#the fact that the sign just keeps getting more and more decorated too..

[mybiasisexo]

Entangled - Part 12

Pairing: Chanyeol x f.Reader Chapter Warning: Language Word Count: 8.5k Author’s Note: ...Hello 🙂 How has everyone been 🙂? Please dont look how long its been since I updated okay???? Lets focus on the fact that its chapter 12!!! Im so shook that its still going tbh but can i get a little commotion for still writing this? we really outchea!!! This story turned 3 years old a couple days ago lol I def should've been finished it already but hey, thats life! I want to thank everyone still invested and hope you love this new chapter! We have 2 chapters left!!!! Chapter 13 and an epilogue 🥲 so so bittersweet. but you guys have at least another year before its done lmaoo yall: thats not funny 😡 While rereading this story i realized something and I just want to mention, to anyone reading this fanfic, this is NOT a sign to get back with your ex!!!! ONLY if hes an exo member than you can consider it until then this is a work of FICTION!!! Pls pls dont be like Mel irl i beg 😫 Also is there anyone reading this named Melody? I thought about that too. Like you see thats the big nickname reveal and am like 'ok? thats just my name 🧍🏾‍♀️' lmfaoooo thats a funny thought! As always, thank you everyone! Replies, reblogs, and asks are greatly appreciated here! You know I LOOOOOVE yalls commentary, youre all so funny and it makes me so giddy when you tell me how the story made you feel 💕 Adore you all and hope you get to see bbh and kai this summer 😘

Being back in Seoul after everything that happened is different.

You’re different.

Yet, life doesn’t wait for you to adjust back into the routine you had before Jeju. You try your best to fall back into the life you had spent years perfectly curating, but find it frustratingly difficult to do so.

The hardest adjustment is Yerim’s new found absence. She’s become such a common fixture in your life, practically living with you, that not seeing her at all is a huge blow. You miss her laugh, her rants about her job and school, her bickering. She’s as much your little sister as she is Seulgi’s and it hurts not having access to her the way you once had. But you understand, so have been giving her the space she needs. That doesn’t stop you from constantly pestering Seulgi about her. Her response is always the same–Yerim needs more time. You have a feeling she’s keeping her distance because she doesn’t want to see Chanyeol, and you’ve told Suelgi to send the message that he is not in the picture, but whether she received the news or not, Yerim has yet to contact you in any way. 

Months pass by in a boring yet restless blur. The only day that really stands out is your birthday, but even with the little party Seulgi throws for you, and the facetime call you have with Sehun, it doesn’t hold any true significance. You distract yourself by keeping busy, throwing yourself into your work and Jongdae’s upcoming baby shower, which you volunteered to help decorate. Eunhee laughs every time you send her new ideas, claiming you’re more excited than she is. You chalk it up to this being your job so you take it very seriously, but the truth is that you are beyond excited for that day to come, because you’re eager to see a certain face again.

The truth is that, despite your attempt to keep him out of your thoughts and just focus on yourself and the life you have built, Chanyeol has never left your mind. You find yourself wanting to call him, wanting to update him on everything that he missed. He’s the first person you want to rant to whenever you’re having a rough day, yearning for his touch when you fall asleep. You want to hear his laugh and see that special soft smile that fills you with love whenever it graces your presence. You can’t seem to get over him this time, can’t shove his presence back into the depths of your heart that way you have been doing for so long. He tore that door down, making sure that he’ll never be forgotten no matter how desperately you try. It’s enough to have you coming to terms with what you want out of your relationship. 

You just hope when that day comes, that he feels the same way.

You gave in once.

Two months after the wedding, you get a memory from six years ago on your phone. You know it’s probably not the healthiest, but you refuse to get rid of any pictures or videos of the two of you. The memory is a video. You’re walking into a familiar dining room where Chanyeol sits alone, a paper birthday hat on his head. When he notices you, his face brightens, and he falls back in his chair in an invitation. You ask if he had a good birthday as you climb into his lap and he says it was perfect. You turn the camera so that it's now facing the both of you. Chanyeol kisses your temple, your cheekbone, then your cheek, and mumbles, ‘thank you, baby’. He then turns his head so that your cheeks are pressed together as you both look at the screen reflecting your image back at you, ‘I love you,’ you answered simply, as if that was enough. And it was. He holds you closer, nuzzling into you and the video ends. 

It reminds you that it’s Chanyeol’s birthday, but you can’t bring yourself to wish him a happy birthday. Firstly, you don’t have his phone number, and secondly, you’re no contact right now and aren’t technically supposed to speak to each other.

Still, not saying anything eats at you for a couple days and you hatch up a risky plan.

You know the odds are slim, but something in your spirit encourages you to try.

And that’s how you find yourself holding your breath as the other line of your phone rings.

“Oh?” You hear once the call is answered. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Hello, Baekhyun,” you greet in return, rolling your eyes at his sarcasm. 

“Darling.” You can hear the smirk curling his lips and know that he’s teasing you.

“What are you up to?” You ask, trying to sound nonchalant.

“About to get lunch. I’d invite you, but it’s kind of a date.”

“Oh?” You ask, surprised he even answered if he’s entertaining someone.

Before you can question him, you hear exactly what you were hoping for.

“A date? I’ll humor you because I know how desperate you–”

Chanyeol.

He’s there with him, right on the other side of the line.

“Anyways!” Baekhyun interrupts, loudly drowning Chanyeol out. “What are you doing, Sweetie?”

“Darling? Sweetie?” Chanyeol questions. “Sounds like you’re speaking to your actual date. Maybe you should invite them out instead.”

“Nonsense. It’s your birthday lunch. But….” Baekhyun pauses for dramatic effect. “Maybe I should. It might make you jealous though.”

“Jealous of you annoying somebody else? Not very likely.”

“I’m not annoying, am I?” Baekhyun then drops the bomb by saying your name.

That seems to shut Chanyeol up.

“She says I’m not,” Baekhyun tells Chanyeol, despite you never answering his question. “What? Nothing to say now?”

Baekhyun chuckles smugly, but then he’s yelling at you.

“Yah!” He says your name again. “You haven’t asked me anything about my date! Aren’t you curious?”

“I shouldn’t intrude,” you finally speak.

“Please. Let me introduce you.”

“No, really, it’s okay!”

It’s too late. You hear the shuffling of the phone being moved around followed by silence.

Finally, Chanyeol clears his throat and says your name questioningly.

The relief you feel at hearing his voice is so intense it brings tears to your eyes.

“Hi, Chanyeol.”

He gasps at the sound of his name leaving your lips, and when he speaks, it sounds as though he has yet to catch his breath. “Hi.”

“Oh, brother,” Baekhyun says.

“Shut up.” There’s some scuffling, and then Baekhyun yelping in pain.

“Is everything okay over there?” You ask.

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says. “How have you been?”

You’re giddy, like you’re talking to your school crush for the first time. Which, in a way, you are.

“I’ve been….” You contemplate telling the truth before settling on, “adjusting.”

“Same here.”

“Well, since I have you,” you say lightly, pretending this wasn’t the whole reason you called. “Happy birthday.”

“Thank you,” he says vehemently. “I think this may be my favorite gift.”

You can’t fight back the smile threatening to split your lips. “It’s not much.”

“It means more than you know.”

“If that’s the case, then I’m glad. Enjoy your date.”

“My date?” It takes him a moment to realize what you’re alluding to. Once he remembers, he snorts. “oh, that. Between you and me, I don’t think there will be a second one.”

“Aaaaand you’re done,” Baekhyun says.

“No, wait!”

Despite Chanyeol’s height, Baekhyun has no trouble snatching the phone back.

“This is what I get for being nice,” he mutters into the receiver.

“Aw, Baekhyun, I’m sure he appreciates the effort you’re putting in to make sure he has a good time.”

“For that, I’ll let you have a little treat.” He lowers his voice conspiring. “He hasn’t shut up about you since coming back.”

“Bro!” You hear a mortified Chanyeol in the background.

“Looks like we’re at our destination. It was great talking to you.”

“Likewise.” In a grateful tone you add. “Thank you.”

All the humor leaves Baekhyun’s voice as he responds. “Anything for you. I’m glad you called.”

The call ends and life goes on.

December comes and goes, only bringing the cold in its wake. Next thing you know it’s January.

You bring in the new year with a resolution to be more open to new experiences and to take more chances.

“I see you!” You say, excitement evident in your voice.

“You sure?”

“Can’t miss that big ol’ head of yours.”

“Um, have you seen yours? Okay, wait, I see you now.”

You hang up and run over to Sehun, who’s pace doesn’t change as he saunters towards you. Despite how aloof he appears, he drops everything he’s holding to catch you once you jump into his arms, his hold tight.

“You’re here! You’re here!” You cheer, jumping once you’re back on your feet. Sehun can’t help but laugh at your silly antics.

Movement catches your attention and you peek behind Sehun’s broad frame to see a handsome man slightly taller than you with big round warm eyes and thick eyebrows currently furrowed in confusion as he watches Sehun interact with you.

“You must be Do Kyungsoo.”

He locks eyes with you and a slight nervous smile pulls at his full lips as he dips his head in greeting. Unsatisfied, you break away from Sehun and yank the stranger into a hug, missing the way he glances at Sehun in a silent plea for help.

“I told you,” Sehun sighs disapprovingly as you pull away.

“It’s an honor.” You ignore Sehun’s quip. “I hope Sehun already told you that your payment for staying with me is dinner of the gourmet kind.”

“I didn’t think he was serious about that,” he answers, laughing awkwardly as he readjusts the thick frames on the bridge of his nose.

“I don’t joke about food.” 

Kyungsoo lifts an eyebrow and blinks owlishly at you.

You decide you like him.

With a dazzling smile, you grab Sehun’s hand. “Let’s go!”

You lead the two men out of the airport, helping them put their luggage in the trunk before peeling out into the city.

“God, it’s been forever since I’ve been in Seoul,” Sehun says as he takes in the frosty scenery flying past.

“What about you, Kyungsoo?” You ask, searching out his gaze through the rearview mirror.

“I went to school here,” he informs.

“That’s how I met him, remember?” Sehun says.

“Oh yeah. I forgot. You were in the culinary program at our college.”

“Graduated early because he’s a genius,” Sehun praises. You don’t miss the way Kyungsoo’s face grows pink, but he remains silently looking out the window.

It’s weird in a way, meeting a close friend of Sehun’s that you yourself aren’t close to. It’s a grim reminder of your growing distance and the passage of time. You know you don’t really have a right to feel the slight tinge of jealousy from hearing Sehun compliment his friend. You have Seulgi, and Sehun has never made a big deal about your friendship. You think it has more to do with the fact that you’re not as close anymore. It leaves your heart slightly aching. 

Sehun and Kyungsoo tell you about the flight as you bring them to your apartment where they will be staying for the weekend. Seulgi and you had to get creative, because you don’t have any spare rooms. It was decided the boys would take the rooms and you would share the sofa bed in the living room.

Seulgi’s home when you arrive, doing some last minute cleaning.

“You look pretty,” you point out when you spot her finishing wiping down a counter in your kitchen. She gives you a guilty lip glossed grin before her attention is given to your guests.

“Sehun!” She embraces her long time friend and then sets her attention to the newcomer. She points at him. “The chef?”

“That’s me,” Kyungsoo says, lifting a hand with a crooked grin that makes his already handsome face even more attractive, if that’s even possible.

Seulgi’s smile is wide as she shakes his hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you. Sehun’s said so much.”

“All good things I hope.” 

“Sehun never says anything good about anyone,” Seulgi  points out.

“It’s a talent,” Sehun brags.

“Seulgi….” Kyungsoo says her name as their hands separate, testing it out as he racks his brain. “I believe Sehun has said something good about you before. That you make phenomenal art?”

She lights up at that. “He has?! Sehun!”

He sighs and throws an arm around your shoulders. Shrugging, he says, “I’m not a complete monster.”

“Should I show you your room?” You ask him. You take in the other two, noticing the way they seem to be watching each other. “Seulgi, why don’t you show Kyungsoo where he’ll be sleeping for the next couple days?”

“Oh, right!” She jumps at the sound of her name. Remembering herself, she leads the way, mouthing an ‘oh my god’ as she passes by. You giggle. Seulgi has been interested in Sehun’s chef friend since the first time she saw a picture of him on Sehun’s instagram. Kyungsoo isn’t aware, but this moment has been years in the making.

Now alone, you turn in Sehun’s grasp, wrapping an arm around his slender waist. “I knew this was going to happen. What are you going to do when they fall in love and he doesn’t want to go back to Busan?”

“Put Seulgi in the luggage. You’ll be moving in with Chanyeol soon anyways.”

“It hasn’t even been an hour yet and you’re already bringing him up?” You pull away and move you guys to your bedroom.

“Come on,” he sings as he plops onto your mattress like he owns the place. He puts his arms behind his head as he rests against the headboard and it hits you that he’s actually here. It takes everything not to start crying and running around the room in excitement. “Tomorrow is D-day, excuse me for being excited for you.”

Jongdae’s baby shower is tomorrow, and of course, Sehun is fully aware of the promise you made with Chanyeol in the gazebo. That day feels like it was both years ago and yesterday.

Sehun nudges your knee with his foot. “Stop playing it cool. I know you're excited too. You got that crazy look in your eyes.”

“What crazy look?” You ask as you sit at the edge of the bed beside his calves.

“Exactly what I said. You look like you’re up to no good.”

You huff a breath. “I’m just nervous.”

“Why?”

“What if he decides he doesn’t want to get back together?”

“He won’t.”

“But what if he does?”

Sehun purses his lips, contemplating. “Then you respect his decision, put on a brave face, and then cry in my arms when the party’s over. Okay?”

You nod dejectedly.

“I take it you’ve decided you want a second chance?”

“Yeah,” you admit. “I forgive him. I….” You look at your best friend. “I love him, Sehun. I really do. I want to be with him.”

Sehun’s expression turns soft and he drags you over his frame, hugging you. “Aigoo, my baby is all grown up.”

You let out a watery laugh and allow yourself to bask in your emotions. You’ve used this time exactly how you were supposed to. You have been able to process your feelings and separate your past self from your present self, and the present you is just as in love with Chanyeol as you were back then.

That is what makes you so nervous. You’ve changed so much. What if you give it another shot, but you don’t fit the same way you once had? What if he can’t bring himself to love this new version of you?

You shove away your doubts. Now isn’t the time to wallow on hypotheticals. Your best friend is here, in your arms, and tomorrow you’re going to bask in another friend’s joy. You’ll worry about that other stuff if they become a reality.

Since you voluntarily took charge of planning this baby shower, you have to head out early to the venue to set up. Sehun decides to join you, leaving the other two to get ready together. The chemistry between them is obvious and you wonder how the weekend is going to go for them.

The baby shower is being held in a party room that has large doors that lead to a botanical garden. Being that it’s mid January, the vegetation is frozen over and unbroken snow covers the ground. It still holds a whimsical charm and anyone that dares to venture out will find beautiful ice sculptures. The inside is a small room, which is perfect for an intimate celebration.

You are the first to arrive, along with some of your crew. Not even the parents-to-be are present, which is exactly how you planned it because you want to surprise them. This is your baby gift. You want to bring the warmer vibes of the gardens, so you have pink, purple, and blue plants and flowers overflowing vases in every corner. Sage green clothes cover the tables. 

Sehun refuses to lift a finger to help, which is annoying but unsurprising. You bring in a large wicker chair and put it at the head of the room. It will serve as Eunhee’s throne. Since she’s so far along, you don’t want her moving too much if she can help it and the chair is very comfortable, if Sehun sitting in it practically the whole time without complaint is any indicator.

“Oh my god!” You hear nearly two hours later. Turning, you see Jongdae and Eunhee enter. The two take everything in, Eunhee with watery eyes. She’s the one who spoke. “It’s beautiful!”

“Absolutely perfect,” Jongdae agrees, shaking his head in awe as he scans the place. You give Eunhee a big hug. She’s someone who came into the picture post college, yet fit right in. There is no one else you’d rather have carry your friend’s child.

“I'm glad you like it,” you say as you lead her to her throne. She notices Sehun and beams, singing his name as he stands to embrace her.

“‘Like’ doesn’t do it justice. You killed it,” Jongdae praises as he hugs you. When you pull away, he finally spots Sehun. “And did you help, Sehun?”

“Of course,” Sehun scoffs. “This was all my idea.”

“The only ‘helping’ Sehun supplied was keeping Eunhee’s chair warm.” You roll your eyes as the boys dap each other up. “Which, by the way, you’re expected to be in most of the day. I don’t want you lifting a finger for nothing!”

“Not even to eat?” She asks, rubbing her swollen belly.

“Nope. That’s what Jongdae’s for.”

Jongdae–and Sehun, finally–help with the last finishing touches as you monitor everything and lead everyone where they need to go. 

It’s around two when people start showing up. Eunhee’s parents are the first to arrive. You’re already exhausted, sitting in a chair with your bare feet propped up on another, gobbling down some baby shower meatballs. Eunhee’s mother finds you and immediately asks what she can do to help, and you’re beyond thankful to give someone else the reins, even though everything is pretty much set up.

Jongdae’s cousin, Kim Minseok, is the next to arrive. He comes in carrying the cake that holds the baby’s gender inside, and is the sole person that already knows. You’ve met the older gentleman a few times before and he gives major big brother vibes. He’s the strong and silent type, never saying much, but when he does it’s either something incredibly profound, or something so extremely out of pocket you have to side eye Jongdae.

When Minseok comes in, he kisses your cheek in greeting and smiles so widely you’re left blushing and stuttering when he asks where you want him to put the cake. 

It’s a moment still until familiar guests start to show up. The party officially starting means you’re now allowed to enjoy it as merely a guest, even though that doesn’t stop you from checking things from time to time to make sure everything’s running smoothly. All the positive words about the venue don’t go amiss and you smile proudly at succeeding in making a beautiful shower for your friends.

Sehun, who left your side the moment Jongdae walked in, remembers you’re there and nudges you. “Let’s take some pictures before the line gets long.”

He leaves little room for you to argue, dragging you over to a balloon arch you both spent way too much time finding the right spot for. There’s a professional photographer there who gets some good shots of the two of you. When Sehun is satisfied with the amount of pictures taken, you leave the arch and your eyes carry over to the wicker chair Eunhee still sits upon. Her head is lifted nearly straight up to meet the eye of the tall man conversing with her. The height is very familiar and your heart skips a beat as you realize that Chanyeol has finally arrived.

Swiftly, you turn to the opposite side of the room, and you’re glad you do because you find Junmyeon and Nayeon awkwardly standing there.

“Myeon!” You gasp and race over to your friend. Sehun sucks his teeth, but follows after you, knowing what you’re doing but just as eager to see Junmyeon.

Junmyeon says your name in the same tone and holds his arms out wide for you to fall into. Unsurprisingly, this is the first time you’re seeing him since the wedding. He holds you tightly and you think that he gives Jongin a run for his money with how comforting he feels.

“What’s all this I hear about you having drama at my wedding?” He asks into your ear.

You wince as you pull back. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I was on my best behavior.”

“Ah.” he nods in understanding. “So, it was all Chanyeol then?”

“Isn’t it always?” You ask innocently.

Junmyeon chuckles and shakes his head. “I fear I missed out on a lot that weekend.”

“You had bigger things to worry about,” you assure, patting his shoulder because you can tell that he feels bad for not being there with everyone. Junmyeon is the father figure of the group and takes his role very seriously. Sometimes you forget he’s only a couple years older than you because he treats you more like a daughter than a friend at times. “Like marrying this lovely lady.”

You turn to Nayeon, reaching out to embrace her. Her smile is bright as she falls into your hug. You aren’t sure if it’s seeing her walk down the aisle or the solidification of her role in your life, but the hug feels like a new chapter in your relationship. 

“It’s good to see you,” she says, and it sounds sincere.

Separating, your smile matches hers. “You too. How was the honeymoon?”

Her smile turns shy. “Too short.”

“Oh, I bet! I didn’t get the chance to tell you, but you were absolutely stunning on your wedding day.”

“Thank you.” She grabs your hand, giving it a squeeze.

Junmyeon calls your name, gaining your attention. He takes in your interaction with unabashed pleasure. It has been no secret that you’ve had a hard time cracking his wife’s shell. “Sehun tells me you set this place up?”

“And did.”

“You should do mine next.”

You blink. “Will it be soon?”

Turning to Nayeon, you raise a questioning brow. She’s quick to shake her head. 

“No,” Junmyeon verbally answers. “But you know how the saying goes. First comes love, then comes marriage….”

“Then comes a very expensive baby shower, because I don’t work for free.”

“You told me this was a gift.” You glare at Seulgi, who joins your growing circle with Kyungsoo in tow.

“Yeah, but Jongdae isn’t a millionaire.”

Junmyeon frowns. “I’m not one either.”

“But, you will be. So, I will be overcharging.” You shrug.

“Everyone,” Sehun, who is bent at a weird angle so that he can rest his head on Junmyeon’s shoulder. Myeon has an arm thrown over Sehun’s neck, holding him close. Sehun is Junmyeon’s overgrown baby and it’s painfully obvious whenever they’re together. Sehun gestures next to him. “This is my good friend and business partner, Do Kyungsoo.”

It’s so strange how easily Kyungsoo seems to fit in with your group. He gives that half grin that you’re starting to find endearing and bows his head slightly in greeting. His cheeks grow pink at the attention Sehun throws onto him.

You lock eyes with Seulgi and ask her a telepathic question.

Her smile is soft. “I’m behaving.”

“Why?” You nudge her shoulder and she returns the gesture.

“So, this is where everyone’s hiding!” You hear Baekhyun’s unmistakable voice and then he’s popping up between Sehun and Kyungsoo.

You turn to give your attention to your loud friend, but end up locking eyes with someone else.

Chanyeol is standing directly across from you in the circle your friend’s have created. For a moment, you’re back in Jeju, at the table seeing him for the first time in years.

You have been anticipating this moment for weeks. You’ve pictured it numerous times, played out different scenarios on how you would respond to him. The skip of your heart, the small gasp that leaves you, the duling of your senses are all expected. What is surprising to you is a relief and longing so strong it nearly carries you across the space separating you both.

And he’s staring back at you with this content look in his eyes. None of the relief or longing currently rushing through your veins are reflected back at you, and your heart sinks as nerves take over.

Chanyeol appears…calm. Friendly. It’s as if Jeju never happened, as if he hadn’t desperately begged you to take him back. 

As if he moved on.

You drop your graze, ears burning in embarrassment for being so excited. You can already taste rejection on your tongue, and mentally curse yourself for believing for one moment that Chanyeol meant it when he said he would always want you.

You can’t resist taking a second peek to take in his form, seeing how he must have spent these last few months in the gym. His arms and shoulders are noticeably bigger, the cozy sweater he wears stretches over the new muscle tantalizingly. He must have dyed his hair black at some point and it washed out to a darker brown closer to his natural shade, instead of the sun bleached brown he was rocking in Jeju.

A shoulder bumps you and you lift your head to see Jongin with a teasing grin on his face. It drops the moment he sees your expression, and he says your name, concerned, drawing the attention of some others.

“I’m sorry. I have to do something,” you say, quickly leaving to collect yourself before anyone can question you. 

You don’t get far before Minseok stops you. He rests his hands on your shoulders, holding you far enough to intently study your face.

“Sir?” You say, wondering what he’s doing.

He tilts his head. “Only tears of joy today.”

You purse your lips. How does he know?

He pats your head. “Eunhee’s mom wants us to prepare the games. Come on.”

You sigh but follow Minseok to set up the games. A few of your friends partake in them. You forgot just how damn competitive Chanyeol is. He wins all four. One requires teams and you’ve never been more embarrassed by your friends in your life.

When the games are done, Eunhee starts opening gifts. You take this time to sit in a little corner alone, taking the party in and giving yourself a moment to congratulate yourself on a successful party. It’s beautiful and everything is moving smoothly. After the presents, the couple will cut the cake to reveal the gender, and then the party will wrap up. You wonder where your talk with Chanyeol will fit in. You don’t want to ruin this day for yourself, so maybe once it’s over will be best? The suspense is killing you though, you’re not really sure if you can last much longer. You’ve caught Chanyeol’s eye a few times since leaving the circle, and each time he’s given you a small smile or nod before going back to whatever he was doing. Nothing long enough to gain any more insight on his state of mind. Maybe he’s nervous? Maybe he’s healed? Maybe he’s dreading having to let you down easy?

Your brief moment of solitude is disturbed when Baekhyun slides into the seat beside you. 

“There you are,” he says, relief evident in his voice. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

You sink into your chair, crossing your arms over your chest. “I haven’t been hiding, Baekhyun.”

He frowns at your tone. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you answer too quickly, too sharply. You exhale and start again. “I’m just nervous, I guess.”

“About the party?” he pushes, and you know he knows why, he’s just being careful on how to bring it up. “Or… something else?”

You lift an eyebrow at him. “You know the answer to that.”

Baekhyun scoots closer to you. “You have no reason to be nervous. Chanyeol’s going to meet you where you stand, wherever that is.”

“Are you sure?” You ask. You catch the man of the hour hand Jongdae a present. The father-to-be narrows his eyes suspiciously at him. It’s a very cute interaction and it makes your heart flutter despite everything.

Baekhyun tilts his head in confusion, resembling a puppy. “Yeah? Do you not remember anything that happened in Jeju? it was never Chanyeol’s feelings that were ever in question. Just yours.”

A smug grin stretches his lips. “But you figured yours out, didn’t you? I remember when you just so happened to call me around Chanyeol’s birthday. Y’know that was quite the little coincidence.” His smile grows, showing his perfect teeth. “You wanted to talk to him.”

“Stop.”

He pokes your side. “Admit it! You want to get back with Chanyeol and you’re nervous because you believe there might be a chance he actually rejects you.”

“Ew. It sounds so…cringey when you say it out loud.”

“Is that you admitting that you’re still in love with him?”

You roll your eyes. “Yes, okay? I am! I…I still love Chanyeol, and I’m ready to give us another try. Happy?”

He pulls you into a tight hug, swaying you from side to side. “Beyond! I’ve been waiting for this moment for years! I’m so happy for you!”

“We’re not back together yet, Baekhyun.”

“Yet,” he points out, and that for some reason, calms your nerves, and you relax against him.

A deep voice clearing catches your attention, causing you to grow rigid in Baekhyun’s hold. Slowly, you separate from Baekhyun and lift your head to see Chanyeol hovering over you both.

He gives Baekhyun a stern look, and the shorter man snorts before lifting his hands in surrender.

Chanyeol faces you, but he can’t quite meet your eye as he asks, “have you seen the ice sculptures yet?”

This is the moment. Chanyeol is inviting you to have your talk. 

You shake your head. “I actually haven’t. Do… you want to see them?”

“Only if you want to.”

You nod enthusiastically and hear Baekhyun giggle but ignore it. “Okay. Yeah. Just, uh, let me get my coat.”

You don’t know if it’s guidance or reassurance you seek that has you turning to Baekhyun nervously. He supplies both by tilting his head in Chanyeol’s direction encouragingly. Stiffly, you get to your feet  and lead the way to the coat stand. Chanyeol takes your coat from you, holding it out to help you put your sleeves in.

“Thank you,” you whisper as he shrugs on his own.

He gives you a derpy grin. “My pleasure.”

All bundled up, you head out to the gardens. Only a few footprints stamp out the snow, showing how little people have dared to step outside. You don’t blame the others, it’s freezing. Your face goes numb almost instantly, but it’s still a sight to see. All the bushes have frozen over, and arches that appear as ice  line the trail. The setting sun and multicolored fairy lights scattered around add a sense of whimsy, making it feel like you’ve stepped into a parallel universe where fairies live.

“Boy or girl?” Chanyeol randomly asks as you both casually walk the path.

“Huh?”

“The baby,” he clarifies. “Do you think it’s going to be a boy or a girl?”

“A girl,” you decide. “Jongdae is such a girl dad.”

“You’re right. He totally is.”

“Good job back there,” you say, nudging your thumb over your shoulder where the party continues without you. “I’m sure all of Eunhee’s family are terrified of you.”

He chuckles at that and it’s music to your ears. “I do tend to get carried away.”

“I’ve never seen someone so serious about changing a diaper.”

“And I did it in ten seconds! That’s pretty impressive, you gotta admit.”

You give a noncommittal hum. “Fatherhood will be easy for you then.”

“You think?” He asks, eyes absolutely sparkling at the idea. 

“I do.”

“Oh, well… I think you’d make an amazing mother.”

“Really?” You ask, surprised. You’ve never really given motherhood much thought. It’s something so out of reach that you never entertain it. You did once, back when you wore your engagement ring. Chanyeol and you had discussed parenthood a few times. At the time, you’d both agreed you were way too young to think about starting a family, but now you’re in your late twenties, so you guess it’s something you should consider more.

“You’re a caretaker,” he continues. “Take today for example, I bet you were just supposed to decorate, right?”

“Yeah,” you admit quietly.

“Yet you ended up putting the whole thing together. You take care of the people you care about. You always have.”

“I never thought of it like that,” you admit.

He shrugs. “I’m just stating a fact.”

You come across your first sculpture. It’s an impressive six-foot ice dragon. You both stop to take it in.

“It’s impressive,” you remark.

Chanyeol nods. “I bet it took hours to sculpt.”

“Kinda sad it’s going to melt. Feels almost like a waste.”

“That’s the tragedy of art, but there’s beauty even in that.”

You’re quiet for a bit.

“I started going to a new cafe,” is what comes out of his mouth next. His attention never leaves the dragon, not even when your head snaps over to him in shock.

You know what he’s trying to say, that he no longer sees Yerim. His admission knocks the wind out of you, but you’re able to collect  yourself. “I’m sure the old one misses you.”

“Nah,” he’s quick to dismiss. “Though I hear I leave quite the impression.”

You click your tongue at that, which garners a small laugh from him, seeing humor in your reaction. Needing to change the subject, you give him a once over, taking in his reddening cheeks, the paleness of his skin contrasting beautifully with the darkness of his eyes. He’d thrown on a beanie to keep his ears warm, and despite them being covered, he still resembles a freakishly giant elf. Speaking of giant, his new mass overwhelms you. You can definitely notice the difference in his size compared to a few months ago.

“You’ve been working out,” you say.

He glances down at you, looking rather pleased. “You noticed?”

“How could I not? You’re towering over me.”

The tip of his tongue catches between his teeth. He likes that phrase, and you’re reminded that he has a size kink. You’re not that much shorter than him (this may be denial speaking) but being even an inch smaller is enough to get him going.

“It’s a newly acquired hobby I picked up after returning from Jeju,” he explains.

“I see….” And you do. It was something to fill the time, something to distract himself from the fact that you were once again not in his life, and wouldn’t be for a while.

The two of you leave the dragon and continue to the next sculpture. Chanyeol senses your understanding and presses, “so, have you gotten any ‘hobbies’ since I last saw you?”

You lift your arms out like a shrug and gesture around you. “This.”

He takes in the winter wonderland. “Then you spent it wisely.”

“It kept me busy for sure, but I’ll admit it wasn’t enough to distract me completely.”

Chanyeol nods in understanding. “It’s been difficult… going back to how things were before.”

A sharp laugh leaves your throat before you can stop it. His words feel like an understatement.

The next sculpture is an eight foot replica of the Eiffel Tower.

“I was foolish enough to believe that I could continue living the way I had been before the trip,” you admit, taking in all the little details of the ice. “But I outgrew that life the moment I landed on that stupid island.”

You can feel Chanyeol studying you, as if you are the one carved from ice. You wonder if he sees the tragedy of your design, that you’ve been melting, and if he still finds it as beautiful.

“Jeju changed us,” Chanyeol agrees. “How has it changed you?”

You meet his gaze, yours steady and unwavering. “It made me realize where I wanted you in my life.”

Chanyeol takes you in, gulps, and turns abruptly. You gape at his retreating back for a moment before jogging after him. His long legs close the distance to the next sculpture in record time. There are only two left and this one is of a beautiful woman, looking down at her plump belly that she cradles lovingly. You swear you can see Eunhee’s features etched into the clear face.

Chanyeol’s squinting up at the face, most likely noticing the same thing  and contemplating whether it is your friend or not.

“You ran,” you accuse once you’re standing beside him, out of breath.

His features smooth over, becoming expressionless. “You scared me.”

“That’s funny,.” He turns to you questioningly. “That’s how I felt when I saw you earlier.”

His eyebrows furrow. “Why?”

“You looked at me like….” You lick your drying lips. “Like you had moved on.”

“That’s what you saw?” he asks skeptically.

You give your attention back to the Eunhee sculpture. “Did I misread you?”

“Immensely,” he says, voice flat and intense. When you work up the courage to look at him again, you see a fire has built inside him that the cold tried to snuff out, but it burns through, warming you in turn.

“Oh,” is really all you can say under his scrutinizing glare.

“I’m sorry for scaring you earlier,” he says, still intense. “And for running. What were you going to say? Where do you want me now?”

“I….” You take a deep centering breath and tell him the truth. “I want you right where you are now. Beside me.”

A shocked laugh leaves him in a puff of condensation that bellows around you, stinging your cheeks. It feels like a caress, like contact, and it  makes you confident enough to proceed with your confession. “I've missed you so much, Chanyeol. Not just since coming back from jeju, but since calling off the wedding all those years ago. I’ve carried that suffering with me everyday, pretending I was fine, that I had moved on. But, after returning from the island, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t avoid it anymore. It was too heavy a weight. All I’ve wanted since is to see your face, to hear your voice, to…to be with you. Not the college boy that I fell in love with, but the man that you’ve become. I want to rediscover you, I want to learn your new habits and meet your new friends. I want to be a part of your life again…. I want to be with you, Park Chanyeol.”

You can feel your throat constricting, and tears start to blur the vision of the man you love taking in every word you say as if they are bible. You inhale sharply, it sounds more like a gasp, as you try to control your emotions. Clearing your throat, you voice your doubt. “That being said, if you’ve decided that you don’t feel the same way, and just want your closure to finally move on, I respect that. This isn’t only about what I want. You have a say in this relationship too. So… where do you want me?”

The wobble in your voice seems to echo off the ice surrounding you in the silence that follows as Chanyeol hesitates to answer. At least it feels like hesitation. Is he debating how to let you down gently? Or is he still trying to process your revelation?

Finally, after what feels like hours, he says, “there’s one more sculpture.”

You follow Chanyeol wordlessly, your heart plummeting from his lack of response. The last sculpture is ironic in a way, depending on how this conversation goes. It’s two swans, their heads pressed together and their necks curving into the shape of a heart. 

Chanyeol is grinning as he takes it in. “I think this one might be my favorite.”

“It does have a certain charm to it,” you say sullenly. 

Chanyeol’s smile stretches, but he doesn’t say anything. You both quietly take in the birds, you wait patiently for Chanyeol to answer your question. 

“The gym isn’t the only thing that has been keeping me busy these past months,” Chanyeol shares. “When I came back, I found new inspiration, and have been writing music nonstop.” He chuckles. “My company has been very happy about that.”

“That’s good to hear.” you say, and you mean it. You know how much music means to the man before you, he bleeds chords and rhythms. Being able to make money doing what he loves is an honor not many people get to have. You’re so very proud of him for being able to have others hear his talent.

“Yeah. I took your advice. I truly thought about what you mean to me. I wrote those feelings down in songs and worked through the pain, the confusion, the hurt, and the hope. When I showed my music to my company, they asked me what had changed, and I told them the truth.” He shifts to face you head on and reaches out to grab your hand. “That I found my muse.”

Your breath gets caught in your throat as he continues. “I guess it’s more like rediscovered my muse, because it’s the same one as always. All of my music is about you. Only you. You ask where I want you in my life? The answer is simple. I want you everywhere. You’ve always been everywhere. You’re the melody of my life.”

You blink back the new flood of tears bombarding your eyes, overwhelmed by his words. 

He is watching you tenderly, and you swear you see his eyes as shiny as yours. The hand not holding yours cups the side of your face and you shiver from the icy bite, but it thaws so quickly you end up leaning into it. “I want to be with you too. It will always be you, Mel.”

The tears finally fall, and Chanyeol is there to catch them, to catch you. You both let out airy laughs, relief and joy bubbling in your throats as the situation dawns on you. 

“We’re really going to do this?” You ask, in shock. “You and me? We’re going to try again?”

“Yes,” Chanyeol confirms, resolute. “And we’re going to get it right this time. I’m not letting you go again. I don’t care what excuse you try next time.”

You shake your head. “You won’t have to worry about a next time.”

You pull back slightly and take out your phone, handing it to him. “Can I have your number?”

He grabs the device from you. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

You scowl. “Absolutely not! You’ll have to do the asking, sorry.”

“I think I can manage that,” he says as he types away. He gives the phone back, fingers brushing yours when you retrieve it. 

You stare at one another, only one thing in both of your minds. What did Chanyeol say last time? Seal it with a kiss? Well, that’s what you want to do now, you want to kiss him so bad your body shakes in yearning. Chanyeol gathers as much, his head slowly lowering to grant your wish, and you wonder briefly if you’re making that face again. His nose brushes against yours and you tilt your head back to lift your lips higher for him to reach.

Cheering shatters the moment, bringing you both back to the frozen yard of your friends’ baby shower.

You gasp. “The cake!”

You both rush back inside, making it in just in time to see Jongdae and Eunhee at the table, frosting and tears on their faces as they celebrate. You see a piece has been cut out of the cake, revealing the color inside.

It’s pink. 

“You’ve been staring at your phone all day,” Sehun points out. 

You immediately drop the block of technology. Groaning, your head falls into your hands. It’s been nearly forty-eight hours since Jongdae’s baby shower ended, and you have yet to message Chanyeol. You’re overthinking, naturally. Even though Chanyeol made it obvious that he wanted to try again, there is that inkling of doubt that keeps you from initiating conversation. You regret asking for his number. You should have given him yours, put the pressure on him instead. He had the chance to text himself, but you were dismayed when you realized he hadn’t. He was again, putting the ball in your court, going at your speed. Now why would he do that when he knew you? You assume this is a test, and you’re failing miserably. 

“Stop torturing yourself and text him already.”

You shift some fingers enough to glare at your best friend that sits  across from you on your pale wooden table. He blinks at you, the poster child of unbothered.

Sighing, you straighten in your seat. “I’m spending time with you right now. Everything else can come later.”

“Uh-huh. Lucky for you, I’m used to you using me as an excuse.”

You gasp dramatically. “I’ve done no such thing!”

He grins and reaches over to hold your hand. Sehun and Kyungsoo are leaving in a couple hours. You’re waiting for the other pair. Seulgi’s helping Kyungsoo get his stuff together, but they disappeared a while ago.

“I told you it was going to work out,” Sehun murmurs.

You smile sweetly. “I’m not going to say you were right, just so you know.”

He pouts at that. “Either way, I know you believe it. Look, you’re back with Chanyeol. Isn’t that crazy?”

“So crazy.” You shake your head. “I feel like I’m dreaming.”

“Then don’t sabotage yourself again,” he says in that casual way he does. “Text him. Call him. Either way, talk to him. Let him know how much you want this. You have to if you want it to work this time. Communication and all that.”

You swallow thickly, fear coating your throat. “Right. Communication.”

Sehun stands and walks around the table to drag you to your feet. He pulls you into a hug, kissing the crown of your head. “You got this. Next time I see you, you’re going to be hand-in-hand with Chanyeol.”

You return his hug tightly, missing him already. 

“Now,” he starts. “let's check on those two. We have to leave soon.”

He drags you to Seulgi’s door, opening it without knocking and you deeply regret it when you notice the pair in various states of undress, hungrily making out.

“Oh!” You’re not sure who said it. Maybe you, maybe Seulgi. But the new couple scramble to make it look like they weren’t just eating each other’s faces.

Sehun guffaws and you cover your fallen jaw.

“Kyungsoo!” Sehun calls between chortles. “I didn’t know you had it in you, man!”

“Fuck off,” Kyungsoo bites, face the color of a tomato as he looks anywhere but where a human stands.

“We have to leave in ten,” you say slowly, fighting a smile as you watch Seulgi attempt to pack, back facing you.

“We’ll be out there,” Kyungsoo confirms.

“Will you?” Sehun goads. “Or are you just going to finish what you started the minute we walk away?”

“Ten minutes, got it!” Seulgi shoves you both out of her room, slamming the door in your face. 

Sehun and you lock eyes and then burst out laughing.

“I told you!” You said when you catch your breath.

“Now you really have to text Chanyeol,” he says. “You’ll need a new roommate soon.”

An hour later, you’re alone in your room, once again staring at your phone. At the contact that merely says ‘Park Chanyeol’.

You remember the last moment you had with him. When the baby shower was settling and people were starting to leave. All of you were huddled together and Jongdae and Eunhee made you all take some photos, claiming how this was the first time in years that everyone actually was present like this. 

You remember how you all huddled together, how Kyungsoo tried to slink away, but Sehun grabbed his collar, holding him hostage next to Jongin who started chatting his ear off as though he’s known him for years. Minseok was also there, having what appeared to be a very serious conversation with Baekhyun.

You felt a body press against your back, and glanced behind you  to see Chanyeol shyly looking down at you.

“Is this okay?” he asked, voice gentle, fragile.

You nodded, voice caught in your throat. The photographer set her camera up, and someone in the back of the group stumbled, causing a bunch of you to lurch forward. Chanyeol steadied you with a hand on your hip, and kept it there once you were stable again. You made no move to remove it, and your silent approval had him relaxing against you. You held your breath, heart racing as you posed for the photos. The happiness you felt in the moment you were sure was perfectly captured. 

Of course, the others noticed, but surprisingly didn’t mention anything. Only giving you both approving or knowing looks.

You swear you can still feel his body against yours, his large hand holding you close. He wants this, you remind yourself. He never stopped loving you, so stop being a little bitch and text him! Go get your man!!!

Encouraged, you don’t think and send a message. it’s a simple ‘hey, it’s me’, but you might as well have thrown your heart at him.

You stare at the bright screen. Watch as those cursed bubbles start bouncing as Chanyeol types a response to your message. Then go away. Then come back. Then disappear. Then–

Chanyeol: Took you long enough, Mel

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taglist @blue-rainydays, @julciaqwerty, @ohsehunsgurl, @byunparklimchoi, @kawaii--mommy, @notyuji, @hisungovenaocare, @theawesomehero7714, @emikowrites, @carefully325 @livebylivsstuff

[otterronpas]

Seeing this made me feel so much dread, this game makes me so ill /pos

[kalims]

he's a ten but he...

premise. sometimes certain bad habits of theirs make their overall rating just a tad bit lower—besides the fact that they keep doing it.

characters. dorm leaders

content. gender neutral reader

malleus (doesn't have a sense of space)

"look beastie, that flower is a native of ours,"

"I agree mal, but I didn't think you taking up the entirety of my seat will make me see it better,"

he blinks, then shrugs.

like i said, has NO sense of space.

if an average person would make an excuse to constantly be in physical contact with who they admire, then malleus is the complete opposite. well, not entirely but he doesn't even bother to construct an explanation as to why he's literally sat over your seat when you coincidentally get put in a table together.

if you start questioning him about it the most you'll get in a very outright 'because he wanted to.' it's not even one of those sarcastic replies he's 100% serious!

cause he believes there's no use in lying about things to be honest.. to further emphasize that, if he ever acts like he does hold fondness for you that surpasses the platonic meter but doesn't mention it he probably hasn't realized yet.

if he did he'd already walk over and bluntly tell you about it.

(I wish I could be that unbothered.)

lilia thinks it's the cutest thing though. you swear you see flashes of light for a split second from the ceiling but when you look up there's only a suspicious swinging chandelier.

^ totally has his own album full of pictures.

if malleus ever discovers it he won't even be disturbed, probably would ask for a copy 💯

since human lives, and their bodies are so fragile he'd taken it upon himself to protect you from harm. even if it means trailing behind you everywhere way too close for comfort, or standing a bees wing away.

while he is respectful most of the time, he's encouraged if you don't comment. if anything, he seems pleased you dont seem to be bothered! (and it'll get harder to tell him to stop when he's so happy the more you let it happen..)

"child of man, have you slept?"

*starts leaning his body forward, to squint at your eyes.* practically right in front of your face.

"WTF."

not even a warning or anything! but atleast he's concerned?

idia (won't even show up for anything and insists a 'virtual' date is better.')

user: where tf r u??

ghoul666: WDYM? at the dorm?

user: IVE BEEN WAITING HERE FOR 20 MINUTES

unintentionally stood you up 💀

you literally have to tell him that you're waiting for him to arrive at the specified area you discussed where your date would take place but would end up vastly irritated when he questions if you guys even did.

ghoul666: we do??

user: I'm taking my minecraft bed away from urs.

ghoul666: NO PLS

ghoul666: HELLO????

next time you log in minecraft it's probably because he begged you to play, you WILL end up seeing some kind of structure that probably took days to make. that's not even the entire thing cause the inside is entirely decorated to your taste.

in short: he constructed some kind of venue for a wedding.. even changed his skin to wear a tuxedo 😭

though he has sparked your pettiness, hence the ignoring him period. even you have got to admit that it's freaking adorable...

big sign, emphasis on please: Im sorry pls put ur minecraft bed back I can't sleep w/o u and I have to wait entire days for it to turn into morning :(

with what he's built you're sure it's 65% true.

if you do end up forgiving him, few weeks later attempting to schedule another date will only end up in naught.

ghoul666: can we not go there

user: 😐

user: you are testing my patience love

ghoul666: 😓 (he is screeching about the term of endearment part btw KABSJAJSAJA ortho would enter his room very concerned.)

ghoul666: how abt

ghoul666: mimic together? call

user: sighs

user: I'm only agreeing cause I want to spend time with you

queue more screeching from his end that you're completely oblivious to.

the only screeching you're gonna hear though is when you guys do get into call as you play, and it's mainly out of terror when his soul gets sent to the void ascending when the entity pops out of a corner and starts chasing him.

"I GOT THIS. ILL CARRY U THIS IS FINE" *screams again* but really wants to impress you so he pushes through.

unsurprisingly does carry you.

asks to match avatars right after (idia love languange)

vil (frets over you way too much.)

"vil, did you see the chocolate in the freezer?"

"oh, that? I noticed that you've already gone through the ideal number of bars this week so I took it upon myself to make sure you don't go sick on me,"

"I love you but please give it back—"

"I love you too, and no."

disclaimer: he does this for your own good 😜 (average mom excuse.)

looks out for you more than he does for his own dorm residents. everyone is wondering where he ran off to after class, especially since he's the one that scheduled the pomefiore meeting every fridays!

and to think he was the one getting irritated over the more newer first years for being late..

*shows up literally half an hour in*

why you ask? you simply shouldn't have texted him about abandoning your daily walk together through the gardens in favor of catching sleep since you called in sick (you're suspicious if crewel really did go in to check for proof, and not concern.)

vil's really feeling the absolute regret of not checking his phone during classes.. well, he only saw the message which was coincidentally sent like somehow ONE minute after the lecture started and he's only seeing it 59 minutes later.

oh you poor thing!! though the lunch break is short, he has about 5 minutes for a trip to the mirror chamber..

you'd think the 'seen' icon below your message was a weird omen for something you're not sure but it must be doom cause vil is right at the front porch of your crappy dorm. at his own expense?! looking more disheveled than you've seen him before.

if a few stray hairs was disheveled at all. more importantly, he still looked drop dead gorgeous!

you probably looked quite terrible with the blanket draped around your shoulders looking like you just crawled out of your grave, because he looked absolutely mortified at your state.

"oh great sevens.." he looked like he was faint, huffing and fanning himself with his hand. "look at you, why didn't you tell me sooner, darling?"

you blink, swallowing to make your throat less dry but your voice still comes out raspy. "I did, like an hour ago—" without your invitation whatsoever, he steps in. promptly shutting the door behind him (which surprisingly still stands sturdy.)

vil takes a hold of your shoulders before reaching his hands upwards to tilt your face around. "you should have sent earlier," he says. you keep in the comment that you were sleeping during it, and you told him about it during second period so.. "your face is so pale."

you sigh.

"yeah, I just saw. I know, I look hideous right now."

vil frowns at you, stopping to angle your face at him. "don't ever say that. I always find you beautiful even if you are.." he glances at you from face to toe, then back up. "sickly."

"... I feel offended."

"hmph, shush now. let me draw you a bath then I know something that will boost your system."

after much coaxing in his end, you reluctantly take a warm bath in the hopefully hygienic bathroom. true to his word, vil did... concoct something. though it looked pretty the random steam that flew from it was really suspicious.

the residents don't dare to question, except rook of course. who already knew what transpired! :)

epel: 😃 (atleast vil wasn't around.)

"roi du poison~ tell me, tell me! is the trickster well? have you cured them with your love?"

"rook, you have 5 seconds to get out of my face."

rook giggles away.

kalim (thinks money will buy anything, including your forgiveness.)

"here!" there's a suspiciously bright smile on his face as he hands you.. some keys?

you deadpan, jingling it in your hands. it weighs heavy than the average, probably because of the fact that it's literally made of gold. "... kalim what is this?" you emit a sigh, from suspicion and concern.

"a gift!"

"wait why does it say lot 111--"

as you can already, that was an actual, literal house. which you imagine would probably be a lots more grand, and new compared to your old baby ramshackle.

but you do love it despite it's love for falling apart at the most inconvenient of times..

fighting with kalim was rare but it was hard to even argue with him because the notion of disagreements are so bizarre to him that he unintentionally doesn't treat you seriously with your concerns, accidentally downplaying them aaaand now you're upset.

after the ranting to jamil about how you must be busy with a lot, since you haven't even talked to him in the past 2 days. all it took was a side glance to his friend in denial and jamil immediately knew.

"what do you mean they're mad!? D:"

"just.. go apologize, I don't want to get caught up in this."

if his definition of an apology is buying you an entire house...

( ^ it is btw.)

kalim really doesn't mean any harm. he just really wants to sate whatever anger you held for him <- maybe he's overthinking it but it's kalim so he's 99% sure it's his fault! even though it hasn't even been confirmed from your end he'd probably accept it whole heartedly.

he wanted you to talk to him again so badly that he wouldn’t mind showering you with houses... since your living situation doesn't live up to your kindness (sorry ramshackle love u xx)

you know what. he wouldn't even notice he's the reason you're upset at first even though he's been asking around on who put you in that mood. despite himself being the perpetrator but he didn't really know that did he?

the only reason he does is because he assumed you were just because you avoided him like some sort of.. cockroach! (he dislikes those.) and he couldn't take it anymore.

was probably 1 sec away from barging into your dorm which wouldn't take a lot of effort since one ram to the door would probably break it.

bless jamil for jailing all the carpets so kalim doesn't find them.

even if said carpets fling him off when he's riding them.

"kalim, why would you buy a literal house... and you also got a rare address paid--"

"for them! ;D"

"... you do know they'd be more offended by the fact that you'd try to replace that.., ahem. dorm, right?"

"oh... should I buy them a vehicle then?"

you only promise to forgive him once he takes back the keys, and the house entirely...

(grim begged you to keep it, 'house for him apparently.')

azul (keeps trying to offer you discounts thinking it's a good excuse to have you over.)

"I assure you. you'll find no deal better than this."

"I'm not even that hungry for sea food, actually I'm craving some--"

"you're in luck then! ahem, it's 26% off due to a special event for today."

pro tip: keep insisting to eat at other places cause he's gonna keep increasing the discount by 2% until you eventually relent. once, you made him go to the point of 75% off, it's almost hilarious if not for the fact it only worked once.

now he won't go last 50!

ahem. if you look closely you can almost spot tiny cracks accumulating with each denial you respond with, and each increase of his discount. he's grown to be wary about the bullshit 'lucky' promos you just happen to stumble on.

last time you did he practically lost a week's worth of the presumed income he's predicted cause you actually went around and told your first year friends about it... who.. in turn told some, other friends of theirs about it and you could guess.

love must hurt.. and unfortunately it's his wallet wailing.

but azul is not so easily swayed by this! for you have swayed him first! *wink wonk*

but azul has another trick up his sleeve... keeping on roping jade and floyd into it; whom are far too enthusiastic cause finally— something fun to do! someone to bother! not only have you got the most stubborn octopus having frequent suspicious 'deals' but here are his equally suspicious lackeys.

who keeps.. talking about fried octopus..

yeah, you're not sure if preaching about azul’s species is the job they were assigned.

they're fairly easy to point in the right direction anyways. the tweels have always associated you with the word 'fun' so just a little, friendly suggestion from and they were off to their merry way. mortifying every single person you come across with their sudden attachment.

one of their tricks? following you around. and just somehow, every single place you enter is just mysteriously full even though you peered inside and there was like 7 tables empty. what are they hosting? ghosts? spirits?

...

they do look like they've seen some though..

jade rn: "a shame indeed, you must be hungry. why don't we escort you back to monstro lounge?" :)

long story short you can't even reply cause the sleek eel is already guiding you around by the use of his hands on your shoulders. just to make sure you don't stray away from the destination, he says.

"didn't you say that yesterday's promo was like, a one day thing?" you quirk a brow, and you almost fool yourself into thinking he flinched.

azul clears his throat. "well—today is.. the month before you've graced octavinelle with your assistance—"

he praises himself for his quick thinking.

COME ON! it doesn't matter if you're sick of eating stir fried shrimp, or the butter one, or every single dish they serve that includes shrimp! (also do not mention that you ate somewhere else before you just decide to visit his dorm because that establishment just mysteriously got filed a non-legal business report.)

then you've got floyd chasing you around with a fork. which is more terrifying because he's holding it in a notion that would seem like he'd just stab down at you when he catches up with your little goose chase.

it's just.. you're not sure if your stomach could take another bite of the poor food he stabbed into, and is now chasing you around with.

you screech. "JADE PLEASE."

the man shrugs. "it's a free taste."

"AZUL."

"... only on a condition of course."

frankly. it took all the balls he had to actually sputter out the most simplest sentence ever, cause during the time he rehearsed that in front of his mirror it just plagued him with embarrassment but he's getting desperate.

'I'd like to take you out to dinner, somewhere else of course.'

actually, maybe obliterating any possible craving for the food of his lounge just might've been part of his plans to ask you out..?

leona (prevents you from actually being productive via dragging you down to 'nap' every. single. time.)

"I will literally fail if you don't let go of me right now."

"hmph. so what? it's not like failing a grade killed anyone."

"leona just because you've lived through a lot of fails doesn't mean I have to, we're not all rich enough to not finish school."

to which he'd retaliate that all you'd need is to marry him and you'd be set for life.

there is no winning an argument with leona when it comes to his naps. if he states that you're to be next to him as he sleeps, its final. no buts, no retaliations, cause apparently they're all invalid according to him even if you drag him to court.

rhetorically of course, that if its a comical court scene his only statements are; 'well you're wrong', 'who cares', and 'i dont care'. one way or another he's still gonna win you over and now you're fit snugly in his arms, lamenting.

and if crowley chastises you for not doing the errands (via leona's common interference.) the only thing you need to honestly do is to complain to leona about it and suddenly crowley has the kindness to forgive you for your 'laziness' then says something about enjoying your time together?

leona's work no doubt.

you suppose he does has its perks. even if most of it isn't exactly ideal.

if you're being smart then you should give him an ultimatum or something, or bribe him. but... that really has no guarantee to work either cause you're ending up defeated, or just defeated and flustered since he's somehow unconsciously flirty.

at the end of the day you can't really hate him cause the following day you find out he sent an already sleep deprived ruggie to do your work. 'so you can shut your fussing up and let me enjoy you.' he says, and you quote.

it goes something like;

"if i finish my work i'll stick by you all day."

a stready flow of confidence keeps your voice firm as you glower down at the blank-faced leona sat on the grass. he merely tilts his head, raising a brow at you and seemingly pondering from the way his eyes fly to the sky.

you'd think that maybe your plan actually worked but he merely grunts and flops backwards, holding the back of his head with his palms as he laid. and! he ignores you.

...this little greedy man... "why should i care whether or not you finish your work?" he huffs, like the evil, arrogant spawn he is but you can't really defend yourself cause said evil spawn bewitched you so much that you actually still like him.

"because you care about me?"

"...fine," he scowls, releasing a breath you'd mistake for irritation. "then, do you really think i need you to finish your work when i can just keep you right here?"

you sulk. "i'll do anything you want?"

he deadpans as if you said something stupid. "i don't need you to anything else but sit still and be pretty."

...

...

see what i mean about him eventually winning you over? yeah.

next morning there's a rebellion in savanaclaw about overworked residents and ruggie is the head of them.

"he said that he doesn't need you today." <- ruggie, steering you away.

"really?" <- you, confused

riddle (overthinks TOO HARD.)

“I'm just a little busy.”

“I understand,” riddle says.

“I'm just a little busy.” he understands.

“a little busy.” its just… a small thought…

“I'm just busy.” his mind is a hazard at this point. 

for someone as supposedly maintained as riddle—you'd think his mind is as composed as it is organized. like the pens you'd perfectly align in correlation to order of colors, or the neat pile of clothing folded neatly, tucked in some corner in your closet that is farther in since it's used less.

that's just how he is, or at least seems to be. a bundle of organized thoughts, every thought connected to another. a mind too clean to be going on haywire (when he isn't in a particular mood, that is.)

you're just busy. he thinks. you said it yourself, with that agonizingly nice smile that must be sprinkled with some kind of spell from the way it just eradicated all the protests in his throat upon sight. he isn't one to question it, he wants to help but not if you don't ask.

he can only stare with resigned acceptance at your insomnia induced eyes.

but when the curtain of darkness befalls night raven college, even in the comfort of heartslabyul is he still thinking about that thought–and he can’t help but wonder; why exactly are you busy? its not that he’s suddenly hyper aware of your lack of presence since you’ve been attached to the hip the previous week and now you’re just.

…busy…

riddle likes to think of himself as a level-headed, private person. like the boy he raised himself to be and therefore proud of. but its way past 10AM. which is usually the time he sleeps, and let me tell you that he’s never once broke the cycle for years. yet here he is, a frown of frustration present on his face as he wills his mind to sleep.

somehow closing his eyes felt forced, he immediately snapped them open once his mind decides to conjure an image of you even in the darkness his lids offers.

“THIS IS ABSURD.”

and the yell promptly woke up the entire dorm from the ferocity of his scream. (and of course gave them the flashback of their year.)

that night was one of the worst he’s ever had because he woke up with red rimmed eyes and a pounding headache that ensured his bad mood the rest of the day.

everyone noted to steer clear.

and he unknowingly steered clear of yours since you were ‘busy.’

“why are you sulking?” a voice queried, spoken as though they were eating something as they asked. a reprimand rises in his throat, but it all just dies down once his sharp eyes settle on you, slipping into the seat in front of him then raising a brow and the traces of irritation practically evaporates from his eyes.

he feels the need to cough–so he does. “i’m– i’m not.” he clears his throat, avoiding your eyes but still sneaking in glances, something he notes is that you’re still looking everytime he does. (and boring an unimpressed face because he knows you don’t believe him at all.)

guilt rises in his mind, because he feels a slither of annoyance and its the presence of pettiness that bothers him. riddle knows you’re not at fault, just his mind at convincing that you just somehow decided in the span of a day that you might not like him anymore–so he can’t help the bite. 

“why are you here?” a glance not intended to look mean.

“i thought you were busy.” he adds.

your brows raise, he spots your teeth holding your lips back from showing your grin and he feels warm. “what?” he hisses defensively, despite you not even having replied to him yet.

he leans backwards, straightening up in his seat when your chin leans forward, resting on your intertwined fingers. you flash him a smile. 

“mr. rosehearts, are you perhaps… sulking because i’m busy?”

“no!”

silence.

“no.” he repeats, weaker.

“well,” you continue, beaming. “i heard from ace that you were awake the entire night, and that you kept him awake too. are you alright?” 

he sputters. “it wasn’t because of you!”

you snort. “i didn’t even say anything about me.”

so you incline to following riddle around, poking fun at him and still trailing after the seemingly enraged red head because despite his angry protests, demanding you to go away because you’re annoying he keeps glancing back to see if you’ll follow,

so cute…….

[andersonsgirl]

THE MAID AFFAIR.

ellie williams x afab!reader

.ᐟ i don’t condone cheating, this is just a fic. don’t do it. 😁😁

— boss!ellie who couldn’t stand her wife’s demands and non stop bickering over how messy the pantry was left unorganized. that’s when she thought it’d be a perfect idea to hire a maid, and oh how much more of a mess it would leave for her.

— boss!ellie thanked you in every way she could for managing a clean, more organized house with your help.

— boss!ellie who couldn’t stop but overhear how awful her wife was treating you behind closed doors. so she would always check up on you and give you a day off the next day.

— boss!ellie who’d never skip a day without a morning greeting. her wife would give ellie a strong eyeroll telling her to stop the friendliness, but she didn’t know how “friendly” the two of you actually were.

you remembered when the affair started. from short glances across the room to making out in their guest bedroom you were staying at while ellie’s wife was sound asleep.

“this is.. not good.. i don’t know..,” you say in between kisses but you both were too far gone, “we need to stop miss-“

“miss?” she chuckles, “so formal of you when you’re already crossing so many boundaries.”

— boss!ellie who was such a pervert around you. peaking at how you were bent over scrubbing the already pearly white tiles, seeing how your uniform raised a bit as you reach for the dining plates, and watching you change in the guest bathroom when you spilled juice on yourself.

“you need any help there?” ellie’s voice creeps up behind you as you unbuttoned the wet sheer uniform sticking on to you skin. ellie’s eyes landing on your nipples just poking through the thin fabric.

— boss!ellie hides her tips in a fun way. like sticking a $50 bill behind your bedroom door, sneaking them in your pockets, or pulling them out of your ear like some magician.

— boss!ellie never declines anytime you need a stress reliever. she would be lying if she didn’t like the adrenaline of getting caught.

“keep quiet understand?” ellie’s slender fingers curling inside of your clit, “and say my fuckin’ name this time.”

“yes.. ellie please..” you pleaded.

“fuck, you always listen so well.”

— boss!ellie would be the one asking for your opinions on home decor rather than her own wife.

“duke blue or yale blue?” the girl holds up the sample cards through facetime while you’re too busy making the bed.

“miss, i thought i was in trouble or something!”

“c’mon princess, pick. i trust you with these things.”

— boss!ellie who couldn’t stop thinking about you even when you’re not at the comfort of her own home. she missed you so much, she wanted to make sure you were alright by sending you a bouquet of multicolored tulips signed by her name.

“this house feels empty without you. call me tonight and i will arrange something for us privately. p.s my wife’s an narcissistic idiot, don’t take it to heart. love, ellie”

— boss!ellie who later that night was thrilled to receive a call from you. the girl booked out a candle lit dinner at one of her favorite restaurants. considering this was your first time alone with your boss while her wife is out of town.

“i’m sure you have taken your wife here before,” you adjusted yourself uncomfortably in your seat.

“actually i came here since i was a kid.. i always loved the view from here and now i’m sharing it with you.”

her words were so sweet yet so wrong. you didn’t want to be a homewrecker.

— boss!ellie placing soft kisses on your neck, ready to have you all to herself alone once the night ended. you took her back to your small apartment, alot different than ellie’s penthouse. but she didn’t mind it at all. she loved how simple and unique your taste in home decor, hating the fact that nothing in her own home reminded her of you.

— boss!ellie gifting your own customized maid uniform with your name embroidered.

— boss!ellie practically giving you a week off but still paying you. she was just grateful to finally spend time with you.

that whole week felt so surreal as if you two were the ones married, unable to realize how incautious the whole situation became one her wife was back.

“why the hell are you sending that servant flowers?” her wife turns the laptop, showing ellie’s emails and credit card statements.

ellie fucked up and she knew it.

“she deserves it after all the shit you’ve put her through,” ellie argued, “i’d rather be with someone who doesn’t treat people like garbage and act like they are so above and beyond than others.”

— boss!ellie fell more deeply in love with you as the time passed. after that argument, her wife decided to fire you and sent ten grand for cutting contact from them. you had no choice anyway. unfortunately for ellie, being stuck with the person she truly didn’t love was her karma for all of this.

you remembered when the affair ended, hoping to cross paths with ellie again..

[niccolites]

sentinel species - i. canary

victorian, zombie apocalypse au, kyle garrick x fem!reader. read on ao3 here or masterlist here

You have a half-rotted candle, but you leave it in your bedroom so that you are unseen as you creep across the landing towards the stairs.

It is a week before the world ends; you sit on your parent’s stairs and listen to them reject your betrothal. 

This is your third courting season, which has had more success than the first two so far. A few gentlemen have shown interest in you, and your mother has had her hands full managing expectations and courtships on your behalf.

One man shines far above the rest, a distant relative of the Duke, Mr Evans. Distant enough that you don’t think anyone else is aware of the relation, but your mother reminds you every tea time, as if to keep you aware of the benefits that lie down the road of this specific courtship.

This is not the man being discussed in the drawing room of your home, for once.

You recognise the voice in your living room, as he asks to formally court you, as he has every intention to be your husband.

Mr Kyle Garrick is the very picture of a gentleman. Kind and attentive, you remember when he had taken notice of you on your first courting season. Your mother had tried to catch the attention of some of the men, to get them to sign their name on your dance card, but there had been no biters. Left alone for a moment, the picture of pathetic, and Mr Garrick had been there. He led you in a waltz and complimented your dress, your hair, how sweetly you spoke. You had nervously pulled most of your hair out of its updo, but it felt rude to contradict his compliments.

He had been enlisted, you remember, and you hadn’t seen him since that first courting season. You did see his older sister sometimes. You remember asking about him a few times, feeling some kind of obligation towards the man who had been kind to you when he didn’t have to be.

And here he is, back in your living room, speaking with your parents about your nuptials.

You listen to him, outlining his intentions for you. He has saved up his money from his service, and he is prepared to buy a home for the two of you, and start a life together.

You cannot comprehend it, certain that he must have mistaken you for someone else. He must think that there is another girl up here. The hush of his voice, drifting up to meet you. You want to catch it in your palm, cradle it there like a newborn lamb.

He had been kind to you, but you didn’t know each other. Hadn’t seen each other in years at this point, not that you would know with how certain his voice sounds. Vowing to be a dutiful husband to you. Your name spilling out, thudding up the stairs to reach your ears. Any doubt has fled, but has left behind the certainty of insecurity in its wake.

You didn’t know when he had gotten back, some moonsick dream that he came straight here from the train. You shake it off, the thought just a little bit too fanciful.

You know that your mother is going to decline, moments before she starts to. You hear her excuse this given your attachment to the Duke’s cousin - your attachment being that he is taking you for a walk tomorrow - but you know this isn’t the real reason. Mr Garrick may be a decorated officer, a kind enough man. But he barely has any standing in society. His father was a boxer, and you know that his entire family fit into a small house despite the fact that they are not a small family.

Your mother has high sights set for you, and you do not think she has any intention of lowering them. Even if that requires not consulting you in the matter of your future and who you will be spending it with. Your father had passed a few years ago now, and you knew that your mother needed to match you with someone that could sustain the two of you. Your home wasn’t your own, legally owned by some cousin of your father’s, who hadn’t taken an interest, yet.

You shift on the stairs, bare feet on wood, as you listen to the beginning of a protest from Mr Garrick before he swallows it down and thanks your mother for her time.

It’s dark upstairs, you have only found your way to the steps with familiarity. You can see the door of the drawing room open further as Mr Garrick picks up his hat and makes to leave. At the front door, he turns his head, and you swear he can see you. He can’t, you know he can’t, it’s pitch black up here. Your candle is abandoned on your dresser, the white of your nightgown is drowned in the darkness of the landing.

He hesitates for a moment, gaze darting all around you as if to find you before he exhales and turns to leave.

A week later, you can see Mr Garrick on the opposite wall to you, and you think about the defeated slump of his shoulders that night. You think you may be flattering yourself, but you think it’s still there, hidden under the shoulder of his coat. It’s likely improper for him to initiate conversation with you, beyond the level of politeness if you were to bump into each other.

Your fingers twitch underneath your gloves, feel the stitching of the seam scratch against your skin. Mr Evans is somewhere around here, and you know that you will have to put a face on, spin around for a few dances with him. Ask him about his travels around Europe, even though you surely have heard all of the stories already.

For now, you are happy to lean against the far wall and flutter your fan as if to sweep everyone else away. Your mother is speaking with a few of the other mothers, so you only have a few moments to slouch before you are caught and reprimanded.

The band starts playing, and there is a spin of skirts as the first dance starts up. You’ll likely get in trouble for dodging Mr Evans, given he had you booked for the first dance. However, you could always plead that you had attempted to find him, and the two of you had always just missed each other.

You suppose there is nothing terrible about Mr Evans, he is a perfectly polite, even kind man. He is just not interesting, and your mother had to ask most of the questions once when he had come over for tea. Something that had gotten you into trouble later that night.

You can see the mop of blonde hair that could be Mr Evans and you stand up straight, starting an idle, if quick, stroll around the opposite side of the room. There’s a door to the patio off to the side, and you duck through the door and inhale a lungful of fresh air.

It’s quiet out here, the music following you out but it’s caught in the open space, drifting up into the sky, insignificant. It’s the late evening, and the sky burns red, the sun catching on the edge of the landscape, flaming the distant fields.

This is the Oakwood estate, and they usually host the best parties of the season. A large mansion, white and pristine, surrounded by flattened grass. Perfect for playing cricket on, if one wishes. And they often did.

You smooth your hand over the wood of the railing, white paint giving the effect of marble. On the underside, you chip away at it to expose the brown wood. Out of sight, a pathetic rebellion but you take what you can get.

You know that in a few minutes you will have to return to the dance, find Mr Evans and do your usual verbal dance. Apologise for missing him, let him take him for a dance. Perhaps ask him his day was, if he lets you get a word in. You know that this is your lot in life, the idea of truly rebelling and shaming your parents is enough to curtail you, just before you can get too many ideas.

Not that it doesn’t leave you bitter, but you’ve gotten used to chewing on your words. There is a sickly feeling at the back of your throat, and it has just gotten more poisonous over the years. You’re too young to be so bitter, so you resolve to give yourself another minute of fresh air before you return to reality.

At the forest line, you can see a man in a suit shifting, and you squint, trying to make out the shape of him. A dot, with arms and legs, sprinting from what must be a mile away. You stare, unsure of what you are seeing. Inappropriate, you think, to approach this party on foot rather than via carriage, but you couldn’t see who it was to surely throw any judgement.

A call of your name behind you has you spinning around. Mr Garrick stands in the doorway, slowly shutting the door behind him as he takes you in. “Hello,” he greets, bowing his head to you slightly.

“Mr Garrick,” you start, giving an aborted attempt at a curtsy. You falter, unsure as to whether to bring up the proposal that you saw the previous night. You decide not to, settling on something more polite. “How are you?”

Mr Garrick smiles at you, impossibly handsome. You are struck for a moment, about someone so beautiful, wondering for a moment if you have imagined the entire scene from the prior night had even happened at all. “I am well, thank you,” he replies, clasping his hands behind his back. He’s broad in the shoulders, a faint strain in the fabric of his coat that draws your eye for a moment. “Just wondering why you were out here instead of inside.”

You shuffle, unladylike, for a moment. You turn back to the railing, facing the open field again. Easier, you think, to speak directly to the sun if faced a little away from it. “I just needed a moment, it’s a little close in there.” You hadn’t spoken much, before he left, but at the burr of his voice, you slip into memory. Pulled forward before you stop yourself, remembering how easily he pulls conversation from you, a loose string that unravels.

He hums, steps to the railing himself. There is a gap of space between you, the amount that is appropriate, but you still glance behind you uneasily. He had left the door open behind him, the door slanted at an angle so the sounds inside are slightly muffled, but still present. It cuts through the space between you, the constant reminder of the rules of your lives behind you. “I understand the feeling, myself,” Mr Garrick confesses, forearms braced on the railing. His head is tilted towards you, eyes dark and pretty.

“Yes?” you ask, blinking at him in surprise. You hadn’t seen Mr Garrick at many dances like this, granted given he had been so recently away, but for a man whose back was so unbent, you didn’t imagine he was someone to be intimidated in a crowd.

Mr Garrick hums again, giving you a small smile. It’s affectionate, in a way that has you flushing. “Indeed. It’s strange, in France, my garrison had 3-score more men than there are in that ballroom, and yet it felt easier to move through.” He gives you a self-deprecating smile. “I must sound very silly.”

“Not at all,” you rush to say, rocking forward before reeling yourself back in. He watches you for a moment, an amused uptick on the corner of his mouth. Your fingers flex beneath the cotton of your gloves. Count the stitches that rub against your skin. “It’s nice to find companionship in an isolating feeling,” you add, shy at how forward your words sound.

He doesn’t move for a moment, eyes darting around your face. Your name comes out of his mouth, soft, like it’s still sitting on his tongue. You turn towards the field again, see the figure of that man in the distance. He’s closer now, more than a dot now, the faint image of a person.

“I should find my mother,” you say, wanting to hunch in yourself, but forcing yourself to turn back to the doors. Light filters out, caught in the dark of outside and disappearing, swallowed up.

Mr Garrick takes a step closer to you and you inhale, feel the catch of it on your ribcage. You forget how much taller he is than you, until he is this close. The light from inside catches on one side of his face, relieving it into clarity. There is the faintest scar in his eyebrow, a slight blemish in his otherwise perfect face. His hand, bare, slides across the railing, thumb where you think you have picked at the paint.

“Mr Garrick,” you start, eyes caught on his hand, before darting back to his face. 

“I believe I asked you to call me Kyle, once,” he says, giving you an amused smile.

You don’t frown but it’s a close thing. “I don’t think that would be - appropriate,” you manage. The same response you had given him back then as well, you think.

He frowns instead, and you feel guilt curdle like lukewarm tea in your belly. You shuffle, taking note of how he leans back. You want him back in your space, want the heat of his attention.

“I’m sorry,” you add, desperate for him to not look sad again. You think about his face, searching in the dark of your stairway. It’s impossible to reconcile that he had proposed to spend his life with you. And you cannot even extend the kindness of his name towards him. “Kyle,” you add, before you can stop yourself.

His head turns back to your, full lips tilting in a soft smile. Your name exhales again, catches in the air around you and warms you. His hand flexes and he reaches up, a flicker of uncertainty on his face that lingers for a moment before it dissipates. His hand drops. You imagine how it would have felt against your skin. You’re certain that he boxes just like his father, you wonder if his hand would be calloused against your skin, or if it would be soft and deliberate.

Another voice calls out your name, and it ruptures through the slight breeze around you. Once again, you are reminded of the propriety of your situation, and you take a step back, even though you hadn’t been doing anything wrong. You recognise the voice, the uptilt at the end. Mr Evans, and you didn’t want to find out if he reported to your mother that he couldn’t find you.

“I should go,” you murmur, shuffling uncertainly for a moment before you turn around. Mr Garrick doesn’t try to stop you, which makes you feel rotten.

You turn your head just before you step back inside. A painting in candlelight that throws Mr Garrick’s face into real life, like he has stepped out of a painting. The furrow of his brow and the slightest downturn of his full mouth. The stranger out in the field, closer now, the swing of his arm as he runs. You bow your head and turn around.

-

Mr Evans is the dullest man that you have ever met. You try not to think too uncharitably about him, but as he spins you around again and reminisces about another business man who owes him some money, you wonder if it would be better if you were to fall and hit your head. Or maybe if he did. Nothing too serious, but enough blood to scare off any further attempt at conversation.

He isn’t terrible to look at, a strong jawline, his smooth blonde hair. Charming enough that your mother coos at everything he says. It didn’t have the same effect on you, unfortunately.

“Your mother is a very handsome lady,” Mr Evans informs you, something that has you blinking to focus. Your palm pressed against his as you step away and then step back into him. “She has graciously invited me over for afternoon tea with yourselves tomorrow.”

You give him a stiff smile. You had been there when it had been arranged. “Yes, our cook makes the best pastries, and my mother does enjoy letting people experience them.”

“I look forward to it,” Mr Evans tells you. You smile again and let him turn you.

The smooth slide of the violin soothes through the hall, catching on the floor and bouncing back up. You let it wash over you, until individual voices quieten, smoothing together into a mistakable blur that you cannot distinguish.

It is hot in here, a heat that catches in your throat, crawls like a bug over your skin. You imagine walking back out to the veranda, wondering if Mr Garrick is still out there. It’s cool out there, you are parched for the bite of wind in your lungs.

You decide to give yourself one more dance, and then you will go out there again. A reward, for doing your duty.

The bow of the violin screeches, a horrid twang that has you flinching, the entire room stuttering. There is a crash outside, something wooden snapping.

You turn, stumbling in your slippers as everyone looks towards the balcony. You cannot see at first, trying to peek over everyone’s shoulders. Pushing yourself onto your toes, very unladylike, before there is another smash and then someone is shrieking.

What once was a still crowd that you were a part of seems to turn on you, a tidal wave that breathes in before it suffocates you. Everyone scrambles, and you get shoved back, momentarily affronted before the screaming gets worse, more and more voices joining the chorus.

Your foot gets trampled on and you whimper, shoved back until your back hits a wall. Pulled along for a few moments, before the crowd starts to thin and you can see the moment of clarity by the large windows. 

There is a man on the floor, Mr Casings, you think. It is like your mind cannot make sense of the scene before you. There is another man, knelt over Mr Casings, and there is the red of his guts over the floor, red caught in the broken doorway. Thick and malleable looking, you watch as a stranger rifles through the torso of another man and guides his hands to his mouth.

There is a catch in your mind, the click of a door stuck in a jam. The moment before you saw this and now, your mind is syrupy slow, half still trying to remember your next dance move. You cannot make sense of what you are seeing, so you feel stuck in the run up to it, half parsing through recent memory to try and decipher it.

There is the rumble of a keening noise and it takes a tickle in your throat for you to realise that it is coming from you. You lift a hand to your mouth, try to suffocate it.

The creature kneeling over Mr Casings must hear you, its head yanks up in your direction. You think it may have once been a man, but anything human must be gone from it, leaving behind pallid skin, gore in its mouth as it makes a groaning, snapping noise at you.

Quicker than you think it should, it darts up and starts to charge at you, leaving you crying out as you start to sob, scrambling as you try to get away.

You think about lying on the ground like Mr Casings, the useless silk of your dress ripped open until the warmth kept within you went cold in the open air.

You hear the snap of teeth and you scream, an animal sound tearing out of your throat before there is a grunt and another thud.

You’ve hit the wall again, and you can’t stop yourself from looking. Whatever was charging at you is pinned to the ground, and you sob as you watch Mr Garrick grab the creature by its head and smash it into the floor.

You flinch with each thud, unable to look away. Watch as it continues to buck and twitch until it finally stills, blood on the floor where its head used to be. Where before you had felt slow, five steps behind what was happening before you, now you feel stuck, finally caught up. Door no longer caught on a jam, now thrown open, hinges loose and rattling.

You can’t look away from the image of Mr Garrick, sitting on the back of this man-shaped creature that now had a blood splatter for a brain.

Your name comes out hushed, barely able to comprehend that Mr Garrick is crouched in front of you. “Can you hear me?” he asks, and you blink at him, uncomprehending. “We have to go, alrigh’?”

You don’t move, eyes still stuck over his shoulders, the gush of blood. You can see it seeping in through the gaps of the floorboards. Mr Garrick’s head lowers before he murmurs that he’s got you, and then you feel yourself getting lifted up.

Slung over his shoulder, you have enough presence of mind to cling to his back before he takes off. Sound filters through the front of the hall, screaming and yelling. Mr Garrick darts off to the left, towards the balcony with Mr Casings.

Mr Garrick neatly steps over the carnage, shoes grinding in the broken glass. You whimper as you catch sight of his empty eyes staring upwards. Mr Garrick shushes you, smooths a hand over the back of your thigh even as he doesn’t falter.

Outside now, the cool air hits your face. The sun is still setting, the sky red and you squeeze your eyes shut at the colour. The death that you’ve seen in the hall is closed off, and if you don’t breathe in too deeply, then you won’t taste the bitter tang of blood, and maybe it’s all gone.

Mr Garrick curses sharply and you get pulled forward until you're on your feet, and tugged into his chest. He yanks you into the wall and steps in front of you, shushing you again before you can make a sound. Not that you were going to, shaking and clinging to the lapels of his jacket. You peek over the broad of his shoulder, and see why you have both stopped.

Gravel is getting kicked up from under the feet of guests as they run out from the estate. Others are running towards them, across the field and you choke on your breath when they collide. It must be more of those creatures, some type of sickness. You didn’t understand, they had the silhouette of men, but you hear the yowling when they brought a woman down and tore into her.

“Christ,” Mr Garrick mutters, cradling you in his front. “Shit, we need to get a horse.”

The stables were around the front, even though you are several feet away, you imagine you could smell the blood being spilled from here. You whimper again, shaking. “My mother,” you manage, unable to find the words for what you really want to say. My mother must be with that group of people, and we can hear them all dying. There aren't words designed to sit in the mouth like that.

Mr Garrick considers you, mouth pressed in a tight line. “Alright, wait here, do not come out unless I come back, ok?” You nod, but when he steps away, you find your hands still fisted in the lapels of his coat, like you cannot let go. He steps back, smooths his hand over your wrist, just beneath your glove. You jolt at the feeling of his bare skin, some old propriety from a lifetime ago are enough to startle you into relinquishing your grip. “I’ll be right back, keep hidden,” he tells you, pushing you further into the slight alcove.

And then he’s gone. You stare out across the grass. They play cricket out here in the summer. You remember, suddenly, the man running out in the field, wondering if that was the man that killed Mr Casings. His blood stains the edge of your dress, guilty. You want to cry, feel like a sick animal out in this open air.

Your father had a hunting dog once, and you remember how it had looked when he put it down. Mad, he’d called it, saliva foaming in its jowls. Wild eyes that had looked around, uncomprehending and yet piercing. You inhale, shaking, wonder if you look the same.

You refuse to make a sound though, lean against the brick behind you. Shake as you listen to screaming and growling that travel through the open field to reach you. You fist your hands in the skirts of your dress, try to breathe steadily. You don’t know what you will do if Mr Garrick doesn’t come back. You hope he comes back with a carriage, your mother inside to pull you inside. What you wouldn’t give to be scolded for crying and ruining the delicate rouge that she had spent precious time delicately smoothing on your cheeks.

Time is elongated and unbearable until it returns to you with a crack at the sound of a horse. You peek out, and you make out Mr Garrick astride what must be a horse detached from a carriage. No saddle, but reins around its face.

It’s only Mr Garrick who thuds down in front of you, who gathers you up and ushers you towards the horse. “My mother, where is -” you start, pliant beneath the ushering of Mr Garricks hands.

“I couldn’t see her, there’s a chance she got away, like we have to, right now,” he tells you, his voice strained as he steadies the horse, looking over your shoulder.

“I don’t -” you say, but Mr Garrick has had enough talking, and lifts you onto the horse, side straddle, before smoothly pulling himself up behind you.

He kicks the horse into motion, and you set off, quick enough that you still don’t understand.

You feel half your mind is still back on the balcony, trying to decide if you were going to go back inside. You look over Mr Garrick’s shoulder, and imagine you can see her, staring out at you. Seeing you but not understanding.

The band between the two of you pulls until it snaps. You jolt, a wounded noise high in your throat, but hidden in Mr Garrick’s broad chest.

Your father had shot your sick dog, barrel of the gun against the back of its head. Mr Garrick’s hand on the back of your skull, fingers in your hair, holding you steady. Right there, the press of his last finger on the give at the start of your neck. Saliva pools in your mouth, but you swallow it down and choke on it.

[effetsecndaires]

— 𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐲'𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞 (𝐡𝐜𝐬)

INCLUDES | toman members [mentioned: draken, hakkai, mitsuya, pah-chin, peh-yan, takemichi, kazutora, chifuyu, baji.], bonten members [mentioned: takeomi, koko, kakucho, sanzu, ran and rindou haitani]

NOTE | headcanons for toman are set in the final timeline! everyone is in their mid/late 20s, happy & alive :) | request

— TOMAN.

When Mikey shows up with a pregnant lady at his side, most of the gang is stunned into silence. Curious gazes are exchanged, then everyone start whispering among each other, trying to make sense of the situation.

At first, nobody really connects the dots. They all assume you must be a friend in need or someone Mikey found and decided to help. They imagine that Mikey took you under his wing and promised to keep you safe – which would explain why he brought you here. Typical Mikey.

Imagine the absolute whiplash when Mikey starts the meeting by introducing you as his wife.

For some of them (especially Draken), it's kind of a hard pill to swallow.

A wave of realization hits him hard and he suddenly feels like he never really knew Mikey after all. His best friend, whom he hangs out with pretty much every day and has been looking after his whole life, has been married this entire time? He can't help but wonder how he missed all the signs and feels a mixture of emotions as he tries to process those unexpected layers of Mikey's life that he never knew existed.

But once he starts to grasp the reasons why Mikey did it, he begins to feel better about it.

He knows that Mikey has always been a responsible and thoughtful young man. The fact that he kept his wife hidden from the gang because he knew your presence might've made you a target for rival gangs or enemies seeking to exploit the slightest vulnerability in his life only made Draken more admirative of Mikey.

Over time, everyone in Toman gets accustomed to the situation and they all grow closer to you, much to Mikey's delight.

Hakkai has yet to get used to seeing you around all the time, but he tries his best. He really likes you and tries not to freeze completely when you talk to him. It's not easy for him, but he does manage to get a few words out when you start a conversation. It's cute to see him make the effort and face his shyness just to be able talk to you.

Baji and Chifuyu are like your personal bodyguards. They treat you like a younger sibling, always looking out for you and stealing you from Mikey to hang out or help with shopping for the baby.

As for Mitsuya, he'll put all his energy into making his own unique pieces of clothing for the baby. Before your child is even born, he's is already envisioning the most adorable designs to keep the little one cozy and stylish at all times. He'll design all sort of cute outfits, knit baby blankets, baby booties, and maybe even craft some nursery decor, because why not.

Everyone quickly realizes that you are an essential pillar of support for Mikey and they, too, end up finding comfort in your presence.

In moments of stress and anxiety, you always know how to calm them down. A gentle touch on the shoulder or a quick pep talk is all it takes to ease the burden from their shoulders. It's as if you have this innate sense of knowing when people need support the most, and you're always there to lend a listening ear or a shoulder to lean on.

You've practically become Kazutora's best friend and confident, and he often seeks your advice on important decisions. Your bond with him runs deep, forged through shared experiences and the understanding that you have for each other. He knows that you genuinely care about his well-being and will always have his best interests at heart.

After the baby's arrival, Pah-Chin and Peh-Yan turn into the typical pair of bickering uncles, always competing to hold the baby first (because of course, everyone gets to hold your baby at least once a day).

One day, their playful argument escalates and their voices disturb the baby's peaceful sleep, leading to Mikey landing a friendly kick on them, while Draken settles to giving them a rather harsh slap on the back of the head.

In the midst of the chaos, Takemichi eventually gets the privilege of holding the baby first. You could tell he was practically dying to ask, but simply didn't dare to.

You share a special connection with all of Mikey's friends, like a close-knit found family, and each of them wholeheartedly reciprocates your affection.

— BONTEN.

When Mikey holds a meeting to introduce his pregnant partner, the news doesn't really come off as a shock to anyone. Everyone in Bonten is used to sleeping around, and, well, they know that accidents can happen.

Mikey decided to be responsible and keep a prostitute and her baby? Okay, good for him. Maybe not the best decision, but that's none of their business.

What genuinely shocks them however, is finding out that you and your baby are actually far from being a mere accident or casual fling gone wrong.

In fact, you've been Mikey's wife for a little over a year now, and the main motivation behind his decision to introduce you to his gang is to ensure your safety at all times. He can't risk an enemy finding out about you before his allies do, especially now that you're pregnant.

They're not exactly thrilled by the idea of playing babysitter for their boss - but they quickly get used to having you around. (It's not like they have much of a choice anyway)

Takeomi handles you like literal porcelain. He doesn't leave your side, always following you around to make sure you don't trip, fall down the stairs or hurt yourself in any way shape or form.

His attentiveness is primarily driven by your position as the boss's wife rather than personal affection or genuine concern for you, though. He's just doing his job, knowing that any harm happening to you while he's in charge of watching you will result in him getting reprimanded by Mikey. You're a very nice woman, but he'd rather be tasked with more important business - hence the constant huffs and sighs when he's around you.

Koko, on the other hand, grows particularly fond of you and buys pretty much everything you need for yourself and the baby. Whether it be clothes, plushies, furniture for the nursery or your weird pregnancy cravings, he'll get you anything you desire. This baby is going to be spoiled rotten whether you like it or not. (Mikey complains about it more than you do)

Similarly, you and Kakucho develop a significant bond over time, the third-in-command becoming almost like an older brother to you. Among the gang, he stands out as the friendliest and least intimidating, Introducing a comforting and accessible presence in your life, something you've been missing for a while. Although you love Mikey dearly, being his wife presents its own set of difficulties and often leaves you feeling isolated.

Sanzu mostly minds his own business. He does his job and keeps an eye on you, but he has too much respect for Mikey to even consider befriending you. He wouldn't want his boss to get the wrong idea.

He mostly leaves the wifesitting job to the others, preferring to stay by Mikey's side and obey his more thrilling orders.

(And let's be honest, you're not complaining)

The Haitani brothers aren't big on befriending, and yet from time to time they'll buy some stuff for your baby, like little shoes or plushies. (That's mostly Rindou's doing, as he tends to be friendlier than his older brother).

When you find yourself alone at home, they're usually the ones assigned to stay by your front door, ensuring your security.

[risuola]

LOOKS LIKE WE'RE SNOWED IN FOR THE NIGHT — F. READER x KAMO CHOSO, with whom you got stuck in a cabin

A fireplace, a nice blanket, a bunch of snow and the twinkling lights on the Christmas tree… for some it might sound like a perfect way to spend the night during the festive season, but not when you’re stuck in a cabin in the middle of nowhere with your biggest enemy. And it’s cold.

cw: smut, enemies to lovers, oral (f. receiving), angst-ish vibe, death mentioned (I put it as a warning, but honestly, if you're into jjk you're probably used to it, just sayin'), reader discretion is advised — 2,9k words

kissmas masterlist

“Looks like we’re snowed in for the night,” Choso pointed, making few futile attempts to push the doors open. “I can force the way out but I doubt you’re gonna survive it.” He added, venomous tone evident in his otherwise calm and low voice.

You groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose. This is horrible, you thought, it couldn’t possibly get worse than that. The cabin, secluded and nestled deep in the woods, once a welcoming refuge from the cold, was now a claustrophobic cage trapping you and Choso inside. The doors, blocked by the snow piled high behind them were impossible to open and the windows – old and grime-stained – covered with ice, offered no escape. The interiors, now cleared out of the cursed spirit that resided in here scaring the owners away, were as cozy as they could be with warm colors of the creaking wooden floors and the twinkling lights on the Christmas tree, that funny enough was the only thing that still was working inside. The furniture was faded and worn-down by the humid air, the cobwebs decorating every corner.

The task at hand was simple enough – get in, exorcise, get out – but the snow and the cold were making everything more difficult, not to mention the man you had to share the experience with. It was a part of introducing the Death Painting into the jujutsu society and a silent attempt to make the two of you fonder of each other, but the result proved itself to be starkly different, when you got stuck with him for the night, or god knows how long.

“Damn,” you groaned finally, realizing there’s nothing you can do to make the situation better. No escape, no signal, not even a goddamn kettle that would work.

“Looks like you’re really screwed, huh?” Choso mocked you, a smirk twisting his features because he knew – he just knew that you’re not gonna make it through the night and though he enjoyed the idea of watching you freeze to death, he involuntarily threw some more wood into the fire to keep it alive.

“I’m perfectly fine, fuck you,” you snapped, glaring at his stupid handsome face from your place across the room, hoping silently that maybe once in this world a glare could kill.

You and Choso had always been on opposite sides. Your fights always end up in blood, there was little to no respect between you two, and though in a fight you two were able to work together, outside of it, it was a much different story. You just couldn’t stand each other, you could never put a finger on the reason why, but you just never clicked. Always having different opinions, always too stubborn to let go and not even once agreeing on a plan of work. You trusted him just enough to know he will most likely not kill you in your sleep.

Now, as the sound of the howling wind outside was constantly reminding you on the dire situation, the storm outside showing no signs of letting up, the pressure between you and him seemed to reach a breaking point. At first, you moved through the cabin, walking back and forth, avoiding each other’s gaze and trying to ignore the fact you were trapped together. “Sit quiet and stop being annoying,” you growled at him, hating the way he was sprawled comfortably on the little sofa while you were feeling more and more cold as the hours were passing by. Kamo and his damn temperature regulation.

You had been fighting constantly since you arrived, each blaming the other for the predicament you were in. You argued and hurled insults at each other, both trying to assert dominance over the other. You were constantly on the edge, you bickered until both of you were that close to exploding. You fought about everything, from the mission to the tiny space you were forced to share. You could barely stand the sound of each other’s breathing, much less the sight of each other’s faces and the constant, near proximity. It was only a matter of time one of you snapped.

It felt claustrophobic, nearly – the way only four walls were surrounding you and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t quite navigate yourself through the treacherous environment. You had no idea what exactly was oh-so wrong with this place. A desolate cabin with nothing but cold air and the palpable tension between you and Choso was slowly taking a toll on you. Harsh winter wind howled outside and it was clear that your spirits matched its bitterness. The twinkling, colorful lights adorning the mismatched Christmas tree in the corner did nothing to warm up the bleakness of the place.

Hours passed and you got tired of the banter. Choso noticed how slowly you became, quiet, less talkative. It became easier and easier to outsmart you as the cold was taking a toll on your body. Your retorts were less sharp, a little delayed as the temperature went even lower along with the night progressing.

“You’re gonna die in here?” He asked, his tone as nonchalant as ever, but it was getting to him that you might actually die that night. It was fun while it lasted and you did an excellent job in making him believe that you’re gonna survive the night, that you’re fine. He allowed his eyes, that up until that point were closed as he was resting on the sofa, to look at your form. You were shivering, seated on the furry carpet near the fireplace and though you were as close to the heat as it was possible, it didn’t do much to help you. Your breath was visible and you were constantly rubbing your hands together in hopes to stop them from going numb.

“I’m fine,” you said again, your voice much punier than you intended it to be and Kamo found it amusing how you forced yourself to sound strong, when in reality, you were so small and weak and vulnerable.

“Oh, are you?” The question had mocking qualities that Choso couldn’t hold back. “You know, all it takes is for you to ask nicely and I might consider warming you up.”

“Fuck you.” Oh, you were so stubborn. He shrugged and kept observing you.

The cabin fell quiet. The air was thick with tension and the only sounds were the occasional drip of water from the ceiling, crackling of fire in the fireplace and the soft tickling of a clock. The rattling of the windows in the wind accompanied the cacophony.

“Isn’t the big, strong sorceress now uncharacteristically quiet?” He joked once again, and you could have sworn that even in the freezing cold, he had an ability to make your blood boil. “Cat got your tongue?”

“I miss the times when paintings were not talking,” you retorted, wrapping yourself tighter in the imitation of a blanket you found laying around. “You have no idea how much I’d love to exorcise your half-cursed ass.”

“As if you were ever gonna be strong enough to put a harm onto me,” he said, pushing himself up from the couch. “Besides, you might wanna pick your words carefully. You’re at my mercy right now.”

“I’d rather be eaten by a polar bear than be at your mercy.”

“Oh, that would be a cool death, right?” He laughed, a taunting tone piercing the air and your soul, it seemed. “Or a curse. It would sound much better in the report later if I told your friends that you lost your life in battle, with bravery and strength, yeah? For sure it’s more appealing than a lame reason like freezing to death.”

“Oh, shut up…” you sighed, leaning your cheek on one of your knees. You kept them tightly pressed to your chest, a desperate attempt of storing any leftover heat along your torso, but it did little to nothing. “Come on, get your ass over there.”

“I already told you, you have to ask me nicely.”

“That’s as nice as I’m gonna get.”

“So that’s as close as you’re gonna get me,” he smirked, teasing you beyond decency, well aware of how delicate was a situation you were now in. To him, cold was nothing more than an inconvenience. In all honesty, he could break the doors open and just go through the snow during night and he would be just fine, but you… it was a different story and truth is that he stayed in the cabin only because of you.

“Choso, please, don’t be a dick, I’m freezing to death, literally,” you whined, forgetting about your pride and prioritizing the survival. “Please?”

“Much better,” Choso chuckled and moved from the sofa to the floor, sitting behind you with his legs on both sides of your frame. “Loosen up a little,” he ordered, throwing away your blanket and as his arm sneaked around your waist, he pulled you into himself, your back now pressed against his chest.

“Oh god…” you whimpered, shifting your position and wrapping yourself around him. He was hot and it felt like the heat was emitting from him, seeping onto you the moment you made contact with his muscular frame. You pushed your face against his neck, nuzzling your cold nose into his warm skin.

“Aren’t you a greedy little thing?” He commented, putting on an indifferent, snarky mask but inside, he was feeling things. It was odd, it was new. He wasn’t exactly an expert in romantic situations, in fact besides few really brief adventures with women, it was the first time he was actually somewhat intimate. Choso’s mind was in a limbo, trying to fight the thoughts of his body which were going crazy. The way your frame fit so closely to his, the way you turned your face and melted into him… it was almost too much. Thoughts raced around his head a mile a minute.

“Aren’t you a scrooge for letting me freeze while you’re that hot?”

“Well, I’m your partner on the job, not your personal heater,” he shrugged, allowing his hand to run along the curves of your waist and hip. “Also, I’d assume that the low temperature is a natural habitat for a cold bitch like you.”

“Ouch,” you acted hurt but couldn’t hold back a chuckle. “I have a great idea, why don’t you shut up?”

“Oh, did that sting you, princess?”

„I’m serious, you should shut the hell up,” it was a mumble, an unharmful one, but Choso must have gotten a different impression.

It was a flash. It took you few seconds to even register what just happened and once you did, you were already helpless beneath him. The soft, furry carpet now tickling you in the face as Choso kept you, chest down and pinned to the ground. It annoyed you how easily one of his hands kept both of your wrists pushed up above your head. You felt his weight on top of your thighs, his crotch pressed tightly to your ass and his other hand supporting his weight on the wooden floor.

“Now, if you’re gonna act like a brat, I’m gonna treat you as one,” he said, his voice low and close to your ear as he leaned down and gathered some of your hair to the side to uncover your face to his eyes. Your hopeless pulls and wriggles did nothing to loosen up his hold. If anything, his fingers only tightened their grip around your wrists.

“Get off me,” you groaned, trying to find your way out of the situation, but the movements of your body seemed to make it worse. The man hummed darkly, aiming a mean slap at your ass.

“Stop wiggling,” he warned, smirking at the way your body tensed for a moment. He couldn’t tell what’s gotten him into such a playful mood. Maybe it was all the thick air between you two finally exposing its true colors – something once filled with anger and hostility, now crackled with an undeniable sexual tension.

“Did you just slap me?” You couldn’t believe it, but you’d sooner be dead than you’ll admit out loud that it somehow felt good.

“I did,” he said nonchalantly. “You whined you’re cold, huh? Well, guess I’ll have to warm you up for real,” Choso added, now grinning mischievously. “Be a good girl, I know you can do it. Now I’ll let go of your hands and you’ll turn around, yeah?”

You hummed in response, not really sure what’s gotten into him but you were far from minding it so you flipped to your back as soon as he gave you a chance. Still on top of you, Choso kept a controlling grip over your hip, his touch burning your bare skin over there.

The fire crackled and flickered, casting warm, dancing shadows on the two of you but you couldn’t tell if the sparkle in his eyes was a reflection of it or just pure lust. The latter, you thought, catching his gaze as it scanned your form, paying a little more attention to your lips, chest and the little strip of skin that showed from underneath your blouse.

Kamo was enticed by you, fascinated even, by the way his body was suddenly yearning for you. The unusual desire overflown his senses and he found himself inching closer and closer, until he was just one, mere breath away from your mouth. He could feel you gasp, see the look of your eyes and if he wouldn’t know better he would be convinced there was lust in them too.

“Nervous?” He whispered, with a slight shadow of teasing painted all over his stupidly handsome features. His nose, now brushing against yours initiated the touch, a prelude of sorts to what was going to come and Choso chuckled at the lack of response from you. It was, in a way, an opening for you to push him away, to set a boundary, to lay down the consent but you made no effort to do any of that. Instead, you let your fingers to find his hair and once you pulled at them, there was no going back.

His lips pressed into yours. The kiss and the heat from your bodies warmed the cold air around you, melting the icy tension that lingered between you as you, too, melted below him. The time seemed to slow down and the melody of howling wind and fire was now a white noise to the soft sounds and whimpers you were making. Your mouth parted and Choso took the invitation eagerly, running his tongue along your lower lip and reaching yours. They twirled and twisted, danced and explored each other and you swore at the moment that the world around you had fallen away.

It didn’t take long since you were bare, completely exposed underneath his muscular body; the cold air around you a stark contrast to the extreme heat that was coming off of Choso. He was all around you, exploring your shapes with touches so tender, you couldn’t help but feel worshipped. The way he touched you, the way he kissed and drank every inch of your skin made your heart rumble against your ribcage. He went down, tracing the ups and downs of your figure with wet, sloppy stamps of his lips until he reached your thighs – both of which he kissed with as much attention.

It was intoxicating. Kamo felt as if everything around him twirled and he was drowning in the soft feeling of your plush skin. The curves of you filled every bit of his mind. Addicting, you were, so addicting he couldn’t find a strength to pull back and before he knew it, his tongue was already lapping at your clit. The beautiful melody of your moans filling his ears as he worked his mouth over the puffy bud, sucking and licking simultaneously. Waves and waves of pleasure you felt, spreading from your core and reaching every part of you. It was hot, it was like nothing else you’ve ever experienced.

“Oh god, Choso~” you were whining, a surprise to you cause up until this time you would swear you’re not the one to make such lewd noises during sex. All of that went out the window when it came to the man between your legs. He was flicking his tongue, twirling it and pressing it flat; every movement centered and focused, sharing one objective – to abuse the most sensitive, sweet spot on your body. He took his time, it was wet and sloppy, it was messy. The silky sensation of his tongue, warm and soft… oh, man has a talent.

Your breath was stuttering, hands grabbing the fluffy fibers of the carpet as your thighs were trembling and the urge to squeeze them over Choso’s head was slowly becoming irresistible. The way he was making out with your clit drove you insane, it brought you to the edge and pushed you over. You came undone and you came hard. He wasn’t stopping, just slowing down and leading you through the high as if it was his job and the very core of his existence.

“Feeling warmer?” He asked, once slowly coming back up above you. His face was now a real painting, covered with your essence and his lips, swollen and wet, stretched into a grin of satisfaction as he was taking in the sight of your breathless form. You nodded, barely registering the subtle teasing undertone he had in his voice. “Good. But I’m going to make you even hotter.”

[fairsexynasty]

ˏ🔪ˋ°•*⁀➷･ GHOST MOUTH — chapter one: get out and get into heaven

.｡🗡️*⋆⍋*🃏*｡ spencer reid x fem!reader

summary: a new inhabitant? tenant? roommate? you're still not sure how this works. but there's someone new living in your apartment: spencer reid. how is he going to react to a ghost?

warnings: humor, platonic fluff, angst, drug usage, addiction...

a/n: love a good female character who literally haunts the narrative... but it's your narrative... so are you living it...? but you're dead....? like and reblog if you enjoy and don't forget, requests are open!

word count: 4.2k

JUNE 23, 2005.

I don’t remember buying this apartment. Or decorating it. Or signing the lease, for that matter. But apparently, I lived here.

Now, I just haunt it.

It’s strange, being stuck in a place you’re supposed to know but don’t. Like waking up in someone else’s skin. The furniture’s vaguely familiar—like seeing an actor who played a minor role in a movie you liked once—but the memories aren’t there to fill in the gaps.

Rachel makes it easier. Most days, anyway. She’s perched on the couch tonight, wine glass in hand, a throw blanket draped over her like a cape. “Okay, so get this,” she says, her voice dipping conspiratorially. “He texts me every morning. Like, without fail. Good morning, good night—it’s adorable.”

I hover near the window, watching her face light up as she gushes about this guy, Theo. He’s the latest in a string of hopefuls, but this one seems different. Genuine. “You think he’s the real deal?” I ask, trying not to sound like I’m bracing for impact.

“I do.” Rachel practically glows. “He’s thoughtful. Funny. And he actually listens. Can you believe it?”

I can’t. Or maybe I don’t want to. If she finds her happily-ever-after, where does that leave me?

"So, yeah, he's great," Rachel was saying, voice warm and confident. She was curled up on the couch, her legs tucked under her as she swirled the wine in her glass. "I don't know, it's like I finally found someone who gets it, you know?"

I watched her, biting back the sharp tug of something—jealousy? Longing? Whatever it was, it gnawed at me, and I couldn’t ignore it. Rachel had started dating this guy recently. She'd told me about him a couple of times. Each time, I couldn't help but feel like... well, like I was losing her, in a way. I didn't want to admit it, even to myself, but the thought of her moving on without me—of her living a life I wouldn't be a part of—felt like it was breaking something inside of me.

I didn't say anything, of course. I never did. What was I supposed to say? The girl was talking about her future with some guy who was clearly making her happy, and here I was—dead, ghosting around her apartment, just... existing.

She didn't need me anymore. I couldn't tell her I was scared. I couldn't tell her I felt like I was slipping away, like the life I remembered was fading fast and I had nothing left to hold onto. Rachel had a future to live. I... I wasn't even sure what I was supposed to do with what little I had left.

I just kept my distance, lingering in the corner of the room, watching as she sighed and took another sip of her wine.

It wasn’t the worst thing, I told myself. It wasn’t like I had to keep reminding her I was here. It wasn’t like I had a purpose anymore. I had no idea why I couldn’t move on, no idea how I died or what my life had been before it all fell apart. The only thing that seemed real anymore was the fact that Rachel still let me be here, let me talk to her in the little ways I could.

And that, for now, would have to be enough.

“He’s got this dorky laugh, too,” she continues, oblivious. “It’s cute. Like, ugly-cute. You know what I mean?”

I nod, even though she’s not looking. I know exactly what she means. What I don’t know is what happens when this man goes from “guy she’s seeing” to something more permanent. Does she stop needing her wine-and-gossip buddy? Does she stop needing me?

I shake off the thought. It’s not fair to Rachel. She deserves a shot at happiness, with or without me haunting her living room.

Still, the idea twists in my chest like a knife.

She laughs at something on her phone and reaches for her wine. “Anyway, enough about me. How was your day?”

I give her my best deadpan. “Unproductive. Again. Shocker.”

Rachel grins. “You’ll figure it out eventually.”

Will I?

I glance at the TV, where the menu flickers with mindless options. Maybe I will. Or maybe I won’t. Either way, I’m here. Stuck. For as long as this world lets me be seen, I’ll keep showing up.

Because what else can I do?

NOVEMBER 27th, 2006

One could say that I was currently, extremely upset. But that would be an understatement. I was fucking pissed. What do you do when your favorite resident of your haunted apartment moves out? After three years of watching over her, getting to know her, and eventually making yourself known to her– how do you start over? How do you haunt someone new?

Rachel was the one thing that kept me busy. She gave me more than enough reason to wander out of the apartment and practice the ability to leave the building. I’m not agoraphobic, I’m just trapped. And dead.

I can’t say exactly why I can leave some days and am stuck the others. It takes a lot of energy from me, so much so that I can feel myself disappearing from Rachel’s sight. The overstimulating feelings stick themselves in my joints, leaving me rugged and lapsed energetically. I don’t know what it is. I can’t name it.

I can’t even tell you where the hell my body is or what happened to me. It sucks. Not knowing where you end up or how it happens after living a life where people come up with endless theories about it. You’d think that one of the many ideas has to be accurate, and you’ve either been living your life all right or wrong.  But I couldn’t tell you. I can’t make sense of it myself.

Rachel understood that. She spent her Sunday nights with me, cooking in the kitchen, playing my favorite songs I’d request, and sipping on her favorite bottle of Noir while I vented, told stories, or just rambled. I never had a best friend like her. Not while I was alive, that’s for sure.

Talking about myself in the past tense is another tricky part of being a ghost. Yes, I am dead, and I may not know where my corpse is or how I died, but I still exist. My soul is alive, so am I still a being? Is it “I am” or “I was”? We could look at it from a technical point of view. I currently offer no value to the world around me. I cannot contribute or benefit from my environment in any way possible unless you count Rachel. I cannot eat, sleep, or drink. I can still learn, I can experience, and I can feel. But I cannot disrupt the environment around me. So, by that knowledge, that makes me… still confused. I’m not smart enough to find a solution here. I took one ethics class in college, and even then, we only talked about poverty. I don’t understand quantum mechanics, and I believe in the supernatural. It doesn’t make me a credible source.

However, through all the (lack of) noise, I’ve discovered my new friend might be a credible source: Dr. Spencer Reid. It might take him a couple of months to see me, but for Rachel, it took me a year. But I have more faith in myself now.

My new friend is moving in today. November 27th, 2006, three years, seven months, and eleven days since this apartment was mine.

I can hear him coming up the stairs. A couple of mutters are in the background, so I assume he has people helping him move in. Great. More people to take up my space. I’ll probably find myself sitting on the kitchen counter the entire time while I psychotically stare at him. The doorknob wiggles and then clicks, a sign Spencer’s successfully used his key for the first time.

The door creaks open, and Spencer's voice filters in before his lanky figure even makes it through. “Okay, let’s just leave everything in the box until we bring the rest up, and then we can move the furni—oh.” He freezes mid-step, eyes locking onto mine. “Um… hello there.”

He looks like someone just handed him a live grenade and politely asked him to hold it. His friends? Oblivious. A gorgeous, sharp-eyed woman with dark hair and a towering, muscular man with rich brown skin saunter in behind him, oblivious to my presence.

“Who are you?” Spencer blurts.

I raise an eyebrow from my very cozy sprawl on the couch Rachel left behind—one leg draped dramatically over the plush velvet arm. “Oh, so you can see me,” I purr, enjoying his squirm. “How delightful.”

Spencer’s jaw works, but no sound escapes. Meanwhile, his friends exchange concerned looks like they’re debating calling a medic.

“Uh, Spence?” The woman—let’s call her Sexy Boss Barbie—tilts her head, her voice dripping with skepticism. “Who, exactly, are you talking to?”

Spencer points to me, his face a mix of confusion and terror. “Her!”

The man snorts, folding his arms like he’s humoring a toddler with an imaginary friend. “Kid, there’s no one there. Are you feeling okay? Dizzy? Dehydrated? Seeing, you know, stuff?”

“I’m fine! Are you okay? Do you not see the woman lounging on the couch?!” Spencer’s voice rises an octave, clearly distressed. “She’s waving!”

I sit up, slowly, brushing imaginary lint off my clothes. “Spencer, darling,” I say with a smirk, “they can’t see me. To them, you sound completely unhinged. Certifiable. Just batshit crazy.”

Sexy Boss Barbie’s eyes widen suddenly, as if the final piece of a years-long puzzle has just clicked into place. “Oh my god.” She claps a hand over her mouth. “It’s real. The rumors were true!”

“What rumors?” Spencer snaps, panic edging into his voice.

“The ghosts!” She throws her hands up, spinning to the muscular guy. “There’s been all this buzz about hauntings and poltergeists, and I heard they asked Fiona Caulins and her spooky little team to investigate. I thought it was a prank!”

The guy groans and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Prentiss, you’re telling me the FBI is officially ghost-hunting now? Do we get proton packs, or is that too much taxpayer money?”

Prentiss—because clearly she has a name now—waves dismissively at him and turns to me with the same enthusiasm as someone meeting a celebrity. “Hi, ghost! Please don’t murder my friend, he’s very nice, smart, and has a soft heart. Also, I’m too tired for a paranormal brawl.”

I narrow my eyes at Spencer, just to make him squirm a little more. “Oh, I’m definitely going to kill you.”

His gasp is chef’s kiss levels of comedic. “Please don’t say that. Please don’t say that.”

“Emily,” the guy warns, sounding like the parent of the world’s most reckless child.

Spencer waves a hand awkwardly at me, trying to keep his composure. “I’m just going to assume you’re joking. For my own sanity. Because being kind is important. Even if you’re, you know…” He gestures vaguely toward me. “…dead.”

The guy throws up his hands and makes a beeline for the door. “You know what, Pretty Boy? Nope. I’m out. I’ll grab the rest of your boxes, but I am not dealing with Casper’s pissed-off cousin.”

“I’m not haunting,” I clarify, even though his retreating footsteps suggest he doesn’t care.

Prentiss steps closer, her eyes sparkling with the kind of curiosity that spells trouble. “Maybe you’re stuck here,” she offers helpfully, gesturing to my general direction like she’s presenting an exhibit at a haunted museum. “Are you stuck here?”

I shrug. “No clue.”

“She doesn’t know,” Spencer parrots, clearly regretting his life choices.

“But I don’t mind it,” I add cheerfully.

“She doesn’t mind it,” Spencer echoes, his face a study in pure, resigned chaos.

By the time all of his belongings are finally moved in, I’ve become an unofficial connoisseur of Spencer’s panicked glances. Every other moment, our eyes meet, and he looks like someone just told him Santa Claus isn’t real—or, in this case, that ghosts are. He’s clearly grappling with the idea, the gears in his brain probably spinning so fast they might combust. I mean, he’s a doctor. A man of science, logic, and reason. Ghosts? That’s the kind of thing that could either utterly shatter his worldview or send him spiraling into some kind of quantum physics rabbit hole. Probably both.

Emily and Derek—whose names I picked up during their bickering about me (I’m already a hot topic, apparently)—finally call it a night as the sun dips below the horizon. There’s a brief exchange of goodbyes, Emily offering Spencer a quick “Call if you need me!” while Derek mutters something about sage and holy water under his breath.

Once the door clicks shut behind them, the apartment falls into an awkward quiet. Spencer stands there for a moment, staring at the closed door as if considering bolting out of it himself. Eventually, he turns, slowly, to find me perched on the kitchen counter, swinging my legs.

His mouth opens. Then closes. Then opens again. He’s clearly malfunctioning. “I, uh—”

I hold up a hand to stop him, smiling. “Let me make this easier for you. I’ll set some ground rules, okay?” His eyes widen, but I plow ahead. “First, I promise I won’t distract you unless you explicitly ask me to. Second, I’m not going to walk into the bathroom while you’re in there—because, seriously, why would I? Third, if you bring someone over—or if you’re already seeing someone—I’ll clear out and head downstairs. Lastly, I can leave this apartment, but leaving the building? That’s… a work in progress.”

Spencer blinks at me, stunned into silence. He doesn’t move for a beat, then nods. It’s the kind of nod you give when someone hands you a parachute and says, you’re jumping now.

I smile at him. “Feel better?”

He clears his throat, and it’s like he’s rebooting in real time. “Well, um… ghosts.” His tone shifts, slipping into what I suspect is his comfort zone: pure academic lecture mode. “The belief in ghosts is deeply rooted in human history, spanning cultures and civilizations for thousands of years. For example, the ancient Egyptians believed in the ka, the soul, which stayed connected to the body after death—hence, mummification. Similarly, in Greek mythology, spirits, or shades, resided in the underworld but could occasionally wander the mortal realm if disturbed.”

I blink at him, genuinely impressed. “Wow. That’s… actually fascinating. How do you know all that?”

He shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “I have an IQ of 187, an eidetic memory, and I can read up to 20,000 words per minute.”

I stare at him, deadpan. “Okay, that is harder to believe than me being a ghost.”

He sighs, his expression softening. “I’m sorry. I’ve been so wrapped up in… all of this, I never even asked your name.”

“It’s fine,” I say with a little laugh. “And for the record, it’s nice to… coexist with you. So, uh, are you the tenant of my home, or am I the tenant of yours?”

That earns me a small, tentative smile from him, the first real one I’ve seen. “How about we just say we’re roommates for now?”

I chuckle, hopping down from the counter. “Roomies it is, Spencer.”

“Cool.” He says it with a nod like he’s trying the word out for the first time, and it’s paired with a shy smile that feels surprisingly genuine. “Roomies.”

FEBRUARY 13, 2007

Being “roomies” with Spencer isn’t what I expected at all. I thought it'd be a relief when I found out about his job—hunting serial criminals with his team, including Derek and Emily. I wouldn’t have to worry about being a constant bother since he’d be out on cases, gone for days or weeks at a time. But what I didn’t anticipate was this hollow ache, this new kind of loneliness creeping in.

With Rachel, there was a rhythm to our days. A routine. Something grounding that kept me tethered to whatever semblance of stability a ghost can have. But Spencer? Spencer is chaos wrapped in quiet. He comes home with the weight of the world on his shoulders and disappears into his room, leaving me to drift through the empty spaces he leaves behind.

Sometimes, he’s so silent it unnerves me. He’ll come through the door after a long trip, his face drawn, and I’ll sit there, helpless, unsure if I should say something or just… vanish. What could I possibly do to help? I don’t know him well enough to give him meaningful advice. I can’t offer something as simple as a hug or even a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

But I watch him. I’ve learned his habits. The way he quietly checks on me as if I’m a lost pet instead of the spectral figure on his couch. The nights when he’s too tired to make it to bed, passing out on the couch instead. I’ll sit near him for a bit, just in case he wakes up from a nightmare. Watching over him makes me feel… useful, even if I can’t do much.

One night, I finally could.

It was after a case in Georgia. The night before he left, he’d been out drinking with his team, laughing and light in a way I hadn’t seen before. When he returned to grab his go-bag, there was a slight buzz to him—a looseness in his step and a rare smile. But he was gone within minutes, off to chase the darkness again.

When he came back a week later, he wasn’t the same.

The moment he walked through the door, I knew something was wrong. His hair was a mess, sticking out in every direction like he’d been clawing at it. Sweat beaded on his brow despite the cool air. His hands trembled as he locked the door—so slight, anyone else might’ve missed it. But I noticed.

“Hi,” I offered softly from the couch, not bothering with the usual pleasantries like How was the case? That felt pointless—or worse, like it might set him off.

He glanced at me briefly before his eyes darted away. “Hey,” he mumbled, his voice distant, hollow. He crossed the room to his bedroom door, hesitated for a moment, then added, “I’m going to bed.” And just like that, he was gone. He didn’t even bother turning on the light for anything.

At around three in the morning, I heard it. Muffled groans that turned into sharp cries, then full-throated shouts. It was a raw, guttural sound that sent shivers down my spine. I rushed into his room, instinct taking over.

“Spencer!” I called, shaking his arm as gently as I could. My fingers brushed against his sweat-drenched skin, and I held on tighter, desperate to pull him out of whatever hell he was trapped in.

He woke with a gasp, his eyes wide and wild. For a moment, he didn’t even seem to see me. Then his gaze focused, softening just slightly. But then he noticed my hands on his arms and recoiled, shaking me off like I burned him.

“Why are you touching me?” he demanded, his voice sharp and panicked. “How are you touching me?”

I blinked, just as shocked as he was. “I—I’m not sure. But you were having a nightmare, and I just… I wanted to help.”

His expression hardened. “I didn’t need help. I would’ve woken up and assessed my situation on my own.” He sat up straighter, his tone clipped. “You can go now.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose, frustration bubbling beneath my skin. “No. Spencer, what happened to you? You were hurt, weren’t you?”

His laugh was bitter, cold. “I just left hell. I’m not interested in taking a guided tour back.”

I wasn’t stupid. I’d seen this before—the trembling hands, the sheen of sweat, the distant, unfocused gaze. I’d been around enough parties, enough people experimenting with everything from weed to molly to coke, to recognize the signs.

“What were you given?” I asked, my voice firm.

His jaw tightened. “Basically drugstore heroin,” he muttered, rubbing his temples.

He’s addicted. Probably became dependent on it during the entire situation, which means he had to have been administered it regularly, given the shit that gets you hooked after just one time. There was no way he hadn’t went out and got more. That was a craving that he hadn’t killed yet. Couldn’t kill. Not on his own. I sighed, my heart sinking. “Where’s the rest of it?”

“I’m not telling you,” he snapped, glaring at me.

I rolled my eyes. “Spencer, I think I can touch things now, sort of. I’ll find it if I have to.”

His shoulders sagged, and for a moment, he looked utterly defeated. “I need it,” he whispered.

His confession hit me harder than I expected. “Why?”

“Because he was right,” Spencer said, his voice trembling. “It makes everything quiet. And for someone like me, a little silence is…” He trailed off, his gaze distant. “It’s more than appreciated.”

I bit my lip, fighting the urge to tell him what he should do, why drugs are bad, and why addiction kills. “Okay. I get it. But it’s not an excuse.” I paused, searching his face. “It’s in the safe, isn’t it?”

His silence was all the confirmation I needed.

JUNE 28, 2008

Dark as it may have been, Spencer’s struggle had given me something I hadn’t felt in years—a purpose. That first night, there was fighting, crying, and, strangely enough, an ice cube or two. It was chaotic and raw, but it gave me something to hold onto. The following week was the same—a tense repetition of stubborn refusals and quiet breakdowns. But the week after? That’s when I noticed changes—not just in him, but in me.

I discovered I could interact with the physical world in ways I hadn’t been able to before. I could cook, organize, and even leave the apartment… well, sort of. My first attempt ended with me walking face-first into an invisible wall about twenty feet from the building’s exits. Still, it was progress. It was proof I wasn’t entirely stuck.

A year later, Spencer doesn’t like to talk about that time. To him, it’s a chapter better left in the past—something he’s learned from, something that shaped him, but not a story he’s eager to tell. His team knows, though. Hotch and Morgan make sure the hospital staff know not to administer narcotics if he’s ever injured. It’s a silent understanding among them, a protective measure born from experience.

When it does come up, Spencer is quick to deflect. If someone brings it up, he’ll steer the conversation into safer, stranger territory. Like the first time Penelope Garcia accidentally mentioned it. Without missing a beat, Spencer quipped, “Yes, but want to know something crazier? I’m roommates with a ghost.”

And that’s how Penelope Garcia ended up in our apartment.

The moment she stepped inside, I knew this wasn’t going to be a normal visit. Penelope was an explosion of energy and curiosity, her eyes immediately darting around the apartment, taking in every detail. And there was a lot to take in.

The space had evolved since Spencer first moved in. Back then, it was sparse, bachelor-esque—a couch, a coffee table, and not much else. But throughout the year, I’d filled it with touches of personality. A corner plant stand I’d built during one of Spencer’s longer cases A display shelf for mugs that had started as a simple project but quickly became a labor of love. And my favorite addition—a gallery wall anchored by a soft loveseat I’d claimed as my corner. I had to beg him to buy all the wood from Home Depot, a place I knew he had no interest of ever visiting. But the apartment had character now, a warmth that said: Someone lives here. And maybe someone else… doesn’t.

Penelope was enchanted. “Oh my God, look at this place! Spencer, this is so gorgeous! How could you even live here? You’re such a little nerd.”

Spencer rolled his eyes as he took her coat and hung it on the rack by the door. “It’s a long story,” he muttered.

It was then that I stepped into the living room, my footsteps light but enough to draw her attention. Penelope’s head whipped around, her eyes widening as she spotted me.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, her voice a mix of surprise and awe. “You’re beautiful!”

I blinked in shock. “Wait—you can see me already?”

She tilted her head, her bright eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Oh, are you not usually visible to the mortal eye? Is this like a Beetlejuice thing, where only the chosen one can see you?”

I shook my head, still trying to process. “Not exactly. Spencer could see me right away, but Emily and Derek couldn’t. How… how can you?”

Penelope tapped her chin, thinking for a moment before a mischievous smile spread across her face. “I must be special,” she said with a playful shrug.

Spencer groaned from behind her. “Oh no. Don’t feed into this.”

Penelope grinned, spinning to face him. “Feed into what? Spencer, you’re living with a ghost, and not just any ghost—a gorgeous, articulate ghost! I demand details. Right now.”

[enwoso]

puppy love | alessia russo

*i don’t want anyone to think i haven’t forgotten about anyone’s request, i’ve started/planned all those that have been sent in and i’m slowly getting through them, and some should be posted by the end of the week! but thank you for the support on my last fics. i love and appreciate you all<33*

navigation

you loved your birthday.

some people you knew hated the thought of being born in january, as they saw it as a depressing and cold month. the fact it was right after christmas and all the festivities had died down. but you, you loved it.

after christmas and new year it gave you something to be excited for. having your birthday in the first week of january wasn't all too bad, christmas lights still lingered in the streets as well as small hints of christmas left behind. it all brought a huge smile to your face.

the sun peering though the crack in the curtains as alessia laid draped over you, her arm stretched across your body as her face was hidden in your neck. not wanting to disturb the blonde, you lay looking at the ceiling as your fingers rubbed through her hair.

not long after the blonde began to stir, moving a little as her face became a little more clear as a smile appeared on your face. brushing the loose blonde hairs that had escaped her low bun she had slept in, out of her face.

her head moving a little so you could not see her and the small smile that was on her lips, "happy birthday, tesoro" she mumbled her eyes still shut as she placed a gentle and sleep kiss on you neck. "i love you"

"thank you, lessi. i love you too" you turned to move the blonde so that you were both now facing each other instead of her lying on top of you, a few grumbles coming from the blonde as you moved her that she was already comfy.

looking at her, her eyes just beginning to open slightly as she rubbed them as they adjusted to the light that was beaming into the room. grinning as she pulled you closer back into her embrace, the tips of your noses touching.

a few moments of silence happen, before you close the gap. attaching your lips to the blondes. it was slow and soft the kiss, full of love. her hands found your waist, her fingertips warm as they drew tiny little circle on your hips. pulling away, not before pecking your lips a few more times making you giggle as she smiled.

"hope your ready for today to be all about you?" she whispered as your eyebrows raised, she had been telling you that she had been planning your birthday for weeks but unfortunately for you, you hadn't been able to drag out of her what she had planned.

usually you could push a few buttons and the blonde would crack, telling you her plans but this time she had been determined to keep it a secret making you even more curious about what she had planned.

"mhm and what does that entail?" you asked, as the blonde just smiled not saying a word instead kissing your cheek and pulling the covers off her. grabbing her phone from the bedside table leaving the bed cold as she reached the doorway.

"you just have a shower, get ready and when you come down all will be revealed" she sung out as you narrowed your eyes.

"i don't like all this secrecy from you russo!"

after having a nice slow get ready, you were finally making your way down the stairs, voices getting louder with each step you took. reaching the bottom to see the whole of your lounge decorated, balloons scattering the floor and a big happy birthday sign on the wall with a balloon arch going over the top of it.

being in shock of how much effort had gone into the decoration of the room, you hadn't even processed the fact that alessia's family and your family were sitting in the living room.

"happy birthday teeny! gio yelled, hearing alessia's parents and yours say it too but his standing out and being the loudest pulling you out from your day dream.

the nickname coming from your height difference not only from him but also your girlfriend. you being a few inches small then her.

"how long did this even take you to do?" you asked the blonde as she came over, flapping her brother on the way for the teasing comment as she wrapped you up in a hug. "oh i did this last night after you had gone to sleep!" she whispered in your ear.

"you look beautiful by the way" she kissed your cheek pulling away from the hug, as you went over to your parents saying your hellos to them as well as alessia's parents and brothers.

falling into conversation, as well as eating breakfast that your parents had brought for you. the morning going off to a lovely start surrounded by the people you love as you moved onto opening your presents as you were beginning to get bored of listening to giorgio ask when you were going to open them.

the younger russo brother insisting that you opened the one of him and luca first, it being a bottle of perfume which you had been wanting for some time, "woah, you guys shouldn't have" you sat with the box in your hand, standing up to hug the two of them in thanks.

"we had a little help from someone on which one to buy" luca said flashing a smile to alessia as you grinned.

"thank you!

moving onto your parents who had gotten you tickets to see a concert in london that you had been wanting to go to and alessia's parents getting you a weekend spa trip away, for you and alessia to enjoy one weekend when you both were off.

which left alessia who passed you a bag, moving the tissue paper from the top - revealing a small white bag and inside was a jewellery box. opening it there was a small dainty bracelet with a heart charm dangling from it. "here, look it has my initials on it and the. there's yours" your girlfriend pointed to the two letters AR and then to yours which was right next to hers.

"oh lessi you shouldn't have" you pouted, leaning over to wrap her in a hug, pecking her lips a few times as you pulled back from the hug. before wrapping her in a tighter hug.

"thank you lessi" you whispered as you hugged her, awhs being heard around the room from both familys. the blonde smiling, kissing you cheek a few times before you let go.

"i have one more thing for you.." alessia grinned as she reached down beside where she was sat, getting a small round box out that had a pretty bow on it. your brows furrowed as you looked down admiring the gifts the blonde had already gotten you wondering what more could you need from her. "here" the blonde said handing you the small round gift box.

opening the box left you even more confused, a small bright green fuzzy tennis ball - smaller than your regular tennis ball. you looked to the blonde who was sitting next to you a nervous laugh escaping you.

"i know i said i wanted a new hobby but- we, we both know i'm rubbish at sports!" you giggled not really understanding the gift looking at the russo brothers and her parents for any sort of hint of what the gift meant.

"it's not for you silly!" alessia was the one to laugh this time, leaving you to try and follow along with the riddles, "then who?" you hesitantly laughed, as the blonde stood up not saying a word and leaving the room coming back seconds later.

"for this little one!" alessia beamed, in her arms a small dark brown puppy. you sat in shock, no words could be found as the happy tears began to well in your eyes. as the blonde got closer, she placed the small puppy in your arms a red blanket covering it too keep it warm.

"no way- is this ours.. to keep?" you stuttered, your voice betraying you as you tried not to let the tears spill.

"of course, he's our little fur baby" alessia grinned as she sat next to you in her original seat, stroking the puppy on the head as you sat in utter awh.

you had been pestering the blonde for months now, about getting a dog. spending countless hours during a night time trying to convince her why having a dog would be a good idea but the answer was always, 'we both don't have time for a dog'

you had even got as far as one time drawing up a schedule of how a dog would fit into your schedule to show the blonde that it was possible to have a little puppy in your life but the answer was always the same.

"what you gonna call him then?" gio yelled over, as you looked up from your little fur baby. thought taking over you, "snoopy." you nodded out loud as everyone looked at you with raised eyebrows.

"yeah, snoopy. he suits it" you said, it sounded as if you were trying to convince yourself but also everyone in the room. "snoopy it is then!" alessia confirmed, smiling at you who was looking down at the puppy with so much love.

the rest of the day was spent with you having snoopy in your arms or cuddling with the little puppy or watching him as he napped making sure that he wasn't woken.

the two of you had bonded for life, he was your little child. that evening was spent with you cuddling with less as you watched a film she had let you pick as you cuddled with snoopy however both you and snoopy fell asleep within the first five minutes.

and there was no better way to end a perfect birthday.

liked by bethmead and 820,741 others

alessia if i ever loose them both, at least i know if i find one i’ll find the other cause there never apart!

comments -

bethmead a new friend for myle!

-> alessia can’t wait to introduce them🥹

ellatoone y/n finally got you to cave then?

-> alessia she did, love our little man snoopy!!

-> yourusername best birthday present ever!

[merrybloomwrites]

Been Here for Days

Summary: You never thought about the dangers of dating a celebrity. But when you get taken by a man who's after Harry's money you're faced with the jarring reality that you're not as safe as you thought.

Word Count: 3.7K

CW: kidnapping, drugs, violence, attempted sa, hospitals

AN: I've read a few mafia AU stories where reader gets kidnapped because of Harry's dark world. So it gave me the idea for a non-AU story in which the reader gets kidnapped, simply for being the partner of a famous and wealthy popstar. I've had this partially written for a while but it seemed fitting to include in Whumptober so I finally finished it up.

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Dating Harry Styles came with a certain level of attention. This wasn’t a surprise to you, and you learned how to deal with it fairly quickly. Harry also did a lot to protect you and try to keep you out of the public eye as much as possible. 

Whenever he did get overprotective you’d remind him that it’s okay, you knew what you signed up for. But he always reiterated that his personal life should be private, and he didn’t want people trying to get more information about the two of you than he chooses to share.

One thing that’s obvious is that no one really cares about you. Not as an individual. They care that you’re Harry’s girlfriend. There’s not a doubt in your mind that if the two of you ever broke up, you’d never have photos posted of you again. 

And you’re fine with that too. It doesn’t bother you that you’re just seen as the girlfriend, mainly because it means people don’t care to go digging and finding facts about your life. Your family has been left alone for the most part, and you can still go out alone without being bothered.

Occasionally an individual will show deep interest in you, and you’ll find a social media account dedicated to you. Sometimes it’s a fan page, sometimes it’s a hate page. You let them be, since they’re still only posting things that are already released to the public. Even these ‘more enthusiastic’ people aren’t really crossing boundaries, since they’re not trying to find private photos or follow you to get photos of their own. 

Or so you thought.

Since spring began, and the weather turned nice, you’ve been making sure to walk to work each day. Ironically, you’d gotten a job in a local bakery. You wanted a steady job of your own while Harry isn’t touring, and this seemed like a perfect choice. You love getting up early to bake and decorate what’s needed for the day. It’s calm, and therapeutic. You mostly work in the back, doing the actual baking, but occasionally you fill in up front at the register. 

Each morning you walk to work as the sun is just rising, and you get home by early afternoon. This gives you time to run errands, do some chores around the house, or just take some time to relax before Harry gets home. He’s been working more in the studio recently, but still makes it a point to get back by 5PM in order to spend a couple of hours with you every day.

You cook a meal together, talk about your days, and often put on a movie and cuddle. It’s the simple things that bring the two of you joy, just getting to end your days together. 

You wake up on Monday morning, and it starts just like the rest. You get dressed, kiss the cheek of a still sleeping Harry, and begin your walk. You have an odd feeling, but you can’t quite pinpoint what it is. You were up a bit later than usual the night before, enjoying some adult activities with Harry, so maybe you’re just a bit tired.

The same feeling is there on the way home. But you’d had a tough day at work with someone calling out, leaving you to try and continue baking while also working the register. 

This feeling continues the whole week, and you continue to make excuses as to why you’re so anxious during your commute each day. But when the next week is the same, you begin to grow wary. Finally, on Thursday of the second week you realize that it feels as though you’re being followed. This thought does freak you out, and you plan to talk to Harry that night at home.

But you don’t make it home.

The weather on your walk back to the house is perfect, if not even a little warm. But you don’t feel it. You feel chilled, and nervous, and you’re glancing over your shoulder every two seconds. You’re mad at yourself, berating yourself for not calling Harry to have him pick you up. You’d convinced yourself it would be fine, and you didn’t want to bother him. But now as you walk alone, sensing another person might be following you, that logic seems incredibly stupid. 

As you’re pulling out your phone to call Harry you hear a noise in the bush next to you. Instinctively, you turn towards the sound. Everything happens so quickly, yet as though it’s in slow motion. A man rushes at you, covering your mouth so you can’t scream and using his other arm to keep you still. 

You try to fight back, but he’s bigger, stronger. Despite your best efforts, he still manages to get a needle into you. At first you feel the pinch of the needle, and then you feel nothing at all, and your world goes black. 

When you wake up, you’re disoriented. You’re in a bed, and while it’s comfy, it’s not your own. The bedroom you’re in is completely unrecognizable. Slowly, your memories come back. There was a man. Who’d probably been following you for weeks, tracking your schedule, and he’s now taken you. 

And not to some basement, or a warehouse or something creepy that you’d see in movies. No, he took you to his home. To a bed. And that feels even worse. You quickly assess your body, and are relieved to find that you’re still in your same clothes, and all you can feel are a couple minor scrapes and bruises, likely from trying to fight the man. 

There’s a window in the room so you get up and peek out. It’s dark, indicating a lot of time has passed. You can’t see anything outside, no other houses, and hope it’s just because of how dark it is. Because the idea that there’s nothing nearby is causing you to panic even more than you already are. 

You check the door, but of course it’s locked from the outside. The window won’t open either. You’re trapped. 

There is a bathroom attached to the bedroom, but no way to escape from there either. It does mean you can take a sip of water and splash some water on your face which helps calm you briefly. 

Taking deep breaths you begin to pace. Your mind spins, trying to come up with escape scenarios, and hoping that someone is figuring out where you are so they can come get you. The sky turns pink outside and you check your surroundings again. 

There’s nothing but a large open field. No biggie. Maybe there’s civilization out the front of the house. There’s no way you’re locked in a house with a crazy person out in the middle of nowhere. 

Tears spring to your eyes but you refuse to let them fall. There’s got to be a way out of here. A way back home. A way to Harry. 

You’re left alone for what feels like hours. You’re a little hungry, but that’s the least of your concerns at the moment. 

Finally, the door opens. You stand your ground in the middle of the room, not wanting to back yourself into a corner for whatever is about to happen. 

Taking a deep breath, you stand up straight, not showing any weakness to the person who took you. 

“Well good morning sweetheart,” he says. The pleasantries, the nickname, it’s all nauseating to you, but you keep your expression unreadable. 

“My name is Roy. I’ve been watching you and your boyfriend. You make a very cute little couple.”

“What do you want with me?” You ask, ignoring how violated you feel at the confirmation that this strange man has been following you. 

“Isn’t it obvious? Money. I want money. Harry seems to be quite devoted to you. I bet he’ll pay anything to get you back.” 

And it is obvious, really. It shouldn’t come as a surprise at all that people would want Harry’s money. But you never expected anyone to literally kidnap you for it. 

“Don’t worry though, I’ll make sure you have food and water and a safe place to stay. Might rough you up a bit, maybe have some fun,” he says as he steps forward and runs a finger along your cheek, causing you to recoil and bump into the bed behind you. 

He laughs at that, seeming to enjoy your discomfort, and then adds, “Of course that may be some good incentive for your boyfriend. I’m sure he’d hate to see anything bad happen to you.”

Your fear amps up a notch hearing this but you keep your emotions off of your face. You’re determined to stay strong throughout this whole ordeal. This man does not get to overpower you, doesn’t get to see you break like you’re sure he wants. 

He steps back a moment later and says, “Just need a quick picture, you know proof of life, proof I have you, all that.” Before you can register what he’s saying he takes out an old camera and takes your picture, the flash stunning you. 

“I brought you a sandwich and some water. It’s all sealed so you know I haven’t done anything to it. Wouldn’t want you starving yourself or dehydrating,” he says as he hands you the items. You take them, confirming they are in fact unopened. 

“Eat. I’ll be back later,” he says before stepping out of the room. You hear the definitive click of the lock but you still double check, just in case it’s open. 

Of course it isn’t, but you had to try. After examining the food to confirm it hasn’t been tampered with you take a tentative bite. It’s good, and that first bite kick starts your appetite so you quickly eat the rest. 

Roy comes back hours later to drop off dinner. He again leaves you alone to eat, and you’re starting to get lulled into a false sense of security. You think that maybe it won’t be so bad. If he’s just after money, then he might just leave you alone and then he’ll get paid and you’ll be home. 

But of course it can’t be that simple. 

Later that evening he comes back in.

“I’m bored,” he says. Just two words shouldn’t be so bone chilling, but you understand the implication. He’s bored and you’re at his mercy. He’s already drugged and kidnapped you. There’s not telling what else he’s capable of. 

By the time he leaves again you're bruised, and there’s blood running from your split lip. He’d thrown you around, hit you hard enough to send you to the ground where he kicked you repeatedly. It was terrifying and painful. 

But you admit to yourself that it could’ve been worse. You somehow convince yourself that it wasn’t so bad, that you’ll recover quickly once you get home.

After another day and a half with Roy, you’re doubting that will happen. You’re doubting you’ll recover. You’re doubting that you’ll get home. The situation has turned from terrible to terrifying. 

You’ve spent three nights in this room, including the one you were mostly unconscious for. Roy’s violence has grown, and now he seems to be changing plans again. 

“These bruises look lovely on you,” he says. It’s creepy as fuck, and indicates that whatever happens next will be awful. 

“While the violence has been fun, there are other ways to bruise your skin. I think I’ll do that today instead.”

After days of beatings you’re too tired to fight back. You lay there crying as he climbs on top of you and pins you down. His mouth goes to your neck and he begins to suck a mark there. Bile rises in your throat and it takes everything in you not to vomit at the feeling of him so close to you, touching you in this way. 

You’re wondering how you’re going to survive what’s sure to come next when there’s a noise. Suddenly the door slams open and nearly a dozen people enter the room. At first you’re terrified that they’re here to hurt you as well, but then Roy is pulled off of you and handcuffed and you realize that they’re police officers there to save you. 

One comes and talks to you, reassures you that everything is going to be okay, but still, you’re scared. It’s too much. Too much noise, and commotion, and people. You’re overwhelmed.

And then one more person enters the room. He looks different, more frazzled with a longer beard than you’ve ever seen. But as he crouches beside the bed and holds your hand between his, there’s no denying that Harry is here. 

There’s a darkness that’s been pulling at you for a while, and now that Harry’s here and you’re safe, you finally let it pull you under. 

You wake up in an uncomfortable bed wearing an itchy gown. There are bandages wrapped on various parts of your body and tubes and wires attached to you. Everything is still hazy, but you know there’s a hand holding yours. 

You quickly and clumsily pull away, not wanting anyone to touch you right now. 

Slowly the world around you refocuses, and you realize the person next to you is Harry. As much as you want his comfort, you can’t bear to have anyone’s skin touching yours. Not when it only makes you think of Roy and what he did. And what he was planning to do. 

Over the next few hours people come and go from your room. Nurses, doctors, detectives, all sharing information and asking you questions. 

But you say nothing. You don’t respond. You lay there, watching with a blank expression. Someone brings in food for dinner, and you eat just enough to make them happy before pushing away the tray and curling further into your blankets. 

The next day is much the same. They bring in a trauma counselor and though she’s a kind woman, you still say nothing. 

And it’s not that you’re upset with, or mad at these people. They’ve done nothing to you. But there’s this block in your mind right now. You’re so exhausted from the whole ordeal that it’s taking everything in you just to eat food and drink water and get yourself to and from the bathroom. 

Another two days pass and your doctor is in the room talking to Harry. He tried speaking to you but still you’re unable to find your voice. 

“Medically, she’s well enough to go home,” the doctor says. “Her injuries are healing well enough that I’m ready to discharge her.” 

You perk up a bit at this news. You miss home, miss the big comfy bed with the big windows. You miss your garden, and how peaceful it is. Hearing that you might be able to go back to your house with Harry has you more alert than you’ve been in days.

But then the doctor adds, “However, I’m concerned by her mental state. She still hasn’t said anything, and she barely lets anyone touch her. It’s important that her bandages get changed regularly and I’m worried that she won’t allow you to help with that. So until that changes she’ll have to stay here.”

Your heart drops at that. The despair you feel has you finally breaking through and suddenly you say, “No. Home.”

They both look at you and Harry quickly moves to the side of your bed. 

“What was that, baby?” he asks. He looks hopeful and you know that he’s just happy to hear you speak again.

“Home. Please,” you state. It’s hard to talk, full sentences being something you can’t do yet. But you get your point across and Harry looks at the doctor to see what he has to say about this advancement. 

Your doctor comes closer as well and asks, “Will you be okay with Harry helping you at home? He’ll have to touch you to properly clean and bandage your wounds.”

You nod, but you know that alone won’t convince them. Even though it takes a lot of courage to do this, you reach out your hand and grab Harry’s. He gasps at the contact and quickly laces your fingers with his. It feels foreign, and you hate that you no longer feel comfortable holding hands with the person who used to be your safe place. 

Apparently that was the right move, though, because you’re discharged by the end of the day. You get wheeled out, and Harry helps you get from the chair into the car that’s there for you. There’s still an overwhelming part of you that wants to flinch away from his touch, but you tell yourself that he needs this. He needs to be able to help you. 

On the drive, Harry informs you of the updated security the two of you will have. It’s weird to know that there will be people watching the house at all times, but you admit to yourself that it makes you feel better. 

Once you’re finally home you breathe a sigh of relief. And then you get to your room and the exhaustion hits again. 

You sit down on the bed and Harry moves through the house, doing all kinds of things that he thinks will help you. His nervousness is obvious, and you want to tell him you’re okay, that he should relax.

When he focuses on you again he asks, “What can I get for you? What do you need?”

“Bed.” 

“You’re tired? You want to get ready for bed?”

“Yes.” 

“Okay, we can do that. Let me get you some clothes and then we can go brush our teeth together. And I’ll bring up some water and maybe some food in case you wake up hungry since you didn’t eat too much dinner before we left the hospital,” he rambles. It seems that he’s trying to make up for your lack of words by speaking more than usual. 

Harry grabs the clothes and walks over to you. It’s clear that he’s about to help you up and so you quickly stand and walk to the bathroom before he has the chance to touch you. You hate seeing the pain in his eyes at your rejection, but you’re just not ready yet. 

After getting ready you climb into bed. It’s so soft, so comfortable, and so familiar that you quickly fall asleep. 

You wake up with a jolt, your heart racing as the images of your dream race through your mind. The worst part is that it’s not just a made up nightmare, but the memories of the nightmare you actually lived. 

“What’s wrong?” Harry asks and he reaches out a hand to comfort you. He quickly pulls it back when he sees the way you eye it with fear and trepidation. 

“I can go,” he says. “If you’re uncomfortable with me in the bed I can stay in the next room.”

Immediately you panic at the thought of him going anywhere. “No. Stay. Please. Just, don’t touch,” you reply.

He nods and the two of you sit there in bed next to each other. You begin to cry and Harry fights back tears of his own. 

After a few minutes Harry says, “They wouldn’t let me pay the ransom.”

You turn to him, confused for a moment. And then you realize that he’s explaining why it took so long to get you out. 

“When I got the message from…him. I showed it to the detectives who were here and told them I’d pay immediately so I could get you back. But they wouldn’t let me. Said it would set a precedent and put you in even more danger. Make you a target. That if I listened to this crazy person’s demands and gave him what he wanted, more people might try to take you to get money as well. I hated knowing that they were right. That I couldn’t do the one thing in my power to help you without making life riskier for you. And I hated that you being with me put you in that position in the first place. Y/N, I am so sorry that this happened to you, that it happened because of me.” 

His voice breaks and you sit for another moment absorbing what he’d just said. You didn’t realize before, but now you know that you were mad at him. You were mad that it took so long for them to get you. But everything he said makes sense to you.

And as horrible as the experience was for you, it was awful for him as well. He looks just as exhausted as you are, and though he didn’t deal with the pain and terror that you did, he spent days filled with anxiety and fear and guilt. 

You lay down on your back, looking up and trying to silently send him a message. Once he understands he lays down as well. Slowly, one inch at a time, you shift closer to him. Finally, you turn and lay your hand on his chest. He brings up his hand and places it gently on top of yours.

The touch no longer feels foreign to you. It finally feels comforting again. Building up courage, you move again, lifting your head until you can place it on his chest. This time he doesn’t hesitate, but quickly wraps his free arm around your shoulders, holding you close to him.

For a moment you panic, feeling trapped by him. But then you take a deep breath, inhaling Harry’s distinct smell, and you relax into his hold. 

“I forgive you,” you say quietly. Harry lets out a sob and you squeeze his hand reassuringly. After a moment he controls his tears and regulates his breathing. 

“I love you. So much,” he says.

“I love you too,” you reply.

You know that this isn’t the end. There’s a long road of recovery ahead of you. But being able to lean on Harry, to trust him fully again, you know that you’re going to be okay. He’s going to be there, he’ll help you on the bad days and celebrate the good. 

He begins to quietly sing, filling the room with his familiar and comforting voice. He lulls you back to sleep, but stays up for a while just watching you, reveling in the feeling of having you back in his arms, home where you belong. Safe and sound once again.

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AN: Thank you for reading!

[seviiul]

𝒏𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒊 𝒊𝒏 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒔

𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐖 :: ( general scenarios ) "How do the main assassins work around the fact that (S/o) practices the language of flowers?"

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 :: ( assassin's creed ) Altaïr, Ezio, Ratonhnhaké:ton/Connor, Edward, Arno, Jacob, Evie, m!Eivor; gender neutral reader

𝐁𝐄𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐄 :: none; unless you're afraid of flora(..?)

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐄 :: For one this had MANY rewrites because I wanted to keep it short enough while still covering all the main points(?). Also, there are SO many meanings to flowers out there — but for the sake of fiction we're only going to include the romantic aspects that I got arharharh enjoy

ALTAÏR

There was some initial.. indifference, towards flowers in general as they weren't much of importance in his line of work— that is unless someone manages to conjure a flower species directly related to Pieces of Eden. But regardless, if he was to do something with flowers, it would be rather difficult to grow them up in sweet old Masyaf unless they're specifically adapted to grow in harsh, mountainous climates.

And yet somehow (S/o) still managed to integrate the special tongue into the two’s relationship, having to endure Altaïr’s initial confusion at the bouquets and dried flowers they had along, and then his reasoning on why he doesn't see the need behind using them. BUT he eventually got the gist that this wasn't about practicality. Just affection.

After having skimmed through all kinds of meanings behind flowers the both of them could get hands on, next to his trial and error on understanding the language (and his instances of messaging an insult at you on accident), it had become this almost regular exchange of Damascus Jasmines: a sign of love, with an additional statement of how they feel home with each other.

EZIO

It's no surprise that he would know that there is meaning behind flowers — look how roses came to be the symbols of love and Aphrodite! And for years he has gifted them to women as a show of his interest and a way to woo them into an interaction with him. That also applied to meeting his now beloved. So it wasn't difficult for (S/o) to introduce more flowers; more different ways to arrange them; the vast range of meanings each of the flowers carry and how they can vary from place to place—

Getting back to roses, as classic as they are, he didn't want to exchange any with (S/o) the more committed their relationship became. He has seen the potential other flowers carry and what definition his beloved had given to a bouquet of varying flowers as means of conveying a message. Roses can be defined as love and passion by the flower language, but everybody knows that. In a way, they are too generic for him to show what (S/o) means to him. He's dissatisfied. He wants to do something different, especially per the encouragement of (S/o) to experiment.

So he sticks to sending sunflowers: as easy as they are to cultivate in Italy, they mean happiness, longevity, and loyalty, always arriving into the hands of his love as yellow and orange as the radiance of the burning Sun.

RATONHNHAKÉ:TON

He had once put in the work to get flowers so a friend had some for his courting, but to be frank he hadn't used the flowers in any decorative way after that; mostly making use of them as herbal medicine or spice or flower-based tea. So when (S/o) introduced flower arrangement and meanings behind flowers, he wasn't shy to point out how they also benefit them both in their endeavors.

Although it was pretty evident his beloved struggled with self-satisfaction in terms of how the flowers are: they were pretty used to working with much more colorful and unique flowers, but it felt like Colonial America has it all too bland. It wasn't like they could just get more vibrant flowers from Europe either, especially with how pricey it was to deliver them and how long it took to arrive!

So he resorted to finding what local flora North America has which (S/o) has pointed out: Black-Eyed Susans; Honeysuckles; Vervains, and else. The ones he doesn't recognize make him wonder just what meaning they have, and what are their names (a rare occurrence)

But in terms of what flowers he'd present, he had traveled West to acquire seeds in an attempt to grow Columbines in the Homestead, particularly to gift them in compositions of three: an arrangement having come to mean faith, hope, and love.

EDWARD

Now as much as he has gifted flowers to people dear to him— like his daughter and so— one cannot deny he does NOT give much of a fuck about flowers unless they are mighty expensive to grow, let alone to get hands on. Because, you know.. pai-ruh-see 🏴‍☠️

So it wasn't a surprise when he looked at (S/o) funny when they were picky about their (albeit limited) flower choice when they once traded in Nassau. And as much as he was hearing out their reasoning, he briefly had a headache trying to wrap his head around all this new information on what can this flora stand for and what message can that flower convey. He usually just went for what looks pretty and his person of choice might like and that's it.

Although a question did arise that could aquatic plants have any kind of meanings applied to them — so at times he comes across water streams and picks up a Calla Lily or a Lotus to hand (S/o) when he sees them – and from there he’d get a yet another headache that colors of the petals are a factor in definition as well.

He’d take note how land flowers are incredibly vibrant as well, at least in the islands of the Caribbean he traverses in; ranging from the pink Hibiscuses to Barbados Lilies. His first choice, though, out of all of them is to gift his beloved yellow bells – a shrub flower, yes, but their trumpet-like blossoms symbolize joy, new beginnings, and promises of happiness: something that he strives to achieve for the both of them.

ARNO

He is pretty aware that flowers have an importance in courting people; also that roses are very often used in that process: I mean, what kind of a City of Romance would Paris be if roses weren’t a commonplace?

Although when it came to his (S/o), flowers weren’t at first only a subject of courting: with their vast knowledge on flowers in the first place, Arno also made some use of it within his salon. Certain flowers had come to resemble the fleeting seasons, and also an incoming holiday if there was one: French Daisies had decorated the tables of Café Théâtre at the start of spring to resemble this new season; Daffodils are always set out around St. Patrick’s Day to symbolize good luck; and Panicle Hydrangeas are placed in celebration of autumn. And hey they also had come to be useful in the kitchen, as the herbs (S/o) provided added to the dishes and also included new items into the menu, now having flower-based teas and all, like lavender and chamomile.

What he does with their flower language can entirely vary from the events that he went through. If we only look at before tragedy, he could put much work into what flower bouquets he’d gift to (S/o), and he’d have no problem with making them either as subtle or grand as he wanted them to be. Next to the obvious choice of roses, there were times he’d gift his lover daisies, the particularly blue ones resembling long-term commitment and trust. He can’t ask much from them or crack a joke wondering when will he get a flower or a few: he can simply embrace them, and he’d receive the comforting smell of so many flowers that he might get dizzy.

JACOB

He's heard of the flower language, but he doesn't use it: at least not the way one would expect in the Victorian Era, a time when flower language was in fact standardized as public affection was frowned upon.

As much as (S/o) does put care into their flowers of choice, they mostly do it as a purpose of gifting. Jacob, however, has started to use it as means of conveying a message or information, a certain arrangement of varying flowers being capable of carrying on much about anything if done right: it can look silly, yes, but because of how common the language of flora is at the time, he's aware he can use it to his advantage.

.. He and his beloved may and may not also use it to entertain themselves: just to rouse a reaction out of unknowing spectators, they give, they toss, they full on throw bouquets at each other with a vast range of meanings behind each; one time making a show of absolute devotion to one another, and the other conveying disgust, initiating an emotional rollercoaster out of bystanders: all while the culprits disappear behind a corner while cackling together.

But sometimes, aside the Assassin duties and their shared antics, Jacob just prefers to hear what (S/o) has to say about a flower or so, occasionally coming from a patrol to sit down with a couple flowers and hear what they mean, much to the delight of his beloved. Or he comes to embrace them from behind, holding a precious flora as a means of apology for leading a Blighter to their doorstep when he was chased by one.

He also likes to put in the work sometimes to cut from the stem a little and make sure the flower bud sits behind (S/o)’s ear, being able watch them laugh and try to improve its placement. His favourite choice is flowers from heliotropes; standing for heartfelt adoration he has for them.

EVIE

Oh she knows really well about the language; she likely has had occasional exchanges or one sided confessions with these bouquets after all. It's just that she hasn't been able to incorporate it much to her life the busier she came with the London Assassin Brotherhood.

It's probable that she'd take on delivering information via flora as well: as commonplace the flower tongue is, it would be hard to suspect anything about them. Although there's doubt that she'd do those arrangements just for the purpose of aesthetics. It's appealing to see (S/o) do so, however, having gained a first impression on that outside London with an arrangement of Cornflowers, Chamomiles, and some Wheat: no, it did not have any meaning behind this bunch of petals.

There was this brief idea that a flower shop would make it easier for her beloved to do what they love; becoming a full time florist and regularly being able to put in their work. But by the words of (S/o), she had to realize them practicing the language of flowers in pursuit of profit would only drain them, losing the passion for in the process.

So by agreement they only stick to sending information to cooperators, and also sharing a private kiss while giving each other a pair of white and red chrysanthemums, white meaning loyalty and red meaning joy and love.

EIVOR

HERBS. That's his knowledge on flowers summarized. He has made tea out of them to warm his body in colder days; he has collected them by the request of the Seer and villagers in need; he has used them as means of medicine as well.

Eivor would have (S/o) tell him the advantages of, or at least identify, unrecognizable flora in their travels to England — obviously to end up not ingesting something poisonous, not wanting to do what could've been so easily prevented.

He did become intrigued over his lover’s particular interest in flowers, especially the supposed meaning behind them. It wouldn't be surprising to see him return to Ravensthorpe with some herbs, having picked out a certain flower he saw on the way and hear out what it stands for. And of course from there he received the shock of how varying their meanings can be, having recalled the same flower having a completely different symbolism back in Norway.

He more regularly, if given the opportunity, comes back with a small bundle of snowdrops, symbolizing hope, new beginnings, and the overcoming challenges, the beginnings parts being especially suitable for the springtime they bloom in.

© SEVIIUL do not plagiarize, steal, use for AI, repost on another platform.

[glow-worms-are-believers]

Fresh Lemonade: 50¢ (dp x dc)

Jason was seconds away from collapsing. He had been awake for a bit less than three days straight due to a particularly difficult case and he could now barely keep his eyes open. He was wearing civilian clothes as he dragged his body through the streets of Crime Alley, way too tired to attempt getting to his safe-house via rooftops. His barely-coherent thoughts all focused on how heavenly his bed was going to feel for the half second he’d be in it before he could finally fall unconscious. He turned to arrive on his street only to stop at the sight of a small and cutely decorated lemonade stand. Jason squinted, half-believing his mind was playing tricks on him because this was Crime Alley. One of the worst part of it in fact.

People who lived there were either hardened criminals or desperate and stuck. It was not the the kind of place that would encourage the existence of a lemonade stand. As Jason got closer to it, he could soon see a slip of a girl sitting on a little stool behind the counter. The vigilante stopped in front of the sign announcing the cost for one glass being 50 cents and looked at the girl curiously. As if sensing his gaze, she raised her head from the game she had been playing and gave him a beaming smile.

“Hi,” she chirped. “Would you like to buy some lemonade?”

“How long have you been here?” Jason asked, worried about her lack of fear of a stranger.

“You mean the stand?” She said before continuing smugly, “I just set it up. It’s pretty sweet right?”

“Kid,” the vigilante started, “this is Crime Alley, not Bristol. You need to stop or move your operation.”

“No way!” she protested. “It took me ages to get everything right, I’m not tearing it down now.”

“Where are your parents?” Jason asked as he resisted the urge to sigh.

The girl frowned as her eyes narrowed. “Either get a glass, or move along mister.”

Jason sighed before he walked a bit further as he got his phone out of his pocket. He was too tired to deal with this. One of his underling could do the fine job of keeping the kid from getting beat up.

As the dial tone sounded, Jason heard a voice coming from behind.

“Fresh lemonade, huh? Why don’t you give me a sample,” said a male voice.

“Sorry,” came the girl’s voice. “I don’t have cups for that. You have to buy one.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” came the mocking voice of the customer and Jason sighed at the imminent confrontation. Maybe it would teach the girl some caution if nothing else. “Why don’t I just-”

The scream of pain had the vigilante snapping the phone shut and turning around in an instant, only to see an older teenager cradling his visibly-broken hand close to his chest as the girl tutted at him.

“No swiping,” she lectured. “If you want some you gotta pay for it fair and square.” The teenager looked at her hesitatingly with a tinge of fear in his eyes before he scampered off with a few curses.

Well.

Maybe sleep could wait a little while more.

With a smile, Jason walked back to the stand. “You know what, I changed my mind, get me a cup.”

[yourlocalsmutwriter]

Never have I ever faked it with a footballer - Roy Kent x reader

A list of things you did just before your frontal lobe fully developed: graduated and managed to land yourself a part-time job in your favorite bookstore. A list of things you didn't manage to do just before your frontal lobe fully developed: have sex. Those were the thoughts going through your head the week before your 25th birthday. If this was a cheesy romance novel, you would meet the man of your dreams soon and you'd ride into the sunset. Maybe someone who was just as unexperienced as you? Or a very busy businessperson married to their job, whose heart you melt. Perhaps a customer? You look at the the man across from you on the till. His mustache and choice in literature are a bit clashing. But the ring on his finger tells you everything you need to know. He's married and definitely too old for you. He's probably buying the Wrinkle in time for his kid or something. You make a joke that he's bought every sports book you have in stock, and he quips back that there's still something called "Aussie Grit" and "How you build a car" on the shelves.

You agreed with him, not too keen on going into an unskippable dialog that would scare off your customer. You don't work on commission, but you for sure don't want to re-shelf all of the sports books he's about to purchase. You wish him a nice day and think nothing of it. Not like he would play a significant role in your life, anyway.

A couple of days pass, and the checkout till is quieter than usual. You can spot a few regulars in between the shelves and get their books. Then your view is blocked by an angry looking man.

"I'd like to return this." He says, holding a copy of the "wrinkle of time" like it's an offensive nude magazine.

"Sorry, we cannot make returns or exchanges without the receipt. " You reply, your customer service voice light and breezy. The guy looks less than pleased.

"Well the wanker that gifted it to me wasn't generous enough to include it. Could you just get it off my hands, please." He goes on.

"I'll put it in the bargain bin, but it has to be our little secret, okay? You're more than welcome to look through it, too. Don't want you to leave with such a bitter taste from our little establishment." You try to be diplomatic.

Somehow things quickly turn to shit. Someone makes a connection that it's Roy Kent looking through the paperbacks that don't sell. At the exact same time that a large bridal gang walk in. The women, decorated with saches and penis necklaces, must posses echolocation. That's the only explanation for them flocking immediately around you two, begging for the footballer to sign them in increasingly intimate places.

You want to move, to escape, but they have flocked from every side, trapping you. Then Roy makes it worse. He morphs into every protagonist of the cheesy romance novels you read and says

"Everyone, back off. You're gonna end up stomping my girlfriend." The women coo and awww, as if you're a puppy he rescued. You're still unsure who he is and why he warrants such a fuss. You don't figure it out even when he presses his lips to yours, telling the women that this is his new "good luck ritual for practice.". You have to keep living with the fact that amongst the lucky few you had kissed was now a celebrity. You held off from Googling him until you got home, getting sucked into a string of videos about his career and gossip rags. After stumbling on an article about his penis, you call it an evening. At least you now get the hype.

You think that it's done and dusted, that you'll never see Roy Kent again. You're about 5 minutes from closing, deep in the back arranging the shelves after someone had a buying spree (today felt like Christmas, with the amount of people walking in, trying to catch a glimpse of you and buying something to ease their guilt of simply walking in to gawk at you). Someone even showed you a reddit post, where they'd doxxed your store. You didn't look forward to the Roy fangirls that would think your relationship was real and ask you about your sex life. But you did anticipate the moment where you'd tell them that it's eerily similar to a romance book in stock and watch them flock to get it. Was it unethical to suggest that Roy Kent made you suck cotton candy off a butt plug and then used it on you? Yes. Was the price of eggs so high that it wasn't your concern? Also yes. And who knows what he was actually doing in the bedroom? He was a professional footballer since his teens, God know what or who he hasn't tried. Just about when you began to entertain that scenario in your brain, the doorbell chimed, a potential customer walking.

"Hello, sorry we're closing in five minutes, so I'll have to urge you to be quick or come back tomorrow." You say, not looking up from the Lauren Asher trilogy you're holding.

"Actually, I was hoping to get rid of some books." A husky male voice said and you practically sped-walked to see. And there he was, in all his glory, leather jacket over a black shirt, Roy fucking Kent. Holding a good chunk of a dozen of his autobiography books.

"What are you doing here?" You ask, not sure if this was real. Maybe you had slipped and hit your head on a shelf?

"Call it community service. Clear a table for these will you?" He says, and pulls out a pen out of his pocket. You know it costs as much as the entire game of thrones set, so you keep looking at him as you pile up the Tiktok books and place them by your register. He's signing his own books, and placing them on the table like a pro.

"You don't have to do this." You reason, not really sure of his modus operandi.

"Look, yesterday I really had practice after coming here. And it was the best I've played in years. So I was wondering if you'd kiss me again. Just to see if that was the cataclysm." Roy was obviously used to adoring fans, or women that were enamored with him. Either that or the disalussion of dating too many models and actresses, too many stay at home girlfriends that wanted fame or money. Which, kudos to them. But for you, fucking a footballer wasn't in your 10 year plan. So you began acting like a 10 year old. You started shouting at him, calling him names for assuming you're easy.

"Just because you're famous, very easy on the eyes and apparently have a magic dick, doesn't mean that you can walk in here and demand to kiss me. Especially after trying to bribe me with books. You're insufferable."

He backs off when you try and hurl pens and card packs at him, failing miserably. He cautiously approaches you, like you're a stray cat. A rubber bounces off his jawline and you're both leaning down to pick it up.

"I wasn't trying to get lucky. Wanted to come here, ask you out on a date. Sorry I didn't phrase it in the best way. When you're surrounded by sweaty, brutish, young men all day, you're not the best at indirect communication. As for the books, I just wanted you to get ahead, make some money off of this." He explains.

"Sorry, I assumed the worst out of you based on nothing. You were just as impacted by this whole thing as me, if not more. So it makes sense for you to wanna come back and initiate something. Truce?" You ask and extend your hand over for him to shake. His touch is firm, yet feather-like. You're like a woman possessed, leaning into him, whispering, "Is this okay?" millimeters shy of his lips. Roy kisses you, needy and desperate. You can feel his stubble on your cheek, your lips are almost tingling for more.

Was it possible for a man to dickmatize you without even showing you his cock? is what you were wondering when Roy presses his body into yours, both ot you on the floor. You're absolutely feral, asking him for more. Moaning in his ear when he kisses your neck. Begging him to touch you, wrapping your legs around him and rubbing yourself against him, both of you groaning at the contact.

"Sugar, look as much as I'd look forward to just taking you right here and now, and giving both of us the most gnarly case of carpet burn since the 80s, let's pause okay. Save it for an actual date?" Roy says, slightly panting. You made a professional footballer go out of breath.

"Okay, but just because you have to test out your hypothesis. Report to me with findings, okay Mr. Kent?" You reply, trying to mask your disappointment. Roy was doing what not one of your partners had managed before - make you so horny that it was borderline reckless. And it didn't help that he was a gentleman. One that helped you up and kissed your cheek goodbye. One that promised to be here again tomorrow.

You did your closing at a snail's pace. Seriously, every time you had a spare minute, your thoughts drifted off to a certain professional footballer and your impending date. What were you going to wear? Where would he take you? Would you kiss again? Would it feel as good? The last two thoughts turned into scenarios, which you turned into your head that night. Vibrator pressed against your clit, head buried in the pillow, saying please.

At least the orgasm ensured you had the best sleep of your life. You couldn't wait for the day to end. And after selling out the Roy biographies like hot cakes, it wasn't easy to keep your thoughts away from him.

And he doesn't make it any easier when he walks in, takeaway containers in one hand, and an expensive looking bottle of wine in the other.

"Well Enchanté to you too." You say, wondering why he's brought an impromptu picnic. As if he can read your mind, he goes

"Restaurants when you're famous can get overwhelming. Either our meal would be interrupted by fans, or I'd have to take you to a place where they sell miniscule portion for insane prices. And the latter isn't my vibe, nor is the first. So let's dig in here." Roy clears up a space like a pro, setting up everything. He's got good taste, you practically moan at the food. You get to know each other, even playing rounds of trivia against one another. He's surprisingly good at distinguishing Shakespeare from Taylor Swift and you're surprisingly hilarious at making up football terms. Deeming that VAR stands for Very Accurate Reaction. After just two glasses, the wine is abandoned. Roy tells you about the breakthroughs he's making with coach Lasso. You teasingly give him a peck so he can reap more good luck. You kiss and kiss and kiss until you think that you're going to explode. That's when you say the magic words, "Roy, take me home." And he does.

He doesn't mind visiting people, you think. His shoes are in the corridor, jacket on the hook. Lips on yours, hands trailing down.

"Can I touch your perfect fucking tits?" He asks and as soon as you say yes, his hands are on you. Grabby, but gentle. He kisses down your chest, scraping his beard against you, making it more intense. His tongue is on you and he doesn't miss how sensitive you are. How you arch for his touch, how you moan like a man hasn't made you feel this good. Maybe it's been while? That's why you're chanting his name like a prayer, rutting against him. If you're in his lap, may as well ride him, he wants to say. You're certainly feeling how you're affecting him. He respected pillow princesses, he was fine with you being a starfish, sure he'd do all the work. But now? You were just plain giving him blue balls.

He places a hand on your thigh.

"Darling, I'm all for getting what's yours, but wanna help me out here?" He asks, motioning to the tent in his jeans. Roy sees you deflate, turn red and try to scamper off him. He asks what's wrong and almost books a hearing test when you mumble something under your nose. He needs you to repeat yourself.

"I've never had sex, okay. I'm a virgin." You admit, feeling very exposed. But Roy doesn't laugh or leave or say ew. He doesn't look like he broke a precious teapot. He just asks what you want to do next. And you surprise both of you by saying, "I wanna change that tonight."

Roy kisses you again, gentler, but with urgency. Slowly peels off your clothes, not missing a chance to tell you how beautiful you look, how he can't wait to touch you. He strips of his shirt and pants, leaving you to take off his boxers. You marvel at his cock and he's ready to screw everything and have you when you say "This is my first time seeing one. Are they always so big?". He guides your hand in touching him, his fist over yours, stroking. He thrusts his hips up, just to show you you make him feel good. He swears he's died and gone up to heaven when you sink lower on the bed and ask to blow him. Your tongue is so eager, you're lapping and sucking and paying attention to the head just like he told you. For a second he regresses to his younger self and thinks "Oh, how fun will it be to train her to be a slut for me, to teach her how to make a men feel good and just ruin her for the rest."

He needs more, because if your mouth is that soft and warm, he can't imagine how nice your cunt will feel. He makes you pull away, doesn't miss how you stare at the string of drool between your lips and his cock. Saving that one to the fucking spank bank. Roy fishes out a condom from his wallet, glad he assumed the best of himself and you. He rolls it on his length, pinching the tip. Roy knows you're wet enough. He feels how soaked you are. But he wants to prep you, to feel your cunt clench around his fingers first. He rubbs your clit first, sliding one finger inside of you slowly. Then as you're still adjusting, he adds a second. He's fast, laser focused on making you cum or just about. He stops as you're nearing your peak and asks "Can I? Are you ready?" You nod, uttering a quiet yes, so he lines his cock against you. He taps it against your clit once, so you feel his sheer length. Roy nudges it between your pussy lips and slowly moves.

"You're so fucking tight. And doing so good for me. Just breathe and take me in, that's right." He slides his hand in between the two of you, playing with your clit. That distracts you from the slight discomfort and you're squeezing him even more.

"Feels good?" He asks and all you can do is nod and moan for more. He pulls out slightly and thrusts back in. When he leans down and kisses your nipples, you're done for. You're cumming against him, and it feels so good, so much more intense than an orgasm from your own fingers. When he cums, thrusts fast and precise against your overstimulated cunt, you know all the smutty romance you had ever read was not exaggerated.

Roy Kent was almost better at aftercare than he was at fucking you. He carried you to the couch, as he popped the sheets in the washing machine (on cold and with the slightest bit of Vanish sprayed on a particular spot.). He made you drink copious amounts of water and played with your hair, telling you how good you were for him.

"You know if kissing me gives you good luck in practice, I think with this, you're gonna be winning the whole league." You say, and he laughs. Long gone is the grumpy older man who was complaining about not being able to return a wrinkle of time.

[mshalfemptygirl]

Under the Tree (S.R)

Plot: Y/N decorates the apartment for Christmas with her boyfriend, Spencer Reid, and things get pretty cute between the two of them. Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader Contents: A sweet Christmas fic where they’re being cute and flirting with each other. Maybe it releases a lot of oxytocin. A/N: I hope you all like it! Merry Christmas to those who celebrate, and if you don’t, I hope you have a wonderful day anyway and enjoy this little piece of joy. Love you all, and thanks for reading my fics! Happy Holidays!

The sweet scent of hot chocolate filled the apartment as I curled up on the couch, wrapped in a soft blanket. Across the room, Spencer was intently focused on his self-proclaimed mission to “perfectly top” our Christmas tree. I watched him as he studied the golden star in his hands, his brows knit together in concentration as if he were tackling one of his impossibly complex equations. “If you spend five more minutes deciding the exact angle of that star, the tree’s gonna give up and decorate itself,” I teased, trying to hide my amusement behind a sip of hot chocolate.

He glanced at me over the rim of his glasses, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks. “Did you know that the probability of a Christmas tree being perfectly symmetrical is practically zero? The branches are almost always uneven, even if they’re artificial.”

I raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Is that your fancy way of blaming the tree for how long this is taking?”

He turned back to the tree, the corner of his mouth twitching as he fought back a smile. “I’m not taking that long,” he said, climbing carefully onto a slightly wobbly chair. “I just want it to be… perfect.”

“It’s already perfect, Spencer,” I said softly, my words more for me than for him.

But he heard me. Spencer paused mid-movement and glanced over his shoulder. His gaze was steady, the warmth in his brown eyes making my chest tighten in the best way. “You think so?”

“Yeah,” I replied with a small smile, meeting his gaze. “And I’m not talking about the tree.”

His ears turned a deeper shade of red, and I couldn’t help but laugh quietly. He always got adorably flustered when I caught him off guard like that. But this time, instead of deflecting or looking away, he stepped down from the chair, the star forgotten in his hand, and walked toward me with deliberate calmness.

“You know,” he began, leaning one hand on the back of the couch as he hovered just a little too close, “flirting is actually considered a sign of intelligence.”

“Oh, really?” I asked, my voice softening despite the playful edge in his tone. “So, what does that say about you, Dr. Reid?”

His lips curved into a smirk, the kind that made my heart race and my knees feel just a little weaker. “It says I have exceptional intelligence... and impeccable taste.”

Heat rose to my face, but I managed to keep my composure, raising an eyebrow at him. “Humble as always.”

He chuckled, settling onto the couch beside me and tugging the blanket over both of us. His arm slipped around my shoulders, pulling me closer, and I leaned into his warmth without hesitation.

“You want to know something else interesting?” he asked, his voice dropping slightly, the rasp in it sending a pleasant shiver through me.

“Let me guess,” I said, tilting my head to look at him. “You’re about to hit me with another weirdly sexy statistic?”

Spencer laughed, the sound low and warm, and I couldn’t help but smile. “I could,” he admitted, his eyes sparkling with mischief, “but I was thinking of something a little more practical.”

“Like what?”

He didn’t answer immediately, his gaze dropping to my lips. “Like the fact that you’ve got hot chocolate on the corner of your mouth.”

Before I could react, he leaned in and wiped the spot with his thumb, his touch lingering just a moment too long. My breath hitched, and I swore his smirk grew as he noticed my reaction.

“All fixed,” he said softly, his voice casual, but his eyes held that undeniable spark that left me completely disarmed.

“Thanks… I guess,” I managed, my voice quieter than I intended.

“No need to thank me,” he replied, leaning in to press a quick, feather-light kiss to my cheek. His lips were gone before I could fully process the touch, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. “But if you wanted to repay me,” he added, his voice lower, more daring, “I have a few ideas.”

I laughed, trying to steady my racing heart. “Ideas, huh? Like what?”

He leaned back slightly, his lips curving into a smile that was equal parts playful and enticing. “Well,” he began, his tone light but purposeful, “we could finish decorating the gingerbread cookies. You know, keep things wholesome. Or…” His voice dipped, his gaze locking on mine, “we could forget about the cookies entirely and stay right here. See where this... takes us.”

I tilted my head, pretending to consider his words as my pulse hammered in my ears. “And what exactly do you think ‘this’ is going to lead to, Spence?”

He didn’t hesitate, shifting closer until his knee brushed mine, his presence impossibly magnetic. “That’s the best part,” he murmured, his voice soft but full of meaning. “I don’t know yet. But I’m pretty confident I’ll like wherever it goes.”

[cynthiav06]

Percy is a dude from the category of screaming "what the hell did you do!" and solve all the problems in 5 minutes. Everyone would have been dead a long time ago if it wasn't for him.

I have mixed opinions on this. On one hand, Percy is the type of person to wait about for the problem to disappear by itself just so he doesn't have to deal with it. Cause even before he found out he was a demigod, he was 100% done with everyone's shit.

But I do agree that he would be able to solve all problems because through so many books we have seen that no matter how much prior planning Annabeth or the Seven or anyone else does, Percy always does his own thing at the end. And it works out mostly for the better than whatever initial situation anyone else had in mind because Percy thinks almost too well on his feet. Every time.

But Percy has such low self esteem that he sees the fact that he has to make so many improvisations more so as his plans never working as less so as an exceptional ability to adapt. Especially when at times he can easily sense that some titan/giant is too powerful so he maneuvers around a direct fight and ends up defeating them by pure strategy and still ends up thinking of himself as "Oh shit I seriously had no plans. I am so reckless and stupid".

His whole character arc could have been evolving into a more confident and self assured but still the usual sarcastic laid back version of himself who no longer doubts his own abilities and becomes the great leader he showed many signs of being. But no, Rick had to ruin it all because, for some reason, 10+ books later and almost all the characters are still the same, just decorated with even more trauma. Rick being Rick, and instead of showing characters working out their traumas and insecurities, he just slaps a relationship on them, and lo and behold, all is better again somehow.

I am kind of disappointed that we never got to see Percy or any other members of the Seven do any solo missions(aside from Annabeth in MoA) . She almost had the very quintessential realization about how she needs others and how her hubris will ruin everything if she doesn't keep it in check only for whatever she was doing in the later parts House of Hades and all of Chalice of the Gods to take away even that little bit of character development.

And cause solo missions working out perfectly well for Percy while most other demigods struggle a bit to make it work might finally make him realize that his plans don't suck and he is actually a really really good strategist and somehow an even better manipulator. (Though more on that and his observational skills later).

Or make characters like Frank and Leo whose unique abilities and perspectives on combat could have been shown off more, making them all become more self-reliant.

And even so we could finally get proper idea of limits of certain characters like Piper (cause charmspeak isn't going to get her everywhere) or Hazel (we so need more scenes of her surprising demigods and monsters with not only her unique jewel abilities and her magic.) Plus Nico's combat limits, Jason's stamina limits (no I am not considering his death part of canon, you can't tell me it's true, I refuse to stand by it), Thalia's character development as well as her honing her powers and combat abilities more.

So yeah, we really should have gotten a few solo missions instead of so many short stories and all. And a bit more cross-over highlighting the power levels between the Norse, Greek, Roman, and Egyptian demigods/magicians/Valhalla residents/Valkyrie and so on.

To sum it up, tons of missed opportunities by Riordan and even more tragic and terrible progression of previously great characters who just needed a well-made character arc or even some favoritism. (I am looking at Grover and Rachel, who both could have done so so much if Rick had only realized the awesome potential they had).

I have said it many times that it's #percy jackson supremacy. So hell yes everyone would be dead without him, and he is arguably the best protagonist out of any other fantasy action book series. All hail Percy Jackson, the master of sass, and the most beloved but somehow still the most misinterpreted character in the fandom. Really liked this ask, would love more of these regarding Percy or any other characters.

[th3cadav3r]

The Gala

JayVik Smut

summary: Jayce broke his promise to keep Viktor company at the gala that they had been invited to. How will he make it up to him? Maybe…a risky quickie?

content: mlm ship, established relationship, quickie, semi-public sex, dry humping

author’s note: I really gotta work on my post schedule omg—anyways enjoyyy!!!

Viktor wasn’t really having a great time

The room was full of politicians, scientists, scholars, and other high-class pilties all drinking and chatting away. The event was held in an exquisite venue decorated with deep red and gold. It was easy for Viktor, a man born and raised in the undercity, to feel out of place

Jayce was deep in conversation with a group of people. He could barely go a few seconds without getting pulled aside and plunged into another long talk, which mostly consisted of a mountain of praise being thrown his way for his leading innovation in the science world. It made Viktor undoubtedly jealous. He wasn’t sure what made him more upset: the fact that Jayce was being acknowledged a bit too much or the fact that he was hardly being acknowledged at all despite being Hextech’s co-founder

He sighs. He knew he shouldn’t have come, but Jayce insisted on it. As much as he would’ve preferred to just stay at home or in the lab, he couldn’t help but give in when Jayce used his puppy-dog eyes on him. He promised that he’d stay by his side the whole time. That he’d make sure they both have an amazing night. So Viktor dressed lavishly and they both arrived together, only for him to be casted aside and forced to stand against the wall as the party went on without him. He should be used to this by now, but it didn’t hurt any less

“Hey V!”

Viktor snapped out of his daze. Jayce stood in front of him with a big smile on his face and glimmer in his eyes. “I was looking everywhere for you”

Viktor wasn’t in the mood for this. He wasn’t in the mood to see how happy Jayce was from the night of fun he was having when he had been left in the corner to twiddle his thumbs. He said nothing, only glared at the man who stood before him. Jayce’s smile fell almost as quickly as it had formed

“Vik, I’m–” his hand instinctively flew to Viktor’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I just got all caught up in a conversation and–” His eyes searched his lover’s, silently begging for sympathy or understanding. But all he was met with was that same cold glare

He sighed. “I’m sorry,” he said again

“You promised me” was all that Viktor muttered out. He couldn’t even look his lover in the eyes and instead opted to stare down at the floor, so polished that he could almost see his own reflection

Jayce gently cupped the side of Viktor’s face, forcing his wandering eyes to meet his own. “I know, V. I'm so sorry”

They stayed like that for a while. The music and chatter of the crowd was immediately drowned out as Jayce held Viktor. Nothing else mattered but the two of them, not even the sound of someone halfway across the room calling to Jayce trying to get his attention

Finally, Viktor gave a little half-smile, a non-verbal sign that said “I’m still upset but I forgive you”. That was all Jayce needed

“C’mon, let me make it up to you,” Jayce took Viktor’s hand and led him out of the banquet hall

The storage closet was quite cramped and stuffy but it was their only option at the moment. It was close enough to the banquet hall that they could still hear the liveliness of the party, but far away and hidden enough so that the chances of someone walking in on them was highly unlikely

“Are you okay with doing this here?” Jayce asked

“This is fine,” Viktor reassured. “I just need you”

His breath hitched at his words and he pounced on him immediately, pressing Viktor up against the door and capturing his lips in a hungry kiss. One hand cupped his cheek while the other gripped onto his hip tightly. Viktor held onto him with one arm while using the other to hold onto his cane, keeping him steady

“Gods, V. I needed this”

Jayce’s hand slid down to grab Viktor’s ass, pulling his body even closer. His hips bucked forward, letting Vik feel his growing arousal

That was fast, Viktor thought to himself. But he couldn’t blame him. It was a rather thrilling experience

He broke the kiss to start trailing open-mouthed kisses along his jaw and down his neck, still keeping a firm grasp on his bottom

“I’m exhausted from standing up for so long,” Viktor sighed while shifting his bad leg a bit

“oh—right” Jayce felt stupid for not being more considerate. “Here, lean on me” He shifted his position, offering his body as a solid wall of support. He wrapped his arm around him in a secure manner. “Better?”

Viktor nodded, setting his cane aside as he put his full trust into Jayce to keep him upright. Their lips connected again, each of them pouring their own pent up passion and desire into the kiss

Viktor broke the kiss to start unbuttoning his shirt quickly. Jayce watched him with bated breath, his eyes locked onto his lover’s slender fingers as they popped each bedazzled button off of his expensive dress shirt

“Don’t just stare. Do the same”

Jayce snapped out of the trance that he was in and immediately started undressing as well, taking his shirt off and casting it aside. Their eyes never left each other, the air between them thick with tension and desire

As soon as Viktor shrugged his shirt off of his shoulders, Jayce pounced on him once more as if he was acting upon a primal instinct. He lifted up Viktor without much effort, placing both hands on his bottom and sandwiching him between his body and the door. Their shared arousal became very much obvious when their erections pressed against each other, rubbing together as they kissed once more

“Jayce—” Viktor gasped as he clutched onto his arm. Jayce’s breath hitched at his firm grasp, thrilled by the desperate grip

“We can’t go all the way,” he whispered. Jayce paused and considered his words, realising that they wouldn’t really be able to get far without lube. “Yeah, you’re right”

Viktor smiled mischievously, a rare but welcome sight. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t have a bit of fun”

Jayce’s eyes sparkled as an idea formed in his head. He bucked his hips forward, rubbing his clothed boner against Viktor’s which made him gasp again

“Fuck,” he groaned, his hips instinctively thrusting rhythmically. Viktor did the same, moving in tandem as he desperately tried to feel as much friction as possible

Jayce buried his face in the crook of Viktor’s neck, trying to stifle the sounds that threatened to spill out of his mouth. He rutted against Viktor’s crotch, holding him up against the door and using his strong arms to spread his legs apart

“Feels good, V?”Jayce whispered against his skin

Viktor bit his lip and nodded, too stimulated to even muster up a proper response. The friction and closeness were enough to drive both of them wild, and the fact that anyone could walk by and hear them or open the closet door added to the electric feeling that ran through both of their bodies

Viktor’s eyes were squeezed shut from a combination of the immense pleasure and the incredible amount of self-restraint that it was taking to not moan Jayce’s name at the top of his lungs. He tugged on Jayce’s hair, pulling his face to his own and capturing his lips into a desperate, sloppy kiss

Jayce’s mind was starting to go blank—whether that was from the intense heat of the cramped closet or his impending orgasm he didn’t know, but he was fairly certain that it was both

“V, I’m gonna—”

“Me too”

Jayce clutched onto Viktor, grinding against him even harder until he finally reached his peak. He trembled with aftershocks as he kissed Viktor deeply, who was also succumbing to his own intense climax. They rode out their shared release, breathing heavily as their heaving sweaty chests remained pressed up against each other

“Damn…”Jayce panted. “That was intense”

He always said something along those lines after every intimate session of theirs, but this one was especially intense even despite the lack of penetration

“Very,”Viktor responded as Jayce handed him his cane back, allowing him to stand on his own again. “It seems we didn’t consider the fact that our very expensive pants would get dirty”

Jayce peered down and sure enough, both of them had huge wet spots on the crotch of their dress pants. “Shit…”He chuckled nervously

Luckily, the closet had cleaning supplies and they were able to tidy themselves up just enough to avoid suspicion. They picked their shirts up off of the ground and buttoned them back up after dusting them off

“That’ll do,”Jayce remarked when they were fully dressed once again. “Now let’s get outta here before anyone notices we were gone for so long”

Though Viktor dreaded the idea of stepping back out into the hell that he had just escaped from, he knew that all he had to do was wait it out. Besides, he had a very good feeling that their activities would be continued as soon as they arrived home