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gravedigginbbydoll · 8 months

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Phantom of the Night

Phantom! Eddie x Fem! Reader Smut Blurb

AN: Hello! I am a huge POTO fan, and obsessed with men in masks. I wanted to write this for fun and for spooky season. It's a length and smut filled blurb. I'm sorry about the college of pictures not being as inclusive as I'd like (it's hard asf to find POTO aesthetic in varying body types :/ ) but promise that the description is vague and meant for anyone AFAB or feminine leaning :) (psst: this ones for my ghouls @eddies-house @xxhellfiregirlxx @ghost-proofbaby who I adore and feed my delusions lol)

Warnings: MDNI! mature themes, dubcon, vouyerism, somnophilia, mentions of exhibitionism, corruption kink, bondage, biting, oral, penetration, virginity, loss of innocence, masks, dom! Eddie, posessive, body worship, stalking and obsession, kidnapping, etc.

As a child, you had been brought up in the exquisite opera house that your town boasted of, your father taking you often to see the shows and ballets performed there. He was a violinist, a talented one at that, and had many close friends who performed at the opera. Growing up, it was just the two of you. Your mother had grown deathly ill when you were five. She passed there soon after, leaving you and your father alone. In womanhood now, you sensed that he brought you to the opera so often rather than get you a nanny to distract you with elaborate performances in order to hide your fearful loneliness that a young girl got with losing her mother.

But now you were a woman, a member of the opera yourself in the corps de ballet, your years of training under Karen, your father’s old friend, finally coming into play. You took the job soon after your father's death when you turned 20, desperate to keep the estate he left you and not leave the home and comfort of the opera house. Besides, you loved ballet and the elegance it left you feeling, despite the pain. But it was nothing compared to your true love. Singing. Music.

Your father had you take singing lessons as a young girl, but those lessons were now lost in years of memories. You tried to practice alone but felt off-pitch. It was disheartening. You mostly had done so as a hobby rather than a real-life pursuit of the stage, not believing yourself to be skilled enough. You kept it hidden from the rest of the troupe, embarrassed over what they would say about a grown woman attempting to learn to sing and having daydreams of the stage.

Which is what led you to this point. You had found a few places to practice in the opera house, the building so old that there were many hidden passageways and nooks and crannies. You often tried to use these locations in order to practice. Your betrothed, Steven, constantly scolded you and claimed one day you would get lost and no one would be able to find you in the maze that was the opera house. (Steven meant well, but could sometimes be more like a mother hen.) Still, you found yourself overwhelmed by curiosity and in need to explore more and more of the building.

You looked around, curious to see if anyone was nearby. You had found this entrance behind a mirror in a makeup room, the dark and almost damp hallway confusing you. You walked on further, the long skirts of your white gown brushing the cold stone floor, probably dirtying the edges. You held the candle you used as a light in a shaky hand, goosebumps erupting on your skin at the chill. This place reminded you of dreams you so often had involving a dark dim cave, some mysterious yet enchanting man…no, creature…whisking you away with his lulling voice and seductive tones. You felt your heart race and your thighs squeeze together at the thought.

You were ashamed of these dark desires. You were always told that women weren’t meant to feel lust. Ballerinas were not meant to daydream about dark and haunting shadowy figures whisking them away into the night against their will. That was why you were so passive in your arranged engagement with Steven. What did it matter that you felt not a bit of swirling desire for the man if you were not meant to? He had good money and was kind and treated you well, despite your less-than-normal childhood. Maybe after the wedding, you could squash all these horrid and sinful feelings in your belly.

While lost in thoughts, you heard a gust of wind brush by you, the sudden draft blowing out your candle. You gasped, your heart racing as you caught the sudden flash of movement by you, fear squeezing up your throat. The figure moved in a flash, clearly tall and lean.

“Hello? Who goes there?” You called out, willing yourself to swallow down the frightful feelings in your belly.

Nothing could be heard but the faint drip of aging pipes and the rustle of the wind in the ancient hallways. You sighed, turning back to where you came from. Perhaps Nancy was correct and you could stand to stop reading things filling your head with the idea of monsters lurking in the night.

You laid on the gaudy chaise lounge, restless and unable to sleep. Karen, in an attempt to be motherly with you, was earlier discussing ‘wifely duties’ with you, well aware that your education on the matter was crude at best from the words you heard other girls in the corps giggle over. Or occasionally, the male singers would boast of their escapades. She filled you with this idea that women were to lay there to be for their husbands and bear children. But you couldn’t shake the feeling of wanting more. For the past few months, you had been…exploring your own desires. You found you couldn’t sleep without it. And yet…

Tonight you were staying at the opera in an attempt to curb the dark desires in your belly. You knew nothing of a man’s touch but did not want to sully Steven with your lustful and seductive thoughts. You hoped staying in a room not your own would discourage your brain from such thoughts.

You agreed with Karen to stay in the private dressing room, despite the fluttering gasps of your peers in the corps. There were rumors of a dark figure that haunted the opera house, always causing mischief, running around and stealing props, leaving notes on the music sheets, and even occasionally harassing the singers by wrecking their rooms. You weren’t one for superstition, but felt also that perhaps the girls had a point. You had felt a presence near you often, something lingering but still there.

Just as you did lying there. You were only in your nightgown, the fabric thin and not modest at all. You could feel a presence despite the room being empty. You stared at the ceiling, your heart racing and an even more sinful thought entering your head.

What if you touched yourself with that presence watching?

You felt the heat creep from your neck to the tips of your ears, clearly embarrassed despite the lack of company. The thought excited you, the heat growing between your legs and your nipples pebbling at the thought. You sighed, cursing yourself but knowing you could not rest without the feeling of release.

You shakily grabbed at your skirt, pulling it up while turning to look at your reflection in the mirror. The mirror faced the chaise lounge. You felt a gasp escape your mouth as you looked at yourself. You looked…delectable. Absolutely depraved. Your eyes were dark with lust and your nightgown revealed most of your bare legs, part of it tugged down to reveal cleavage as your hardened nipples poked through the delicate white fabric.

You began to rub at the wetness between your legs, mewling pathetically at the friction and staring at yourself losing control. You felt your mind go foggy, your wetness growing as your moans became more desperate. You felt your eyes flutter, feeling as if the presence was staring at you. And whether it was the small sip you had of wine earlier you had with Karen or the lust clouding your thoughts, you swore you could see a shadow within the mirror, a pair of warm and sultry brown eyes slightly visible. The sight of the shadow caused you to reveal more of yourself, feeling the need to put on a winning show. You threw your head back, pulling the nightgown down more to free your breasts to the chilly air as you rubbed at your clit more ferociously, your moans and whimpers growing in desperation. You felt the tension in the room grow as the feeling grew before the tension snapped, leaving you shattering to pieces.

You panted as you came down from your high, letting yourself catch a breath and trying to fix your appearance. You turned towards the mirror slowly, your body heavy and worn. You saw only yourself. No warm or sultry eyes. No shadowy figure. Just you. You let your eyelids flutter as you head off to sleep, sure to dream of the dark presence once again. And just before you do…you swear you see the shadow flash across the mirror. But maybe it was just your tiredness affecting your sight.

The second time you experienced the presence was another night sleeping at the opera house in order to assist Nancy with her duties in the morning, since her mother, Karen, had left her in charge of the duties this time around, scolding her about needing to be responsible. You were asleep, dreaming and tossing while imagining that dark presence looming over you, your lust creeping in. In the dream, the dark shadow was looming over you, kissing up and down you, as silent as possible. You watched as the shape kissed its way down, growling hungrily at your entrance. You couldn’t see much but felt, almost as if it were real, lapping at your sensitive clit. You woke dazed, lust pooling between your thighs as you tried to sit up, sure you were feeling something licking and sucking on the swollen bud between your thighs. A gloved hand clamped down on your eyes and prevented you from seeing who the culprit was, your heart racing. You smelled the familiar mix of cinnamon and orange peel, along with sharp notes of rum and ginger, a tonic you knew as familiar among the singers in the opera to keep their vocals sharp. You felt your thighs shake, and moans leaving your mouth despite your brain's conflicting thoughts.

This is wrong. I don’t know this person. But…the pleasure…they are so skilled with their mouth…I’m so close.

You writhed, whimpering and attempting to escape the mouth to discover who was there, only to feel the other hand hold you tightly in place, a deep and fearful voice growling lowly.

“Stop your infernal movement, little angel. I would like to worship this beautiful cunt to the best of my ability,” The masculine voice ground out in agitation, the words sending chills up your spine and desire to build to the breaking point. Worshiping you? Men in high society didn’t worship working women like you. You were lucky to even find a betrothal while most dancers were considered ‘low and loose’ women who needed to work in order to gain money. This man was odd and…so very skilled at making you unravel.

You were drunk on the eroticism of it all. A stranger licking at you like a man starved of a month’s worth of meals, the inability to see his appearance, his demanding tone and forceful hand. You saw stars and felt your pleasure overcome you, your body shaking at your release that he seemed to slurp up, the noises so vulgar they would make a lady of the night blush. You lay there, eyes closed, catching your breath slowly. When your eyes finally fluttered open, you sat up, hoping to get to know the man behind your most recent confession in church, only to be met with silence, not a soul in the room. You felt your heart sink as you tried to fall back asleep, your mind swimming with thoughts of the mysterious voice and the warm, strong hands. It seemed the ghost of the opera might have been real after all.

Nancy and the other girls in the corps began to notice your distracted gaze, your prolonged nights at the opera, and your skittishness, trying to catch a glimpse of the shadowy figure when people claimed he zipped past. You felt a strange obsession, a need to follow the dark shadow and discover who was consuming your dreams.

You heard him at night occasionally, humming or singing. Or at least you thought it was him. It was a low and chilling sound. Your body thrummed with excitement anytime you thought you saw a flash of him in the rafters or heard a stair creak. You began to notice little gifts waiting for you in the dressing room, in your favorite nooks and crannies in the opera. Red roses and small notes in the messy script, usually referring to you as Little Angel. Nancy was worried about you, trying to escort you home often and getting Steven to dote on you more. But you were done. Corrupted. Filthy. And you wanted nothing more than to be in the Phantom’s embrace once more. You wanted him to explore you. Ruin you. Your mind was riddled with him day and night.

You kept it hidden from everyone, but you often explored the ancient passageways now with the intention of finding him. Occasionally you left gifts. Your most used lipstick, a snippet of a poem, a book you had just read. You would come back to the spots to find the items gone, occasionally a rose left in their place. You felt giddy, like a schoolgirl. Your ghost…your Phantom… seemed to acknowledge you.

If only you could catch him…

It was a few months after weeks of giddy gift exchanges and running after shadows. The notes and roses stopped. The flashes of a dark figure ended. Perhaps it was a dream. Maybe you were just a fool who imagined or dreamed of the interactions.

On a dark night, you were aimlessly wandering the halls, singing to yourself a song you remembered your father singing. You had abandoned all hope of your dear ghost coming to capture you. Free you from a loveless marriage. You were set to marry Steven next week. Abandon the opera. Become a proper lady in society. At least Steven would not be disappointed when you laid there and bled for him, giving him a child 9 months later. You sighed to yourself, twisting your engagement ring, displeased with the thing. You wandered the underground tunnels, the candlelight dim in the dark halls. You felt your heart pick up as you heard a soft yet low voice, singing aloud. Your skin erupted in goosebumps, and your heart was racing.

“Phantom?,” You called out sheepishly.

The singing stopped. A deep voice coming from a direction you couldn’t discern.

“Little Angel. What is a lamb like you doing in a dangerous place like this?” called the voice, rough and cold. Was he upset with you? You were unsure.

You felt a tug at your heart, looking around and trying to find him. “Please, Phantom. I have only one week more at the opera. I cannot bear to not feel your touch another second,” you whimpered out.

“Ah, so you can crawl back to that insolent boy who does not deserve your glory? My heart cannot bear the rejection, Little Angel. Leave this monster be,” He growled out, still within the shadows.

Your heart leaped in your throat as tears entered your eyes, feeling your knees wobble as you crumbled to the ground. “Please, Phantom. I cannot bear to be without you. I do not want Steven. Forgive me, please…,” You sobbed softly, your emotions in a tangled mess.

You heard a sigh and felt yourself get grabbed from behind swiftly, a soft yelp about to leave your throat. That familiar gloved hand snuck over your eyes.

“Alright, Little Angel. On one condition…You mustn’t, under any circumstances, remove my mask,” He warned, his tone stern.

You nodded wordlessly, allowing him to pick you up, dropping your lit candle onto the damp floor. The light went out, but as he picked you up in his arms, you caught a brief glance of him. He was a tall and lean figure, his hair a long and curly mess, his face halfway covered by a mask. You could see his plush pink lips and long lashes, warm and enticing brown eyes.

He was beautiful.

You were tempted to remove the mask, curious as to why such an enticing man would haunt the opera. You refrained, however, out of respect. He tied a loose piece of fabric around your eyes, shielding your vision.

You were enthralled and scared.

You were laid down gently on a plush cushion and fabric, the cover softly removed from your eyes. You slowly opened your eyes in a dim and candlelit room, surrounded by aging theatrical props and the most plush velvet fabrics. You were on what appeared to be a bed, the dark figure standing before you. He wore a dark and long cloak, the hood down. His shirt underneath was a silky black shirt with a wide opening, displaying his chest. He wore dark pants and what seemed to be dress shoes. The items were all of high quality but it seemed they were at least a decade old. Upon looking up at his face, you saw he wore a white mask on half of it, his lips and half of his nose visible. His features were mostly soft, though he appeared worn from the years of seclusion and hiding.

You reached out to touch his cheek, only to have him grip your wrists. His hands were shaking. His dark eyes were swirling with desire and sorrow. Was he shaken because he needed you so fervently?

“You cannot touch me. I cannot bear it. If you were to touch me only to marry that…that damned fool later. My heart could not take it,” He growled out, his face twisted in sorrow and pain.

You felt a tug at your heart, your hands aching to touch him but deciding to respect his wishes.

“Alright.”

He got up, running over to a pile of old props from past shows, grabbing at one, and walking over to you, grabbing at your wrists before tying them quickly to the frame of the bed. Your heart began to race as your body heated up, your skin erupting in goosebumps as you bit softly at your lips. Phantom groaned softly, looming over you, his warm brown eyes stirring desire in your belly.

“Do not make such faces, Little Angel. You are so delicate, and I fear I will become without reason,” He groaned out, his eyes intense in their desire, his expression clear that it was hurtful to hold back.

You could feel your back arch, his stiffening member brushing against you, causing you to whimper. “Please Phantom…Abandon reason…ravage me,” You mewled, writhing under the dark figure.

His eyes became dark, his snarl deepening as he leaned in, his expression both terrifying and enthralling. “Be careful what you wish for, Little Angel. I am not too short of becoming a monster, devouring you.”

You whimpered, desire pooling as your eyelashes fluttered, and your body leaned towards him. Two could play at that game. “Please…I’m frightened. R-release me, monster,” You whined, writhing under the Phantom’s dark gaze. A smirk fell upon his lips, dimples evident as the smirk broke into a villainous grin.

“Oh, you should not have wandered into my lair, Little Angel. Now I must have you,” He growled lowly, taking his gloved hands and ripping open your corset before tearing at the chemise, the fabric pooling in shreds around you, your chest heaving in fear and excitement.

Your body was bared save for the underpants that exposed your ever-wet entrance, your legs shutting in embarrassment. The Phantom growled, kissing at your lips with hunger and desperation, moans lost on his lips. He kissed you until you gasped for air before biting, nipping, and kissing his way down, focusing on your breasts. You pinched and sucked upon your nipples, heightening your pleasure and making you writhe more under him, whimpers echoing in the cold and dim room. He bit and marked you, his movements like that of a wild beast.

“Ph-Phantom…Master… Devour me as you have before,” You whined out, meeting his wild brown eyes behind the mask as he looked up, snarling.

“Beg. Beg for it,” He snarled, hands continuing their tortuous teasing on your breasts.

“P-please… Master… Dev-devour me…I beg of y-you! I beg of you. I beg of you. I beg of you…,” You babbled, brain foggy with lust and his touch.

He grinned devilishly, his white smile making your heart race. “As you wish, Little Angel.”

He slowly made his way down, sure to kiss and mutter praises over you the entire time, letting you know how divine you were, leaving marks with sharp bites here and there. Finally, he reached your entrance, diving in as if it were his last supper. He flicked his tongue across your clit before sucking on it, alternating that and nibbling at your inner thighs, your body writhing like a woman possessed, your eyes rolling in pleasure.

He truly was wicked, worshiping you beyond your wildest dreams, his words meeting your ears and deepening the carnality within you. You were gone. Lost to this bodily sin.

“So divine. I do not deserve this beautiful cunt, these heavenly breasts, your godless moans… If this is the price I pay to become Lucifer’s lackey, I will happily pay the toll,” He babbled, fingers curling up into your entrance, his mouth still latching onto your clit.

You felt your back arch and felt a ripple through your body. You shattered around his finger, your orgasm taking over your mind. You whimpered as he continued to touch you past your high, your nerves so sensitive you felt tears come to your eyes. He stopped short, growling lowly.

“I’m going to condemn you, Little Angel. Fill you full of my cum. Mark you as mine and mine alone. You are my pet. My divine creature,” He snarled, his face twisted as you felt a shock of fear and lust overtake you. He could have you. You were his.

“P-please Phantom…Pl-please,” You whimpered, lip trembling in longing as your body shook with terror.

You suddenly felt a slow thrust into your entrance, the fullness causing a sharp pain, your head thrown back in a silent cry, eyes watering. The thrusting continued at a slow pace, the Phantom’s arms shaking as he appeared to hold back. You looked up at him, the desire growing sharper in you, your dull pain now adding to the pleasure, your legs slightly writhing. You fought against the ropes, whimpering. Phantom seemed to catch on as his brown eyes met yours, something in him snapping. He began snapping his hips at a ferocious pace, making you cry out as he continued to growl but also began to whimper and moan.

“Such a perfect cunt. A vision. They don’t deserve you. So flawless…Cannot wait to fill your belly with my seed…Corrupt and condemn such a goddess…Ravaged by a monster…What would Steven think…?”

You moaned at the suggestion, thinking of how scandalous the situation would be. Your high was coming along a lot faster as the Phantom growled in your ear, hand at your throat while squeezing the sides and cutting off air. You felt your mind panic suddenly as you writhed but moaned louder, the lightheadedness causing immense pleasure. You were so close.

“Oh, does my Little Angel enjoy that? Would you like to put on a show for the opera? Singing that beautiful song of pleasure?” He moaned out, his thrusts getting sloppier.

You felt yourself climb higher and higher towards release, reaching it finally when Phantom growled in your ear making you grow with a child, making everyone know you were his. You saw stars behind your eyes, your heart bursting from your chest as you panted. The Phantom chased his own high, filling you up shortly after, making you moan softly.

You attempted to catch your breath as the Phantom went to grab you a washcloth, wiping away at the spilling fluid. He released your wrists allowing you to rub at them. You flushed, your body limp and warm, worn out by the activity. You lay beside Phantom who held you to his chest, singing softly as you drifted off.

You woke up once in the middle of the night, Phantom asleep. You stared at his face, only noticing how much more peaceful he looked in his sleep. You bit your lip, wondering why a man would wear a mask, even during sexual activities. Curiosity always got the better of you. You reached out softly, peeling away the mask, being careful to make sure he didn’t stir. You gasped softly at the reveal. The man's half of his face seemed to have large scars as if someone had taken a chunk of flesh in a bite, perhaps an animal. His cheeks were riddled with them, and half of the tip of his nose also with a chunk missing.

You frowned, cocking your head. Sure he wasn’t gorgeous on that side but why was he here. He just seemed a little scarred. You softly touched the scars, the Phantom twitching at the touches in his sleep. You stop for a moment but again, only to have the mysterious man's eyes flutter open and horror and realization cross his face and he shoots up and snarls at you.

“You broke the one rule?” He growled, his eyes dark and anger-filled.

“I didn’t mean-”

You felt a quick hand tie you up again, the ropes had been on his side of the bed, You tugged against them, feeling panic come up your throat as he tilted your head up, eyes gleaming with villainy.

“From now on Angel, you belong to the Phantom of the Hawkins Opera. Edward Munson. But you may call me Master,” He growled out, his eyes swimming with possession, desire, and fury, your mouth opening to let out protests and failing to make a sound. There was no escape. No way to save yourself. You were his.

Be careful what you wish for.

THE END?

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stiltonbasket · 3 months

Note

Post sunshot campaign, Wei Ying leaves his ghost jie jies to babysit A-yuan while he and LWJ cleanse the battlefields of resentful spirits!

LWJ is still spooked by the ghost maidens but A-yuan is having the time of his life with them, and since WWX still trusts them more than the Lan nannies, he lets them be. One night, WWX finds LWJ taking notes from them on how to swaddle babies, make the best nutritional baby food etc and he’s melting from all sorts of emotions ;;

On a fine, clear night in the middle of Guiyue, Wei Wuxian wakes at the stroke of yin hour to find his friend's bed empty.

Lan Zhan moved into Wei Wuxian's room when he first came to Lotus Pier, determined not to waste a single moment with A-Yuan, and he was usually still awake when Wei Wuxian began preparing for bed. Once, Wei Wuxian asked his friend why he kept staying up past hai hour; and Lan Zhan had only stared at him before explaining that he could not rest until Wei Wuxian and A-Yuan were tucked away in their warded bed, asleep.

"I spent the entire war fearing that I would lose you both," he said bluntly, putting a hand on A-Yuan's little head to steady himself. "I do not think I will ever cease to fear it. It might grow easier to bear, in time—but not yet."

Afterwards, Lan Zhan even gave up his habit of rising at maoshi and started lingering in bed until Wei Wuxian and A-Yuan woke nearly three hours later; so where could he possibly be at this time of night?

Puzzled, Wei Wuxian slides out from under the covers and pads out of his bedroom, leaving A-Yuan fast asleep in his crib. It shouldn't take long to find him, he thinks, as he wanders down the lamplit corridors in search of Lan Zhan. Perhaps he went out to get a drink of water.

But instead, he finds his errant beloved—and how strange it is to think of him as such!—in the company of one of A-Yuan's ghost nannies, Meng Leilan.

Meng Leilan was the gentlest of Wei Wuxian's dead servants during the war. In life, she was the eldest daughter of a once-wealthy merchant, whose estate was seized by a rival when he reneged on his debts—and Leilan, then eighteen, was sold into marriage as a magistrate's third concubine, while her younger sister entered a flower house as a yiji.

Leilan met her death at the hands of one of the other concubines three years later, after her first child turned out to be a son—and though she remained peaceful for the first few weeks after her passing, content to linger in the shadows of the nursery where her baby slept, she was forced to bear witness to the child's murder not two months after his full-moon birthday.

It was then that Meng Leilan realized that she had been murdered as well—for she had previously believed that her death was the result of childbed fever, having died in her sleep two weeks after her baby's birth—and arose as a fierce ghost before killing her husband's second concubine in as gruesome a manner as her tortured mind could bear.

But she spared the second concubine's son, unable to do any harm to a infant even in the depths of her resentment; and after Wei Wuxian brought her into his service and told her that she might do whatever she pleased to any Wen soldier who had killed a woman or child, she settled, and asked to remain in the living world as one of A-Yuan's nannies.

But Lan Zhan cannot rest at ease in the presence of Wei Wuxian's ghostly servants, even those who had never shed blood where he could see it, so what could Lan Zhan want with Meng Leilan at this hour?

Curious, Wei Wuxian makes his way to his beloved's side.

"What are you doing here, xingan?" he teases, nudging Lan Zhan's shoulder. "If you and Leilan were going out to play, you should have invited me!"

"I did not come out to amuse myself," Lan Zhan replies, looking heart-breakingly solemn. "But Yuan'er eats solid food now, and I wanted to know which of the dishes we have at the Cloud Recesses would be best for him. You were asleep, and I was impatient—so I came out to look for Meng-guniang, though I ought to have waited until morning."

Ah, Lan Zhan, Wei Wuxian laments to himself. He's been drinking my blood and eating solid food since the month after he was born. It's just that I don't feed him when you're in the room with us.

"Oh?" he says instead. "And what did Leilan tell you, then?"

Lan Zhan's fine mouth turns downward. "She said that a child born and bred in Yunmeng would fare poorly upon the fare of my clan," he says sadly. "It is fortunate that I asked her, or I might have stunted A-Yuan's growth. But now that I know better, I shall have to learn to cook."

Wei Wuxian's heart melts on the spot. "Oh, Lan Zhan..."

"But then again, I would have learned to cook for you either way," Lan Zhan tells him, rallying at once. "Yuan'er already takes hongyou in his baby food, so we might give him a milder portion of your food mixed with rice. What do you think, my heart?"

In answer, Wei Wuxian puts his arms about Lan Zhan's neck and tries not to burst into tears.

"That I can't wait for our wedding," he says thickly. "That's what I think, Lan Zhan."

At that, Lan Zhan looks so breathtakingly radiant—like a lonely white moonbeam fallen to earth and shaped into human form by the thrumming lingli in Lake Lianhua—that Wei Wuxian cannot help but kiss him, and fall back into the cradle of his arms as Lan Zhan tips Wei Wuxian's chin up and kisses him fiercely in return.

When Lan Zhan finally releases him, Wei Wuxian staggers backward, gasping—and finds himself clasped in Lan Zhan's arms all over again, for his beloved had seized him by the waist to keep him from falling over the side of the dock and into the lake below.

"Two more months," he says softly, smoothing his thumb along the line of Wei Wuxian's eye. "And then we need never be parted again."

He turns to bow to Meng Leilan, who inclines her head and vanishes in a cloud of lotus-scented vapor; and with that, they join their hands and walk back to Wei Wuxian's room.

Lan Zhan climbs into bed and falls asleep in less than half a ke, leaving Wei Wuxian to stare up at the ceiling with his fingertips pressed to his mouth in wonder—for somehow, it had not struck him that he and Lan Zhan will be married by the year's end until that very moment.

And then—

I'm going to tell him about A-Yuan, he resolves. Right after we get back from the discussion conference in Lanling. He'll love A-Yuan just the same, no matter how he came into the world—and he'll keep the truth secret for the rest of his life if I ask, even from Laoshi and Zewu-jun.

And with that, Wei Wuxian closes his eyes, and follows his beloved into slumber.

#wangxian #lan wangji #wei wuxian #lan sizhui #mdzs #mo dao zu shi #the untamed #cultivation baby sizhui au #my fic #long time no see for this AU!#RIP i just realized I last updated it in 2022 #anyway.....

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littlemssam · 1 year

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SimDa Dating App

SimsLootBox

Small Invite to Hang Out Overhaul

Snorkel Everywhere

Spend Weekend With

Sul Sul Weather App

Train your Puppies

Where are you?

Fixed an issue with dirt piles digging

Collectibles (Rock Digging) Rework (Slower/Harder)

Random Bug Fixes:

Missing Channels got party fixed by EA. Still missing is the Weather Channel. Update of Script Files

Missing Channels

Random Small Mods:

Update for Script Files, so they don't contribute to the script limit anymore

No Aging Trait

No Shoes at Home

Release all Ghosts & Get Urn for

Buy Treats via PC

Dogs change into Everyday Outfit after a Walk

Buy Spells and Potions Tomes via PC

Update for Script Files. Added Addon which hides the Interactions in the Shift Click Cheat Menu.

Toddler Don't go to Daycare

Update for Script Files. Reworked Mod to use RouteEvent instead of just inside/outside tests

Change into Everyday when inside

Update for Script Files. Update to Support the Cottage Living "Simple Living" Lot Challenge

Healthy Food On Fridges

***

Translations

Live in Business (Update of Chinese Translations by Licer) More Visitors | Custom Lot Trait (Update of Chinese Translations by Licer) Sul Sul Weather App (Update of Chinese Translations by Licer) Social Activities (Visit Friends, Family and more) (Update of Chinese Translations by Licer) Better Autonomous Homework (Added Chinese Translations by Licer) Gender & More | Custom Lot Trait (Update of Russian Translation by wild_guy) Buy a better Mattress (Better Energy/Comfort on Beds) (Added French Translation by Kimikosoma) Sell via Simbay (Update of Chinese Translations by Licer)

***

Don’t download these Updates if you have the Legacy Edition!

#LittleMsSam #sims 4 mods #updates

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stop-talking · 6 days

Note

How do you think jhutch characters would handle a baby?

I'm not quite sure if you're asking "what would they do if you handed them a baby" or "what would they do if you told them you're pregnant" but I'm gonna assume you meant the latter. (feel free to send another request if I got it wrong)

Ranking Jhutch characters from worst to best fathers:

Billy

☆ Would play dumb when you hand him the pregnancy test.

☆ "What's this? Oh, you're pregnant? Can't be mine. My pull-out game is too strong." (literally has NO pull-out game, refuses to use condoms because he "can't feel" with them on)

☆ Basically ghosts you until the paternity test proves it's his. Then he actually ghosts you.

☆ Drops off the face of the fucking Earth for years. Doesn't pay a dime in child support.

☆ Maybe he comes back like 3 years later drunk and demanding to see "his" kid idk. Literally the worst.

Derek

☆ Honestly I headcannon he had a vasectomy at like 24-25.

☆ His mom hit him up once she heard about his prostitute scandals and chewed him out. Gave him "the talk" even though he's a grown ass man... finally got him to get snipped when she brought up the possibility of paying income-based child support for 18 years.

☆ Assuming he doesn't have one, though...

☆ He'd initially be mad and blame you. "I thought you were on the pill!!"

☆ Then he'd be like "Is it too late to... you know... get rid of it?" (and kind of dance around the subject because he's too much of a wimp to just say the word abortion)

☆ Wallace and his mom would both force him to get his shit together and apologize. Eventually he'd come to terms with the fact he's gonna be a dad.

☆ He'd be the kind of bastard to throw an over-the-top gender reveal party. The kind that burns down half of California or pollutes a major water channel.

☆ I think he'd be a really good girl dad. He'd let her paint his nails and stuff. Spoil her. <3

☆ He would treat a son completely differently. Teach him to "be a man" or whatever when he's still learning to walk. Force him into random ass sports.

☆ He'd have them mostly taken care of by a nanny. That's probably how he was raised, anyways. Derek Danforth is NOT changing a diaper.

Futturman

☆ Whether we're talking pre-show or post-show, he'd freak the fuck out if you handed him a positive pregnancy test. I'm talking full-on pass out.

☆ Pre-show Josh would be like "Babe we can NOT afford a baby I literally live at home with my parents and work as a janitor."

☆ His parents would be so crazy supportive though. They've been hinting that they want grandkids for YEARS.

☆ They literally clear out a room IMMIDEATELY after hearing the news and offer it to you to use as a nursery.

☆ His mom buys you more baby clothes than you could possibly need. His dad builds a crib from scratch.

☆ Overall Josh is stressed asf but he does his best to be there for you, and his parents are OVERWHELMIGLY supportive.

☆ Post-show Josh, on the other hand, doesn't have that support. But he's survived unspeakable horrors across multiple dimensions, how hard could a baby be?

☆ Extremely hard, apparently. One day he just loses it and makes a huge decision without asking you.

☆ "Josh WTF happened to our savings??"

☆ "TRUST ME BABE we need to invest in Apple!!"

☆ You're pissed but it pays off in a few years and you're both able to live comfortably.

☆ Then in 2015-ish he did the same thing again, pouring all your savings into bitcoin. This time you SWEAR you're going to leave him, but it all pays out in the end. He gets your kid through college with that money.

☆ Overall he's a really good father, too. He had great parents, and even if he's not experienced with kids, he's naturally a very caring and attentive person.

Mike

☆ Cries when he sees the pregnancy test. He's not even sure if it's happy or sad tears.

☆ Gets sick to his stomach overthinking about how he's going to be a terrible father. His dad walked out on him, so he has literally no idea how to act.

☆ Abby, on the other hand, is absolutely delighted. She's always wanted a "little sister". Mike has to remind her that technically it's her niece. Or nephew. There's no guarantee on the gender yet.

☆ Eventually he comes to terms with it all. He's taken care of Abby for ten years, he isn't completely clueless.

☆ Takes you to all of your Dr.'s appointments, checkups, etc. Holds your hand. Makes all of your weird pregnancy cravings and doesn't judge.

☆ After the birth, he lets you rest. Nearly works himself to death trying to take care of the baby all on his own because he wants you to recover.

☆ I'm talking getting up bleary-eyed at 2am every night to microwave some formula and feed the baby. After working a 10 hour shift.

☆ Pulls the "I have a baby on the way" card at work in an attempt to get a raise. It works, thankfully. (In the novel version of the movie; it says he gets a job as a contractor at the end. So hopefully he can afford a kid...)

----------♡----------

[Remember: these are just MY headcannons. If you think differently that's fine. I didn't include Clapton because he's literally in highschool... and we all know Peeta is an amazing father.]

#josh hutcherson #derek danforth #mike schmidt #the beekeeper #fnaf movie #josh futturman #josh futterman #future man #future man 2017 #billy burn #burn movie 2019

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ohbo-ohno · 7 months

Note

obsesseddd with the thought of kidnapped reader living in the cabin soap and ghost dragged her out to keep her in, being given colouring books and games as rewards for being the sweetest best behaved girl in the world, maybe they give her minecraft or lego’s as a way to distract her and keep her little mind busy while they work around you doing things around the house or fixing things, johnny lies on the sofa with you while you play, his face so close to yours asking you what your building and what each thing is and requesting a kiss every five seconds, making you giggle and blush because he just loves you so much and can’t get enough of you. he wants you in the house on the sofa playing games and colouring in all day every day for ever and ever because you’re his best sweetest most well behaved gorgeous girl. simon watches from wherever he’s standing working and is so proud of himself for finding something that is successfully distracting you enough to giggle and laugh and let soap kiss u all over ur face instead of seizing up or making an effort to get away. you’re settling in just fine and he couldn’t be more proud of you.

to me this is very much so giving DDlg which isn't really my thing, but I do loooove how soft and nice this ask is so I'm gonna play with that aspect of it :)

this is one of those asks that applies really well to a reader who... doesn't really mind being kidnapped. two big strong men want to squirrel her away, take care of her every need and desire? uh, yes please!

but they're still soooo scary :( because they're serial killers!!!! they killed all her friends - even if her friends did end up being really mean to her after all :( they're sweet to her but they also come home covered in gore, and it's very very difficult for her to not get scared when johnny spreads that gore over her face

i really enjoy the idea of this reader forcing herself to be soft and sweet. she's so so scared, tears streaked down her face, but she's got to smile and color with her crayons when johnny sets them down in front of her.

it's a type of sadism that would really work for johnny in particular, i think. he's watching you struggle through this drowning fear to be just what he needs. and you can't fully tell if he even knows you're scared (it's obvious, but you think you're a better liar than you actually are) so you try and cover it up as well as you can.

imagining you playing with legos, or jenga or smth, and being a little shaky and scared but trying to not show it. you glance up and just see ghost, looming in the shadows, blood not washed from his hands or face, just watching you with this deeply intense look. you flinch, lose knock over your little tower or lose jenga, and cry out a little at the loud noise. simon smirks at the reaction, and johnny coos real sad and sweet at you, leans forward to stroke your head.

and you sort of condition yourself to enjoy these things. you don't love coloring at first, but... but it is kinda fun. johnny and simon seem to love your drawings (they put it on a little heavy, you think) and their endless praise feels undeniably good. is it so bad to color something you think they'll like? no, of course not.

so you let yourself enjoy the little childish things - coloring, all the stuffed animals, building little lego castles - because it does feel relaxing.

and all they want from you is your softness, your sweetness. they just want you to be their sweet little baby girl who makes her drawings for them :( give you a Bear Johnny and a Bear Simon (secret little nanny cams) so they never have to really leave your side :( make meals for you and place you on the counter, swipe batter across your nose and watch you giggle :(

#asks and answers #serial killer ghoap x reader #bo writes #favorites

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bayoubashsims · 4 months

Text

The Marsh Mansion

I've yet to make the family living there, but I plan to make it the home of a local spiritualist who lives with her caretaker and long-serving butler. It's built from killerbee's Run Down Mansion at GoS.

The front exterior and the front foyer, with the stairlift. An extensive tour below!

Turning to the right of the corridor you will be in the study, which belonged to the lady's late father, a great scholar of the occult.

At the end of the hall, you will see a dumbwaiter, and turning left will take you to the dining room, where the lady would conduct her services.

The parlor, which is not used anymore, used to host the lady's parents and brother, all deceased now. Nobody's sat on those chairs or played the piano for years...except for, well, you know, the ghosts.

The basement is where you do the laundry, store stuff, and where the furnace and the radiator is kept.

The kitchen, where the lady's nanny and the butler used to work. Many of the appliances and fixtures have not been changed in the last 50 years.

Going upstairs would lead you to the chair of the stairlift and the sewing alcove, used by the lady's late mother, who created clothing for everybody out of love.

The red room, where the father would play cards with his colleagues from the university. You can still hear their murmurs and laughter sometimes at night, with the faint smell of nectar.

The caretaker's room. She's new.

The lady's room, easily my favorite room in the house.

The master bathroom, and the attic, where the butler lives.

And finally, the exterior!

#the sims 2 #the sims #ts2 #monkfish bay

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light-yaers · 11 months

Text

Take Care: Chapter Four

Fic Masterpost | AO3 | Chapter List

Warnings: swearing, eventual smut, emotional themes.

A/N: Hello and welcome to HELL. This is your angst warning. Angst is coming very soon. I hope this chapter makes you feel uneasy. Hahahah

Word count: 9k

Chapter Four

During the next week, you started planning. This article was all you could think about, alongside the craziness that was happening at the club. Within his first few days at Richmond, Dani Rojas was injured. It should have been simple, should have been something easily fixed– if the rumours hadn’t started. For some reason, the prospect of a ghost, of a curse, cropped up. Dani said he could feel a presence in the treatment room… something sinister.

While he recovered, the team was on edge. You stayed in your office a lot that week, choosing to stay out of the ghost stories. But, those stories didn’t stop the guys coming to you, either. One afternoon, Isaac and Colin knocked on the door of your office. You sat up at your desk, shooting them a smile.

“Hey, guys. You okay?” you asked.

Both of them looked worried beyond belief. “We just wanted your guidance on something,” Colin said.

“Yeah, bruv. We need to borrow your smarts,” Isaac added.

“My smarts?” you let out, utterly confused.

“What’s the first thing you’d sacrifice if you were on a football team?” Colin burst, and your face dropped. You had no fucking clue what they were talking about, nor did you want any part of it.

“Sorry… what?” you asked.

Isaac leaned on your desk “Like your football boots, or your shirt, or–”

“The keys to your Lambo…” Colin trailed off, zoning out as he looked at the wall behind you. It was oddly unsettling seeing the guys like this. Overly scared, zoning out, getting lost in thought. You didn’t think it was possible for any of them to be like this. Colin snapped his gaze on you quickly, and you flinched. “I’ve got it. Thank you!” he said, before he bound out of your office as fast as he’d arrived.

Isaac stayed where he was, still thinking about his own… sacrifice?

“Isaac, what is this about?” you asked smally.

He didn’t say anything, but instead focused on the pen you held in your hand. You played tennis as you flashed your gaze back and forth between the pen and him, suddenly feeling self conscious of your fucking fingers. Gently, you reached out your other hand to him, and gave him a soft prod on his shoulder.

“Isaac–?”

“I’ve got it,” he cut over you, and you let out a sigh of relief.

“I– okay. Great. Was that… all you needed?” you asked timidly.

Isaac nodded, standing up straight. “We owe you,” he said, and you would have been flattered if you knew what the fuck they were talking about. You hadn’t done anything, other than be deeply concerned about them for the duration of their visit. “See you about, yeah?” Isaac said, making his way to your door before you could even respond fully.

“I– yeah,” you stuttered, but he was already storming down the corridor to the locker room. You leaned back in your chair and let out a huge breath. Everyday at Richmond brought something new, something strange. You were certain these guys would give you a heart attack one day, if they kept up all this shit.

You raked your fingers through your hair softly, trying to reset after the madness of the past few days. It wasn’t that things were too much, or too stacked on your plate, it was mostly from the shock of what came next that got to you. At this point, you wouldn’t be surprised if you arrived at the club tomorrow to see that everyone had switched places, or that the walls had been painted pink, or that the guys had decided to flood the pitch, purely because they ‘wanted to see what the Dogtrack would be like as a swimming pool’.

Innately, they were almost like toddlers. You’d never been good with kids, never liked children, especially when they screamed and cried and had sticky fingers, but you were confident you’d make an excellent nanny after your year at Richmond. You shut your eyes gently, and breathed through the remainder of your disturbed peace. In through your nose, out through your mouth, and over again.

A knock sounded from the door, and you jumped so hard that you almost fell back in your chair. “Jesus fuck–!” You sat up straight and opened your eyes immediately. Roy strolled into your office, knuckles still raised where he’d knocked on your door. “Oh, God, it’s just you.” You clutched your heart, trying to slow your sudden accelerated breathing.

“Am I really that scary?” he asked.

You scoffed. “No, of course not,” you said, but as his question fully sunk in, you realised that Roy Kent was scary, sometimes. “Actually, yeah. You are a little bit.”

Roy growled in agreement. “I appreciate the honesty.”

“Anyway,” you breathed out. “What’s up?” You leaned forward and smacked your hands together, peering up at where he stood opposite you.

“Just wondering when we were going to get this interview done. The one for your article,” he said. You didn’t notice the subtle way his fists balled together until his knuckles went white.

“Oh, right,” you said. “Well, how about tonight?”

“I can’t tonight. I’ve gotta be here for a fucking cleansing,” Roy explained.

“A cleansing? Is this about the treatment room ghosts?” you asked. Roy nodded, obviously annoyed as fuck about the entire ordeal. “What the fuck is a cleansing, anyway?”

“I don’t want to fucking talk about it,” Roy said, you could understand why.

You raised your hands in understanding. “My lips are sealed, sorry. What about tomorrow, then? I just thought we’d go to the pub, or something. It’s not a formal interview, Roy.”

“I can do tomorrow, just not at the fucking pub,” he said.

“Why not?”

“Do I really have to fucking spell out why going to a Richmond pub, as a Richmond player, is a bad fucking idea?” he said.

You winced. “You’re right, I didn’t think of that. Is there somewhere that would work better?”

Roy clenched his jaw. You saw the way the muscles tensed, matching the intense posture he constantly upheld. You were certain that Roy would be able to walk through a concrete wall if he tried. The constant puff-out of his chest, the strength in his stance, the bluntness of his stares. For someone so hard on the outside, both in how he looked and acted, you felt almost special when you thought about all the good that he’d done for you.

Roy Kent was soft around the edges, but he didn’t show it often.

“We could go to my gaff?” he offered, and your heart jolted in your chest.

At work, you often had one on one conversations with Roy, but the prospect of being alone outside of work was something that made your walls erect again. The same ones that had after the charity ball, the same ones that stopped you from having a drink with him last time.

In your mind, you told yourself to get the fuck over it. You were only human, and God forbid, you had a little crush. No one would blame you, especially with it being Roy. Crushes didn’t hurt anyone, or anything. Crushes existed to you as a bit of fun. That was all. Nothing would come of this.

“That works, too,” you agreed, finally. “Like I said, I don’t want it to be a formal thing.”

“Great, ‘cause I’ve got a fridge full of beer that needs to be fucking drank.”

You huffed, amused. “It’ll be hard, but I’m willing to help make a dent in that,” you said, dropping your expression in a false display of hardship.

Roy hummed lowly. “Your sacrifice won’t go unnoticed.”

You bowed your head at him jokingly. “Thank you, Sir.”

A small smile curled onto Roy’s face, one that you kept a secret tally of in your head. Whenever you got him to laugh, to smile, to do anything that deviated from his typical stoicism, you made a note of it. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” he said, the hint of that smile still on his face.

You smiled back, fiddling with your pen nervously. “See you tomorrow, Roy.”

He nodded, then he was gone. With his leave, your heart did the exact same thing– it launched itself into your throat, its incessant dump-dump getting more erratic by the second. It took you a little over two months, but you were finally going to see the inside of Roy Kent’s big, fuck off house. And, as much as you felt silly and childish, you actually couldn’t fucking wait.

At the end of the following day, Roy stuck his head around your door again. You were half expecting it, though, as you assumed Roy would put two and two together about it being efficient to drive you both to his that evening.

“Ready to go?” he asked, and you stood up from your chair.

“Yeah,” you nodded, slinging your bag over your shoulder and switching off the lights when you both left.

The drive felt familiar. It was equal levels of comfortable silence and awkward glances— mostly on Roy’s part. Occasionally, he sent you a side-eyed glance from the driver’s seat, tapping his fingers on the wheel to break apart the tension that rattled behind the windshield.

Even Roy had no idea why things felt more intimate all of a sudden, so you definitely weren’t suffering alone. You were determined to stay cool; it was just a small crush after all. Nothing earth shattering, nothing life changing. In fact, putting it that way had actually eased you slightly. You weren’t focusing on it as being something deep, it was just something fun— and something that would never come to fruition, anyway.

Roy was a professional footballer, and he boiled your blood far too often. You were nothing more than an annoying, MA student who had the means to push his buttons. Sure, you gelled well, and had great conversations sometimes, and were able to make the other laugh, but that didn’t mean anything. Not really. Right?

You frowned a little, looking out the window as Roy turned down your street. You thought about his jacket, still on the peg by your front door.

“Wait,” you said abruptly. “Would you mind dropping me home first? There’s something I need to pick up.”

Roy perked a brow at you slyly, but nodded in agreement. “Sure.”

He pulled up his Jeep to the curb and you jumped out. You held the door open for a moment. “I’ll walk to yours. I’ll just be a few minutes.”

Roy nodded, and you slammed the car door shut. He drove off before you entered your building, shooting you a subtle glance before he put his foot on the accelerator. When you got inside, you fumbled with your belongings. You’d written down questions on your laptop and knew what you wanted to ask him, but you knew that actually asking them in person would be the hard part.

You took a few moments to freshen up, running a brush through your tangled hair and checking your face after a long day at the Dogtrack, before you repacked your bag and headed for the door. On the peg just before it was Roy’s jacket. You picked it up and draped it over your arm, before you finally set off for Roy’s house around the corner.

Roy knew he had ten minutes, max, before you arrived. Due to the cleansing last night, he hadn’t had time to tidy at all. He didn’t live like an animal by any means, but the piles of fresh laundry on the dining table, the resistance bands on his sofa and the three empty beer bottles from earlier in the week on the counter, were not up to his standard for you. Quickly, he waltzed around his house and cleared up his messes. He didn’t know what was going to come from tonight, or what questions you’d ask him, but he had to admit— he was glad that another time was finally happening.

Having you around constantly at work after the charity ball had him going through the motions. He often flashed back to when he’d abruptly asked you in for a drink, and cringed at your response far too many times. He was a grown man, but things like that still made him feel like a teenager, getting rejected at school. It was stupid, and he knew it, but that didn’t stop his mind from reeling about it all still.

But, at the end of the day, both of you knew one thing— neither of you had fucking expected to like the other, or get along at all, in fact. That was enough to bring out the question— what if? Both of you had thought about it enough to want to see where it could go.

You knocked on Roy’s front door abruptly, and he sauntered through his hallway towards you. Upon entering his house, you tried to keep your giddiness to a minimum. He already knew what you thought of his place, from your drunken honesty and shocked reaction after the charity ball.

Now that you were up close, you saw more of what made Roy… well, Roy. There were clippings from newspapers, dating back as far as 2002, in a huge photo album on the bottom shelf of his dining room bookshelf. Awards and trophies adorned the other levels, alongside homemade cards from someone called Phoebe.

Roy let you silently take it all in. You clutched your bag on your shoulder with white knuckles, his jacket flush to your side, overwhelmed by all that you were seeing. He cleared his throat from the kitchen, peering over at you. “Drink?”

“Oh,” you let out, startled. “Yes, please.” You turned back to the shelf, amazed. “Roy, this is— this is all—”

“It’s all crap,” Roy cut over you, opening the fridge. You turned around to see it full of green beer bottles. He hadn’t been wrong when he said fridge full of beers. He placed two on the kitchen counter and popped the tops off both.

“It’s not crap. They’re lovely memories,” you protested. “I mean, you displayed them here for a reason, didn’t you?”

Roy strolled over to where you stood and casually handed you a beer. You took it gratefully, taking a gulp, as the two of you scanned his full-to-bursting shelves together.

You pointed to the abundance of homemade cards. “Who’s Phoebe?”

“My niece,” Roy said.

“I didn’t know you had siblings,” you said.

Roy hummed. “Got a little sister.”

Somewhere within you, it all made sense. You were amongst the population that knew it was a green flag when a man had sisters, it was just plain true. Roy was no exception to that rule, and his behaviour slotted into place as a man who understood what it took to be an older brother to a sister.

“How old is Phoebe?”

Roy sent you a softened look. “She’s six.”

You hated to admit it, but your heart melted ever so slightly. You smiled at him genuinely. “How sweet.”

“She is sweet,” Roy said, with a distinct genteness to his tone that you’d never heard before. “But, she’s also fucking insane. In the best way.”

“I bet she loves you,” you said, as the two of you took another gulp of beer together.

Roy let out a refreshing ahhh afterwards, to which he followed with “Yeah, she does. I don’t get it.”

“I do,” you let out abruptly. When Roy caught your eye, you panicked. You sent him a hastily sweet smile, before you turned to the rest of the open-plan room.

“So… shall we start?” Roy asked, trying to diffuse the tension.

“We already have,” you said. You prodded a finger to your temple. “It’s being recorded up here.”

Roy growled. “What happens when you run out of room?”

“That’s what the laptop is for,” you said, shrugging your bag off your arm and placing it on the dining table. You slotted his jacket beneath it, leaving it there like an afterthought.

Roy pulled out the chair opposite you and sat down, sipping on his beer as you got yourself sorted. You opened up your laptop and sorted through your notes, until you found the questions you’d written previously.

You cleared your throat, placing your palms down on the table. “Ready?”

“I thought we’d already fucking started,” Roy said, and you huffed to yourself.

“Tell me your superhero origin story, go on,” you said, before you shifted and placed your chin in your hand. You leaned casually on the tabletop, peering at Roy with your full attention.

Roy cleared his throat awkwardly, tapping his short-cut nails against his beer bottle. “I was scouted for Sunderland when I was nine years old…” he began.

He didn’t stop until all daylight disappeared from outside. An hour into his story, you had to start typing on your laptop. It didn’t detract from the mood at all, not when you and Roy bounced off each other so effortlessly. He’d say something specific about football, something that you had no fucking clue about, and you’d say something like Oh, yeah. I know exactly what that is. It made the air shift comfortably, and gave Roy a moment to catch his breath and smile before he continued on.

It didn’t feel like an interview, and that’s exactly what you wanted. You weren’t a journalist, weren’t looking to join this writing sector, but that didn’t stop you from wanting to write about Roy Kent. You’d meant what you’d said to Keeley before, about his illustrious career, about how heart-warming his full story really was. Every word he said you ate up, joining in with the laughter, staying silent during the sensitive topics, and listening intently all the way through.

When he was done, he let out a deep sigh. You both sat back in your chairs, finishing your beers. You’d lost count of how many times you’d gone to the fridge for more– maybe three or four times– but the buzz was pleasant for both of you. A golden glow was cast over Roy’s house, coming from a few lamps placed throughout the living and dining room. It felt warm. It felt safe. That’s exactly what you’d wanted him to feel when he opened up to you fully.

This time, Roy travelled to the kitchen for refills, but he didn’t go to the fridge. He opened one of his kitchen cabinets, and grabbed two glasses that clinked together melodiously. From a cart in the dining room, he picked up a half full bottle of single malt whiskey. He placed the glasses on the table between you, popped the cork from the whiskey, and poured a little in each glass. When he sat again, he picked up the glass nearest him. You followed suit, picking up your own.

You clinked your glasses together, both taking a small sip afterwards, before an even more comfortable silence settled over the room around you. You peered at him then, as he swallowed back his whiskey. The liquid slinked down your own throat hotly, warming you from the inside, out.

“Why?” you asked quietly, and Roy caught your eye gently.

“Why what?”

“Why football?” you said, shrugging. “You could have done anything, but you did this. Why?”

Roy exhaled through his nose, before he leaned forward on his elbows. The gap between you closed gently, until both of you were leaning on the smooth wood of his dining table, close enough that you could reach out and touch his face if you wanted to.

“Tell me in a way that my fickle, anti-football brain will understand,” you added, and Roy huffed softly.

“From your perspective, you think football is just a game,” Roy started softly. You’d never heard his voice this clear, this gentle. “But, it’s not for me. It’s my whole life. It’s all I’ve ever done.” He tapped his glass with his fingertips, letting out a soft clink across the table at you. “Do you know why I didn’t fill out your worksheet, the one from when you first started at the club?”

You shook your head gently, not taking your eyes off the thoughtful look that graced Roy’s face. You felt then just how vulnerable he was being– this wasn’t what Roy Kent did. He was stoic, he was blunt, but that didn’t stop him from having his own secrets, his own insecurities.

Roy sucked in a breath. “The last question on it– What do you want from your career in the future? I couldn’t answer it, because the future for me is different to the other lads. I’m coming to the inevitable end of my career, slowing down, and they’re just getting started.” You sucked in a breath, going to protest, but Roy shook his head before you could. “Don’t tell me I’m talking rubbish. This is how it fucking goes, you know? I’m not the same player I used to be, and… it’s all going to end soon. One day I’ll wake up, and without knowing, it’ll be the last day I ever play football.”

You let his words settle over you. You didn’t know what he was feeling at all, would never understand the extent of his pain or troubles, but that didn’t stop you from having a different perspective. As an objective third party, you could see what he couldn’t. Maybe that was good, just this once.

“I can’t begin to imagine what that’ll feel like, Roy,” you said softly. “But just because you won’t be on the pitch, doesn’t mean there won’t be something new waiting for you.” Roy raised his brows at you softly, in waiting. He was listening, he was all ears. “I know fuck all about football, but– I know about you. You won’t just fall off the edge of the world.”

“How do you know that?” he asked, swallowing back some of his anxiety.

“I know because of all the fucking trophies on that shelf,” you said, gesturing to the shelf behind him. “I know because, when you run onto the pitch, all those fans scream that chant, just for you.” You let out an abrupt laugh, trying to convey just how amazed you were. “For fucks sake, Roy, you played in the World Cup in 2014, for fucking England. You were the same age as me then, you know.”

“A year older,” he corrected you. “I was twenty-nine.”

“Yeah, and I’m twenty-eight and only just doing my masters, working at a football club when I don’t know anything about football, with the athletic ability of a fucking teaspoon.”

Roy smiled at the table immediately. It was the kind of smile that took up his whole face, one that made his eyes squint and glint.

“What I mean is,” you continued, leaning a bit closer to him. Roy peered up at you again, his eyes glassy. “You’re a legend, Roy. And, even though I’ve been part of this world for no time at all, I know that very well. It was the first thing I learned, and will probably be the only thing that I’ll remember about the game after my year is up.”

“Not true,” Roy said abruptly, taking another sip of his whiskey. “The first thing you learned was that I’m not the fucking caretaker.” He smiled, and after your heart stopped racing as fast, you smiled back.

The atmosphere transitioned back to something more playful, but the underlying warmth of your prior conversation didn’t go away at all. It settled into every word that you and Roy shared, every small huff of air that you blew out from amusement, every sigh you let out to catch your breath. When your whiskeys were done, you caught a glance of the time on your laptop– it was almost midnight. You’d spent hours in each other's company, just talking, and it had gone by in mere minutes.

“So,” Roy let out, and his tone got under your skin immediately. Maybe it was the booze, or the darkness outside, but when he caught your eye this time you felt like a deer in headlights. “Did you have any more questions?”

You skimmed your laptop, but you knew you’d already asked everything you’d wanted to. It was just for show, just so that he’d think you had more to give. You didn’t want it to end just yet, not when the tension between you was inescapable. It was just a crush. It was just a crush.

“One more,” you lied. You smiled at him playfully, before you gently started circling your finger on the rim of your glass. “You’re a professional footballer,” you stated, amused.

“No fucking shit,” he replied.

You huffed gently. “This is off the record, and just because I’m curious, and you do not have to answer it if you don’t–”

“You want to know how many famous people I’ve slept with,” he interrupted you. You froze, and your cheeks immediately warmed. He’d worked you the fuck out.

“Just– an estimate.” Your voice was high pitched when it left your mouth.

“I don’t kiss and tell,” Roy said, matching your amusement.

Your expression flattened. “A few weeks ago you announced to the locker room that you’d slept with four of the Spice Girls, Roy,” you said plainly, and Roy sat up straight defensively.

“Only because Tartt was fucking boasting and someone needed to shut him up!”

“Was it Posh Spice?” you asked.

“What?”

“The one you didn’t sleep with, was it Posh Spice?”

“Fuck no,” he said immediately. After a beat, he added, “It was Ginger.”

Your eyes widened at his response, but your laughter overtook you faster. You leaned back in your chair and burst with unavoidable chuckles, the kind that you felt in your belly, the ones that felt impossible to stop. Only when they started to settle did you sit up again, only to discover an utterly new look on Roy’s face. His features were soft and his jaw settled. There was a tiny smile on his lips, but not enough to show off his teeth, or to take up the entirety of his face. His eyes roamed your features gently, until you were certain you’d landed upon a name for his expression–

Affection. Roy was looking at you affectionately.

You let out a final soft chuckle. “You’re fucking amazing,” you let out.

Roy raised his brows, chuffed at your genuinity. “Is that why you wanted to write about me?”

You settled. “Yes,” you said, affectionately. It just sort of… fell out of your mouth. One word that was an exact copy of the look he was giving you.

Electricity buzzed between you, enough to startle you innately. You glanced at the time on your laptop again– past midnight. You hated it, but you feared that time was up. You’d got all you’d needed, and you didn’t want to take up more of Roy’s time, despite the feeling that he had no desire to be done with the conversation.

Roy’s eyes flicked back and forth between your own, frantically, like he couldn’t settle. He was on edge, he was buzzing, and he had no intention to break his focus from you. He knew it would come to an end though, when you inevitably mentioned the time and made another joke about being old at heart. He thought back to the night of the charity ball, then, when you unintentionally spent the entire evening together. When you’d walked off to the bathroom, he and Jamie had attempted to find a middle ground at the bar. All the while, his eyes had constantly flicked back and forth between the beer in his hands, and the direction that you’d walked. He’d only moved away from the bar for a moment, but when he’d returned to find it utterly empty, he knew you’d decided to leave. He couldn’t understand it then, but annoyance had struck him in the heart– you hadn’t even bothered to say goodbye, hadn’t even tried to find him again to send him an awkward wave before you walked home. That’s what led Roy to leave, himself. He took a final scan of the vast room, before he stuck his hands in his pockets and headed for the exit. When he emerged into the cold Richmond air, you were standing at the bottom of the steps, shaking subtly, as you tried (and failed) to find directions home, using Google Maps on your phone. It was an innate feeling that had him descending the steps and taking off his jacket, only to drape it over your bare shoulders. The same innate feeling hit him when you stood outside his house. It made him invite you in for a drink, but the look on your face had shown him everything– it was going to be a no, and that was the moment that had cemented who you were to him. Sensible. Smart. Holding yourself back.

Roy had held himself back from things his entire life, but he didn’t want to do it anymore. He wanted to answer your questions genuinely and open himself up to being judged by others– by you, sat opposite him, looking into his eyes like you were trying to find something, anything, to talk yourself out of having another drink with him.

“What about you?” Roy said suddenly, taking you– and himself– by surprise.

You tilted your head at him. “What about me?”

“No, no, don’t be fucking coy,” Roy said, leaning back in his chair comfortably. “I told you my life story, now it’s your turn to tell me yours.”

You scoffed abruptly, trying to ignore the warmth that radiated on your cheeks. “Fuck no. We’d be here all night, and you definitely wouldn’t look at me the same way.”

“That’s the whole fucking point,” Roy said. “I want to look at you differently, the way that you’re looking at me right fucking now,” he said, gesturing to the affectionate and bashful expression on your face.

He was right, you did know a lot more about him, and he knew fuck all about you. You felt mysterious for the first time in your entire life. There was a spark that glistened in your eye, one that was playful and ready to fall headfirst into this entire ordeal. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to open up to Roy– you did, oh man, you did– but you didn’t feel that now was the right time. Not after he’d just spilled his guts to you.

Roy gently leaned forward again, sliding his arms out in front of him, until his hands were close enough to touch your own. “What have you got to lose?” he asked.

A fist-full of answers bombarded your skull. Nothing. Everything. You. Myself. All of the above.

But the one you settled on, over all the rest, was the best one for you then. All the other words tried and failed to bounce over the wall that you’d built previously. You gently skimmed your fingers over Roy’s knuckles, trying to be playful. Touching Roy’s skin made your entire arm buzz with adrenaline. It shot up through your fingers and reverberated through your arm, until you got the shivers suddenly. You played it off as nothing.

“Sleep. I’ve got sleep to lose,” you said.

Roy’s hand twitched on the table, and for a second you thought he was going to reach out and take your hand in his. After your words hit him, however, he settled on retracting his hands back into his lap, and leaned back in his chair once more. He smiled at you in recognition, but you knew you’d just done it again– said no, when it was fucking obvious to both of you that you’d wanted to say yes.

“Past ten-thirty, is it?” he said gently.

“Way past,” you confirmed, but the words felt sour in your mouth.

Roy huffed to himself, but he didn’t come across like he was in any way annoyed. He shouldn’t be, you were perfectly within your right to call it a night, but you still felt guilty about it. Maybe that was a sign that you should stay.

“Another time,” Roy said before you could.

You smiled at him. “Another time.”

“I mean it,” he added, his voice transforming into something stern and dominating. “Otherwise we’re not fucking even.”

You nodded, faking seriousness, despite the playful smile on your lips. “Everyone knows that not being even is illegal.”

“Exactly.” Roy nodded.

The conversation had reached its end. As you packed your belongings, Roy picked up the glasses and bottles from the table and took them to the kitchen. Quickly, he washed the two whiskey glasses in the sink, while you shuffled your bag into your shoulder. Left beneath it on the table was Roy’s jacket. You stared at it sharply, forgetting that you’d even brought it with you.

Quickly, without fucking thinking, you picked it up and abruptly stuffed it into your bag. You shoved it between your laptop and a notebook, before you turned around to find that Roy was already looking at you.

“You okay?” he asked, noticing the subtle panic on your face.

You nodded. “Just checking I have everything.”

Roy walked you to his front door. He was a few paces behind you the entire time, only looming over you when he reached forward to pull the latch on his solid wood door. He tugged it open, and you slotted yourself underneath the frame, before you turned around to face him.

You peered up at him, meeting his eye without any hesitation. You let out a content sigh. “Thank you for doing this,” you said, and you really fucking meant it.

“No problem,” he said gently.

“I’ll let you know when I’m done with the article.”

Roy nodded in response, keeping his expression the same. You thought he’d say something smart, something that would make you chuckle or giggle, something that would make your cheeks warm violently once more, but he simply stayed silent as his eyes continued to skim over the features of your face.

“Goodnight,” you said first, knowing it was best not to linger– even though you wanted to; even though Roy wanted you to.

“Goodnight,” Roy said after, but neither of you moved a muscle. You didn’t step back and leave his front door step, nor did he step back and make an indication of closing his front door.

Instead, Roy stepped forward. You froze as he leant down and placed a small peck on your cheek, one that was over just as soon as it had fucking began. For a split second, you felt the scratch of his beard and the warmth of his skin, and then it was gone. You smiled, and then, just like his kiss, you were gone.

On the walk home, you clutched your bag fiercely. Roy’s jacket felt like it was burning a hole through the fabric, but you didn’t fucking care. You weren’t ready to give it up yet, especially not when the prospect of another another time had cropped up once more. You tried not to think, but absolutely failed. Words scrambled in your head painfully, bashing the base of your skull and bumping into the plush walls of your brain. There was one word that screeched above all else, and it was only getting louder–

Him, him, him, him, him.

On Monday, Jamie Tartt was gone. It was a shame, considering his abrupt change of heart at the so-called cleansing the previous week, and the fact that Ted had finally managed to get through to him in a way. In fact, Ted was seething. You didn’t think that Lasso had an angry bone in his body before the news dropped, but when he sullenly returned from Rebecca’s office, he took down Tartt’s football shirt from his cubby sadly.

You leaned against the door to the manager’s office, shooting a sunken face at Ted as he gently pushed past you.

“Well,” you said, turning around to face him. “This is shit.”

“That is a mighty fine way to put it,” Ted said, as he dropped Tartt’s shirt on his desk. “Man City recalled him. Guess they didn’t like the fact I put him on the bench.”

You shrugged. “It’s a shame…. but, alternatively, now he’s Pep’s problem again.”

Ted, Beard and Nate all shot their stares to you instantly. You frowned at them, feeling uncomfortable suddenly. “What?”

“You said something about football that was actually correct,” Beard said, gobsmacked.

You huffed, annoyed. “Come off it. I know a lot more about football now!”

“About another team, even,” Nate said. “That’s impressive.”

“Come on, guys. Leave her alone,” Ted said, stepping forward. “She still knows more about this sport than me.”

You winced. “I know a lot more than I once did, Ted, but it’s still not a huge amount.”

Tes shrugged. “That’s why I’ve got you guys!” He happily smiled around the room, looking at Beard and Nate in turn. You let out a scoff, before you sent them all a wave goodbye and headed back to your office.

You had a day full of writing ahead of you, and you simply couldn’t wait.

As the weeks went by, you slept less and less. It got so bad that you’d often find yourself still awake when the sun was beginning to rise. Writing was all you could do. Alongside your assignments, you were dedicated to Roy’s article, spending any free time you had to yourself on it, and abandoning your usual self care and comfort.

The guys were scared of you, slightly. You were snappy and sleep deprived, with a one track mind that they couldn’t understand. Even Roy found himself concerned enough to eventually check up on you, which was a task for him, too.

He often thought back to a few weeks before, when you and he had chatted for hours about his life. You’d sat at his table, drank his beer, shared a whiskey with him— and then you’d left again. When you’d entered his house, he spotted his jacket on your arm, but as the night went on, both of you had forgotten about its inevitable return. Before you took your leave, Roy witnessed you shoving it back into your bag. He hadn’t said anything. He’d found it funny and endearing, and he had to admit to himself that he’d looked at you with the most affection he could muster at that moment. Not that you knew, not that he wanted you to, but Roy Kent had a definite soft spot for you.

That was why he agreed to the article in the first place, after all.

When he finally plucked up the strength to check on you, he found you at your desk— fast asleep. Your laptop was open in front of where you’d leaned your cheek down upon the wood, papers sprawled everywhere. There was an almost uncomfortable look on your face, like your subconscious knew that you should be awake and writing, yet it had finally overtaken you.

He peered down at you softly, and balled his fists to stop himself from sitting down opposite you to gently push a few strands of hair from your face. He knew he should leave, but he also knew you’d get mad if you knew he’d seen you this way and not woken you. Slowly, softly, Roy leant down and gently poked a finger to your cheek. He did it a few times, whispering wake up, until you finally stirred. Anyone else in this fucking club and he would have yelled from the get-go, but you were different; he didn’t want to startle you.

You came around finally, and flinched as soon as you opened your eyes. Seeing Roy’s face after an intense nap wasn’t something you were used to at all. You let out a visceral “Jesus fucking Christ!”

Roy only perked his brow at you. “Dreaming about unicorns and rainbows, were you?”

You rubbed your eyes tiredly, and stopped yourself from sleepily scratching them out of their sockets. “I wish.” Roy growled questioningly, wanting you to go on. You sighed. “I wasn’t dreaming about anything. Sorry to disappoint,” you said, peering up at him grumpily. It was your own fault that you felt so bad, you knew, but you’d been short with everyone for the last week because of it.

“Not to state the obvious, but you look fucking awful,” Roy said, to which you scoffed abruptly.

“Thanks for that,” you let out.

“What the hell is up? Has something happened?” he asked, crossing his arms at you with stern concern.

“Nothing’s wrong, it’s fine,” you said, waving him off. “There just aren’t enough hours in the day to do everything, or to stay awake for.”

“Is this about the article?” Roy asked.

You guiltily peered up at him. “I just— can��t stop writing. It feels like I’ll fucking die if I spend a single minute away from it.”

“You’re not gonna die by taking a break, but you will die from sleep deprivation. That’ll turn you fucking mental,” Roy said.

You yawned— hugely. “I know, I know,” you said, before you settled. You allowed yourself to smile at him. “I’m almost done, actually. I’m so close.”

Roy huffed. “Good. Take a fucking break then.”

“I will, just not—,”

“Come to Liverpool with us, for the Everton game,” he said suddenly. “I know the lads want you with us, and it’ll give you time to calm the fuck down.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but you stopped when you actually thought about it. The Everton game was four days away, which meant you had three to finish the article completely, before you submitted it. You could do that. That was doable.

“Well, I mean,” you started, before you finally shrugged. “I have been wanting to go to more away games. And, if the guys want it, then I definitely want to show my support.” You smiled at Roy with a finality.

He nodded in approval and uncrossed his arms. “Okay,” he said softly.

For a moment, the two of you looked at each other thoughtfully. Perhaps your minds were bombarding you both with flashbacks from a few weeks ago, when you’d both said goodbye at his door when it was obvious that neither of you had wanted to. Since then, due to how much work you had to fucking do, you hadn’t thought much of it. But at night, before bed, your mind often wandered. Roy’s face popping into your head had almost become normal, especially with the added security of his jacket still on the peg by your door. You called yourself silly for taking it back, but you still hadn’t returned it since that fumble.

Roy cleared his throat abruptly, pulling both of you out of your thoughts. You sucked in a sharp breath and smiled at him, trying to cover up how loud your thoughts about him actually were. He did the same, inhaled deeply and let it out slowly, until the moment had dissipated.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Roy said, breaking the silence.

You huffed affectionately. “Thank you.”

Rod nodded, before he headed to the door and left. You leaned back in your chair when you were alone, stretching your arms above your head to get some feeling back into them after your nap. You stared at the ceiling for a moment, noticing the cracks in the cinder block bricks and the awful paint job, but it was only to distract you from thinking about Roy.

Roy, who was definitely a gentleman in disguise. Roy, whose jacket you had on a peg in your flat. Roy, who wanted you around him and his team. Roy fucking Kent. Writing the article didn’t make your crush on him any easier, but only perpetuated your feelings to oblivion.

A few days later, while you laid in bed at God knew what time, your heart swelled to a thousand times the size of normal. You’d just written the final sentence, just tweaked the final edits, and your article was finally done. In a frenzy, you opened the Independent’s website and immediately went to submit it, but you stopped yourself before you could. Somewhere within you, you knew that you needed Roy to read it before you could, otherwise it wouldn’t be fair. With one more day until travelling to Everton, you knew it wasn’t the best time at all. You’d tell him after the match that you were done, and as soon as he read it, you’d submit it if he was happy.

You went to sleep elated and buzzed, but still managed to drag yourself to work the following morning. You clutched your laptop to your chest as if it were a fucking child, trying not to scare yourself into thinking that Roy would hate what you’d written about him. As you entered your office, you found Keeley sat at your desk. You flinched in surprise as you turned the corner, but that surprise very quickly turned into a smile at her presence.

“Hey babe!” Keeley said, jumping up from your chair and rounding your desk quickly. She picked up one of two coffee cups from the desktop and handed it to you. “I brought you coffee.”

You took it from her, but you weren’t dumb. Keeley was here for something, and you didn’t know what. “Alright– what do you want?” you said, shooting her a playful look.

Keeley let you settle behind your desk, as she started pacing the space of your office. You dropped your laptop down and sat in your chair heavily, trying not to show just how tired you were.

“Well, I know you’re coming to Liverpool with us tomorrow, but I had a feeling that you might be done with your article…”

You rolled your eyes at her, tapping the lid of your coffee cup. “You want to read it, don’t you?”

Keeley lunged at your desk, shooting herself forward so your noses almost touched. “Of course, I do! After reading what you wrote about Rebecca last time, I’ve been dying to read more of your stuff.”

You opened your laptop up, smiling to yourself as you clicked onto the article. It was already loaded on the Independent's website, you just hadn’t sent it off. “I could do with someone looking at it, actually. I… I don’t know if I’m going to submit it.”

“Why?” Keeley said, taking a seat on your desk before you.

You peered up at her, furrowing your brows. “I don’t know if it’s good enough.”

“Well,” Keeley said, quickly spinning the laptop in her direction. “I’ll be happy to sing your praises after I read it.”

You smiled at her smally, grateful to have her in your life. “Speaking of Rebecca, I actually have a meeting with her this morning,” you said, as you stood. “Happy reading!” you added, and Keeley practically jumped back into your chair as you left.

You walked to Rebecca’s office slowly, breathing through the immense grogginess that you felt. You drank Keeley’s coffee in record time, but the caffeine wasn’t enough on its own. You knew you should go home to rest, but you didn’t want to when all that you were feeling was self-inflicted. You could sleep early when you got home, and on the bus up to Liverpool in the morning. You’d live.

You knocked on the door to Rebecca’s office a minute later, and let yourself in when she mumbled it was okay to do so. “Oh, good morning, darling,” she said, waving you inside as you shut the door behind you. She stopped smiling when she got a proper look at you. “Fucking hell, what’s wrong with you?”

You laughed tiredly. “Good morning to you, too,” you croaked. “I’m just… a little tired.”

“I can see that,” she said, looking at you up and down with concern. She stood abruptly and whisked herself over to her bar cart, while you swayed on the spot in front of her desk. “Sit,” she instructed you, pointing at you sternly, before she went back to her plan. You did as you were told.

Rebecca popped a coffee pod into the top of her Nespresso machine and placed a cup beneath the spout. When she clicked a button the machine started to thrum, before a boiling hot and aromatic stream of coffee was produced. When it was done, Rebecca placed the espresso in your hands and perched back onto her desk. She peered down at you the way a mother would sternly tell off her child.

“Why do you look like you haven’t slept in days?”

“Because I haven’t slept in days,” you replied, subtly huffing at your own joke. Rebecca shot daggers at you. “Sorry. It’s just this article for the competition.”

“The one about Roy?” she asked.

You nodded. “I finished it last night, actually, so I won’t be like this for much longer, don’t worry.” You took a trepidatious sip of coffee, but as it slinked down your throat you felt your heart buzz with electricity. It was both invigorating and incredibly anxiety inducing.

“Congratulations,” Rebecca said, and her expression changed to something softer. “Have you sent it off yet?”

“No,” you said lowly. “I don’t think I will for a bit longer.”

“Why?”

You winced. You knew that if you were to tell Rebecca and Keeley the reason for you not sending it off, that they’d only yell at you to get over it. Roy agreed to this from the start, so surely he was fine with you actually submitting it. “It’s just that I want Roy to read it before I do, is all.”

Rebecca let out an abrupt cackle, so loud that it startled you. Your espresso wobbled in your hand. “Oh, please. Roy wouldn’t know a good article if it reached out and punched him in the face. Nor would he care.”

Rebecca was right, even if it hurt for her to say it. “I know, I know. It’s just that it’s about him, and I don’t want him to hate what I’ve written.”

“Of course, he’s going to hate it,” Rebecca said immediately, and your face soured. “And that’s no reflection on you, darling, it’s all on him. I think you should submit it, just get it over with.”

You let out a sigh. As much as you knew she was right, you wanted to believe that Roy cared about what you’d written. You felt you’d done him justice, that you’d written about what actually mattered in his life, but there was always an element of the unknown when you wrote about someone else. Would they like it? Would they think it was shit? All those same questions cropped up at you with Roy Kent as the subject, and you knew that you’d find out what he thought of it one way or another– whether that was when he read it on your laptop, or in the paper.

But still, you respected him. This wasn’t just a one woman job, this wasn’t just about you, this was about him, too. And despite understanding every reason that was laid out in front of you, you still wanted approval from him before you sent it off. That was the end of it.

You took another sip of espresso, and Rebecca sent you a raised brow stare. There was some playfulness behind it, some giddiness that made you both look and feel like schoolgirls again. Rebecca moved to sit opposite you, picking up her tea and sipping upon it to match you. You caught eyes with her, immediately understanding what she was saying to you telepathically.

Something is happening between you and him, isn’t it?

You finished your espresso, while Rebecca placed her cup down on its saucer again. She leaned her chin on her knuckles as you sorted yourself out opposite her. You shuffled in your chair and sat back comfortably, and when you looked up again you saw that she was staring at you with a concerned gaze, once again.

You let out a huff. “Rebecca, I’m fine.”

“Be careful,” she said softly, seriously.

You frowned at her, confused. “Of what?”

“He’s a footballer,” she continued. “We should all be careful of footballers. Especially the kind ones.”

You swallowed her words forcefully. It was only then that you dawned on all of this being scary. A crush could turn into more, especially with how Roy was around you. You felt special, it was true, and that was the most dangerous thing of all. Inside you, that wall shot itself towards the sky once more. Behind it, you tried trampling your feelings down, but you knew it wouldn’t hold them at bay forever.

You started your meeting, and for that hour, you didn’t think about Roy once.

Downstairs, beneath two layers of concrete, Keeley Jones finished reading your article. It was brilliant, and she knew that if you didn’t win it would be an absolute crime. She skimmed her favourite parts over and over again, and was pleasantly surprised to find herself looking at Roy in a different light after inhaling your words about him. She harboured a bad feeling that made her believe you’d never actually submit it, whether it was from your fear of being good or not, or something else entirely.

That’s what led her to a lightbulb moment, one that overtook her senses and had her checking if you were returning from Rebecca’s office. When she saw the coast was clear, she smiled to herself. Lucky for her, you were all ready to actually submit your work, but she knew you needed a bit of a boost– in the form of her doing it for you.

Quickly, deviously, Keeley scrolled to the bottom of the application page. Without thinking of any consequences, she clicked the big green button that said SUBMIT.

CHAPTER FIVE

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sublimecatgalaxy · 1 year

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I love your Aaron Hotchner stuff oh my god-

I wanted to challenge you to write a Hotch x nanny!reader!! Like he hires her to be on call to take care of Jack while he's away and he comes home late after a case and he's just beat the fuck up and tired and Jack's asleep???

I don't know maybe some spiiiiiice???

If you don't want to write too much spice, tension would be much appreciated😌

I love this and I definitely am not against some spice. Thank you for reading and loving my work! It means the literal world to me❤️

A loud yawn escapes me as the front door clicks open, my head craning to watch Aaron stumble in the door and toss his bag and keys down onto the ground.

"Welcome home, SSA Hotchner." I grin, folding my legs underneath me as I lower the volume on the TV, frowning when I see him gripping his side. He gives me a sad excuse for a wave as he sucks a breath in, kicking his shoes and jacket off before making his way into the kitchen.

"Is Jack asleep?" He calls out and I can hear the faucet running.

"Out like a light. Went down about an hour ago- are you okay." I ask, watching him appear once more with a glass of water that he sucks down almost immediately before plopping down beside me on the couch.

He looks exhausted and run down, brows furrowed in pain as he attempts to get comfortable, bruises littering the small part of his collarbone and chest that I can see peeking out from behind his shirt.

"Rough chase with an unsub. I went down after three shots the vest." He lifts the corner of his shirt, revealing the deep, black bruises littering his left side and I audibly gasp. "Bruised ribs, mild concussion- I'm fine." His reassurance doesn't go too far with me though, my head spinning with worried thoughts and my heart slams against my ribs.

"Were you seen by a doctor or did you do the very man-thing of skipping that part and coming directly home?" I ask with a chastising tone and a tired look passes across his expression.

"I wanted to be home with Jack." He sighs, running hand through his hair, chin tilting back so he can rest his head against the cushions. "To see you." My heart flutters at his confession and I can't fight the smile that spreads across my lips.

"Well, I'll admit that's sweet but I'm not going to ignore the fact that you're hurting."

"I'll be fine. Rossi told me to take a few days." I blow out a breath of relief, happy that he can at least have a few days to heal and recover.

"Oh so you're officially house ridden for once?" I tease. "Looks like you won't be needing me then." I wonder if he'll take my bait, if he'll ask me to stay and take care of him and Jack- like he'll give me confirmation that this back and forth game we've been playing isn't just in my head.

"Well..." He trails off with a struggled shrug.

"Well what?"

"I don't know. You could come over still." He offers bashfully. "Jack likes your company. I like your company too." I grin, fisting my hands in my lap as I try not to audibly squeal out of pure happiness and relief but he must take my silence as hesitancy. "Unless you don't want to, I completely understand-"

"No, no. I'd love to still come over." I agree. "Guess I'm a nanny and a nurse for the next few days. Looks like we need to talk about a pay raise-" My words are silenced by the feeling of his lips against mine, strong hand resting against my cheek to guide me through a heated kiss that seems to have been months in the making. My body melts against his and I momentarily forget about his bruises when my hand lifts to rest against his chest. The movement sends him flying back, wincing while reaching to grip where I had touched him but I can't apologize because all I can think of is the feeling of his lips on mine. "You kissed me." I whisper breathlessly.

"I think I did." He nods, eyes avoiding mine as my fingers brush against my lips, feeling the ghost of a kiss.

"Yeah? You think?" I giggle, reaching out to whack his thigh playfully.

"I'm sorry, that was totally inappropriate-"

"No, no it wasn't." I wave his concerns off with a huge grin on my lips and it seems to reassure him enough to loosen his tense shoulders, a smile that matches mine appearing on his lips moments later. "It looks like my pay raise is going from nanny to girlfriend?"

"Looks like it."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o- Taglist: @bubblebuttwade @rafelover2405 @leslienjazzy @sorceresss @grxnde-dwt @alex–awesome–22 @bunnietoof @niyamar1e @serialghost @plantlungs @geniusohn @akaliltimmytim @lilaalouuxx @xshariex @elliotsbeigeguitar @elle4404 @lelieja @srhxpci @joselyn001 @taysirene @spinkspanther @thedivineuphoria @peter-maximoffs @tsukishimawhore @poohkie90 @szlaco @distantsighs @nstyles4299 @wolflover384 @givemefoodandlovesstuff @vane28282 @yeswhatever33 @amirrahfranson @vvaalleennttiinna @f-mu @yaspillz @jeyramarie @skylievin@abbybarnes17 @jointherebellion215 @visiondaddy @steezysimfinds @its-ya-gay-boi-luigi @crunchytoenailsyum@glizzymcguirex @beth123lg @melovesmut @rafecameronswhore @ariianelle @write-from-the heart @vampviolets@haylee-e @honee-chai-tea @lokiandbuckywife

@officiallyunofficialperson@heyaitsklaudia@rosepetalsparks @bluetreecloud20 @scenesofobx @double-shot-of-tequila @1dluver13xx @colbysbrocks @iamasimpingh0e @loveshineslikethesky @id-3-kbro @diorsitgirl @errorfound101-allideasburnedout @neverwillknowme18 @ellyskey @taylors-folk @loversjoy @myaloveee @thyris-is @lagataprrr @aaaaslaaaan @witxhy-lexx @minjix @luvroseee @tee-swizzle @savageneversaw @admiringlove @hysteriahall @piceous21 @starlightandfairies @igotmajordaddyissues @drewstarkey-wife1 @manyfandomsfanvergent @revesephemeres @bungunz

#aaron #aaron x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fic

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osirisiii-bc · 6 months

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Whole Emeritus family Headcanons (backgrounds)

I’ve added a new WIP to my long-Fics projects and this one will be focused on the teen years of the Emeritus brothers and why, at a certain point, it became evident that they needed separate rooms. So I have finally developed my background headcanons for each one of them (+ Nihil and Sister Imperator bonus). I think I could extend their HC for specific topics in the next future.

The Sister Imperator one is, surprisingly, the one that came out more naturally. Feel free to discuss about these 👇🏻

Primo

Being 15 years older than Secondo and Terzo, he mostly spent his teenage years alone, but he was also the only one who had the chance to meet his birth mother, even if it was only for a few years. She was one of the fans Nihil had an affair with when playing with the first Ghost. She chose not to be part of the Ministry and agreed to leave Primo with Nihil, ensuring him an heir.

During his youth, he grew tall and slender, developing in an elegant figure. Despite his appearance being cold and severe, he had a soft heart, and was deeply focused on his duties.

Undoubtedly the most diligent and educated of the three brothers, he was well-behaved and respectful. From a young age, Nihil imposed strict education on him, treating him as an adult even when he was just a child. He claims he has no memories of regular childhood games or playtime, only recalling his religious and black magic studies.

Of the three brothers, he was perhaps the only one who genuinely felt a deep devotion to the Church, earning the ironic nickname 'The Saint' from his brothers.

He seemed blind to girls' advances, or simply uninterested, to the extent that Secondo and Terzo believed he was still a virgin, having never seen him with a girl... until, at around 31 (for him), they finally caught him with a lady in their room. This was the most embarrassing event for him and the funniest for his other two brothers.

He didn't spare his brothers from his strictness but was never cruel to them. His intention was for them to behave and be prepared for their future rule. Secondo and Terzo understood that even his harshest comments were for their betterment, as it was his only means of expressing himself.

He remained reserved throughout his life, making it difficult for his brothers to understand his thoughts or interests. He seemed like a product shaped by Nihil's will, with his primary interest lying in the cult and maintaining righteousness. Rarely did he allow himself to relax with laughter and enjoyment.

He was the one who discovered the 'Seven inches of 'Satanic Panic' EP in Nihil’s office and shared it with his brothers, initiating the decision to resurrect the Ghost project and summon the band Ghouls.

Secondo

He was notably tall and strongly built, starting to shave his head at a young age and engaging in exercise to gain muscle, bestowing upon him a striking appearance. He was the favorite among girls until Terzo began to realize the potential of his own charisma.

Only three months older than Terzo, they grew up like twins, developing an exceptionally close bond, despite frequent fights and arguments, typical of real brothers. However, a good laugh and conversation could mend any conflict in a short time. As they matured, their relationship evolved into one of mutual respect and admiration.

Neither he nor Terzo remember their biological mothers. They were too young when Sister Imperator chose to return to the Ministry, and no one ever disclosed what happened to their birth mothers. Sister Imperator - apart their nanny - was the only maternal figure they knew.

He officially established the Sisters of Sin order during his papacy.

Of the three, he could be deemed the most robust and composed, despite their education and hardships. He grew resilient enough not to let his past taint his future, endeavoring to relish every moment of his youth. The weight of his past visited him only later, in his old days.

His fascination with black magic developed later in life, gradually becoming his core interest. He incorporated this passion into his music.

He and Primo shared such a strong resemblance in appearance, with similar facial structures and noses, that they suspected being brothers from the same mother. They never knew if it was true.

He was the most relieved when asked to renounce the papacy. Although music and popularity had been rewarding, he didn’t mind retiring and returning to his interests without the pressure from above. His sole regret was not receiving the acclaim he deserved for the exceptional album Infestissumam was.

Terzo

Even if Sister Imperator was the only woman he had called mother, he and Secondo were mostly raised by an older nun who was particularly affectionate to him; She affectionately referred to him as her 'little prince,' a nickname later adopted by his brothers. She provided the maternal tenderness that Sister Imperator lacked, becoming the person he sought for comfort or advice, offering a hug whenever needed.

His teenage years were undoubtedly the darkest and most troubled. He was solitary and reticent from a young age, seeking solace in metal music and poetry, but unable to fill the internal void except by being cruel to the weaker individuals, such as the orphans of the Ministry. Copia in particular, due to an inexplicable attraction force, was his primary victim. While he might have later recognized this as a projection of his own orphaned background, he refused to admit it.

Surprisingly, he wasn’t always the most sought after among his brothers, despite being strikingly beautiful. He was considered too sensitive and enigmatic by girls, his beauty too particular, dark and delicate that managed to attract only a small target of girls (and a considerable part of boys), with others preferring the more conventional appeal of Secondo; Yet, his presence invariably captured attention whenever he entered a room. However, things changed with maturity as his demeanor evolved and grew stronger. Surprisingly, he found that the more he adopted a somewhat haughty and snobbish attitude, the more attractive he became.

He began using makeup after realizing that his musical idols did the same. Starting with black nail polish and kajal, he eventually experimented with dark lipsticks, primarily during parties or private gatherings.

Prohibited from developing a healthy emotional and sentimental side, he, like others destined for the papacy, was strongly advised against engaging in loving and stable relationships that could detract from their paths. This rule affected him more deeply due to his sensitive nature, stunting his emotional growth. This, however, didn't prevent him from forming at least a healthy and free relationship with sex. Potential romantic involvements often crumbled due to his obsessive and controlling behavior, stemming from his struggles to control his feelings; This later developed in chronic anxiety. He managed to soften that side of him with time, returning to a distinctive romanticism.

He wasn't a top-performing student but possessed a different kind of intuition and extensive knowledge in his preferred subjects. He was just too easily distracted to listen to someone explain boring stuff in a boring way.

He would not consider himself a feticist, just… curious. His weak points in bodies are wrists and ankles. He likes them thin.

Copia

Despite being the only biological son of Nihil and Sister Imperator, his fate was the most arduous among his brothers. He was condemned to live as an orphan within the Ministry until his Papacy.

Shy and introverted, he made earnest attempts to gain acceptance, yet consistently met with failure, which left him disheartened and caused him to abandon further efforts.

His challenging childhood did not mold him into a cruel or unstable individual. On the contrary, it fostered a profound sense of empathy and sensitivity, especially towards those considered less valuable, both people and animals, such as rats.

His affinity for these creatures began when he rescued a rat ensnared in a glue trap in the Ministry garden. He cares for the creature in secret until he could request a proper cage to keep it.

That first rat was then killed by Terzo’s cat. He swears to have seen Terzo wait for him to arrive and watch while he gave Bastet the go to attack, but was never believed and that episode just fell under “incident” label. That episode deeply scar him until adulthood.

He put all his efforts into study and the goal to become a prominent personality in the Ministry. He looked at the Emeritus brothers with admiration and desire to demonstrate his worth one day, even if his introversion and insecurities often worked against him.

He enjoyed spending time looking at the illustrations in the animal encyclopedia. Occasionally, he'd jot down notes and sketches in his notebook. He still has some of those notes.

To his surprise, his clumsy ways started to gain unexpected success with girls, in his youth. He discovered that some girls preferred harmless and amusing individuals over dominant alpha males. However, his insecurities tempered his confidence, and he typically allowed the girls to take the lead in romantic advances. When he asked a girl why she liked him, she simply answered, “You're not scary like the other guys. You're sweet and funny, and I feel like I could tear you apart and eat your insides, not the other way around.” He cherished and treasured that comment

His first time with a boy was quite easier than with a girl, for him. He just felt less anxious.

He had a secret crush on Terzo for a long time, despite the treatment he received by him. He probably realized his bisexuality by looking at him. Discovering their shared parentage was quite an awkward moment.

When he was promoted following Terzo's removal, he experienced an explosive boost in confidence; however, it didn't endure for too long.

Sister Imperator

During her youth, she immersed herself in the Summer of Love movement, becoming a groupie for numerous rock bands between the 1960s and 1970s. Her association with satanism began upon meeting Anton LaVey and Kenneth Anger at one of their parties and even took part in their Witches Sabbath.

She had several relationships, all failed very badly. Despite being a beautiful, strong woman, she lacked emotional intelligence and always fell like strong women fall: fast, hard and for the wrong guys.

Her on-and-off relationship with Nihil persisted for years. Despite leaving the Ministry multiple times due to his unreliability, she always forgave the unforgivable. Eventually, she permanently returned, even accepting to take care of his children, as she realized she had no alternative place to go for herself and her son, finding no other solace beyond the confines of the cult.

The person she became in her later years was a product of the disillusionment that consumed her after her relationship with Nihil failed, compounded by postpartum depression following the birth of Copia. A beautiful, lively, and strong girl transformed into an empty shell, teeming with hatred and resentment. After Nihil, she was undoubtedly not the same woman she once was. In a way she was unable to explain, she found herself unable to resist loving and remaining devoted to him.

When discovering she was pregnant of Nihil she felt happy and couldn’t wait to tell him, until she had the final proof of what a twat he was. She had genuinely hoped for a chance to settle down after a life of excesses and failed tales. She made the decision not to disclose the existence of Copia to him and spent years trying to recover from that significant letdown. She vowed to herself never to place trust in another person again.

Despite her libertine life and being into BDSM, all she secretly hoped for was a romantic love and a family.

She named her son Copia in the hope he would grow looking like Nihil. In her delusional fantasies during postpartum depression, she swore that if she could not have the love of his man, she would have the one of their son. A mini version of him that, it turned out, didn’t resemble him in anything. To her horror and surprise, the only sons that really resembled Nihil turned out to be the first three he had with other women.

Some say she used to sneak into the orphans rooms at night to quietly talk or sing to Copia in his sleep in his first years. Sometimes she was seen crying on his bed, repeating to herself that all she was doing was for his protection.

Nihil

Nihil wasn't inherently a bad man; he was brimming with good intentions that, unfortunately, he couldn't fulfill. Strangely, he seemed to consistently squander the positive opportunities the universe presented to him, including the Ghost band, despite being a talented musician and composer.

He met Sister Imperator when performing at a satanic party organized by LaVey and Anger in the 60’s. She led him into the cult and into BDSM.

In creating Ghost, he followed the path of the emerging rock bands of the '60s, drawing inspiration mainly from Black Sabbath and Led Zeppelin. Like Jimmy Page, he held deep admiration for Aleister Crowley, even claiming that Satan himself directed him to form the band.

His genuine love for Sister Imperator endured throughout his life, but his emotional disconnect and inability to take things seriously ultimately led to the downfall of their relationship. He struggled to express the depth of his affection for her.

Upon assuming the role of Papa, he focused solely on the persona, using it as a shield to avoid any emotional entanglements, and this emotional evasion intensified over time.

He always neglected his responsibilities, including parenting and, were it not for Sister Imperator's assistance, he might have faltered in his papal role too.

While Primo was coming to life, he was cheating his mother with another groupie. Being still too drunk to think about a better name, he just named him by the first thing that came in his mind. The other two names went by naturally.

In his later years, he was gradually marginalized, losing any substantial influence on the papacy of his heirs. Sister Imperator gained complete control over the Clergy and his son's fate without him even realizing.

He only vehemently opposed Terzo's and Copia's promotions, deeming them unsuitable for the role.

#the band ghost #ghost headcanons #the band ghost fanfiction #emeritus family #Papa emeritus #papa emeritus I #papa emeritus II #papa emeritus lll #copia #papa emeritus iv #sister imperator #papa nihil #primo emeritus #secondo emeritus #terzo emeritus #Emeritus family background headcanons

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xjustakay · 7 months

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(10/5) prompt: eerie — 1,436 words (literal haunted house date night; 0/10, james does not recommend - cw: talk of death/murder, ghosts, general creepy weirdness) @jegulus-microfic

James is a weak, weak man, he’s decided.

Because, here’s the thing: ghost stories? He can usually laugh them off; he’s got no real life experience with the concept of the supernatural or the dead sticking around with the living. He’s watched movies, seen some stories told online, but there’s a degree of separation from them, you know? A screen. A promise that it’s not actually happening to him.

But now? Now there’s no screen, no separation; he’s walking right through one. Checking out an old abandoned house that’s supposedly haunted by the family that died there isn’t at all James’ idea of a romantic evening, but there he is. All because Regulus batted his pretty eyelashes at him with his lip caught between his teeth. All because Regulus hit him at just the right moment with a sweetly murmured ‘please, baby, I want to check it out.”

Ergo, James is a fucking weak man, because he’d been powerless to say no to his boyfriend in the moment.

The old floor of the 19th century mansion creaks beneath their every step. It’s clear that very few other people have been brave enough to enter the blocked off old home —there’s a thin layer of dust coloring everything a muted grey beneath the blue-white glow of the moon slanting through partially-boarded windows. There’s still furniture covered in moth-eaten sheets in each room they pass, too.

It’s eerie, how there’s still a whole life left behind there, despite the fact that it’s been ages since anyone called the place home. James swallows through a tight throat as he follows at Regulus’ side, each of them with their phone in hand, flashlights on. Regulus is too excited, even as he tries to disguise it —an unstoppable enthusiasm in his continued curiosity about all things spooky and strange when he peers through every doorway to see what’s there.

“How are you not freaking out right now?” James asks, whispering on instinct.

“It’s just a house,” Regulus replies at a normal volume, shrugging.

He points his flashlight up at a family portrait hanging over the fireplace in the musty-smelling library that they’ve entered. A man and woman stand stiff-backed behind two identical twin daughters in the painting, five years old at most. The mother has distant eyes and a forced smile on her face while the father looks too serious, obviously tense. The two little girls both smile, one with teeth, one tight-lipped; the only thing that seems to notably set them apart.

James swears that when he takes a small step to the left that all four pairs of eyes follow him. Oh, he’s going to throw up.

“What happened here, again?” He asks. Hates himself for doing so, but his own curiosity can’t seem to be helped.

“Winifred Manning went mad after having her daughters. She’d been told by a doctor she wouldn’t survive having one child, much less two. She ended up convincing herself not long after their birth that they were sent as an omen from the devil,” Regulus explains calmly, head tilting as he looks up at the painted family. “She tried to kill them.”

James gulps. “Tried to?”

“Well, suppose she was successful eventually, considering,” Regulus says. “She tried to poison them for a little while, but the nanny caught on, told her husband, Nicholas.”

James stares at the tense-looking man in question, wondering if he wasn’t looking so uneasy in the pose for the family portrait because he knew. Knew what his wife thought, knew she was trying to get rid of their children.

“So how did they actually die then?” Again, James hates that he’s asking, but he’s clearly blocked out the couple other times Regulus has told him bits of this story before coming here.

“Well, ultimately she drowned them in the bath.” Regulus delivers the news so casually, ignoring the way James winces. “Just left them in the water afterward and returned to playing the piano in the sitting room, that’s where Nicholas found her when he came home. Then he heard the water left running upstairs, found the girls there. And in a madness of his own, having his daughters taken from him and knowing his wife was insane, he stabbed Winifred to death.”

“Jesus,” James wheezes.

“Not a lot of that here, I’m afraid,” Regulus snorts.

It might be a good joke if James weren’t feeling chilled down to the bone at present.

“What happened to Nicholas after all that?” Evidently he’s just going to keep digging himself deeper.

“He hung himself in the attic,” Regulus answers simply. He turns from the fireplace and shines the beam of his phone’s flashlight over the covered furniture leading toward the attached sitting room. “Now people think this place is cursed. That because of the nature of their deaths and the madness they all stemmed from that their spirits just… stayed here. That’s why no one’s touched it in a couple decades.”

“And you wanted to come here?” James lets out a nervous sounding laugh.

Regulus glances at him over his shoulder, lips curled in a smirk. “You’re terrified right now, aren’t you?”

“The fact that you’re not is also of concern to me, but we’ll address that at a later time.” James can’t help the way his lips twitch when Regulus laughs at that.

Turning to face him, Regulus tucks his lit up phone in his back pocket and steps closer. He smooths both hands up and down James’ chest, head tilted back slightly to be able to look up at him.

“I never did thank you properly for coming with me,” Regulus murmurs.

James gives a tilted nod of his head. “True.”

“Should I do that, you think?”

“Here? Now?” James chuckles, nerves still present in the sound. “Bit disrespectful, don’t you think?”

“I think if the ghosts were actually still around, they’d have let us know by now.”

“Okay, hate that you just put that thought in my head.”

“Let me distract you, then.”

Regulus lifts one hand to rest at James’ jaw, easing up on his toes to bring their lips together. And honestly, James does have to give it to him —it fucking works, it’s an excellent distraction. Hard to be afraid of ghosts when his free hand is curling around Regulus’ hip. Hard to be worried about much of anything when Regulus is trailing his tongue over his lower lip before licking right into his mouth.

His hand moves from Regulus’ hip to slide along the small of his back, encouraging him to arch his back the smallest bit. Regulus hums into James’ mouth the moment their bodies press firmly together, his arms both looping securely around the back of James’ neck. A cool breeze passes outside, cutting through shoddily boarded windows and making James shiver just as much as the feel of Regulus sinking his fingers into his hair.

But then, distantly, there’s the tinkling sound of a piano. A slowly building sound that travels along the high and low keys in a melody somehow both pretty and eerie at the same time. It’s Regulus tensing in the curl of his one arm that tells James it’s not just his looming anxiety making him think he hears it. It’s real. Regulus clearly hears the piano, too.

They ease back from kissing, wide hazel eyes on Regulus’ face as his dark brow furrows for a long, anxious moment. The piano continues to play. Sounds like it’s in the next room over; the sitting room attached to the library.

“If this is a joke, it’s not funny,” James whispers shakily, some small part of his brain hoping that it is that simple. That his boyfriend thought it would be hilarious to play a prank on him, hide a speaker in the other room before they came —James might even be proud of him for it after the initial terror wears off.

“James, that’s not me…” Regulus whispers back, grey eyes staring past him, over James’ shoulder toward the open doorway into the room the piano seems to be playing from.

There’s a sudden loud creak followed by a thud upstairs, a door thrown open maybe, that makes them both jump. The piano continues, undisturbed, in the other room. Past the rush of his heart in his ears, James thinks he can hear running water now, the pitter patter of dripping on the hardwood floor above them.

Regulus fists a hand in the front of James’ sweatshirt, yanking as he hurries out of the library the way they came in. “Alright, time to go.”

“Yeah. Yep. Yes, absolutely.”

#jegulus #jegulus microfic #when the ghosts haunting a house crash your already creepy date #this got away from me #but it was fun so lmao #good job guys #kay’s microfics #kay’s writing

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polyhexian · 1 month

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*holds up a weird plotbunny* So this one's kinda different. It's not quite Agony and not really eventually and is kinda mostly inspired by that second-to-last shot of the Jabberwocky animatic.

Jasper dies.

It goes down exactly like it does in Jabberwocky. The moments after happen the same way we saw them in the Collector's memory in Agony. At first glance, there's no difference.

There's a lot of aspects about magic that TOH never fleshed out. I don't even think that's because of the whole cancellation debacle, I think it just wasn't important to the story. Aside from the basics, the details about how magic works are delightfully vague and give a lot of leeway to play around with--even if it's annoying that some fields of magic were barely touched on at all.

We don't really know much about oracle magic in general, but ghosts and spirits exist. Hooty coughed up a bunch that one time. We don't really know how they occur, but if our own ghost lore has anything to do with it…

Jasper died desperate to protect his child. If you want to go the unfinished business route, Hunter is still in Belos's clutches. Jasper's final moments were intensely emotional and unjust and pretty much perfect to cause a haunting.

Except he doesn't haunt a physical place.

Hunter's nannies remark on how unusual it is for a baby to sleep through the whole night. He'll wake up when he's hungry or needs a diaper change, but never for no reason. Belos has never had an infant Grimwalker before so he chalks it up to the lack of humanity and spins some words about the Titan's small blessings, blah blah blah.

Hunter rarely has bad dreams as a child. Sometimes one will try to take hold after a bad day, but it's always pushed aside, and it almost feels like someone he can't see takes his shoulders from behind and gently steers him away to kinder thoughts. (When he was very young, it was a much larger hand holding his own, and shaggy blonde hair and bright magenta eyes like his and a gentle smile as he was led to nicer thoughts. But that stopped before he could remember it.)

As Hunter grows older and his responsibilities and expectations pile up, it gets harder to find kinder thoughts to steer to. But the nightmares are still held at bay. The nights after a punishment when he's cried himself to sleep, he dreams of strong arms holding him against a broad chest, his head tucked under someone's chin, and he doesn't know why but he feels safe.

Jasper is…idk, how does one cope with being dead and accidentally haunting your son's mindscape? It wasn't PURPOSEFUL that's for sure. There's so much that can go wrong here. But for the first few years it's like, Hunter's a BABY, he's a TODDLER, at the very least Jasper can be there for him for now! Crap he's learning how to talk, better back off, wouldn't do for Hunter to start telling people about having an imaginary friend. Except double crap, Hunter's life is shit, there's no way Jasper won't help him, he'll just have to make sure he manifests in Hunter's dreams mostly as a sensation and faceless if he has a form at all.

Obviously this can't go on forever cuz that'd be unfulfilling for the plot but idk what would actually trigger them meeting, so to speak. Hunter passes out on his mountain trial or gets knocked out during training/a mission and Jasper is desperate to get him to wake up again? Hunter innocently hyperfixates on oracle magic and mindscapes for a month, realizes from his readings that his dreams are actually really unusual, and purposefully dives into his subconscious to confront Jasper himself? Darius is a jerk to Hunter and Jasper is so angry about it that he accidentally fully manifests in Hunter's dreams while he's angrily pacing around the mindscape that night and when he realizes Hunter is staring at him he just kinda freezes awkwardly like, shit?

Also not sure how to navigate the reveal… I feel like they have to come to some kind of terms or agreement with each other. Like, the end goal here is that Hunter 1) Understands that yes, he's been haunted his whole life, and 2) Understands that he cannot tell anyone about it.

It's not even for Jasper's sake, though Hunter might think it's for Jasper's sake. I imagine one of Jasper's biggest fears is some oracle witch realizing that Hunter has a ghost in his brain and telling Belos. Thank Titan Osran doesn't pay much attention to the kid. Jasper doesn't really want to haunt his kid, but he REALLY doesn't want to deal with the fallout of an exorcism. If Belos learned that Jasper has been haunting Hunter this whole time, he'd kill Hunter immediately, just as a precaution.

I also imagine Jasper wouldn't come clean about everything for a very long time. Belos will let Hunter live so long as he's loyal. Jasper would love to get Hunter away from Belos, but he's dead. So Hunter has to stay loyal until there's a viable escape route. Jasper isn't going to spill everything about how Hunter's a Grimwalker and Belos is evil and Hunter needs to run away, it won't help and it'll add to the poor kid's stress and he'll have to pretend he didn't know these things and then he'll slip up and Belos will kill him. All Jasper can really do is offer emotional support and advice.

But this is Hunter we're talking about so like. A little emotional support and advice goes a LONG way. Hunter becomes extremely attached to his live-in brain ghost, who may or may not be his family. Look at this, an AU where Hunter actually wants to maintain his sleep schedule because it gives him access to the one person who gives him positive attention, even if that person is incorporeal, and also dead. He infodumps about whatever he's reading about lately, or he rambles about some issue he's having while Jasper helps him think through the problem solving, and he really appreciates all the tips Jasper gives him about fighting and using the artificial staff. (Maybe in this AU Jasper actually teaches Hunter how to teleport, not Lilith.)

Hunter would dive into oracle magic over this, too. Just a personal side project, y'know, no big deal. Idk how much oracle magic a magicless witch could use, Luz at least seemed to be able to use that one crystal ball a bit. But at the very least Hunter could probably establish a better link to his mindscape, allowing him to choose to talk to Jasper even when he's awake.

And that's all the general ideas I have for this, I don't have very many specific ones, but here:

Belos starts in on the child abuse, and Jasper realizes that Belos didn't hurt him because Jasper was imperfect, Belos hurt him because Belos hurts people, and Belos was always going to hurt Hunter.

Would Darius's relationship with Hunter continue as it did in canon, or would Jasper decide "screw this" and tell Hunter exactly what to say to Darius to make Darius realize "holy shit is this Jasper's kid and am I shooting myself in the foot here??"

Hunter really does like Jasper but as the years go by Jasper slowly starts insinuating that he doesn't like Belos and by canon he might even be trying to get Hunter to question Belos because he's getting desperate and it causes a bit of tension.

Luz and the gang trying to talk or argue or fight with Hunter and he grunts and glares at her but his standoffishness is also covering for the fact that his attention is split by Jasper going SHE KINDA HAS A POINT, MAYBE YOU SHOULD LISTEN TO HER, ASK IF YOU CAN CRASH ON THEIR COUCH.

Flapjack chooses Hunter and is also fully aware that Jasper is present and both of them are like "what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck"

Hunter and Jasper being absolute dumbasses who reinforce each other's dumbassery over very stupid things. Hunter goes undercover at Hexside like "I bet teenagers like authority and rules!" And Jasper has never been a teenager and is too dead to read parenting books but he did know some scouts who joined the coven as teenagers so he's like "Sounds right to me!"

As Hunter's friendship develops with Willow, Jasper watches all the trees in Hunter's mindscape slowly morph into willow trees.

Hollow Mind happens and through the handwavey powers of mindscape magic Jasper also manages to be there somehow. Caleb Wittebane's Hallucination Ghost is also lurking in Belos's mindscape and the two of them just stare at each other for a minute. Belos sees Jasper but figures he's just some weird manifestation of his guilt for killing his brother's clones, even when Jasper punches him in the face while the kids escape.

Hunter having his melt-down post-Hollow Mind and freaking out because YOU KNEW??? And Jasper tries to apologize and tries to calm him down but Hunter is so upset that he just shuts down that mental connection and refuses to sleep for 24 hours until he passes out at Hexside. He expects Jasper to show up and yell at him or try to explain or something, but instead his dreams that night are like the ones he had as a kid--strong arms and supportive silence and apologetic love.

Belos tries to possess Hunter in TTT and Jasper is just like SURPRISE BITCH. It doesn't go well for Belos, but it goes much better for Flapjack.

Idk what the endgame would be here, exactly, but I feel like Jasper can't haunt Hunter forever. It's not fair to either of them, Hunter needs privacy in his own mind and Jasper needs to pass on peacefully. But if you go the unfinished business route, well, Hunter is safe after Belos is dead, and he has real living friends and a support network now, so Jasper COULD move on finally. A bittersweet ending.

Hdjsjdnnf Ghost Dad (1990)

Maybe he tells him oh, he's the memory of the last Golden guard here to help train him, yeah, sure, that's most of the truth!

I do also kind of like the idea of him manifesting as like a Ghost-Ghost sometimes because. I want him to meet Papa Titan. I want him to Learn All The Lore. Also to go play cards with kings dad when Hunter is hyperfixating on like algebra or something that jasper finds boring and a little frightening

GOD tho... Ghost jasper running into ghost Caleb in Belos' mindscape.and they stare at each other in silence. I'm imagining Jaspers lips parting with this look of shock and apprehension like he wants to say something, but then he hears Hunter cry out in the distance as he gets schlorped up by the ground and his eyes linger for just a moment before he turns and runs in his direction... And you just see Caleb's head turn silently to follow him, then his expression shift ever so slightly toward pity before the camera cuts back to the action

And the DRAMA of brain ghost j-

Oh my god. Brain ghost jasper. Oh my god

The DRAMA of brain ghost jasper jumping from the darkness in front of Luz and hunter between them and Belos and hunter being like :0 when Belos recognizes jasper and is fucking PISSED to see him.

I don't even know how this would fit in but I have this image in my head of Darius sneering at little Hunter and saying like your predecessor would be ashamed of you and jasper is so fucking filled with vicious anger and passion that he just sort of snaps forward and accidentally possesses the little guy. Tiny little like ten years old hunter staring up at Darius with an older man's eyes and-- I don't even know what if have him say but it would be something sharp and so unsettling it fully throws Darius the fuck off his game like hang on what the hell. And jasper is immediately like oh fuck oh shit [poof] leaving hunter like what. The hell was that. Why did I just say that

Oh my god possession arc brain ghost jasper..... R/possessthemback

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