice tinged with amusement.

Philza finally let out a small smile. ‘Well, maybe I miss you a little too,’ he admitted, his arms tightening around Missa's waist.

‘Just a little? Missa arched an eyebrow, his eyes sparkling with affection.

‘Alright, Alright,’ Philza chuckled softly, ’I miss you terribly. The house isn't the same without you.’

Missa leaned his forehead against Philza's, their noses brushing against each other. ‘And I miss all of you every second I'm away,’ he whispered. ‘But you know I always come back, don't you? I always come back to you, to our children, to our home.’

Philza closed his eyes, enjoying the closeness. ‘I know, darling. It's just… sometimes I wish I could freeze time, hold these moments forever.’

‘Mmm,’ Missa murmured in agreement, ’But then we wouldn't have the thrill of reunions, would we?’

Philza's eyes widened, a mischievous smile forming on his lips. ‘I suppose you're right. Welcome back kisses are pretty special.’

‘Oh?’ Missa smiled, ’And how about goodbye kisses?’

Without waiting for an answer, Missa closed the distance between them, capturing Philza's lips in a deep, passionate kiss. Philza responded with equal fervour, one hand sliding to the back of Missa's neck to draw him closer.

When they finally broke apart, both were breathless, their cheeks flushed.

‘Well,’ Philza gasped lightly, ’if that's a goodbye kiss, it's almost worth you leaving.’

Missa giggled, tapping him playfully on the shoulder. ‘Silly,’ he said fondly. ‘Come on, let's go home. I want to spend as much time with you as I can before I leave.’

Hand in hand, they began walking back to Casa Bonita, the sun slowly setting on the horizon. 

[saywhatjessie]

All sorts of crap

Advent Calendar Day 16! (prompts by @raven-cincaide-words) Today’s prompts: First Christmas | Strangers to More | Little Touches Fandom: House - Pairing: Hilson 1.2k[Ao3]

Wilson answered the knocking on his apartment door, ready to greet carolers or maybe a confused Jehovah's witness. Because who else would be at his door on Christmas Day? 

“I don't smell ham so you must be either making the customary Christmas goose, or else you're a really shitty host.”

“What- House?” 

The tall scruffy man shoved past Wilson into his apartment, looking around without a hint of shame. “What, no guess? I thought I'd at least get the chance to meet your mother. What kind of nice boy like you doesn't even see their mother on Christmas?”

“The Jewish kind,” Wilson answered automatically. “Hanukkah was at the beginning of the month this year.”

House snapped his fingers, pointing meaningfully at Wilson, an amused smile tilting his lips. 

“I should have known,” he lamented, “You do kind of give off the stink of a nice Jewish boy from Bergen County.”

“Not sure that the stink is Judaism. That might just be the smell of New Jersey.”

House laughed, delightedly, clapping Wilson on the shoulder before making his way into Wilson's sitting room. Wilson watched helplessly as this man he’d only met once made himself at home on his sofa. 

Wilson had met House in New Orleans 3 months ago. House had bailed him out of jail and told him he was the most interesting person at the conference. Wilson had thought House was hitting on him at first, and he was just messed up enough about Sam's divorce papers that he was going to take him up on it. But, against all odds, House genuinely did just think he was interesting. He wanted Wilson's company, not just to fuck him. Which was weird, but Wilson wasn't exactly in the business of turning down friends. 

So he and House had parted ways friends. House back to Maryland and Wilson back to his residency in Philadelphia. They'd exchange numbers, and over the last three months had spoken on the phone no less than twice a week. Even when Wilson didn’t have time to talk, it wasn't uncommon for him to return to his apartment after a long and harrowing shift at the hospital to find a long and comforting voicemail from House, just rambling on about whatever had annoyed him that day. Wilson had told house his home address so House could send him a holiday card. 

Except now Wilson realized that he would not be receiving any such holiday card. House instead decided to deliver himself. 

Wilson laughed helplessly, following House into his sitting room. 

“Well, you're insane, but I guess I did know that going in.” He sighed, lowering himself into his armchair. “How have you been? I haven't seen you since New Orleans. You look good.”

“Stop flirting with me,” House said. “Or at least cut the small talk, the flirting is can stay. Just don’t make it boring.”

Wilson huffed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Alright. Then what are you doing here instead of with your family for the holidays?”

“In my house, we celebrate Kwanzaa.”

“Or you just hate your parents. Is this how I find out there will be trouble with the in-laws?”

House smirked. “See? Isn't it much better to flirt without the small talk?”

Wilson rolled his eyes. “Deflection means yes, but it's Christmas so I'm not going to push it.” 

“Pussy.”

“Hey if you want me to push, I can push.”

“Oh, I want you to push, just let me get into position.”

Wilson rolled his eyes again but laughed, pulling himself up out of his chair with a slight groan. 

“Well, if I'm hosting my new friend for Christmas – a holiday I don't even celebrate – then I will be getting drunk. Whiskey?”

House hummed in affirmation, his eyes moving over Wilson as he passed stood. Wilson brushed his hand along Houses shoulder as he passed, feeling his light shutter under his fingers.  If House was allowing flirting, this was probably also allowed.

He pulled out his nice tumblers, the ones that his older brother had got him for his college graduation. He hadn't really had a chance to use them yet: Sam didn't like whiskey, and he and his friends from college kind of lost touch in his last year, when he and Sam were married. 

He couldn't think of a better time to break them in. 

He poured two fingers of the whiskey he had on hand in each glass. It wasn't very good whiskey – he was a medical resident with debilitating loans. And he couldn't justify the expense on a liquor he only drank sadly by himself in his apartment. But this was the whiskey he had, so it wasn’t like House could complain. 

“Yuegh!” House pulled a face like Wilson had poisoned him. “Why are you drinking this swill? You're a hot shot oncology Wonderboy. None of your patients have given you really good whiskey?”

Wilson frowned, pausing at the arm of the couch.

“I'm not sure it's appropriate for patients to give their doctors substances that might impair their judgment.”

House snorted. “I bet you a hundred bucks that within your first year as an attending, one of your rapturously grateful old baldies will give you a bottle of at least three hundred dollar Scotch.”

Wilson hummed. “Yeah, I'll take that bet. If I win, I get a hundred bucks. And if I lose, I get a three hundred dollar bottle of Scotch.” 

“Well, part of my winning includes you pouring the first class for me, of course.” House pulled another face at his glass. “To make up for the garbage you're giving me now.”

Wilson laughed, lowering himself onto the couch next to House and taking his own sip of the perfectly adequate whiskey. “Yeah, House. I'll share it with you.”

He didn't tell House that he was the only one Wilson had to drink with, anyway. That, even if Wilson did have someone else, it was House's company he wanted. He pressed his shoulder against House’s and didn’t tell him that they hadn’t known each other long, House was probably the best friend he’s ever had.

He didn't say this, but House seemed to hear it anyway.

“Visiting Philadelphia has many benefits,” House proclaimed, grandly, his warm leg pressing against Wilson’s. “I've always wanted to see The Franklin Institute. I've heard tell of Pennsylvania Dutch pastries. Coming here means I get to avoid my parents for the holiday by telling them I had to visit my poor distressed friend Wilson who was spending his first Christmas divorced from his wife in destitute misery.” He waved his hand as if to brush off this last one. “Maybe I’ll make you take me to the museum.”

Wilson’s heart pinched, unable to stop the soft smile that took over his face,

“I’ll take you to Reading Terminal tomorrow,” Wilson promised, laying a hand on House’s knee. “If we’re getting Pennsylvania Dutch, you have to try a whoopie pie.”

[saywhatjessie]

Charming as an Eel

Advent Calendar Day 20! (prompts by @raven-cincaide-words) Today’s prompts: Christmas Tree | Secret Identity | Lost Bet Fandom: House - Pairing: Hilson 1k[Ao3]

Thirteen found House on the second floor of the atrium, leaning his elbows on the balcony railing, a glass of eggnog in his hand clasped between his hands. Like a real glass. There was a cinnamon stick poking out of it.

“There you are,” Thirteen started with irritated relief. “Look, the tests came back–”

“Shh shh shh shh!” House started, holding out a finger to her, looking down on the lobby below. “Not right now.”

Thirteen scoffed. “If you’re gonna poor eggnog on someone, that’s a pretty lame prank.”

“Tt,” House said. “Waste of alcohol. And this is for me, anyway. Momma needs a drink with her stories.”

Thirteen scrunched her nose at House calling himself Momma but approached the railing, looking over with him. 

“Gossip mill tell you there’d be drama?” Thirteen guessed. “Christmas party’s tonight, there’s gotta be some surgical intern who brown-nosed too close to the sun.”

House snorted. “Probably. But that’s not what the TV Guide has scheduled for this slot.”

Thirteen hummed, scanning over the lobby. Sure, she had a minute. The patient could keep for whatever this was.

She mirrored House’s posture, her elbows on the railing, and reached for his glass so she could steal a sip. He let her have it, amused even if Thirteen wasn’t looking at him.

She pursed her lips in pleasant surprise at the taste. “Good ‘nog.”

“It was one my conditions,” House said, recovering his glass. “It’s never as good when I make it.”

“Which means Wilson lost a bet,” Thirteen said, a smile spreading on her face. “And had to make you one of his housewifey recipes to drink while you watch him commit whatever humiliation you could think of.”

House just hummed in approval, sipping his eggnog. Thirteen slid her eyes over to see his amused smile. his eyes bright with wicked glee and also with the deep love for Wilson he could never quite hide completely.

She bumped him with her elbow, extending her hand toward the glass. “Lemme get another hit.”

He snorted but passed her the glass.

While they waited, Thirteen did actually get around to telling him about the test results, and House didn’t seem surprised by any of it. He waved them away, reasoned out why his current diagnosis was still the frontrunner but he’d let Taub continue to do tests while the drugs he prescribed worked it out. Pretty easy work for now, all things considered.

They abruptly stopped their hypotheticals exchange when a commotion went up from the back of the lobby, directly underneath them.

Thirteen looked down to see something green and furry in a Santa suit come running through the atrium, making straight for the decorative tree at the front.

“No…” she started.

“Mhmm,” House said, taking another big sip of his eggnog in satisfaction.

When Wilson got his hands on the tree, he turned to look up at the balcony, his green face immediately going sour when his eyes locked on House. House lifted his glass at him.

“He’s really not doing much to conceal his identity,” Thirteen noted.

“He refused to let me do his prosthetics,” House lamented. “Didn’t trust me with spirit gum near his face.”

Thirteen nodded, shrugging her mouth. “Probably for the best.”

“E tu, brute?”

Wilson had turned his attention from them and started trying to gently but quickly dislodge the tree.

The front receptionists had started calling out to him, but no one had called for security yet. Thirteen thought she heard one of them tell someone to fetch Cuddy. Which was probably the better call for this moment but kind of spoke to how fucked up this hospital was.

Wilson managed to get the tree base dislodged from the skirt and surrounding fake presents but forgot to unplug it. He went to run and immediately got tugged back by the wire.

“Oooh.” Thirteen sucked air in through her teeth. “That’s gonna cost him some time.”

“And here comes the ref with the flag on the play,” House said, jerking his chin toward Cuddy’s office.

Cuddy came out, taking in the situation – Wilson, still wrestling with the plug for the tree – and her eyes immediately went up to the balcony.

Thirteen considered ducking so she wouldn’t be implicated but a) Cuddy could see through the railing and b) whether she was present or not, House’s team was never totally free from implication. But she was also not totally implicated. She had a weird job,

Cuddy saw House and slumped in resignation. House raised his glass to her as well.

She rolled her eyes and turned toward Wilson. Wilson turned to her, his hand still on the tree.

“What do you think he’s saying to her?” Thirteen asked.

“Probably making excuses. Blaming me.”

“And she’s telling him it’s a bad look for a Jew to come in and steal Christmas.”

House laughed, handing her his glass again in reward.

She took a sip. She wasn’t above a little praise. And it was very good ‘nog.

“Still hasn’t released the tree,” she noted, nodding at Wilson’s hand, almost casually gripping the trunk.

“Punishment’s not over yet,” House said. “He’s got to get out with the tree or be tackled trying.”

Thirteen snorted. “He’s already lost the bet, he’s already been humiliated. Why would he still–”

Before she could finish, Wilson had gestured again at House and when Cuddy turned to look, he made off with the tree.

He was through the doors and out of sight before Cuddy could call security.

Thirteen handed House his glass back and started clapping. “That crazy son of a bitch did it.”

House hummed again. love shining over his face in an embarrassing display.

Cuddy looked up at them again at Thirteen’s clapping and immediately made for the elevators. Thirteen could see where this was going.

“Well, I’ll see you later, boss!” She said, grinning. “Good luck with that. I’m going to check on the patient.”

She was halfway down the hall, before House could finish shouting “Coward!”

She cackled, wondering if she should intercept Wilson in the parking lot. Maybe he’d let her keep that tree.