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

[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…….

[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*

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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.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

AN: Thank you for reading!

[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.”

[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.”

[themultifanshipper]

As much love as the fans showed Yuki, one little-known fact about him was that no one would ever love him quite as much as his wife did. And they expressed it a bit too loudly for everyone else’s liking.

The fact that Yuki is looking at pierre in that pic keeps me awake at night.

Hope y'all get the deadpool reference

Also I cry laughing everytime i read the "cakes" part bc wtf was I thinking

Warnings: I almost vomited from the fluff, nasty sex to counterbalance tho, putting food in places it should not be, physical injury (burn), then more disgusting fluff. Cringe dialogue. Tried something new writing in the 3rd person so tell me if it’s okay

They were still very much in the honeymoon phase, only having been married for a year, but they were truly, madly, deeply, disgustingly in love. Emphasis on the disgusting. Because they fucked anywhere and everywhere, all the damn time.

It was becoming a problem, in particular for Daniel, who had asked that the walls separating their driver rooms be soundproofed, and to never be on the same hotel floor as Yuki.

Because Yuki was insatiable and so was his wife.

There they were, in Yuki’s massive kitchen, while she made dinner and Yuki watched her, glass of wine (not his first) in his hand. How lucky that he married a woman whose father was a world famous chef. She’d insisted on making him something special for their 1 year anniversary, so he just sat on the other side of the kitchen Island while she worked away at her pots and pans.

“You know I love you, right?” He asked.

She looked at him with an amused twinkle in her eye. “I would hope so baby, otherwise why did you marry me?”

“For your amazing smile, of course! And your father’s money” he smirked at her.

“Well then thank god I made you sign a prenup then!”

They both giggled and sighed like lovesick fools, and sent each other flying kisses from across the island. If anyone else had been there, they would probably have been sick, especially Daniel, who knew way too much about their sex habits to be fooled by all the lovey-dovey PDA they always shared around everyone.

She’d finished all the prep and had just turned the stove on when she climbed onto a chair to open the top cabinet which contained more bottles of expensive wine.

That’s when Yuki noticed. She was wearing one of his shirts, which was slightly big on her given his build, that part he already knew, but as she lifted her arms, he noticed she was wearing nothing underneath. Literally nothing.

She was cooking for him (that on it’s own enough to get him in the mood) straight up shirt-cocking it (shirt-pussying it?), Winnie the pooh style. In a shirt with his name on it.

It was all too much for little Yuki Tsunoda as he slinked off his chair and made his way towards her. He made it halfway around the island before she noticed and scolded him.

“Nuh-huh, get out of my space baby. This is my kitchen tonight!”

He didn’t listen as he ran the rest of the way and kissed her, arms weaving around her waist. The advantage of being almost the same height was that neither had to bend their head awkwardly, their bodies just slotted together perfectly. He grabbed at the back of her thighs and she wrapped them around his waist, enjoying how much strength he possessed as he didn’t even flinch.

He plopped her on the counter between the stove and the fridge, the cold marble against her heated flesh making her gasp against his lips. Without looking and without breaking the kiss, one of Yuki’s hands trailed down between her legs, the other going into the meticulously organised fridge.

She pulled away, needing oxygen, and saw what he’d taken out: a can of whipped cream. Uh oh. He grinned at her, shaking the can, and she raised an eyebrow at him.

“And what, pray tell, are you going to do with that?”

He smirked “I am going to decorate my entrée.”

She rolled her eyes as he pushed on her chest to lay her down before pulling up her shirt over her tits. He then proceeded to squirt whipped cream over them, making her gasp. Finally, he produced a jar of sprinkles from god knows where and threw a generous amount over the cream.

“cakes” he said simply, making her wheeze because what the fuck Yuki, but she didn’t laugh for long as he wasted no time diving in, tongue first, liking up the quickly melting cream.

The coldness of the cream had made her nipples hard, and he took the opportunity to suck on them harshly, making her whine and grab his hair while he licked up every last drop of his handywork. Then he spent a few minutes worshipping, licking and nibbling every bit of bare skin he could get his mouth on.

Once he was done and she was panting, he lifted her legs and ordered her to hold them open, exposing her to him completely. And as he suspected, she had already made a puddle on the counter, making him groan and cup himself through his joggers, that were well tented by now.

“Naughty, not wearing anything underneath. Is this what you expected to happen?”

She nodded quickly “Yes! Please Yuki, touch me.”

His fingers tapped around her thighs, never getting anywhere near where she needed them most.

“And who made you wet like this, hmmm?”

She huffed impatiently “You did Yuki, been thinking about tonight all week!”

He raised his eyebrows as he shook the can again. “Really? I must savour it then.”

He squirted a healthy amount all over her pussy, not wasting any time with sprinkles. The heat from her skin melted it almost immediately, drops rolling down her flesh, across her ass and onto the counter. He trailed his finger through the mess, slipping it into his mouth as he moaned, the taste of the cream mixing with her slick made an absolute banger mix.

The madman didn’t waste any more time, he buried his face into the mess between her thighs, lapping up as much of it as he could and using his very skilled tongue to bring her to the edge in minutes.

She came with a loud cry and her hips bucked into his mouth, spreading a mix of cum and leftover cream over his face as he let her ride the wave, her hands firmly tangled in his hair.

When her body finally stopped thrumming with aftershocks, she pushed herself up to kiss him, but before their lips could meet, she shrieked.

She had left the stove on, and in her haste, put her hand straight on the scorching surface.

Yuki immediately picked her up and brought her to the sink to run her hand under the cold water.

“Are you okay baby?”

She nodded, whimpering as the feeling slowly faded from her hand from the cold and he kissed her cheek, arms around her squeezing tight.

“Why don’t I finish dinner while you go put some aloe on it?

She nodded again, and when she felt like her hand was going to survive the trip, she shuffled off to the bathroom.

After dinner, they lay in bed snuggling, while Yuki kissed each knuckle carefully over and over.

“I’m sorry” He whispered.

She giggled “You’ve got nothing to be sorry about, baby. It was entirely my stupidity that led us here.”

He buried his head in the crook of her neck, kissing her skin softly “I love you”

“I love you too, Yuki”

He smiled and tightened his hold around her waist and they both fell asleep like that, wrapped in each other’s arms.

[bitethedevil]

Raphael going to a noble party of some kind, disguised as a human, in order to find and schmooze with current and potential clients. While engaging with one such individual who seems particularly taken with him, from across the room he spots Tav, for once not dressed in adventurer's gear but decorated with finery. The Hero of Baldur's Gate is so radiant that, at a glance, one could be forgiven for mistaking the mortal as an angel in disguise. However, like the cambion, Tav also has noble-born partygoers vying for their attention, asking (and more often than not being granted) a dance with the hero, and perhaps gossip of nobles approaching the hero with dowry proposals and attempts at wooing this illustrious guest begin to reach the fiend's ears.

Thank you for the prompt! <3 Super interesting. This is just Raphael being Raphael pretty much. It's not super edited so bear with me.

And to others who have also sent me prompts: I have gotten so many of them! I'm very grateful and I'll try my best to get to as many of them as I can, though I have already warned that I am pretty slow.

Revenge (SFW)

Viola Gist, an elderly member of the Gist family who had run the trade of dyes in Baldur’s Gate, was talking Raphael’s ear off in the corner of the grand ball room. Nobles from all over the city had gathered in High Hall for one of the city’s annual balls.

Raphael was dressed in his best as always and managed to fit in so well that no one ever bothered to question if he actually belonged to the nobility of Baldur’s Gate. It was an art he had perfected many centuries ago. He rarely needed an invitation to go anywhere.

It was even easier when he happened to know quite a few people there. There was not a family in the Gate that he had not dealt with at some point. The ones who knew what he was kept wonderfully quiet, for no noble wanted to confess that they had asked for the help of a devil to keep their place far above heads of the smallfolk.

In fact, Lady Gist’s late husband himself had been a client of his and his soul was currently stashed away in his House of Hope. It seemed that his wife had moved on rather quickly, with the way she was dressed and the looks she was giving Raphael.

He indulged her, of course, with his smiles and charming comments. Her soul was not worth much, but what could he say? He was a collector, and he did love the idea of having the full set. Was their son and heir as gullible as his parents, he could be tempted to swing by to get him too in a couple of years.

Viola Gist kept blathering on while he tried his best to look intensely interested in what she said. He already had her. He was sure that all she needed was the tiniest push to convince her to sign his contract. Lady Gist was interrupted by some commotion behind her. Raphael raised an eyebrow and looked to where people seemed to be gathering around something or someone.

“Oh, it’s her,” the elderly lady said with a sneer after looking over her shoulder. “Can you imagine that? She was barely even raised in the city and now that she has returned, everyone is fawning over her for her hand in marriage. Between you and me, she might have the Sashenstar name, but she is truly only a distant relative to the main family.”

“Indeed? What a shame,” Raphael said and smiled at her. “The men of Baldur’s Gate surely must have terrible taste to hunt for anything new and shiny when there is such a magnificent jewel such as yourself right in front of them.”

His flirtations worked like a charm. Lady Gist blushed and giggled like a woman at least 40 years younger than what she actually was.

“It’s kind of you to say,” she said with that shrill giggle of hers. “Furthermore, I have been raised like a lady. You would not see me traversing through the wilderness with strangers, killing creatures of any sort like some brute.”

An odd description, Raphael thought.

“A brute, you say?” he asked. “What is the lady’s name?”

Lady Gist looked like she was trying to remember.

“Oh, it’s some dreadfully simple name,” she said and looked at the floor as she was thinking. “I don’t recall. It’s that girl that saved the city, or so they say. Mav? Tav?”

Raphael’s eyes widened slightly.

“Tav?” he asked slowly. “Tav…Sashenstar?”

“Yes, her,” Lady Gist said and waved her hand in a dismissive gesture.

That was news to him. He had done so much careful digging on the adventurers back then, but the fact that the little mouse who had snubbed him of his crown was a noble had not come up.

He looked through the crowd over the Lady’s shoulder. There she was, being almost smothered by suitors, wearing a dress, looking…presentable. Raphael might not have recognized her had he not been told she was there. Her smile was strained but polite as she greeted the people around her. She was rather pretty when she was not dressed in shabby armor and her hair did not look like a rat’s nest, he thought.

He had not seen her for so long. He had of course heard about their success with defeating the Netherbrain and everything that had happened after. He also knew who the Crown of Karsus had been given to and how that had ended. Perhaps there was an opportunity here…

Tav looked over the crowd and her eyes fell on Raphael. Her eyes widened completely and the smile on her lips fell when she saw him. She immediately averted her eyes from him, acting like she never saw him. Raphael smiled widely.

“We will talk again later, Viola,” he said and kissed Lady Gist’s hand. “There is an old associate that I simply must talk to.”

Tav had almost forgotten about him amongst all the noise and all the people, particularly young men, who wanted to speak and dance with her. She was dancing with a young man who was her age. He seemed nice, but like all the others, he was dreadfully boring, and it was so painfully clear that he was trying to sell himself to her. She hated it. She hated all of it.

The music finally stopped, and she was freed from him. She smiled politely to him before curtsying. When she turned around, someone grasped around her waist and caught her hand as the next song started. She looked up and panicked. She tried to move away but Raphael’s grip on her waist was firm.

“Ah-ah, dear,” he said and began to lead the dance. “No reason to cause a scene.”

She was still staring at him with wide eyes and dug her nails into his shoulder as he lead the dance with complete ease.

“Why are you here?” she asked hurriedly with a frown while trying not to fall over her own feet.

“I am working,” he answered with a smile. “I would ask why you are here, but word travels quickly in these circles. It’s been a while, hasn’t it, dear? Does the noble life suit you?”

“I don’t need anything, and you are not getting my soul.”

Raphael chuckled deeply.

“You wound me, dear,” he said and spun her around. “Is it truly such an impossible thought that I simply wanted to hear how you were faring?”

“Yes,” she quickly answered. “I’m fine. I’m doing wonderful.”

“Splendid,” he purred with a smile. “Although…I am terribly sorry to hear about your little sweetheart. The God of Ambition, was it? At least it must be to some relief to you that one of you got what you wanted.”

She stepped down hard on Raphael’s foot. He groaned and tightened his grip on her.

“Whoops,” she said and smiled spitefully at him. “I’m still getting the hang of this dancing thing, I’m afraid.”

“Mm, yes. How clumsy of you,” he grumbled and then continued talking. “And now you are to be married to one of these fine men in here. Has anyone caught your eye?”

“You know I could just tell everyone in here what you are,” she warned.

“So no,” Raphael sighed. “Marriage…Such a dull concept, isn’t it? You have seen horrors beyond most mortal’s comprehension, beaten terrible odds, saved the world, and now you are soon to be a noble lady. Sitting pretty beside some fat patriar. Is that truly what you want?”

She looked at him with anger in her eyes. He knew the answer to his question, of course, but she was all too easy to rile up.

“I wanted him,” she confessed quietly with a frown. “That’s all I wanted.”

“And all he wanted was the crown,” Raphael said with feigned sympathy. “Now Gale Dekarios is a god of the Heavens. He got everything he wanted, and yet you lost the man you loved, and I the crown I craved for centuries. Poor us. Fate is cruel, my dear.”

She sneered at him. The song finally came to an end and Raphael let her go. He smirked at her and bowed. She headed straight for the balcony, grabbing a glass of champagne on her way. Raphael followed. She was not going to escape him so easily.

“You look stunning tonight, by the way,” she heard Raphael’s voice from behind her. “Any of these poor fools would be lucky to have you.”

She looked over her shoulder and glared at him.

“Piss off, devil,” she grumbled and took a sip of her champagne.

“I see that your dancing is not the only thing you will have to work on,” he said with a chuckle and leaned against the balcony railing beside her. “Those manners of yours are horrendous as ever. Hardly befitting of a noble lady.”

She leaned her back against the railing and looked at him with her arms crossed and a furious frown on her face.

“I know what you are doing, you know.”

“Oh? What am I doing, my dear?” Raphael asked with a wide smile at her.

“You are trying to lure me into something,” she said. “Trying to remind me of my past, what I lost, but oh you can ‘help’, isn’t that right? You can make it all go away and make me happy again, if only I sign my name on one of your contracts. So, I reiterate: Piss off.”

Someone was on their way out to the balcony. One of her suitors from the look of recognition in the young man’s eyes. Raphael snapped and made the door close and lock in his face without even looking over his shoulder.

“You have me all figured out, haven’t you?” Raphael purred. “No, Tav. I simply stumbled upon an old client who seems miserable with the way that everything has turned out. No matter how much you smile in there, you cannot convince me that this life is something you want.”

“It’s none of your concern,” she said firmly.

“Oh, but it pains me to see people like yourself drenched in so much misery,” he cooed with feigned sympathy. “And it is miserable, isn’t it? To be so close to greatness just to have it snatched away again and be forced to face the same old dreadful sense of normalcy in one’s life.”

It bothered her to no end to have him compare losing the Crown of Karsus to her losing the love of her life. She knew that a part of him was just taunting her for not making the choice of giving the Crown of Karsus to him, because things would have been different if she did. Gale would never have ascended if she had.

“We are not the same,” she said. “And I really do not need your shoulder to cry on.”

“Perish the thought. I am not pitying you. I am simply saying that we are not so different after all. We are simply…” he waved a hand as he looked for the right word. “Talking…Bonding. Isn’t that what your sort calls it?”

“Bonding?” she said and wrinkled her nose at the absurdity of his words. “Spare me your annoying sales tactics and get to the point. What do you want?”

“You,” he said casually and carefully caught her hand with his. “Not your hand in marriage, you understand, though I am sure the two of us could have an awful lot of fun together, and ambitious men do seem to be your type…”

When she did not remove her hand, Raphael smiled and snaked his other hand around her waist. He had her right where he wanted her, and his little theory had been correct: she was lonely, and she was desperate. He was almost salivating at the thought.

“I am proposing a partnership of a different sort entirely,” he purred and wrapped both of his arms around her waist. “One that can reignite that spark in your eyes and take you far away from this dull new life of yours. You won’t even have to give me your soul. You simply have to answer one little question…”

She was looking up at him with expectant eyes. She was interested and there was no doubt about it.

“What?” she asked.

“Your lover left you to pursue greater things,” Raphael stated and ran his hand slowly up and down her back. “You tried to convince him not to, but he didn’t listen to you. He left you here, all alone, forced to go back to a life you never wanted in the first place because you did not share his ambition. My question is this: do you still only want him, or is it something else you crave now? Is it love…or is it revenge you are after?”

Her breathing got slightly heavier as she thought, as if caught up in conflicting emotions.

“Revenge,” she admitted in a quiet voice after a while.

“Good,” Raphael purred with a wicked smile. “Then it is settled, is it not? I want the crown and you want revenge. You are possibly the only person he would ever let into the Heavens. We can both get what we want and let me assure you, I never forget those who helped me to power like your dear Gale did.”

“I’m not sure,” she said quietly as she looked up at him. “Gale is a god now. He might be watching over me. That could be a hindrance in your little plan.”

They were standing so close now and the way her eyes ever so briefly went to his lips did not go past him. He could easily give her a taste of that revenge she so desperately wanted, just to draw her in further.

“Indeed. He might be,” Raphael purred and smiled. “Should we give him a show then?”

Raphael pushed her further back against the railing with his body. One of his hands went to the back of her neck as he pulled her in for a kiss. She kissed him back eagerly. Her arms wrapped around his neck as she pulled him in further. It was a hungry kiss.

Raphael was no fool. He knew that it was all simply to anger her old flame, but that did not mean that he didn’t thoroughly enjoy her enthusiasm. They stopped when they heard a knock on the door to the balcony. They both looked and saw a group of nobles looking at them through the glass window.

Tav was blushing when Raphael looked back at her. He smiled and snapped his fingers to take them away to the House of Hope to further discuss their plans, away from the nobles and gods who might have been listening.

[demigodsanswer]

Holiday fic/baby fic

Canon Percabeth in this one. They're about 28 or 29.

If Percy hadn't been there for their entire conception journey, he'd have bet that Annabeth timed her pregnancy to maximize "baby's first holiday" cheer. It had taken almost a year to conceive Sophie though, so her early August birthday, almost exactly in between their own birthdays, was just how it turned out.

But this meant Sophie was holding her head up by the time Annabeth wanted to put her in a pumpkin for Halloween (perfect for pictures), and she wasn't such a squishy newborn for the holiday card (again, perfect). Hell, by Valentines day she might even sleep through the night and let Mommy and Daddy enjoy their romantic holiday.

Annabeth had a real thing for the holidays. Growing up at camp without stable family traditions had turned her into an adult with bins and bins of decorations, and an iron will to throw every kind of party. New mom or not, she was determined to throw their New Years Eve party the same as every year.

Their daughter had spent the last two months in a series of rotating holiday-themed onesies and dresses. Today, she was in a candy cane printed onesie. She'd had a little red skirt on before, but now she was just in baby sweatpants. Her socks were lost somewhere between her stroller and the couch.

Sophie was attached to Annabeth's chest in a baby wrap, but facing out to look at the tree as Annabeth carefully placed ornaments. His daughter's eyes were wide and her chubby little hands outstretched trying to grab onto the glittery red ball Annabeth was holding up in front of her.

"We should get her some plastic ones to play with," Percy said, handing Sophie a wooden nutcracker ornament she probably couldn't break.

Annabeth kissed the top of her head. "She's trying to help," she said, bouncing slightly until Sophie cooed. "Yeah, you like our non-denominational holiday tree, baby?" Sophie made a little noise in response.

"How long before she starts talking?" Percy asked. He knew all the baby books said ten to eighteen months, but a kid who was half Annabeth was sure to start sooner.

"I started talking at about seven months," Annabeth said, "so maybe around then, or a little later. Or maybe she's just like every other baby, and that's okay too." This she said to Sophie, talking into the top of her head, which was covered in thin blonde curls. At a distance, she still looked bald as an egg.

As if to prove she was, in fact, not like every other baby, Sophie turned the kitchen sink on with a flick of her baby wrist. Percy turned it back off. Even at four months, bath time was already a war zone.

Annabeth laughed. "That's a very good trick, girlie," she said.

"We're in for it if she takes after me," Percy said with a smile of his own. But besides the occasional aquatic manipulation, his daughter was all Annabeth -- wide curious eyes, curly hair, and an ability to keep Percy wrapped around her finger. And absolutely perfect.

Sophie was a sign of everything they'd survived and gone through together; she was proof they were alive and grown. And as Annabeth hung an ornament that was a ceramic with an imprint of Sophie's hand, Percy couldn't help but smile to know she was going to grow up with so many signs that she was loved by both her parents all the time.

"No, we'll be lucky," Annabeth said, stepping closer to him to place a few more ornaments near his side.

Percy took the proximity as an opportunity to kiss his wife. Then he planted a kiss on Sophie's cheek with a loud mwah, pulling a giggle out of his baby. So he did it again, and got even more laughter. Sophie dropped the nutcracker to the floor and reached both her hands out, grabbing onto fistfuls of Percy's hair.

"Ow, ow, okay, okay," Percy said, carefully removing her hands.

"I think she's tired of me," Annabeth said, resting a hand under Sophie's bum as she undid the wrap. "Do you want to take her for a minute?"

It would probably be only a few minutes before Sophie reached back for Annabeth. Annabeth was her favorite person, except for maybe Grandma, and Percy had to agree.

But Percy happily took his daughter into his arms, holding her carefully as he let her face out towards the tree. He started pointing at ornaments he and Annabeth had collected together, and a few old hand-made ones from Estelle or his own childhood.

"Do you have a favorite?" He asked her. Sophie responded by reaching out for the large -- "olives, really?" It was a glass ornament that looked like three olives on a skewer for a martini. Percy had bought it for Annabeth a few years ago when he'd found spotted it in a random Christmas shop window. "You don't even know what olives taste like."

"Maybe it comes through in the breast milk?" Annabeth suggested from the other side of the tree. Annabeth did have a horrifying addiction to them. It'd even made it into his wedding vows, that he'd always get pizza with half olive half pepperoni.

"She still wouldn't know what an olive is. Unless she thinks those are boobs," Percy said.

"She's smart, she could figure it out," Annabeth said.

"Did you see Mommy eating those?" Percy asked. Sophie wiggled at the sound of mommy, and started looking around for Annabeth.

"I think my time is up," Percy said, as Sophie's coos started to get louder and more demanding.

"She might be hungry," Annabeth suggested, poking her head around the tree. "Do you want to feed her?"

"I'll give it a shot," Percy said, lifting his shirt up.

Annabeth laughed and pulled his shirt back down. "We've got some bottles," she said.

"Are you sure?" Percy asked, heading to the kitchen. Usually whatever she pumped they needed to save for during the day when Sophie was with Fred or Sally. Percy only got to feed her when he got up with her in the middle of the night, and even that was becoming less frequent as she got bigger. But it was one of his favorite parts so far.

"Oh yeah," Annabeth assured him. "I'm pretty locked into this."

Percy prepped the bottle and sat on the couch, and watched Annabeth rearrange ornaments until they had the perfect flow and balance. Percy cradled Sophie carefully as she took the bottle.

"Was that it? Were you hungry?" Percy asked her.

"That's almost always why she reaches for me," Annabeth said.

"No, I think you're really just her favorite."

"Impossible, she's a total Daddy's girl."

"Oh please, she's obsessed with you."

"I'm the food."

"And I'm just the bottle guy," Percy said, nodding his head down toward the bottle.

"No, you're the fun, silly one," Annabeth said, stepping back to examine the tree with an extremely serious look on her face. Percy was pretty sure she was doing that on purpose, so that he couldn't push back with a simple you're silly and fun too.

Sophie, of course, didn't chime in.

"I love to tell you this gorgeous," Percy said, "she loves you so, so much. Because you're the best mom in the whole world." Percy looked down at Sophie, who was still eating away. "Can you say 'she's the best Mommy in the whole world?'"

Sophie stopped drinking and pulled away from the bottle. For a second, Percy thought she might just start talking.

But she just started to cry. Percy heard the toilet flush in the bathroom. She truly had his skill for disrupting the plumbing.

"Ah, burping time?" he asked her as he sat her up. She responded by spitting up into his lap before he could find a burp cloth.

"Here," Annabeth said, appearing at his side, cloth in hand in a moment. She cleaned Sophie's face first, before just laying it over the slash zone on his pants as he kept patting her back.

"You mean it?" Annabeth asked.

"Yeah, was definitely time for a burp," he said.

"No, that I'm good at this?" Her eyes were on their daughter.

Percy leaned in and kissed her forehead. "Of course," he promised.

"You're such a good dad too," she promised, before kissing his cheek. He'd started growing a beard when she got pregnant, and it seemed to be a crowd pleaser, so it had stuck around long past the birth. The crowd, of course, was Annabeth.

Percy smiled. "Well! It's easy to be a good dad to such a perfect little baby," he said. He lifted Sophie up under her arms as he leaned back on the couch. He held her up, almost like Simba, but so that she was looking at him.

Sophie decided then that she wasn't quite done spitting up what she'd ate. A good bit of her bottle ended up on Percy's chin then into his beard and onto his shirt.

Annabeth laughed. "Alright, bath time for both of you, I think," she said, taking Sophie from him, so he could compose himself.

The shower turned on.

Annabeth looked at him wide-eyed, then to the baby in her arms.

"I did that," Percy confirmed.

Annabeth sighed. "Oh thank the gods. I'm not ready for her to really understand words yet."

"She probably already does," Percy said, wiping his beard with his sleeve. "Her big brain is like a sponge."

Annabeth nodded, before resting Sophie over her shoulder. "I love you," she said to both of them. He saw tears well up in her eyes. "Baby's first Yule!" Annabeth said.

"It'll be perfect," Percy promised, before standing. He wanted to kiss her, but his beard was all milky and his spit-up-on pants were starting to stick to him.

[vodika-vibes]

I Gotchu, Pretty Girl

Summary:  Mayday knows his cyare better than anyone, so when he comes home after a long week away and sees dark circles under her eyes and how she seems to be dragging, Mayday takes it upon himself to make everything better.

Pairing: Commander Mayday x F!Reader

Word Count: 654

Warnings: None

A/N: This story is brought to you by the fact that I haven't sleep well in weeks. I hope you all like it.

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When he gets home, the house smells like cinnamon and nutmeg. It’s a good sign that his beautiful cyare has been baking, but it’s also a worrying sign that his cyare, probably, hasn’t been sleeping.

Mayday’s poor love in an insomniac. 

This means that she can go weeks at a time only getting a few hours of sleep a night. When it’s really bad, she might only get an hour or two of sleep and she’ll spend the rest of the night baking.

It’s a double-bladed sword, really.

On one hand, Mayday has a never-ending supply of cookies, cakes, and brownies, which he loves. On the other hand, though, holding her while she sobs into his chest because she’s just so damned tired breaks his heart every time it becomes necessary.

He’d happily give up all of the desserts if it meant that she could sleep through the night.

Mayday sets his bag on the floor by the front door and absently kicks his boots off, making a mental note to come back and clean up after himself once he’s sure that his love is okay, and then he heads into the kitchen.

She’s sitting at the kitchen table, a focused expression on her pretty face, while she carefully decorates a tray of cookies.

Cookies, Mayday realizes with a painfully fond smile, that are decorated to look like little clone troopers.

He steps into the kitchen properly and she looks up, a bright smile crossing her face. And, while she looks stunning, Mayday can’t help but note the dark circles under her eyes and the way her shoulders seem to be sagging.

His poor love didn’t sleep much at all while he was gone, did she?

“Mayday, welcome home!” 

She stands, and Mayday’s eyes narrow slightly as he sees her using the table to keep her balance.

“I’m glad to be back,” He opens his arms so she’s able to slide into them, then he hugs her tightly, “Cookies, love?”

He feels her shrug, “I missed you, and thought it might help.”

“Did it?”

She turns her head so it’s resting on his shoulder a small pout playing on her lips, “No. It just made me miss you more.”

“I’m sorry, pretty girl. But I’m home now, so you don’t have to miss me anymore.” He slowly strokes her back from between her shoulder blades down to the small of her back, and then back up again.

She hums in reply, turning her head so she’s able to press her nose into his neck

“Did you get any sleep at all while I was gone, cyar’ika?”

She’s quiet for a moment, and then she sighs, “Not a lot, no.”

“I’m so tired, May.”

“I know, sweetheart.” He tightens his arms around her, “How about we put everything away, and lay down together?”

“That sounds wonderful.”

He lightly kisses the top of her head and then releases her to help her quickly clean the kitchen. Though, really, it was mostly just covering the cookies and putting the frosting in the fridge.

And then he’s stretched out in bed with his perfect cyare tucked against his side. He’s stripped her out of her day clothes and tugged one of his shirts over her head.

It’s a very attractive look for her, but more importantly, she looks comfortable. Which was the whole point. 

“Are you going to fall asleep on me, cyare?”

“M’sorry, May—”

He shushes her gently, his lips pressing against her forehead, “There’s no need for that.” His lips trail down to brush over hers, “I gotchu, pretty girl.”

Some of the tension drains from her body as she snuggles against him, her legs tangling with his while her eyes drift closed. “Love you, May.” She mumbles against his shoulder.

“Mm, I love you too.” He kisses the side of her head one more time, “Get some sleep, sweetheart. I’ll be here when you wake.”

@imabeautifulbutterfly

@n0vqni

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@mira-loves-star-wars

@tiredbi-peach

@dukeoftheblackstar

@trixie2023

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@falconfeather23435

@etod

@bb8-99

@kiss-anon

@continous-mistakes

@yoitsjay

@liz-stat

@cc--2224

@adriennelenoir

@cdblake1565

@sweater-sloot

@heidnspeak

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@silly-starfish

@lonewolflupe

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@rebell-ious

[respectthepetty]

The Loyal Pin - Finale

I've waited two weeks for this finale, so I'm jumping straight in because I need three things out of it: a happy ending, Anin wearing pink, and Patricia apologizing to Pin, WHICH IT THE FIRST THING TO HAPPEN!

Pat, who finally gets her name back, is wearing Pink Person Pin's color and giving the best apologizing to Pin who still doesn't fully have her color back.

And now Anin's mom is pawning off the jewelry in case the girls have to go to England, and I have never appreciated fictional color-coded women more in my life.

OUR ALLY! OUR KING! OUR BEST BOY!

As much as Pin was upsetting me with that marriage business, she always shows up for her girl, and no man would EVER get on the floor and beg for mercy like this! THIS IS THE MOMENT!

One thing about Anin is she is always going to be a Blue Beauty regardless of what is happening.

WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING?! NO!!!! WE AIN'T GOING OUT LIKE THIS! PIN FINALLY GOT HER COLOR BACK AND HER AUNT/MOM/WHATEVS IS ON HER SIDE NOW! NOOOO!

Wait, a damn minute! What the hell is this all about?

What did this Blue Bitc--Beauty do? Annette, ANSWER ME?!

It's a prank?! What in the MTV's Jackass is this bullshit about?!

AND EVERYONE WAS IN ON IT?!

Anan, on God, you are the only royal I respect in this house because you have been PFLAG's Ally of the Year, and I appreciate you trying to convince your father, but what in the Sam Hill was your sister thinking?!

Pin, beat her! At least slap Annette once. She hasn't worn pink yet, and now this?! I know she is a princess, but if this was French Revolution, Annette would be on thin ice. I'm not saying kill her, but she needs to be scared the same way she keeps scaring you BY KIDNAPPING YOU!

Or give her a ring for her birthday because you love her special brand of crazy. Sure! That works too!

And the whole group is in blue for the Blue Beauty with some pops of pink. Everyone supports her special brand of crazy. Got it!

This feels like a baby shower, so it being a rich lesbian's birthday is making this so pleasurable!

Now, Pat! You just got your name back, and now I want to snatch it away again! What is this, mama? Desserts are your specialty, not decorations. Stick to your strengths, girl, cause this ain't it! AND WHY IS ANIN IN GREEN?! This green has haunted me the entire second half of the show! And now the green AND that little figurine will haunt me forever.

I know I should be happy homegirl is pregnant, but since Anan dropped the fact that he didn't get to marry who he loved, I feel bad for both of them.

They will make this work, but as Anin's mom would say, I'm being really western about this marriage of conventionality.

Alin, were you the Green Girl I was waiting for all along to take this darn color that has haunted me?!

Everyone's cute and in their colors. Alin looks more like Anin and Pin's daughter, and I love that for us.

Pat, I'm still salty toward you, but I'm glad I don't want to fight you anymore because you look so good in your color, and I hate being attracted to people who piss me off. I was never not attracted to you, but it's nice to know I actually like you again too.

Annette, just because you have incorporated more florals and dots into your outfits as a sign that you love Pin doesn't mean you are off the hook for not wearing pink, but I'm going to ignore it right now because MY BABYGIRL IS FREE!!! She can live her life as the bright and beautiful Yellow Yal she was meant to be without a man tying her down! I actually hope Aon is well too.

I don't know how Kuea's wife made the same mistake twice, but more power to that woman for giving that triflin' man two kids.

They are adorable wives, and Pin giving Anin lunch in a pink gingham checkered cloth is adorable, BUT WHERE IS YOUR PINK, ANNETTE?!

Prik, you and Pia were the real ones putting up with these lesbians over DECADES ACROSS CONTINENTS! I hope Annette taught you how to play tennis and drive, so you can run her errands in style.

SHE IS WEARING PINK! ANNETTE IS WEARING PINK! IT'S HAPPENING AND I'M SCREAMING!!!!!

Leave it up to Idol Factory to wait until the last possible minute, literally, to give me the color exchange! Congratulations, everyone got their name back this episode. Good job, Anin!

Pushing the horrible prank aside, the finale was worth the wait and the hour and half runtime. I enjoyed every single episode, and the colors were coloring until the very end (damn you, Idol Factory!), so I do hope it gets the credit it deserves for being the most each episode and doing most of it amazingly well.

Everyone got the ended they needed including our color-coded girls in love.

And I love that.

[glittering-moonlillie]

My Beloved (Damian Wayne x Reader)

Word Count: 2740

Warnings: None

Summary: Not knowing how to express his feelings any other way, Damian resorts to calling you pet names in his mother's tongue in order to air out his pent up affection.

“Habibti, can you hand me the yellow frosting?” Damian was in deep trouble - absolutely terrible, hideous trouble. 

“Of course!” You reached over to your left and handed him the buttercream, the arabic pet name flying over your head. 

In his language, Habibti was a sign of endearment given to your lover, usually meaning something along the lines of My Love or Darling - but to you, he was utterly convinced that you believed it was a form of belittlement similar to Idiot.

Of course, Damian was too afraid to correct you and he was not sure if you would believe him if he tried. He would rather keep it a sweet secret to himself, even if his fragile heart was practically leaping its way out of his rib cage to expose itself to you. 

“You know, if you want to call me something mean at least make it so I can understand you.” You laughed, a noise that would certainly haunt him late at night when he was alone and longed for your presence. 

“But it’s much more fun seeing you like this.” You scruched your nose, your forehead creasing with the movement. Your lips were parted but no words came out. It was an adorable look he had grown to love despite how dorky you appeared. 

You retaliated with a poorly placed handful of orange frosting along his cheek, your lips twisting into a pout that only served to make the fantasies of kissing you worsen. 

Orange was an obnoxiously disgusting color but he would bathe in a lazarus pit full of orange frosting if you wished it. 

He ran his thumb along his cheek and licked away whatever frosting was there. Alfred’s special buttercream frosting really was to die for. Damian enjoyed the way your eyes slightly widened, relishing in the fact that it wouldn’t have been noticeable to anyone else. He liked to think that the scarlet decorating your face was because of him being undoubtedly sexy, and not the fact that it was because it was a hot summer’s day. 

“You’re staring, ya amar.” He smirked. “And I believe that cookie has way too much frosting, it looks like Picaso threw up all over it.”

Ya Amar had to be Damian’s second favorite pet name for you, translating to my moon. He often recalled the way his mother praised the moon for its beauty, treating it similar to a guiding life force. More than anything, Damian wanted to be the sun that illuminated your countenance - to be the man who kept you steady and loved you even if you just saw yourself as a clumpy rock. The name suited you perfectly. You were his beautiful, crated moon with star imbued eyes and a body that reflected the power of an inescapable black hole. 

“Hey, are those cookies almost finished? B wants them set out within the hour-” Tim walked in, his under eye bags accentuated further with the distasteful dark blue sweater he threw on. 

His brother paused, rolling his eyes at the state of the dining table. Damian hoped that the kitchen disaster was enough of a distraction for him not to notice the lovey-dovey eyes he assuredly was giving his best friend. 

“We’ll clean it up, Tim. Sorry about that.” You replied quickly. “But most of the cookies are done, Damian still has a few to finish though.”

You nudged him with your elbow, grinning wildly like the Cheshire cat. 

“Just don’t get distracted flirting with each other, I don’t want to deal with an irritated Bruce.”

“Shut up, Timothy. At least we aren’t aggressively making out like how you and Conner were at the last gala.” Damian shot back. 

Tim frowned. “I’m too tired to deal with this. Try not to explode anything, okay?”

Damian waved off his brother and went back to decorating one of the cookies for the large event at Wayne Manor tonight. It was a charity event to raise awareness of the increase in homeless population on the streets of Gotham, and alongside the event, his family was hosting a soup kitchen for any struggling person on the streets. Along with a hearty, full course meal, they would be served one of the cookies being decorated by the two of you. 

Although Damian’s father normally did not allow any friend’s to charity events, you were always an exception due to the fact that if you weren’t there, Damian would blow a gasket and murder someone if he was in a suit for too long. Your presence beside Damian was often looked over when you were both younger, but now that a few years had gone by plenty of journalists speculated the possibility of “a secret blooming relationship.” 

The common theory circulating around Gotham was the idea that his father was disapproving of them being together since you were a “commoner,” therefore excusing the lack of concrete evidence of the relationship existing. Damian had found the notion completely ridiculous; even if his father disapproved of you in that context, that would not stop him from loving you the way he always dreamed, consequences be damned. 

You treated the whole situation with carefree ease, giggling at the awful pictures and wack job theories concocted by 40 year old men looking to sell half-baked news. On one hand, Damian was pleased that the unwanted attention did not bother you, but deep down he also felt a pang of poison seep its way into his bloodstream. Was the idea of being his lover that much of a joke? 

The clicking of a phone keyboard brought him back to reality. Damian peered over your shoulder and saw Safari pulled up.

 “What ever are you doing, habibti?” 

“I’m trying to decipher what you are calling me.” You said. “Can you repeat that last word for me, please?”

The youngest Wayne felt every single pour in his body drip in sweat, excess saliva pooling in his mouth. Perhaps if his blood was functioning properly, then he would have found a better response other than a simple no. 

It was very rare for Damian to be properly caught off guard. He should have thought that you would have looked up the words he was repeating, should have come up with a game plan instead of looking like a strangled goose. 

His first instinct was to snatch the phone away and cut it up with the plastic, buttercream decorated knife. Damian could pretend to be possessed by a ghost and buy you a better phone with specially installed programs that inhibited your ability to look up any Arabic term. Yes, that was a wonderful idea-

“How are there zero search results?!!” You exclaimed, turning to him. “Did you make up a language or something? Why are there absolutely zero results??”

Damian looked at your phone again. You certainly took some liberties with the spelling of the pet name, letting him relax into his seat. It was nowhere close to how the word was spelled. He couldn’t help but chuckle. 

“Why are there two y’s in the word?”

Your cheeks flushed. “Well maybe if you told me the other 20 languages you spoke I’d get somewhere.”

For the next 15 minutes, you angrily punched in 17 different ways to spell Habibti, all massively incorrect and leading to nowhere. You eventually threw your phone on the ground with a huff while he cackled. 

“This is so unfair. I demand restitution for the amount of time I have lost thanks to you.” Damian hummed.

“I can’t give you back those missing minutes, but I can pay you back with your favorite meal and my full attention tonight.” 

You pretended to ponder over the offer, but Damian knew you could not say no to Alfred’s cooking. “Okay, fine. But only because I love Alfred’s food and nothing else.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The moon peered over the horizon, the stars twinkling like falling fairy dust on a navy blue canvas. Hundreds of Gotham’s richest filled Wayne Manor, most of which were dressed with gaudy colors and bedazzlements, with feathers and overpriced jewels. 

Damian was dressed in a dark green suit, one that Alfred had picked a little while ago. He was fully aware of the lustful stares he was given by the woman (and some of the men) there but he could care less. There was only one person he cared about impressing and that said person was “discreetly” stuffing themselves with a plate full of food in the corner. 

As an attendant of the Gala, you were in a stunning dress that fit every single curve of your body marvelously, all courtesy to Stephanie who helped you pick out the dress to begin with. Heat rose to his cheeks and he began fumbling with his tie. 

Damian was not the only one there to notice your beauty either. As you were trying to polish off your plate of food, several men had made attempts to woo you onto the dancefloor. Thankfully you declined all of their advances - Damian was not sure what he would have felt if you did. If it weren’t for the hundreds of other people present, he would have unquestionably sliced off the suitors hands if they tried to touch you again. 

“Ya Helo, you look…” His throat clogged as you stared up at him. “You look stunning…”

Damian was convinced that your smile was the brightest thing in the universe; he was also sure that it could cure any bout of irritation or sadness possible. 

“About time you showed up! Are you done flirting with the 70 year old women yet or does your dad want you back in there?” You poked his chest, the touch feeling like an electrical transfer. 

“You know that I would never flirt with those women back there, Habibti. My dad just wanted me to manipulate them into giving more of their money to charity.”

Before you could pull your hand away, he clasped it and brought it closer to his heartbeat. Your hands were a pebble compared to his own and yet they still managed to fit perfectly together like Incan architecture.

“I-I…” You looked away with a crooked smile. “I know that, obviously. I just wanted to tease you a bit!”

When you turned towards him once more, he noticed the way your eyes trailed down his visage, strawberry lips parting ever so slightly. Your laughter died in your throat. The scene felt like the ridiculous romcoms he analyzed from time to time while you were over. All he had to do was lean in a little bit closer and his dreams would be fulfilled-

The tight grip of someone’s hand seized his arm, effectively pulling him away from his darling. The movement caught Damian off guard (the second time that day). There was only a select handful of people who were able to sneak up on him like that…

“Mother.” Damian seethed, turning to gaze upon the woman with a cold glare. “What are you doing here?”

Fitted for the occasion in a sleek black dress, Talia crossed her arms and matched her son’s glare. “Is a mother not allowed to visit her son, especially when he has not messaged her in months?”

Damian stood in front of you, his hands slightly raised in case Talia decided to activate her mother bear mode. Talia’s eyes furrowed, her lip pursing. 

“How about you and your little friend follow me upstairs. You can tell me all about how you two met.” She suggested but her voice made it sound more like a threat. 

Damian hated how your smile disappeared and was replaced with an apprehensive grimace. He reached for your hand and squeezed. 

“Dami…” 

“It’ll be alright habib albi…” He whispered, squeezing your hand once again. As the three of them climbed up the stairs, the soft tune of the violin faded into nothing, not even background noise. 

“Mother, I find this hardly necessary. Could you have interfered in my life some other day?” Damian groaned. 

“Of course not, my son.” Talia shut the door of the room they entered. “If I had, I wouldn’t have been able to meet the girl who stole my beloved’s heart.”

Damian’s heart dropped. “I- what?”

“Y-you must be mistaken. Damian and I…Damian doesn’t like me like that!” You stuttered out with nervous laughter. 

Talia raised a single eyebrow. “I find that extremely hard to believe considering what I heard him call you.”

Fuck. Damian mentally slapped himself. He should have known that his mother would have heard him call you that. The pet name was just so natural to him, slipping off his tongue like sweet honey, he forgot that his mother would have been able to understand. 

You tilted your head towards Damian then back to Talia, reflexively playing with your hair. “I…maybe you misheard? He calls me these made up names, they really have no meaning.”

“Wait, so he has not told you what they meant?”

“No, he refused to tell me and when I looked it up, there were no search results.” You said. 

“Mother, please-” 

Talia raised her hand to silence him. “I can’t believe you have been lying to her, Damian! I have raised you better than that. She deserves to know that you are calling her Love of my heart and Darling in Arabic!”

You snapped your head towards Damian, who was internally screaming a colorful variety of cuss words towards his mother. He expected you to look horrified and slap him away, to run for the hills and never speak to him again. 

Instead you had this beautiful awestruck look in your galaxy-filled eyes. Your face was a deep crimson.

“Dami…” You hesitated. “Is this true?” 

The hopeful tone in your voice was as intoxicating as a few shots of bourbon.  

Damian imagined that the day he confessed to you would be atop a starry hill with perfectly blooming jasmines and evening primroses. He would pull you into his arms and whisper his love for you when the moon was at its peak, ending it with a kiss if you let him. It would have been perfect, if fate allowed it to be.

However, there were no starry hilltops or sweetly smelling fragrances - no moon that would peer over them and give its blessing. But you were there with him, an arm's reach away. As long as you were there, wasn't that all that mattered?

Damian glared at his mother, who was in the background with a smug smile, pretending to not overhear the conversation. When she didn’t get the message, he cleared his throat as loud as he could. 

“Fine. I suppose I’ll leave you to it - but I expect you to message me afterward since I did the hard work for you.” Talia sauntered her way out of the room, leaving you and Damian alone.

“You didn’t answer my question, Dami…” You glanced up at him with a shy smile. “Were you really secretly giving me pet names in Arabic?”

Reaching for your hands, Damian pulled you close to create a few inch gap. “Yeah…I wanted a way to show you how much I…how much I loved you without you figuring out.”

You giggled, the vibrations of it causing his heart to flutter. “You’re a dork, you know that? I would have reciprocated your feelings no matter what, but it would have been nice if you had told me sooner.” 

Your finger trailed down his neck to his collarbone, leaving a trail of lightning in its wake. “I demand more restitution for the time lost.”

Damian hummed, pretending to think of the perfect solution despite him already having one. You edged closer to him. 

“How about,” he began, “I kiss you until your lips are as blue as this night sky?”

But before you could respond, Damian already brought his lips to yours.  The dreams and fantasies he had did not live up to the actual softness of your lips - the subtle taste of raspberries filling his senses. 

Your hands tangled into his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. “Shouldn’t we go back to the Gala?”

Damian looked back at the door, contemplating how mad his father would be if he ditched the rest of the party. It was waning closer to midnight anyway and he could just say you were tired. 

He turned back to you, his smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “He’ll be fine. Besides, I would rather be with you than flirt with 70 year old women.”

Your attempted giggle was covered with the rougher press of his lips against yours, causing you to fall backwards onto the guest bed. After years of calling you Habibti, now he could finally say it without you thinking it was an insult.

Damian is a simp with huge dimples. Fight me.

[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 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 that 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.