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cloudystevie · 3 months

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take my heart and start a fire

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pairing || bucky barnes x f!reader

word count || 4566

summary || sam and nat play cupid

warnings || smut! dom! bucky x sub! reader, one bed trope, enemies to lovers, idiots to lovers, degradation, teasing, dry-humping, daddy kink, pussy slaps, dacryphilia, begging, asphyxiation, unprotected sex, aftercare

author's note || 18+ ONLY. hello, one-bed trope with bucky lives in my mind rent free and i decided to do something about it. enjoy! not proof-read yet. feel free to comment, reblog, and send me requests!

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“Alright, we got two rooms, one with just one bed and one with two beds. Should be enough to cover us tonight.” Sam claps his hands together as Bucky slowly walks up to the group.

This was supposed to be a quick in-and-out mission. It was not easy by any means, but it was nothing the group hadn’t done before. You weren’t even supposed to be here. Usually, you did most of SHIELD’s groundwork, directing and organizing missions alongside Maria. However, due to issues with communication with one particular agent in the previous mission, Fury had instructed you to be on-site to ensure there would be no gaps in the instructions Maria and Steve were relaying.

Except there was a gap. There was a gigantic gap in communication when you instructed Bucky to cover the cargo trailers in the westbound direction. Still, he decided you were wasting his time, so he left the trailers unattended, where the enemy was then able to take advantage of his isolation and overpower him. Had Natasha not interfered when she did, you did not even want to think about what could have happened. So you let him know just how pissed off you were the whole ride to the nearest motel since the world decided to unleash torrential rain at this very moment which made it impossible for you guys to navigate the jet out of whatever fucking city you were in.

Bucky didn’t say a single word. Not when you were yelling at him while patching him up. Not when you wouldn't shut the fuck up because he never fucking listened. Not when you were running into the beat-down motel with its flickering sign on its last life while still screaming at him.

He just stared at you. And he occasionally clenched his jaw.

This wasn’t the first time Bucky disobeyed your direct order and it wasn’t the first time he got hurt because of that. You understood him, tried to initiate kindness, and extended a friendly hand toward him. But all he ever did was stare at you. He never spoke to you more than he absolutely needed to. He never paid any attention to you when you would hang out with Steve, Sam, or even Nat and Wanda. And it did sting you just a bit. A pang in your heart every time he walked past you like you didn’t exist because you had developed a crush on him since the first time you saw him a few months ago. When you would put a little extra effort into your appearance every morning because he made you feel little butterflies fluttering in the pit of your stomach every time you would even cross paths.

When you did catch him staring at you, the weight of his eyes unmistakable, your heart rate would increase to match the flutters in your stomach, your cheeks heating under his gaze. He would look away immediately as if thrown out of his trance and catapulted into what he truly felt for you.

Disdain. Disgust. Maybe a little lust.

God, you hated Bucky Barnes. You hated how you didn’t hate him, not even when he dismissed you somehow even more than he ignored everyone else.

You were going to share a bed with Nat. Bucky and Sam could get the room with two beds because, of course, that was a reasonable conclusion.

Apparently fucking not.

“I am not sharing a bed with him!” you screeched at Sam and Nat indignantly while the smug pair stood with faux innocent expressions. They needed you and Bucky to sort out whatever tension was between them by any means necessary.

They stayed silent, and you, ever the chatterbox today, decided to refuse. “Nat, I can’t sleep in the same room as him. He hates me! I can’t sleep when I’m stressed!” You whined, pleading with your best friend to take some pity on you. She knew better than anyone what you felt for Bucky, and she also knew love better than anyone when she saw it.

Sam and Bucky walked a few steps ahead as you approached your door.

“Sweetie, you and me are the only ones keeping up comms with Steve and Maria. It makes sense for us to be split up tonight so we can at least direct these morons at the same time and handle any issues faster than we’d be able to if we shared a room and they were in the other one.” Natasha knew she was right, and Sam fought back a smirk as their plan was falling into fruition, given the look on your face.

Bucky remained quiet as if he could not possibly care less if you slept on top of him in bed or a ditch.

You were this close to wishing the latter was your inevitable fate.

“I hate it when you’re right.” As you approach the doors, you mutter and watch Sam take out the room keys.

Sam offers a small smile as Bucky walks in before you, patting you on the head and giving you a forehead kiss, “sweet dreams, pumpkin,” before shutting the door behind you as you roll your eyes.

“I’m not sleeping on the floor.” Bucky’s voice cut through the uncomfortable silence that had fallen after the lock clicked. His voice was raspy because he hadn’t used it in a while, and you barely held back the shiver that ran down your spine at his tone.

You take one look at the fraying carpet and decide that it has been years since this floor had some TLC. You look up at him to find his heavy-set eyes already on you, “I’m not sleeping on the floor either.”

His jaw clenches, and another unreadable emotion swirls in his eyes as he replies, “Guess that settles it, then.”

You roll your eyes and huff out that you’re jumping in the shower, not waiting for his reply- not that there was one. The water takes a while to warm up, and in the meantime, you peel your clothes off of yourself, dirtied by rainwater and the dirt, debris, and sweat that had accumulated earlier. You step into the shower and try to enjoy the feel of warm water cascading over your sore body.

You rarely made it onto the field as you genuinely preferred doing the background work, planning missions, writing up plans and procedures, assigning responsibilities to each Avenger and guiding them through the field while you stayed at the headquarters. Your muscles were undoubtedly aware of that fact, as you had to do a lot more hand-to-hand combat due to Bucky’s stupid mistake.

You couldn’t help but let your mind wander towards him, knowing you were completely bare just 10 feet away from him, how he would grunt in exertion and deliver calculated blows to his opponent. He was precisely your type: tall, brooding, broad shoulders, thick thighs. He didn’t speak that much, but his words were carefully weighed every time he did. He was so grumpy all the time, such a masculine man. You just loved it.

You tried not to think about how he didn’t feel the same. And also about the fact that you would be sharing a bed with him.

The water grew cold, and you realized you had been in the shower for upwards of twenty minutes. You shut off the water and wrap yourself in one of the towels provided by the hotel. You pulled out your pyjama set since there was a possibility that you would have to stay somewhere tonight due to the heavy rain. You didn’t think you were sleeping with Bucky, or you would have grabbed something a bit more conservative. You slip into the white tank top and shorts with a dainty floral design. You mentally prepared yourself to make a bee-line for the bed so you wouldn’t have to face Bucky while wearing next to nothing.

A few feet away, Bucky was scrolling through the shitty channels playing on the shitty TV, ignoring the way his heart raced when the bathroom door unlocked and you emerged from the small room. He tried so hard not to stare at your outfit, unable to ignore the way all the blood in his body rushed to his dick when your tiny shorts rolled up even higher as you innocently bent over to check over your work laptop for any updates.

“You really gonna wear that?” He scoffs and immediately realizes it didn’t exactly come out as playful as he would have liked. He winces at himself as you put the laptop back into its case and turn around to face him, and he can't stop himself from quickly glancing over your body.

Crossing your arms under your chest, unintentionally drawing his attention to your tits, you scoff at him. “If I knew I was gonna be stuck in this shithole with you, then I would have made sure to wear a fucking hazmat suit.”

“Relax, sweetheart, I’m not gonna bite.” He smirked, finally deciding on a channel he liked and turning his attention to it as you stood and stared at him, mouth open because out of all the things you expected him to say, that was not one of them, especially not with the flirtatious lilt to his voice.

“Do not- do not tell me to relax! And don’t call me that! And- and ugh!” You retort weakly, strutting the few steps it took to get to the other side of the bed,

Bucky licks his lips as you lay down next to him with your back towards him. Still huffing and puffing like the brat you were.

He snorts at you, glancing at his watch and turning the TV off.

“Do not snort at me, James.” Your voice comes out sharp, and he snorts again.

“Tell me again what I can’t do, sweetheart? " he asks in a mockingly sweet voice. It makes you sick to your stomach.

With desire.

You ignore him and tug the small comforter towards you, the bed suddenly feeling really small, with Bucky’s large frame taking up more than half of it.

“Quit stealing the covers.” He grunts out, tugging them back towards him and leaving you bare and exposed to the cool air of the room. You gasp and sit up., using all your force to pull the covers back towards you, and even though you both know he let go, you still stick your tongue out at him.

He grumbles something under his breath, and you smile victoriously. You’ll let the covers go eventually; you need to bask in your victory for a few minutes. Your mind begins to relax as you snuggle into the bed before you hear a sharp exhale, and somehow, you go from facing the dim wall to being pinned under Bucky. His frame entirely dwarfs yours, and the only light filtering in the room was the street lights and moon, the thin curtains doing nothing to block the shine. You shriek as you’re manhandled so quickly and forced to look into Bucky’s now dark blue eyes.

“Enough. I’ve had enough.” He growls, his hand pinning both your wrists down, and you have to fight yourself to keep in all tells of how aroused you are by the situation.

“You’re such a fucking brat,” he continues. “Didn’t shut up for two hours straight. Always think you’re right. Always act like you’re smarter than everyone. Always fucking teasing me with your slutty fucking outfits.” He looks down at your tank top, almost angry when he sees your nipples poking through the thin material, but he doesn’t give you a chance to say anything.

Because now, Bucky’s talking. And he’s going to make sure you hear each and every word.

“You think I don’t see the way you look at me?”

A squeak escapes your lips as he presses his body down on yours.

“You think I can’t hear the way your heart rate picks up when I’m around?” His head drops lower, and his voice drops even lower, pulling a whimper from your parted lips. Your mind is spinning as you realize you may not have been as discreet as you thought you were. You entirely forgot to consider the fact that Bucky is a supersoldier, with enhanced hearing.

His rumbling voice cuts through your flurry of thoughts, “You think I can’t fucking smell you?” He practically sneers at you, and you must be a sick, sick person with the way you’re sure you’ve never been more wet in your life. “You think I can’t smell the way you drip from this little pussy every time I walk in the room? Every time someone mentions my goddamn name? I can smell her right now sweetheart. You like me forcing you down don’t you?” His breath fans over your face as you’re forced to focus on him, his body and his scent and his voice overwhelming you. Your body shudders when he gently rocks his crotch against yours, your eyes rolling back into your head.

“What baby? Cat got your tongue now? You were being such a brat to me earlier.” He grunts, squeezing your cheeks and jaw in his free hand as you subconsciously buck your hips against his.

“Bucky please…” You whine, squirming against his impenetrable hold.

He smirks, “what’s wrong honey? You haven’t been this quiet or polite all day.”

“You- you’re being such a meanie! You knew the whole time and just never did anything about it!” You whine, your voice catching in your throat with each languid rock of his crotch angled perfectly against your clit.

He laughs in your face and takes in the sight before him, your head thrown to the side as your chest heaves, your hips moving in tandem with his, your pouted lips swollen from being bitten so often. You were even more gorgeous like this and Bucky didn’t know that was possible.

“I wanted to see if you’d break first. But then, you just had to walk in here wearing this pathetic excuse of a pyjama set. And I just had to have you honey baby.”

You look back at him, a fiery expression in your eyes, “I don’t think that’s the real reason. I think you just wouldn’t be able to handle me. I think you can’t fuck me the way I need to be.” You spit back, not wanting to submit without a fight despite knowing that was exactly the direction this was going.

In an instant Bucky’s metal hand was on your throat, squeezing enough to make your eyes blur for a second as you let out a whimper. “Is that right honey? You think I’ve never dealt with a rotten brat like you before? I know you pretend to put up a fight, I know you’re two strokes away from cumming all over yourself just from a little dry-humping. I know brats like you crave attention, but baby when you finally get it you better not run away? You got that?” He asks earnestly, his eyes locking on yours.

“Do your worst James.”

The second the words leave your mouth, his lips are on yours. The kiss is unlike any you’ve had before, it’s immediately messy and passionate, his tongue sliding in yours as he takes the lead, swallowing all your mewls and whimpers, finally letting go of your wrists and your fingers immediately go to his cropped hair, tugging on the short strands as he dominates you. You scramble to pull your shorts down but his hands flick your wrists away, giving you a glare.

“Did I say you could take these off, huh slut?”

You whimper and shake your head no, finding yourself wanting to submit to him all too quickly.

He slides his briefs down to reveal his cock. You actually drooled a little at the sight of his length and girth, with beads of pre-cum glistening in the dim light of the room. You can’t control yourself as your hands go to wrap around his length, barely able to hold him in your hands as he hisses, bucking his hips into your hands before swatting them away once again.

“You don’t get to touch honey baby. Not yet at least. You yelled at me for hours today, it really hurt my feelings you know.” He muses, beginning to rub his length against your white shorts that are completely drenched through, your pussy sensitive and responsive. “I don’t think you deserve to be fucked sweetheart. You deserve to have this cunt rubbed on and came on. Just used like a cum rag.” He goes a little further, reading your reaction and when your back arches as much as his beefy body allowed you to, he knows you liked it.

“Please James please I’m sorry, I’ll be good I swear!” You whine, your voice rising in pitch as his bare cock slides up and down the length of your pussy, and even through the layer seperating you, it was euphoric.

“I dunno honey, might have to beg and cry a little more and I’ll see how nice I’m feelin’ tonight.” He smiles cockily, knowing he’s got you exactly where he wants you. Almost instantly your eyes are watering as you clutch his biceps, morphing your features into big doe eyes and pouted lips, jutting your chest out in an attempt to persuade him further. “I’m sorry for bein’ a brat and yelling at you. I’m sorry for talking back and- and I need you James. Need you to fuck me please I wanted it for so long!” You drag your sentence and bite your lip, tears spiling onto your cheeks.

He inhales sharply at the sound of your begging, stilling his hips for a moment as he restrains himself from cumming before he’s even seen your bare pussy. And in the next second he ripping your shorts to shreds, making you shriek and you can’t even get a reaction out before he spits onto your already soaked cunt, watching his spit mingle with your own arousal. You moan at the feeling, your hold twitching and practically begging to be filled.

Bucky breathes in your scent since it envelopes his nostrils without any restrictions for the first time. When he opens his eyes again and sees your hazy expression he decides he can’t wait. He’s not gonna take it slow because he needs to feel you clench around him right now. His flesh index finger teases your pulsing hole, shoving the tip of his finger inside you as you whine, legs spreading for him on instinct. “Fuck she’s just begging to be stuffed isn’t she? Just aching to have my cock stretch her open.” He groans, dropping his forehead to yours as you chant breathy yes’s, mouth falling open and tears continuing down your face as he finally spreads you open on his cock.

You have never felt so full in your life. Bucky was absolutely larger than average, in all ways. And it was exactly what you had been craving. He moans as you clench around him, your hole trying to push him out but pull him in at the same time. Before you know it he’s balls deep inside of you, your cream coating the hairs at the base of his length as you moan loudly, uncaring of the fact that Sam and Natasha were just a paper-thin wall away.

Your nails dug crescents into Buckys bulging biceps as he allowed you both a few moments to adjust to each other. “Oh my god Bucky you’re so- I’m so full.” Your words are breathy and slurred, and Bucky presses a kiss to each of your cheeks as he slowly grinds his hips into yours, not fully thrusting yet.

“You know I want this to be more than just a quick fuck. When we get back I wanna take you out, wine and dine you properly.” He whispers against your lips, his hands and voice gentle compared to his earlier disposition.

You nod your head in agreement, “I want that too Bucky, but I need you to fuck me right now.”

He laughs, pressing a kiss to your cheek before pulling almost entirely out of you, allowing your hole to stretch around his tip before he slams into you, making your back arch and all the breath from your lungs dissipates. You squeal his name as he begins fucking into you with little care to be gentle. Your hands scramble to hold on as the headboard slams into the wall with every push and pull of his hips.

“I thought you said I couldn’t handle you honey baby. But look at you now, so stupid on my dick and just taking what I give you.” He mocks you, his metal hand finding its way to your throat once again and squeezing, relishing in the way you cunt clenches against him when he does. You cry out louder than before and he hisses, slapping his palm over your mouth. He grunts through clenched teeth, “shut the fuck up. You want Sam and Nat to hear you crying for my dick huh? What would they say if they saw strong and independent you, stretched open and cock-drunk, pinned under me and crying for me?”

Your eyes clench shut as your words are unintelligible and muffled by his palm. He coos at you and clicks his tongue, making you shiver. “Don’t think too much honey baby, just take it. This is what you’re meant to do, not be a brat. Just take my cock.” He groans, speeding up his thrusts as the sound of skin slapping skin and your wetness squelching fill the room.

Your chest begins heaving as the oxygen to your brain takes more effort to get there. You were being propelled to your orgasm as you begin chanting the fact, your voice so pornographic and unlike your own but you can’t even find it in yourself to be shocked.

“‘M gonna cum, m gonna cum! You’re gonna make me cum please Daddy please!” The words leave your lips faster than you can process, and what was about to erupt into the most powerful orgasm you have ever had, was left denied and unsatisfied and you cried out, beginning your protests when Bucky flipped you around, your back to his chest as he shoved himself back inside of you. He pulled you up by your hair and brought his lips to your ears, his cock hitting an even deeper angle as you struggled to keep up.

“What did you call me?” He growls, not letting up his thrusts but expecting you to answer.

Your brain struggles to process his words, but once you do you’re quick to realize you let the word you often used in your fantasies about Bucky slip. You immediately apologize, thinking he must be off-put by your lewdness.

He cuts your scrambled apologies off with his heavy voice, “say it again. That’s what you’ve been really dying to call me isn’t it. Just needed Daddy to take what he needed from you didn’t you?”

“Oh fuck.” Your head falls against his chest as he wraps his bicep around your throat, forcing you upright, “yes Daddy, needed my Daddy to take care of me.” You slur out, Your hands clutching his bicep as his metal fingers begin playing expertly with your throbbing clit.

“That’s right slut, I’m your Daddy. I’m your fucking Daddy.” He impales you on his dick, his cock reaching all the rights spots as your brain truly begins to leave you, all you can do is succumb to the pleasure Bucky is inflicting on you. Your pussy clenches harder than it has before as your orgasm builds in the pit of your stomach, you try to run from it but Bucky’s strong hold doesn’t allow you to move even a slither away.

“Oh what does this little pussy clenching mean huh? Tell Daddy baby, tell Daddy what it means when I feel you clench around my cock huh? You gonna cum? Gonna make a mess all over yourself like the stupid little toy you are?” His voice is breathless in your ear as he nears his own high, your body shaking as your high begins building to impossible heights.

You slur out something that resembles his title and an exclamation that you’re gonna cum, and his metal hand slaps your clit once, and then twice, his gravelly voice in your ear degrading you, and your high explodes from your body. You feel it everywhere as you don’t register anything except for pleasure. Pleasure like you’ve never felt before. Bucky drops his forehead to your shoulder, muttering your name through clenched teeth as he calls you a good girl, before stuffing you full of his cum. Thick white ropes paint your swollen walls and it only amplifies your high as you struggle to breathe, your mind and body overwhelmed and overstimulated as Bucky pumps you full of his cum.

He gently lets you down and your limp body manages to cling onto him, needing to feel him close to you as you reel from your explosive orgasm. He shushes you, kissing your forehead, cooing at you, praising you. Everything you need to avoid experiencing a negative subdrop since he did just put you into such a submissive mindset.

It takes a couple minutes of his tender words and touches for you to come back to yourself, and when you do he smiles sweetly at you. Pulling out of you and shushing your whines, as he reaches over to his nightstand where there were a few clean hand towels, and he cleans you up, mindful of your sensitivity and he places a kiss right above your clit, his beard scratching the sensitive button making you shudder and mewl.

He wraps you up in his arms and pulling you closer, nuzzling your cheek with his nose as you blink at him.

“I was being serious you know, I don’t want this to be a one and done thing. I wanna be yours, if you’ll have me.” He adds, his voice trailing off and you put your hand on his stubbled cheek before pressing your lips to his.

“That’s all I’ve wanted since I first saw you.” You say softly, basking in being so close to him and having all his attention on you.

He smiles brightly, pressing his lips to yours with more fervour and flutters in his heart. “You’re mine now sweetie, stuck with me forever. No return policy.” He teases.

“I think you’re the one who’s stuck with me after you just dicked me down like that. No way am I getting rid of you.” You mumble sleepily, clinging to him as he smiles, pressing a kiss to your forehead and watching you slip into a dreamland state.

For the first time in years, Bucky sleeps a full eight hours. And he wakes up with you by his side.

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The next morning, when it’s 9 AM, and you waddle onto the jet, Bucky tailing close behind you, a hand on your back to support your weight, Natasha and Sam share knowing looks, and Sam quickly texts Steve and Tony. He let them know they were on their way, and they owed him and Nat 100 bucks because their plan worked.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes x yn #bucky barnes fanfiction

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buckyalpine · 5 months

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I know I goes against everything we know about Bucky but imagine if he was a cuddly little baby with everyone. I mean everyone. And it's the cutest thing ever. He doesn’t even mean to it just happens cause his body craves it. He falls asleep everywhere and as soon as he does, his body moves on its own to get all cuddly. He went years with no warmth, no human touch, isolated in cold and darkness. He's so so touch starved.

Like imagine after a mission, everyone trudges onto the jet, tired as hell, all ready to pass out but no one's more exhausted than Bucky. Whenever their on missions, Bucky's body refuses to rest until the fight is over so as soon as he sits down, he knocks out from pure exhaustion.

Which is how his head ended up on Tony's shoulder. Normally he'd neve but the sway of the jet rocked him right to sleep, slumping against the billionaire.

"Guys. Tinman is sleeping on me" Tony hissed, more excited than anything else, seeing as Bucky was usually grumpy and moody when he was awake. Now that he was sleeping, his previously irritated expression had washed away, replaced with his soft fluttering lashes and slightly parted lips.

"Awww" Nat cooed, ruffling his fluffy brown locks away from his face while he continued to softly snore, blissfully unaware the others were quietly watching him.

Sam was the next to experience it on movie night. He held back a cackle when he felt Bucky burrow himself further against his side, seeking his warmth. His body felt safe, keeping him asleep while Sam quietly snapped a picture which he'd of course send to you.

Your big scary boyfriend is all cuddly again

You giggled at the picture knowing Bucky was probably dead exhausted. Sure, he fell asleep on others and sometimes whined a little in his sleep if you moved around too much, but you were truly his favorite pillow.

Because when it came to you, he turned into a very needy, cuddly little baby. On more than one occasion, Bucky had a full on pout on his face when you came to bed late. He loves to curl up into a ball (as best as he can, given how much bigger he is compared to you) while you hold him to your chest, his face smushed against your softness, listening to your heart beat. He lays down under the blankets while you wrap your arms around him, scratching his scalp and rubbing his back and he nearly purrs with how good and loved he feels.

I just can't deal with how adorable this would be because that baby deserves to be protected at all costs.

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luvrxbunny · 6 months

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flower

pairing: bf!Miguel O’Hara x f!reader

summary: You won’t let Miggy play.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, sad feelings, clothed sex, cum in pants (lmk if I forgot anything)

wc: 2.2k

a/n: Gwen is 21 just for drinking purposes— everyone say thank u to @naeverse for giving me an alternative to google translate for the spanish!! ily bby!! 🫶🏾

Miguel is like your best artwork, in your opinion. The way you took the hard seed he was and watered, loved, cared and nurtured him so he could bloom into the flower he was today is one of your greatest achievements.

When you met him he was cold, closed off, and angry. It took months of breaking down his wall before he could even admit his feelings for you, it took even more, to get him to express his feelings for you. It was like luring a stray cat, slowly getting him closer, and more comfortable with you before pushing your physical feelings onto him. You coaxed him out of his cave of isolation, of touch deprivation, and showed him how it felt to have someone love on him.

You were so proud when he started coming to you for simple little things, like a kiss or a hug. You’d be working and he’d stride in, tall and confident just to ask you, shyly, for a kiss. For a long time you explained to him that he didn’t always need to ask you, you were okay with him just coming in and kissing you. You also had to explain to him that he’s allowed to ask for more than a hug or kiss, he was very resistant on that matter but you managed to break him.

One day he woke up in the middle of the night, you were asleep next to him and he needed you. He laid there for an hour, debating on whether he should wake you up or not. When he did wake you up, you couldn’t have been prouder. You made sure to let him know that as you rode him.

At first, he wouldn’t even hold your hand or hug you in public. He got comfortable with PDA much quicker than the others, it only took him a few weeks. He plunged himself into it head first.

He went from barely touching you to being all over you. He started sitting you in his lap, resting his arms over your hips while standing behind you, or laying his head on your stomach whenever you guys were chilling in the lounge.

He even got into the habit of running his fingers over your tummy, going under your shirt or dissipating your suit just to feel you. Or he’ll just grope you through your suit, it doesn’t alway seem sexual for him… more like he enjoys the closeness, the intimacy of touching you, holding you in places no one else can. For example; your boobs, your ass, and his most recent, most consistent obsession… your pussy.. just cupping, your clothed pussy.

He says it’s calming for him, most of the time he does it absently. The goal isn't to make you cum, or prep your for his cock. He just loves touching you. It made you unbelievably happy to see him like that, your secretly sweet boy, loving all over you, not caring who’s around. It was one of the best things to ever happen to you.

Which is what makes this current conversation so awkward.

Hobie is rambling on and on about how disgusting PDA is. Miguel isn't around, thank god. He went to get a drink and never came back. Hobie has been ranting about how inconsiderate, and inappropriate PDA is as you awkwardly sip on your drink, feeling oddly targeted. Jess and Gwen agree with him, saying that it’s not that serious but definitely annoying. You’re just wishing for them all to just stop before Miguel returns, terrified that he’ll retreat back into his shell. That you’ll loose your sweet flower.

“ ‘M jus sayin’ it’s not like they can’t wait ‘til they get ‘ome. I jus feel like… come off it, y’know? Like you’re in public, right? Jus... keep it in your pants.” You down your drink and decide to finally butt into the conversation.

“Hobie. I love you but you’re the same guy who doesn’t believe in consistency.” You earn a little chuckle from the table. “Get in a loving, serious, consistent relationship, and tell me you’ll never want to be affectionate outside your house.” The words spit from your mouth with more venom than intended but you stand your ground.

“Aye, I guess. But like, some people don’t know when to dial it back.” He laughs with Gwen as you get up to leave. Jess is sending you an apologetic look that you smile at briefly before turning to walk away. You’re stopped by a.. wall?

You open your eyes to see what you ran into and see Miguel smiling down at you. “Where are you going?” You smile back at him, genuinely, and tell him a half-truth. “I was looking for you! Where have you been?”

Miguel looks a little drunk, his face flushed, and his eyes hazy. You guys have been drinking but it usually takes more. He shrugs and sits in your seat, patting his leg for you to sit in his lap.

You start toward him but then Hobie’s words play in your head and you shake your head softly at him. He looks confused but nods at you and falls into the conversation, now talking about the latest mission.

You’re standing there considering Hobie’s words. If you imagine how you and Miguel act from an outsider's perspective… you can see why they’d find it annoying. Anxiety curls and makes a home in your chest as you flip through all your favorite memories of you and Miguel, all of them now tainted. You head over to the bar silently, needing another drink when you feel someone behind you.

You feel pressure on the top of your head and know it's Miguel, placing a kiss on your head, another recent habit of his. You do nothing, ignore it as he wraps his arms around your waist and leans into you. “Oh, Peter B. says Hello. He was here earlier for a bit. That’s what took me so long. He made me drink with him too. Puede que haya bebido mucho.”

(“I may have had too much to drink”)

A smile makes its way onto your face as you listen to him, his accent thicker with his intoxication. He’s leaning on you, not for support but just to feel you against him. You guys stand there in comfortable silence until you feel Miguel’s hand begin to slide from your hip to your pelvis, it slides underneath the band of your skirt and you stop him. “Not now, Miggy. Sorry.” Your drink arrives, you pay, and leave. Miguel follows behind you, slightly deflated by your rejection. Your mind is still on Hobie’s words.

Are we “too much”? Do we take it “too far”..? Maybe we should just dial it back a little...

You guys arrive back at the table and Miguel tries again. His hands come to your waist and quickly slide down, trying to get under your skirt. You don’t say anything, you keep talking to Gwen as you pull his hand out.

The night goes well from that point. Miguel makes more advances that are gently rejected or avoided by you. You all gradually get drunk as the night goes on, Miguel drinks a bit more than he usually would and recluses himself to a table next to where you guys are sitting. Jess leaves first, Gwen and Hobie following her not too long after.

You and Miguel decide to leave and Uber home in silence. He usually talks more after hanging out in a group, saying everything he thought but couldn't say, giving his rating on the interaction, and more. This time, however, he’s silent, looking out his window with furrowed brows the whole ride. The silence only breaks once you both are in the apartment and you speak up.

“Why are you so quiet tonight?” You’re staring at his back as he stands in the living room. He doesn’t answer you at first, he just stands there before sighing and turning around.

“Why won’t you let me play with you?” His voice is weaker than you’ve ever heard it, his eyes look sad and desperate and his hands are wringing each other. You’ve never seen him like this, nervous and unsure. It breaks your heart.

You rush over to him and wrap him in a hug. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you wanted to that bad, baby.” You let him go and kiss his cheek. “I—“ You sigh defeatedly. “Hobie got in my head about PDA. I don’t know why I listen to him.” Miguel lets out a sigh of relief at your words, some of the tension leaving his body.

“That idiot? Yeah, no. Don’t listen to him, amor.” You smile at him and he kisses you softly. When you pull away he still has that nervous look in his eyes. “Do you wanna play with me now?” you ask gently. He nods so timidly that you regret ever rejecting him. You kiss him with a smile as he walks you backward, only stopping once your back hits the wall.

His breath is already speeding up, his chest heaving as his hand slowly slides up your skirt. The moment his fingers come in contact with your clothed pussy he groans out, louder than you. You’re shocked by his reaction as he keeps rubbing your clit, gasping, and moaning with you as if he was touching himself.

His mouth is open as moans tumble through his lips. He’s not looking at you, just watching his fingers move on your pussy. His eyebrows draw more inward the faster he moves his fingers, his moans turning into whines the faster he goes.

At some point, his fingers roll over your clit more perfectly than you can handle and your hips buck into his hands. His knees almost buckle at the sight as he lets out a deep, rumbling groan.

“Santa mierda.” His eyes roll back as he feels your wetness soak through your panties and dampen his fingers. He’s desperately hard in his pants and his hips are thrusting up into the air in time with his movements over your pussy. “Echaba mucho de menos esto, cariño”

(“Holy shit.”)

( “I missed this so much honey”)

You giggle at his apology. He tends to do this a lot when you have him extra worked up. He always feels bad because he knows you can't understand him but the truth is that when he gets you like this… Whining, moaning, and pressing into him.

He cannot function.

He can’t think about anything but breeding you, getting his fat cock into your soft pussy, and painting your cervix. He’s not worried about what language it happens in. His brain can’t focus on things like that, he’s tried.

Your hips thrust up into his hand as you grip his biceps, your nails digging in painfully, making him moan even louder. His fingers move against you perfectly, the Spanish falling from his lips pulls you closer and closer to your orgasm. Your legs start to twitch and tense, your knees weakening as the burning in your stomach grows. Your hands come up around Miguel’s neck to pull him closer to you.

“You’re making me feel so good, Miggy. Fuck- I love you so much, baby.” He lifts you off your feet, pressing you up against the wall and lifting your legs over his waist. He takes a step forward and buries himself in your neck, his hips come forward, pressing his bulge against your mound with a groan. “Yeah, good. Good, Miggy- shi-it.” You feel his fangs slide out of his mouth and press into your skin as he whimpers. “Holy- Miguel, I- fuck, like that baby please.”

His whines turn to groans as he thrusts against you like he was actually fucking you. His hips swivel into yours, stuttering as he listens to your moans. “N-nena, estoy tan cerca. Maldita sea, te sientes tan jodidamente bien, mi amor. Siento que no puedo respirar. Mierda, te sientes increíble.”

(“B-baby, I'm so close. Damn, you feel so fucking good, my love. I feel like I can't breathe. Shit, you feel amazing.”)

You moan louder at his words, the way they roll off of his tongue. You can’t even describe how you feel when he speaks, especially in Spanish. It feels like his words vibrate through your ears, to your stomach, and settle in your core, winding you up as tightly as you can go. “Yeah? Oh, I’m gonna c-cum. Fuck- talk to me, Miggy. T-tell me how it feels, honey.”

Miguel can feel his eyes roll back into his head at your words. You know he can’t speak English right now, and he knows you love it anyway, the thought has him hurtling toward his orgasm. “Te sientes tan perfecta, nena. Voy a correrme tan fuerte por ti. ¿Lo quieres? ¿Quieres que te dé mi leche, miel? Te lo daré, todo por ti, nena. Mierda.”

(“You feel so perfect, baby. I'm gonna cum so hard for you. Do you want it? Do you want me to give you my milk honey? I'll give it to you, all for you, baby. Shit.")

Your legs crush his waist as you cum, trembling in his arms as his hips keep fucking against you, his moans growing in volume. You bring your hands up to dive into his hair, pulling at it, gripping it as he growls into your neck. He’s trying to hold off until you’re done, he wants to keep going, he wants to make you cum for so long that you can’t breathe but the way you’re grasping his brown locks makes it impossible. His muscles tense, his hands squeezing you into a bruising hold as his groans devolve back into whines, his body shaking as his cock explodes.

He cums so hard he thinks he blacks out for a moment. His cock pumps out rope after rope of his cum into his pants, he wishes it was inside you for a moment and he’s cumming harder at the thought. His hips continue to buck into you desperately as he moans out your name. You feel one of his hands leave your waist and rest on your cheek shakily, pushing your head in his direction and placing a kiss on your cheek. He grunts as he bucks against you one more time before putting you down.

You knees give out the moment you touch the ground and Miguel holds you up with a chuckle. “¿Qué? ¿No puedes soportarlo, cariño? ¿Tus piernas ya no funcionan?” He teases you as he carries you to the bedroom, your head rests on his chest, feeling the vibrations as he speaks.

(“What? You can't stand, honey? Your legs don't work anymore?”)

“You better hush up before I fuck you.” You spit back at him jokingly but you feel his pace falter at the threat.

“Uh, Qué... ¿Cuál es el dicho? Don’t threaten me with a good time?” He says in a teasing tone but his eyes are already clouding over again, desperate.

(“what... what's the saying?”)

thank you so much for reading!! please please please give any feedback you may have! I want it all! also if you liked it please take a look at my masterlist!

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i-drop-level-one-loot · 9 months

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Smile❤️ (Yandere X Loser!Reader)

Micky thought that he couldn't feel love.

Ever since he could remember, Micky couldn't connect with anyone on an emotional level. Even his own family members were like aliens to him, creatures that stretched their lips into strange contortions, ETs that became unreasonable when he wouldn't do the same. As a teenager many girls flirted with him in school, hell, a few guys did as well, but none of their confessions ever stirred any emotion from him, even at the height of his puberty. The smiles of the people around him never felt warm or welcoming. Just, tight. Cheeks pulled back, revealing teeth, expecting him to mirror their action, and Micky couldn't understand why.

Nothing made him smile.

College was further isolating. Group projects seemed to no longer be a thing, (at least in the classes he took) so his interactions with humans slowly became less frequent, making his classmates look more inhuman and monstrous.

Until someone in his college was doxxed for being a creep. It was interesting, watching how quickly people turned on their friend, forcing him into an outcast because someone online revealed his private post history.

An annoying young woman in his language arts class gathered people around Micky's seat to talk about what had happened. Micky wouldn't have searched up the drama on his own time, but he didn't see the point in pushing everyone away.

"This user on Xforums, anonymousXnightmare is the one who doxxed Nathan."

AnonymousXnightmare? How fucking lame.

"That's a lame username..."

"Maybe it's a kid..?"

Micky did his best to ignore them, but the username kept popping up in conversation throughout campus. It was getting a little annoying. Some people were mocking the name, while others were praising the "internet hero". It started interfering with his ability to focus in his classes.

But the gossip cooled down after a week, and life began to run as normal, until another student had their life ruined. A football player, they didn't post anything incriminating or disturbing. It was anonymousXnightmare who posted their own collected evidence. Pictures taken from afar of the player with his highschool sweetheart, as in sweetheart who was still in highschool. Recordings of the two of them. Months of stalking all compiled by the stranger.

Again, Micky was bombarded by chatter, excitable young adults losing their minds over the situation. It was... irritating.

Back in his dorm room, Micky was scrolling through Xforums, the most popular forum used by students in his university, made by students for students, searching for the loser with the lame username. Scrolling past the photos he had heard about, he found a post stating

"Dear Allen Brackens, if you cannot stop blasting your shitty music in the halls on your shitty speakers, I WILL ruin your life!"

and Micky had to lean back, to just take in what he had read. That must have been the name of the football player. What he was doing was genuinely gross, and should have been exposed by someone. But did this poster really stalk them for what looked like months just because he listened to music they didn't like?

It was so dumb.

He scrolled down farther into the mystery poster's history, to the first man they doxxed.

"Dear Nathan McAllister, we all know you're a two faced little bitch. Either stop littering the campus with your Jesus pamphlets, or else..."

Micky, for the first time in his life, was amused. The whole situation was so stupid. They really ruined their fellow students lives, just because they annoyed them?

He made an account just to follow his mystery poster, not sure yet why he was interested to see what they would post next.

Less than two days later, and Micky's phone notified him of another post.

"Dear Samantha Rudbeckia, your obnoxious laughter is driving me insane. Can't you see how annoying you are? Knock it off."

That was it?! That was enough to set you off? Laughter? Micky paused mid step, still staring down at his phone. Something felt off about his face. It hurt.

It was pretty easy to find anonymousXnightmare in his school. Micky picked up a map of the university, and mapped out the paths of the three people targeted. They ran into a lot of different students throughout their day. But they only ran into a couple of people who openly seemed to hate them, and only one of those people was a student named (Reader). (Reader), who constantly appeared as though they would collapse at any moment, the hollows under their eyes so dark they looked sickly. (Reader), who despite being borderline anemic, was very sneaky, and very good and being unnoticeable despite their extreme appearance. Unfortunately for them, they had someone watching them as closely as they watched their victims bullies. Micky watched as they stealthily snapped photos of students from around corners, how they seemed to blend into the background and nobody noticed them hiding in waiting.

Micky felt ashamed for ever thinking you were lame. You were.. cute.

The way you crouched like a bug, hunched over like a roly poly scared of being picked up. The way you bit your dry lips in anger to the point they bled.

Micky's face hurt more and more. Every time he saw (Reader) a pain he had never felt before would strain at his cheeks, and his face would feel hot all over. It wasn't until he caught a glimpse of himself in his reflection in a window that Micky realized he was smiling. He never knew that smiling hurt. But he couldn't stop it.

Pictures and videos of Samantha and her married professor were posted online, and Micky was excited to know what (Reader's) face would look like when they reaped the fruits of their labor. But when he snuck into their classroom, zooming in on their exhausted face with his phone's camera, he felt a new emotion seeing that (Reader) was just as annoyed as they always were. A hard pit fell from his ribs into his lower stomach. He was disappointed.

Why aren't you happy? You won. You should be rejoicing right now.

He felt conflicted and confused. Like an octopus was throwing a tantrum in his abdomen, squirming uncomfortably. And it ruined his day. Micky couldn't focus on any of his classes, and the rest of his day was like a foggy dream. What was it about (Reader) that attracted him to them so much?

A cute young woman with smooth black hair approached Micky, a dark blush complimenting her picture perfect face.

"Um, excuse me? Excuse me? Excuse me?"

Micky snapped out of his thoughts, turning his gaze down towards the beautiful person. Her rosey lips were slightly upturned in a posed way.

She's smiling.

Micky internally verbalized it. The same way he did whenever he saw anyone smiling. It never looked good. Smiling was so awkward, and strange. People loved seeing others smiling, and smiled when they were happy, but it always reminded Micky of how not one of them he was.

"Hi! My name is Maggie."

I don't care.

"We have econ together?"

"Okay."

Why was seeing her smile make her look fake, inhuman, alien? Just like everyone else. Then why was Micky so let down seeing (Reader's) lukewarm reaction to their victory?

"I was wondering, I mean, (laughs), a group of us are going out for drinks later, and we, I was wondering if you wanted to come with us.."

She giggled nervously, fiddling her fingers and biting her lip. The image of (Reader) practically eating their lower lip was triggered like a trap. This woman, whose name wasn't worth remembering, made Micky feel nothing. The uncanny feeling of speaking with a living mannequin or an advanced AI. Her movements weren't natural, her smile was just a contraction of muscles. Then, like an epiphany, Micky realized all at once what made (Reader) so special.

Maybe, it wasn't that everyone else was alien, but Micky. Micky was the only one who never fit in. The only one who didn't feel emotions or connect with others like everyone else could. And there was a bug walking around in human clothes, barely staying awake in class and casually ruining peoples' lives simply because they annoyed them. (Reader) wasn't a human either, just like Micky. That's why they didn't seem happy with their victory. Why would a human bring them joy?

Micky's lips pulled tight, smiling brightly at the young woman before walking away without saying a word.

You're the first person to make me feel, because you're just like me. Right, (Reader)? If no one but you can make me feel, then no one but me should be able to make you smile!

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

(Reader) slouched over their laptop, their messy hair pulled back in a top bun just to keep their untrimmed bangs out of their eyes in the privacy of their dorm, eating another cup of noodle while reading all of their "fan mail". Samantha wasn't getting kicked out like they had hoped, but Professor what's-his-nuts did get canned, so hopefully when Samantha comes back to class she'll be too busy sobbing "woe is me" to find anything funny.

Ba-ding♪

A private message popped up from an account with an automated username.

(Reader) snorted so hard a noodle went up into their sinuses.

user01793664544001: I know who you are <3

"Ah-ow! God damn!"

anonymousXnightmare: Who the fuck is this?

user01793664544001: ur prince charming <3

anonymousXnightmare: Don't fuck with me

user01793664544001: come find me

"Watch me, bitch."

Looking up IP addresses is a lot easier than people make it seem. It doesn't take a genius hacker to doxx someone. Of course, (Reader) goes above and beyond, often following assholes for months to collect evidence of their douche baggery. (Reader) got an address in less time than it took to finish their noodles, and took down their hair, quickly setting out to start getting information on their newest "bully".

The address took them to another dorm across campus. How dumb are they? (Reader) faux chuckled, feeling superior to this newest dick. No one was quite as smart as them.

As they crept through the building, no one payed them any attention as they began taking notes on the residents. It had to be one of these losers.

They didn't have a chance to fight back, as they passed one of the rooms the door opened and pulled them inside faster than they had a chance to scream. The man who abducted (Reader) wrestled them to the floor, panting heavily.

(Reader) glared up at the handsome stranger, smiling down at them in a creepy way, his cheeks twitching like he had never smiled before, like his face hurt from the small action. His face was pink and he was sweating, panting with a feverish moisture glazing his eyes.

"Aren't you happy? You found me~"

"G-Get off of me, you pervert!" (Reader) attempted to kick the kidnapper off of them.

This wasn't the answer he was looking for. His smile fell briefly before bouncing back.

"You're just upset because you don't know me yet. Don't worry, it took me a while to realize you and I were the same species as well, so don't worry. I'll wait, I'll wait for you to realize you love me too..."

He rambled quickly, pressing harder against (Reader's) body. A strange noise squeaked out of his throat as he seemed startled, (Reader) feeling a bulge form against their upper thigh.

"Ah, I'll wait.. I'll wait for you to love me too.. but I need you to do something for me while I wait.."

Micky stuck his fingers in (Reader's) mouth, pulling their dry lips out till they bled across his skin.

"Smile for me..."

#yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere x darling #yandere #pathetic loser #loser reader #tw stalking #bully reader #yandere fanfiction #gender neutral reader #romance #not proofread

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beggars-opera · 5 months

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Hey, so we don't talk enough about A Christmas Carol as being at least a little bit about not continuing a cycle of abuse and neglect, both against others and yourself.

In the book little Scrooge is left languishing over the holidays in a boarding school for some never-explained reason, but it is made very clear that this is miserable and unfair, and that his father is doing this on purpose. His sister specifically comes to tell him that "father is so much kinder now than he used to be, that home's like heaven." This also reflects a bit of Dickens's own childhood when his father went into debtor's prison and little Charlie was forced to support his family working full time in a shoe-blacking factory at the age of 12 (which is also why so many of his books seem to have a moral of "hey, kids are people too and maybe we shouldn't make them work in the mines.")

Whatever family reunion happened after didn't work out, because Scrooge continues believing that no one is coming to save him and pulling himself up by his bootstraps at the detriment of all other social relationships is the only way forward. And the more he lives by that philosophy, the more miserable he gets, because obviously he pushes away anyone who has that hope that he lost. They threaten to break down the walls he's built and teach him that a big pile of money doesn't have to be the only thing that he can rely on, if he'd just let himself be vulnerable and have a relationship with people who care about him, because they're out there even if he's ignoring them.

There is a certain type of person still very much out there who thinks this way. "I've never been happy in my life, so no one else has a right to be either. I was abused in my childhood so it's only fair that everyone else suffer as well." We see this in parents who still try to use corporal punishment, and in wealthy people who ignore the social factors keeping others down and scream that everyone else is just entitled, that only those who suffer and scrape deserve happiness. And they especially hate the people like Fred who represent the past that could have been, who have maintained hope for the future, and seem to be rubbing their optimism in your face, when in reality they're just maintaining hope because it's the only way you can survive.

It's so important for Scrooge to actually see the impact this thinking has on both himself and multiple generations. Rich people have this weird hangup about this story because they think Scrooge is bad because he's rich. He's not, he's bad because he's a horrible person and a miser - he doesn't use his money to better anything, including himself. Salting the earth, everyone suffers here, including him. And he learns that he's going to die old and alone without ever having spent or enjoyed his money, and that his family feels sorry for him, and that the nameless masses of poor people out there that he decries so much are in fact living, breathing people, including tiny disabled kids who don't deserve to suffer just because you decided life isn't fair.

In the end he takes responsibility for actually uplifting the people in the next generation who are trying to make the world a better place and no longer punching down, because it doesn't have to be this way. So many people out there just give up hope because things are hard and they think trying to improve things is a pointless exercise that makes them look dumb. How dare you grow a year older and not an hour richer! How dare you marry for love! That's the only thing more ridiculous than a Merry Christmas! When in reality, there are plenty of people who would love to see them happy if they just had a chance.

It's really sad that, while the language used to describe it has changed, these problems still persist. That people feel so wronged and isolated that they spend their days ensuring everyone else will be as well. That they fail to see their fellow humans as fellow humans who are just as deserving of love and kindness and a roof over their heads. I don't care what time of year it is, we should all be lifting each other up rather than tearing each other down.

#long post #rant #a christmas carol #charles dickens #history #books #literature #christmas #who hurt elon musk

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bunni-v1 · 8 months

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Can I please request a reader that has been so traumatised by what’s happened in the Scarabia book that they actively avoid the entire dorm and have Ace and Deuce as their guard dogs (I love those two and I really love how you wrote them as the readers protective besties during the Malleus break up fic). Like how would Kalim, Jamil and Adeuce react to that?

I find it really cathartic when I read fics that have the characters feeling guilty after what they put the reader through whilst the reader is getting support from their friends.

(Something I’m really salty about in twst is how no one ever holds the overblots accountable for what they’ve done. I full on agreed with Ace when he told Riddle that crying wasn’t going to erase all that he did before the overblot and I literally fell in love with him when he punched Riddle after he insulted us/Yuu/the player. I understand that those boys are traumatised and are in desperate need of therapy and overblotting was the only way for their problems to be solved but the treatment they inflicted on Yuu/us was downright hellish. Azul made us homeless and tore us away from the only family/comfort we had in twst (the ghosts) and then sent the tweels to terrorise us in our attempts to reclaim said home and free our friends from servitude; Jamil kidnapped us, hypnotised us, locked us up in a room against our will, isolated us from Adeuce and took away any contact we had with them, forced us on long marches in the dessert and turned a blind eye to our clear suffering during that time; Vil acted like a literal demon to not only us (and then almost made my Deucey cry) but everyone else as well and that was before he decided to try to murder an innocent teenager. Like why does no one understand just how much this can damage an actual child who has no magic and has been stripped from their home and family?)

Reader Terrified of Scarabia After Jamil’s Overblot

TW: PTSD; Mental Breakdown; Disassociation; Mentions of Abuse; Kalim and Jamil are tragic

Info: Ace, Deuce x Reader (platonic or romantic); Kalim, Grim x Reader (platonic); Jamil and Reader (neutral)

🍓I love requests like this tbh. My own OC sorta has her own grapplings with this stuff that I like to touch upon, and I’m excited I get the chance to talk about it here :) THIS IS LONG AS HELL BTW(like this intro here lol). I had a lot of fun writing it :))) I added a cute, shorter little grim part, because our little guy deserves more lovin’ than he gets. I also decided to do a cute little (read: long) intro, and then head cannons since you didn’t specify for either. I hope you enjoy this style, and I’m sorry for the wait <3

You had been through… a lot in your time at Night Raven College. Being thrown into a completely different world would’ve been enough, but it seems that the great seven thought you needed some extra troubles. You weren’t sure how you could’ve encored their wrath, but you were, and you were chugging along despite it all.

First was the attack from the phantom in the mines — something that should’ve been foreshadowing for what was to come. You didn’t even do anything to be in this position. It was Ace Grim and Deuce, but you got dragged into it all because you were “Grim’s keeper.” You managed to befriend Ace and Deuce though, so it wasn’t so bad.

Second was Riddle with his unending temper and strict rules. Despite everything telling you to just stay out of it, your good-natured heart just couldn’t stop you from helping Ace and Deuce. Nearly dying in the process, you managed to help Riddle and made newfound friends in Heartslabyul.

Third came Leona, the selfish, stuck-up, lazy no-good prince of the Savannah. You knew he was trouble from the start, and you wanted nothing to do with him or his little lackey Ruggie. Then he hurt Trey, and you couldn’t stand by while he reigned terror on the school. He was a favorable ally to gain in the end, so you could dismiss his actions so long as he kept in his lane.

Fourth was Azul, another student you figured would cause you trouble. With the extra scary Jade and Floyd always tailing him, and that too buttery sweet voice of his, you were determined to keep your distance. Again, however, your friends were in trouble and you couldn’t help but help them. Azul was a broken person, and you could sympathize with his struggles. He even gave you a job at the lounge to help with funding yourself, so he couldn’t be all that bad.

You’d come to dislike the other house wardens out of principle. A pattern had emerged among them, and you weren’t going to fall victim to another horrific overblot. You still had suction cup-shaped bruises on your arm from Azul’s breakdown. Leona had given you more than just a nasty burn from the scalding hot whirlwind of sand he conjured up. The scars Riddle left behind on your face and arms were healed, but they still ached when you touched them. All painful reminders that you could not truly trust anyone here, that anyone could lose control of themselves and hurt you. Yet…

When you met Jamil in the kitchen, he seemed so kind to both you and Grim. He seemed so genuine and honest. Maybe it was wishful thinking, or maybe it was you missing your friends, but you wanted to trust him despite your gut feeling to be distrustful. Could everyone here really be that bad? Certainly not. Ace Deuce and Jack went here as well… so surely… surely…

The alarm bells didn’t ring at all during the dinner, and Kalim — despite everything you’ve been through — seemed so nice, if not a little overbearing. You could see the tiredness on Jamil's face, and you had the kindness in your heart to express your sympathies. And oh, Jamil so humbly assured you that he was fine. Filling your head with little half-truths and ideas that Kalim had been overworking not only him but the other students. That he had been acting “off” as of late.

You saw Kalim’s sudden shifts in personality. How he would be so sweet, so kind and soft. How he made sure you were enjoying yourself, made sure you ate to your heart's content, made sure you were comfortable in your uniform and your sleeping quarters. Then he would be yelling at everyone, demanding unspeakable exercises and work.

If Ace were there with you, he would’ve called bullshit. Still, you trusted Jamil to start. You actually believed he was kind and had good intentions. You believed that Kalim was the real evil here.

Then he wouldn’t let you and Grim leave, and the students were suddenly so aggressive toward you. He took everything you had and stripped you of your dignity and pride until there was nothing left but fight.

Truly, you didn’t realize it was him that was the issue until he was over-blotting in front of your eyes. It wasn’t an unusual sight to you at that point, you’d defeated multiple overblots and befriended these people. You don’t know what it was. The way you’d trusted him. The fact that you felt truly alone without Ace and Deuce. This one broke you…

You just didn’t feel a damn thing after he was saved. You felt no pity, no joy, no relief. Absolutely nothing, an empty void in your chest. Even as everyone around you celebrated, there was nothing. You stood watching everyone parade around with glee blankly, unable to speak to anyone around you. Just listening to the voices that had begun to mesh together.

You didn’t show anything until Ace and Deuce showed up. Something about their faces, the way they were looking over you, the way they seemed so scared for your wellbeing… it made you cry. It made you cry and cry and cry until you couldn’t make any noise and then you cried some more. They had to drag you away from everyone because you just couldn’t quite stand upright when Deuce would try to get you to walk away with him…

The days after were blurry. You remained holed up in your dorm, unable to really move from your bed. Ace and Deuce stayed in their own separate room next to yours. You could hear them talking through the walls about how worried they were about you, how angry they were at Jamil, how angry they were at themselves for not getting there in time to help you. If you’d had the energy, you would’ve scolded them for being so hard on themselves, but you could hardly speak in the first place.

They cared for you as best as they could. Deuce attempted to cook the recipes Trey sent him over magicam, making sure you ate and stayed hydrated. Occasionally you’d hear Azul downstairs, and Deuce would give you something nice from the Monstrolounge — free of charge, he promised. You could tell that he wasn’t sleeping much in his worry over you.

Grim remained at your side as loyal as a dog and boasting that he’d keep you safe, but you knew he was scared too. He proclaimed that he would keep you safe, but you could feel him trembling at every sudden noise. You had to comfort him from the horrific nightmares he was having. That was okay, though, he was family and you were his.

Ace was the only one who really kicked your ass into gear. He’d tug you out of bed and into the shower as people began to return from winter break. Made you go on walks around campus to show you that you were completely safe. Eventually, he’d been able to get you to visit Azul to thank him directly for his kindness. He wasn’t soft or gentle with you, that wasn’t in his character at all, but he made sure you felt safe enough to return to classes before they started.

They both worked hard to help you recover, but you were still so afraid…

Ace

-Ace isn’t exactly the most comforting person, and he never claimed to be.

-He’s not good at reassuring people, but he’s good at being honest, and if he was being honest he knew that you were safe around him and Deuce.

-He walks you to and from classes, spends most of his nights in your dorm doing whatever the hell you’d like him to do without complaint, distracts you when you’re freaking out, and most importantly keeps that snake as far away from you as possible.

-If he was being honest with himself, which was his whole thing, he didn’t really get your reaction to everything.

-You’ve all been through this before, it's textbook at this point. A guy does some shady shit, a guy gets caught doing said shady shit, a guy overblots, and you defeat a guy with the power of friendship. Boom. Done.

-He’d get it more if you were completely alone, but grim and the octanivelle freaks were there! Kalim too, and he’s always seemed pretty nice. Not the best company, sure, but still you had people helping you out.

-When he looks at your face and sees how tired you are, he forgets the logical stuff. All he can hear are those horrific sobs you let out when you saw him and how you nearly ripped his uniform in half with how tightly you were holding him and Deuce.

-If that was too much for him, he can’t imagine how badly it must’ve felt for you. How bad it must still feel.

-So screw what he thinks, he’s gotta make sure you’re taking care of yourself.

-He doesn’t ask you how you’re feeling, he knows it's not good. He focuses on keeping your mind off of everything that might trigger you.

-Reroutes your paths to classes to avoid Jamil and Kalim completely. Sure it’s longer and more annoying, but it's better than you going dead silent and shutting him and everyone else out again.

-He does everything in his power and you’re doing so well… and then the VDC happens.

-You’re given the title of manager and you’re forced to be around these people who terrify you.

-Vil won’t budge on anything and sevens Ace wishes Rook would let him try out a little target practice with the (illegal) bow and arrows he’s got in his room.

-He keeps himself between you and Jamil at all costs. He won’t let Jamil bother you at all, not that he was trying in the first place.

-The real issue is Kalim, which sounds crazy, but it’s true.

-Kalim is so… forceful. A pretty strong word, but honestly the only one Ace can think to use.

-He’s really nice, really sweet, seriously such a good guy… but you’re still unsettled by him.

-There are several times during practices that Ace has to yell at him to just leave you alone.

-Sure, it gets him a pretty big scolding from Vil, but he couldn’t care less honestly. He doesn’t wanna risk you having a panic attack because Vil doesn’t wanna be a responsible leader.

-You confide in Ace a lot. How you really want to move past all this, but Crowley won’t provide you with any form of therapy, and you’re just not ready to forgive Jamil or Kalim for what happened.

-He won’t tell you this, but hearing you talk like this breaks his heart.

-You’re normally so strong, so brave, so confident… and now you’re absolutely broken.

-He’s proud of you for putting on a brave face to placate Vil, but he’s angry you have to.

-Surprisingly, though, you do begin to warm up to Kalim. Just a little.

-It's only when Ace, Deuce, or Grim is around, but it's a really big step forward in his eyes.

-You’re getting back to where you used to be little by little.

-He still won’t give you or Jamil the chance to reconcile, but you honestly couldn’t be more grateful for that.

Deuce

-Deuce is incredibly different from Ace in how he handles everything.

-He’s a delinquent, sure, but he’s a Mama’s boy at heart. Therefore, he’s much more equipped to help you emotionally through all this than Ace.

-Where Ace is the harsh pushing force to keep you going, Deuce is the calm where you can rest and cry your heart out for as long as you need.

-As I mentioned, he makes sure you’re eating and drinking and at least speaking to someone.

-He asks Trey for recipes without leading on to what’s going on and asks Cater for advice on helping someone feel safe after a traumatic experience.

-It’s not subtle, but it helps.

-He handles making all your meals, even though he isn’t the best cook, he absolutely puts all his heart and soul into everything he makes.

-A good portion of his days are dedicated to cooking for you, and he gets pretty damn good at it by the time classes start up again!

-With Sam’s shop closed, he has to go into town to get the ingredients he needs, and then he has to spend hours preparing and serving the food.

-He watches you eat, encouraging you that everything is safe and that he made it all by himself by hand.

-He doesn’t question why things ended up this way for you, he wonders how can I help?

-And he does help, a lot, more than just with food.

-Sometimes, late at night, he hears you crying alone in your room. He gets up from his own bed, quietly enters your room, and holds you and grim while you both tremble in fear.

-It makes him so mad. Mad that this happened to you. Mad that Jamil did this in the first place. Mad that he couldn’t help more than he already is.

-Like Ace, he accompanies you to all your classes and makes sure to stay close to your side if any Scarabia students are around.

-He’ll go anywhere you need him to, and if you’re not comfortable being alone and he’s got plans, you’re invited to join him. No matter what anyone else thinks.

-Things get better little by little. You make strides in your ability to be independent again and you’re smiling and joking around like you used to. You even agreed to try out for the VDC with him and Ace… a big mistake.

-He didn’t expect to actually get in, let alone get in with Jamil and Kalim. If it were just that he could’ve been civil, but no, you had to be dragged in too… because that’s always how it works out.

-He has to hold himself from getting in Jamil’s face more than once because just him looking at you is enough to send you into a clear panic attack.

-Deuce does his best to comfort you between all of this, though. Being your shoulder to cry on and trying his best to be your protector… it's just hard. Hard to see you like that, and hard to keep his cool for your sake.

-It's worse with Kalim because both you and Deuce know he means well. You both know he wants to reconcile, but you’re not quite ready.

-Deuce helps the confrontation with the two feel a bit easier though. He acts as a mediator between you and Kalim, and eventually, he’s proud to say he helped you trust Kalim just a little bit.

-Jamil… both of you could use some work, but Deuce is more willing to hear you out on him than Ace is.

Grim

-Grim was there with you the whole time. He understands the fear you’re feeling deeper than anyone else.

-He could just tell something was wrong the second he saw your face. Despite all the celebrations, he was focused on making sure you were at least a little okay.

-He tried to talk to you, tried to make you feel okay, but the only comfort he could offer you was letting you hold him while you cried.

-He could still hear your cries, and they made him want to cry too. He almost did, but he was your guard cat — he had to be strong for you.

-Unlike Ace and Deuce, he never left your side. Not a second. He was there with you from the moment you were unwittingly kidnapped to the sleepless nights in your dorm to the horror of finding out you’d have to work closely with Jamil for the VDC.

-He made his distaste for him very known, sure to make a snarky comment at least once every time he saw him.

-It was so bad, at one point, that Vil had to give him a stern talking to. He didn’t stop regardless.

-You are Grim’s best friend, the only family he has, and Jamil hurt you in unspeakable ways. He couldn’t just sit back and be okay with that.

-He’s really such a good guy.

Kalim

-Kalim means well. With his whole heart, he has the best intentions… just not the best execution.

-See, he didn’t notice initially that anything was really wrong the whole time.

-He didn’t suspect Jamil at all. In fact, he thought that you were really enjoying your stay in Scarabia, you seemed so happy and chatty up until Jamil flipped things on their head.

-Call him air-headed, but he was caught up in his own whirlwind of emotions at the time. You know, the whole betrayal of his supposed best friend took a toll on him too.

-It wasn’t until you were sobbing your throat raw that he realized something was really wrong.

-The look of sheer terror on your face when you made eye contact with him sent shivers up his spine.

-He knew that look. He’d worn that look on his own face too many times as a young child.

-Believe it or not, without Jamil’s intervention, he knew to keep his distance. He knew he had to give you time to adjust.

-Then a few days turned into weeks and weeks turned into a little over a month, and he had hardly seen you around campus.

-You are avoiding your normal route to class, and when he did see you he was also greeted by the harsh glares of your good friends.

-He understood if you’d never want to talk to him ever again, honestly. He couldn’t blame you. You were more headstrong than him, after all.

-Still, when the VDC came around… he was hopeful. Truly he was hoping that something would give.

-He would talk to you in hopes of showing you that he meant no harm, but Ace or Deuce or even Grim would shove their way between the two of you.

-Several times Jamil had to tell him to knock it off because “It’s not worth forcing.”

-Still, he wanted you to know he felt bad. He felt horrible.

-In a very un-Kalim-like move, he quietly asks you if you can speak with him. Alone. But in a crowded enough area that you wouldn’t feel threatened.

-He didn’t expect you to accept it, he wouldn’t have blamed you at all. But you said yes.

-You showed up, with Grim by your side, which was fine. He earned some apologies too.

-He poured his heart out to you, apologizing for things that he couldn’t even control. In turn, he listened to you rant about how scared you were, how angry you were, how you wished you were any of these things.

-And after that, things improved. Slowly, but surely. You became more comfortable around him, and you spoke to him again.

-Sure, you wouldn’t be caught dead at one of Scarabia’s parties, but you considered him a friend.

-That’s all he could ask for.

Jamil

-Jamil is the monster in your story.

-He’s the evil guy who kidnapped, manipulated and lied to you.

-He’s the one who used his misplaced anger as an excuse to hurt others.

-He’s the boogyman who made you endure days of long and hard training, just because he could.

-Of course, he felt bad. What he did was unspeakable, but he was more concerned with how his reputation would last after the overblot.

-More concerned with it not getting out for the safety of his family.

-Even with you sobbing, he just thought you were being dramatic in all honesty. You have a reputation already, he knew you’d been through this whole thing before.

-It didn’t really strike him how badly it affected you.

-He didn’t notice how you switched paths, how you were never in the same area as him for long, and the glares of your friends never once phased him.

-Even Ace’s snarky comments during basketball didn’t bother him for a second.

It wasn’t until he accidentally bumped into you in the hallway, and he saw the look on your face that he realized.

-The terror in your eyes, the way you shrunk back as if he would strike you. It was the same way his parents acted around the Asim’s.

-If he were a more insane man, he might’ve found it liberating, but it wasn’t.

-He had become what he hated to you, he had done what he hated to you.

-Jamil was not only your monster, but he was his own.

-He steers clear of you and keeps as much distance as possible for both your sakes.

-He couldn’t handle someone looking at him like that, and he was sure you couldn’t handle the sight of him after what he did.

-Still, this is NRC, and luck is never on anyone's side here.

-Both of you are forced into a position where you cannot escape the other, you have to learn to live with the awful pits in your stomachs.

-He keeps Kalim away until you both are on good terms, then he simply watches quietly.

-He won’t apologize, he won’t antagonize, he won’t speak unless spoken to.

-You two never truly recover your small lasting friendship, but you do make amends with each other.

-During the trip to the scalding sands, you get to meet Najma, whom he’s confided in about ‘accidentally upsetting a classmate’.

-You get to have a good talk with her, and it makes you really realize some things about Jamil.

-You realize he’s just as broken as you, just as tired as you, and that he feels the most immense amount of guilt for hurting you.

-You, being you, find it in your soul to forgive him.

-Nothing really changes between you. The guilt is still there, and the fear still shakes you to your core, but you both have closure.

-In a situation like this, closure is the best grace a person can ever have.

#twst #twisted wonderland #bunni's treats 🧁#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #x reader #jamil viper #kalim al asim #ace trappola #deuce spade #grim twst #deuce spade x reader #ace trapolla x reader #jamil viper x reader #kalim al asim x reader #kalim x reader

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vodkassassin · 6 months

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Amity Park didn’t return to Illinois after they were transported to the ghost zone.

After all, the Zone is fickle even in transporting singular entities like the smallest blob ghost. How about an entire town, with all those people in it?

Instead of Illinois, they end up slightly off the coast of New Jersey, a long time before Amity Park, Illinois ever existed.

Fixing damages that happened to the town during the transfer is considered a total loss, so they scrap everything and rebuild. Since the ghost issue seems to not be going anywhere ever, the decision to lean into the aesthetic and embrace it instead of denying and fighting it is nearly unanimous (save for a few ghost hunters here and there, but they are the minority).

It’s easy to slide into their new existence. Things are very different from the modern life they’re all used to, but much is still the same.

Phantom is always there to protect.

Hauntings are a part of their very foundations.

Amity Park was always pretty isolated, all things considered. So they continue on.

Tucker later on becomes mayor of the new town Gotham (Sam has a heavy hand in convincing everyone to go along with the name). He holds his position much longer and with far higher approval ratings than his predecessor.

Sam eventually marries someone who moved to the newly established Gotham from the mainland, on a business venture, whose last name is Wayne.

Together, they inherit what’s left of the immense Manson wealth.

People from the mainland come and go, providing economy. Not a lot of them stick around, too uneasy of the supernaturally dreary atmosphere of Gotham Island and it’s frankly hostile architecture. The Amitians — Gothamites now — don’t really get it. What’s wrong with ghosts??

The original townspeople are so saturated with ectoplasm at this point that they’ve ceased aging. They die eventually, but immediately become ghosts and just make the trip through the portal to become citizens of Phantom’s kingdom in the Infinite Realms. All things considered, nothing much changes after death, either.

However, it’s soon decided that before any more new people can move to Gotham, the portal must be closed and locked for the safety of the regular humans who are not as immune to the influence of the Zone.

So the portal is buried and hidden, locked and guarded by the eternal soldiers of the Ghost King, the key safely kept on the King’s person at all times.

Life goes on. Years pass. The true origins of Gotham fall into the realm of the forgotten. Eventually, it becomes what it is today.

Batman and all.

The Batcave is more home to Bruce Wayne than even the manor that caps it. That’s because in the cave, he is a step closer to a portal to the Infinite Realms that has been locked and hidden deep underneath the land that once belonged to his ancestors, the Manson-Waynes.

As a direct descendant of one of the original Amity Park townspeople, and one who was (is) so closely tied to the haunt of the Ghost King himself, Bruce has always had a special and innate connection to the town and the land that his city is built on, but never really knew why.

He just thinks of it as his father Thomas explained it to him; the Manson-Waynes, later the Waynes, had been one of the founding families families of Gotham — alongside the Fenton, Baxter, and Sanchez families. Since the other families have long since died out, it’s up to the Waynes to uphold their legacy, and that duty falls to Bruce.

Or so that’s how Thomas, who knew nothing of Gotham’s ghostly, Amitian origins, understood it.

It’s not until Jason, back from the dead, becomes a regular part of the family again, that Bruce starts feeling as if something is different about the cave, and then later the city at large.

Almost as if it’s been awakened, somehow.

#dc x dp #danny phantom #Batman #dp x dc crossover #dc x dp prompt #amity park

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manstrans · 10 months

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sharing this in the hopes that people can learn from it, I think the biggest thing I've done to be an ally for people of color is to stop being scared of being racist. not that I stopped thinking racism is bad, but I learned that society puts a racist tint on everything that goes so deep I can't expect myself to be free from it. and at some point it starts to feel silly to be afraid of having any spec of racism inside of you, because it's so deep in the roots of everything that how can it not be there?

and once you let go of that fear you can actually work to start uprooting all this shit. you're not an irredeemable person for being affected by something so deeply rooted in every corner of our society, but being ignorant of it doesn't help anything except the system that keeps racism so prevalent in the first place

I remember a few years ago I was at a gas station, and a guy, I think latino? was in a hoodie next to me just getting a soft drink. I remember feeling nervous then realizing, wait, I feel nervous next to this guy because he's latino and wearing a hoodie. that's racist. and stuff like this still happens, I'll still think or feel something, and then go "wait, that's racist"

and I tell this story so people can learn from it, because if we don't talk about the way racism manifests in our minds it only further isolates us from the truth of how ingrained racism is. it's not good that it's normal, which is why we need to realize that it's normal, so we can all fight it more effectively!

I really do feel that worrying about any little spec of racism inside of me exists held me back from being able to actually challenge that racism because I was too afraid of it existing in any capacity. and I feel lucky to be able to have had this realization that not being racist is a process rather than a personality trait, and it's definitely not something I came up with on my own. I do have countless people of color talking about racism to thank for where I am in trying to uproot it in myself!

I just want other people to also have this realization. I want it to be perfeclty normal and mundane to be able to tell yourself "that's racist". I want the sense that everyone else is simply never ever racist even a little bit and if they are they're irredeemable to be gone, because it keeps people too scared and complacent to actually do the work of trying to not be racist

any additions from people of color are welcomed of course! this is just the perspective I've had of my own growth, I don't want to center myself in the conversation on racism! I just hope that sharing my experience helps someone

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darkbluekies · 7 months

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What kind of partner will Dr kry be if darling were dating him?

Dr Kry headcanon: as a boyfriend

Doctor!yandere x reader

Warnings: mentions of sexual themes, yandere behaviors, making murders look like suicides, isolation, drugging

Dr Kry is a very cold, modest man who doesn't like much small talk, or people in general, and everyone around would say that they don't fully know him since he doesn't like to talk about himself or anything else besides his job.

To you, he's a completely different man — he would talk for a whole good ten minutes about the weather, if only to start up a conversation with you.

However, behind that, he's a violent man who doesn't have anything against killing for you. People die every day, so what's the difference? Although, he never wants you to see him like that, he tries to make his murders look like suicides.

He's professional, so it would take a long time for him to be able to have you in the way he fully wants, but when the timing was right, he would move you from the hospital to his villah in the woods.

As a boyfriend, Dr Kry is just as controlling as he is your doctor — always treating you like you need help — but he's also a bit softer since he doesn't have to hold up a facade.

He is not a big fan of physical contact since it invades his personal space and can contain germs, but he can let go of most of his reluctance for you.

He will not let you leave the house and will continue to keep you somewhat drugged, just to make sure that you never try to leave, because Kry has the only antidote to his selfmade poison and he has made sure that you know that.

You'll spend a lot of time in your shared bed in the bedroom upstairs, so Dr Kry makes sure to get the best sheets, blankets, and pillows so that you'll have a comfy time (of course he'll get them at IKEA)

As a boyfriend, he is quite jealous, but not in a "you’re-going-to-take-my-partner-away-from-me" type, but in a "you’re-not-going-to-take-them-away-from-me-type", but he will get rid off people if they ever try to — how clean or messy depends on what they dared to do.

If you cry, he will sit beside you and wipe your tears, building up courage to give you a hug — he so desperately wants to, but it's unnatural for him, so it takes a bit of time — while whispering how much he hates to see you cry.

He's not a very needy person; he sees sex more as a form of reproduction rather than an enjoyable act, but he will always be down to have it if you suggest it, because the closeness he feels is one of the few human contacts he actually loves — he is with you in a way neither his words or his actions could ever describe.

If you argue (which I think would happen quite often with his stubborn personality) he would never blame you, never ever; how could he? You're sick, you don't know any better. It's his fault for even bringing something up.

Loves in-house dates!!! Movie nights, baking, cooking, reading together, gardening, picnicking in the garden, maybe even taking the few steps down to the lake to go on his motorboat.

In conclusion: Dr Kry is a very nonsocial yandere who goes out of his comfort zone to make you his special someone♡

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere drabbles #yandere oc x you #yandere oc x reader #yandere headcanon #yandere headcanons #yandere doctor #yandere boyfriend #yandere male

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cometkenji · 1 month

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the warm spot at the bottom of the stairs

Pairing: Ghost!Spencer Reid x Chubby!Fem!Reader CW: Fluff, Mild Angst, Soulmate AU, reader has dreams, mentions of sex/masturbation, mentions of death, cursing, reader feels like she knows him but they've never met, let me know if I missed anything please! Summary: After inheriting your grandfather's estate, you fall in love with the man from your dreams. He just so happens to be in your house, too. Disclaimer: Reader is always written with a chubby/bigger person in mind but in this she's literally not described aside from the fact that she has hips, a stomach, and legs on her body. WC: 9k (this is what happens when you let a man cook) This fic is genuinely my baby. I love soulmate aus with all my heart and soul and also love the dynamic of falling in love with a ghost. Enjoy this please, I tried <3

You swore the heat radiating off the sidewalk was enough to melt the soles of your shoes down to liquid. The sun was unforgivably angry today, glaring down at the world like it had a score to settle. You were less than thankful, as the death of your grandfather had stolen any desire you once held for warmth. The brutal dichotomy of the cold pit sitting in your stomach and the burning heat of the day only added to the sour taste in your mouth.

This house was fucking huge.

You had no idea how your grandfather managed to hide such an enormous investment from everyone in his life but he’d managed the task seamlessly. Nobody even knew what he was giving you at first. The reading of the will and testimony left nothing but confused relatives until they had found the address that marked the estate. Some were jealous of you, some were confused, some even asked if they could come live with you once you got settled in. You had been absolutely floored when you learned he’d given you a house. Being fresh out of university, you were moving on to grad school while simultaneously preparing yourself to live with your mother until you could afford anything besides student debt payments.

Now though, you had a castle, with no clue why a house this big was given to you of all people. You were your grandpa’s only grandchild and were by far one of the least deserving of such a generosity. Sure, you were close, but never abnormally close. You talked once a week on the phone and were glued to his side at family gatherings - but he saw your aunt everyday, and spoke with your mother much more than he ever did you. Was it pity? Maybe he saw this as the only plausible way of you escaping the fate of leeching off your mother. Hopefully he didn’t think of you so lowly.

You mentally cursed at the dull ache in your legs that persisted even after stretching. You had been driving all day with a car packed full of stuff that needed to be hauled into the house, and only yourself to move said stuff. You said a short plea in your head to not let the pain hinder your speed and began walking into the house to view the inside. The estate was isolated, huge fences of greenery surrounded the place, adding to the pleasant sight of budding flowers throughout the front yard. Even without the towering hedges, though, the nearest neighbor was miles away. Great, you thought. Any concerns of your car being robbed while you were gone were extinguished as quick as they came, but you locked the car regardless. Force of habit.

The heat was only lessened slightly when you reached the interior. You made a mental note to get the A.C. turned on, no way a temperature like this was a liveable one. You’re sure the numerous floor-to-ceiling windows were the culprit. They were excessive. Beautiful - of course - and you were thrilled at the amount of light they let in, but you could basically see the heatwaves permeating through the stained glass. Your eyes caught on the odd choice. The slightly colored glass making the mansion feel mildly like a church, the thought coming to you quickly and stripping any of the minimal comfort you held moments prior. That’s weird, you thought. Your grandpa had never been particularly religious. He was a man of faith - said grace before dinner and thanked Jesus for every day he lived, but never to this extent. He was rather progressive for a man his age.

The kitchen could have easily fit a team of 12 and you wondered if there had been staff at one point. There was no sign of any employees, and you prayed there weren’t any left working. The last thing you wanted was more responsibility in your life. You took your time walking the house, marveling at every painting and polished chandelier that was now an asset of yours. The house was gorgeous, you’d give at least that much to the old man. The centerpiece, of course, was the large spiral staircase leading to the second floor. As large as the house was, it held only two stories. Getting it’s square footage from length, rather than width. It was equally as glamorous as the house it resided in, however it filled you with a certain devastation you couldn’t place. As though your most primal self rejected the idea of it. That’s silly, you thought. You wanted to go upstairs, you were definitely not avoiding half of your house because a couple of your neck hairs stood at attention. The only real peculiarity was the heat pooling at the very bottom of the staircase. The kind of heat that seemed to thread itself into you, intertwine itself with your very being. The rest of the house was cold and accusatory, if your grandfather ever did live here, any of his warmth was flushed out by his death. This was the only spot in the whole house you felt calm, cared for. You could bask in it, weirdly fascinated with the little pocket of humanity that sat there.

It was more difficult than you’d expected to pull yourself out of it, and you could have sworn you felt arms trying to pull you back in. Ten minutes into your new life and you were already on edge. Negative feelings didn’t seem to penetrate the spot at the bottom of the stairs, so you physically felt the wave of unease when it struck you upon exiting. The upstairs was creepy. The abundance of windows was apparently only a trend on the first floor, as the second floor held dark, dim hallways. The whole thing, it seemed, was lit up by ancient lamps that lined the walls. It reminded you of the Shining, and you wondered briefly if maybe your mother would let you move back in. There was a bedroom right near the staircase, and you decided it would be yours. It could have been the smallest one for all you knew, the only thing you cared about was a quick escape if such a thing was needed. Something about the house put thoughts like that at the front of your mind.

You don’t recall ever being a paranoid person, nor a believer in the supernatural, but this house was watching you. The feeling of eyes on you was simply too strong to write off. What a warm welcome.

—

It had been a week, but the nights so far had been sleepless ones. The people you called on day one were just now getting around to starting the A.C. so you were hoping for a decent rest tonight. The fridge was stocked, your things mainly unpacked, and the house started feeling a little more like you with each day. Although, your friends were more or less convinced there was a ghost living with you. You spoke of the feelings you had, plus the fact it was an old and mildly creepy house, and they were off and running with theories. One of the tamer ones consisted of the house being an old church - given the windows - and that the eyes you were feeling were perhaps an old priest who died here. You were less than fond of that idea, but you would take it any day to the other propositions of old mental hospitals and certain death. You made a mental note to never again let your friends speculate on situations you couldn’t get out of.

You argued that a malevolent spirit wouldn’t invoke such a comforting sense within you. You felt watched - yes - but it wasn’t as though you felt stalked. It was much worse, actually, you felt lonely. Loneliness was never a battle you fought very hard in. You had hobbies, and you had friends. The desire for a romantic companion usually took the back burner if it was even a thought at all. People questioned the topic - you were pretty, smart, capable - what more could somebody want? They asked if you were insecure, if you liked girls, told you that you were wasting your “prime years” and needed to find someone - but it was never that simple. You just didn’t get it. The feelings others spoke of were unfamiliar ones to you. You held your breath for a long time before realizing that it probably just wasn’t for you, that you were built a little differently.

Needless to say, you were uncomfortable with the sudden sensation. It felt like seeing the moon in a glass jar - something unfathomably beautiful but something you were unable to hold. Lord knows it wasn’t from a lack of desire, though. You’re sure you reeked of longing, able to suppress the lot of it but unable to stop some from slipping through the cracks of your fingers. And with no obvious direction to cast it, it just clung to you and seeped back into your skin.

–

“No, dude, I’m telling you shit’s fucking weird.” You shoveled popcorn into your mouth as you spoke with your friend. This was the third call since you moved in. “Every night I wake up at like two in the morning and just for a split second I feel it. It’s like I'm lying on someone’s shoulder or something. And - oh my god - the amount of times I get stuck in that fucking warm spot on the stairs is gonna drive me crazy.”

You could hear her laughing at your frustration on the other end. “What do you mean you get stuck? Y/n I'm getting worried about your mental state.”

“No I’m telling you, I walk in this one - like - warm spot and I enter some kind of trance. Like I want to leave but I can’t - Jesus!”

“Are you alright?” Your friend was quick to ask, hearing you cut yourself off mid sentence.

“No! This shit is haunted I swear. My kitchen lights just turned off for no reason. If I die here I’m blaming you and Kelly for not getting me out.” You were being dramatic, you knew that, but it was starting to feel justified. You don’t remember a time in the last week you felt truly by yourself.

“Hey don’t blame us for your own choi-” She started speaking, but you lost her.

“Hello? You there?” You tried calling her again but the usual buzz of the dial tone was dead silent, the lamps that were illuminating the house followed soon after. Phone lines were the first to go in a power outing. No fucking way the power just went out. You felt around in the dark for the drawer of the end table. There had been a flashlight on the counter when you’d first arrived. You threw it in the end table because you had no clue why it was there - you were thanking God you’d done so while also praying the thing had batteries in it. You wrapped your hand around the object and said one more plea to the stars you wouldn’t have to be without light until tomorrow. Somebody must have been listening, as the room lit up when you hit the ‘on’ switch of the flashlight.

You’d seen the fuse box towards the south end of the upstairs hallway, sitting between a Da Vinci replica and a mirror taken straight from a movie star's wet dream. I’m gonna die was the only thing you could think at a moment like this. You were for sure going to see glowing red eyes at the end of the hall and die a horrific and bloody death. Thanks grandpa. The warm spot was a welcome refuge from your journey to certain death, and you embraced the sense of peace it brought you at a time when your heart was surely beating too fast. You held the light in front of you as you ventured up the stairs. The top of them seemed cartoonishly haunting, you thought momentarily that you would fit perfectly into a Scooby Doo episode. It was vast and dark, having multiple pathways you could walk down, but you set your sights on the south hall and did your best to disable your peripheral vision. It was right there. You just had to reset the power and you’d have your precious light back. Who puts a fucking mirror above a fuse box?

You held the flashlight between your teeth as you focused on your task. Open and reset. Open and reset. It was truly as simple as that and then you could be done. Go watch a midnight rerun on TV and pray that the spirits would leave you alone. Open and reset. The switches were flipped off - you didn’t think that was normal but what did you know - so you flipped them back on and heard the hum of life returning to the house. Thank God. Your nerves dissipated almost immediately. You were alright, no ghost had it out for you. It’s an old house, and would probably experience things like this a lot. You could do that again if you had to. You looked up, though, and ate your words. There was definitely a man behind you. If you had been trying to look at him, you would have seen he was young, tall. You probably would have thought he was attractive, but you had no time for that. You whirled around, yelping at the sight of him and mentally preparing to defend your life. It proved futile though, he was gone as quickly as he came. There was nowhere he could have gone that fast, so as much as you were certain he was there, you settled for him being imaginary. It was dark upstairs, and you were scared out of your mind. Surely your eyes were overcompensating for the paranoia that was racing through you. You walked back to the couch on guard and decided to call your friend back tomorrow. It was nearly twelve, and you knew she had work tomorrow. You could cope using TV and proper lighting to comfort you until sunrise. What’s one more sleepless night?

“You boys let me know if you need anything.” You heard the words in your own voice as if listening to a stranger.

“Sure thing, doll.” All the men were in uniform. Gray fabric covered their bodies, adorned with hats of the same color. Soldiers.

You walked back behind the front counter as the bell above the door continuously chimed at the arrival of new guests. Orders were being shouted to the cooks. You stared at the bold letters painted on the large graffiti piece decorating the wall, “Cathy’s Cooking.” A greasy apron covered the light blue dress beneath it - waitress attire. The smell of fried eggs clashed hard with the scent of sanitizer you were using to wipe down the counter. Bells rang to signal orders were ready to be taken out to guests, and you discarded the rag you used to mop up spilled coffee.

“Thanks, Benny.” You nodded to the chef as you took the food plates to table two. He nodded back at you before returning to flipping bacon.

“L/N!” Your manager barked at you. “Take your break. Be back in thirty.” He was a friendly man, though he got a bit hostile under pressure.

You couldn’t be more thankful for the break. It was hour 6 of your shift and you were beginning to think he might never let you off. You removed the apron as quick as possible and excused yourself out the back entrance to cool off in the alley way. It got hot as hell during rush hour, so the way the slight breeze nipped your cheeks felt like heaven.

“Tough shift?”

“Jesus!”

He started laughing as you startled, turning to face him. “‘Fraid it’s just me, honey.” He walked towards you as you grinned at him.

“You scared me, Spence.”

He shook his head, mocking you. “I’m so sorry.” Drama queen. “How ever will I make it up to you?”

You giggled at that, and wrapped your arms around his neck as he got closer. He put his hands on your hips, leaning you against the brick wall of the alley. You could feel your lungs open up when he kissed you, always feeling like you could breathe better when his lips were on yours. He was your God given destresser. He still donned his uniform but had opted for taking the hat off, he knew you hated when his hair was hidden.

“That’s not very nice, Reid. I thought you were a gentleman. What would your boys think of you being so mean to a lady?”

He smiled a bit at that. “You like when I’m a little mean, Y/N.”

Fuck. He had you there.

You looked to the side for a second to snuff out some of the tension. “How long are you here for?”

“We’re in town for two weeks. Gotta catch a boat up to base 14 on the 20th. Supposedly they’re preparing for a big fight.”

You frowned as you made eye contact with him.“I get so worried about you. About all of you. I don’t know what I’d do if - you know if something happened.” He’d been a soldier for a little while now, joining when he turned 18. He’d kept his hands on your hips, and you started to run your hands through his hair, a nervous habit you picked up when the two of you first got together.

“I know, honey. But by the time it’s done I’ll be off my leash. I do this and we can run away together.”

You looked at him the way you always did - with such admiration and love that he often had to look away before it went to his head. He swore he looked at you the same, but you knew deep down nobody could love anyone as much as you loved him. You laughed a bit at the elation you got from just his presence.

“I got lucky with you, Reid.”

He just shook his head. “Give yourself more credit, L/n.”

Your consciousness hit you like a truck and you realized before long that sun was shining through the windows. You’d fallen asleep sometime between ultimate terror and fleeting hope of your survival. And that dream - dear lord what the fuck was that dream. It was more vivid than you thought possible. You always forget most of your dreams when you wake up, but this time it felt like forgetting would be a betrayal. You could recall word for word every single thing about that dream. It was as though you saw a movie of your own life. A feeling so familiar you could taste it but just far enough to escape your grasp - and boy were you reaching. Not to mention the man. You didn’t know if this was some sort of coping mechanism you were inventing in your head but that was definitely the same man from the mirror last night. An imaginary friend. You had an imaginary friend as a grown woman. Terrific.

–

“You’re never going to attract a suiter with such a tragic expression, my dear.” This had to be the third time your mother had roused this point in the past hour.

“These dances are dreadful, idiotic nights of captivity that do nothing but mock the existence of genuine companionship.” The irony of you saying this while patting your cheeks with rose pigment was not lost on you. “Let me scrub myself raw and willingly restrain myself in hopes a man will see me and fall in love.” You spat out the last word with enough vitriol to hopefully drown yourself in. “Maybe he’ll like me so much he’ll lay claim and I can live on to be his housewife and half a person. How I've always dreamed of letting a man decide how much value I have.” You were flustered by the end of your spiel, looking at your mother through the large vanity with the tentative hope of a child asking for sweets.

“You read too much, darling. Those little romance books of yours are nothing but nonsense.” She was a professional at writing you off by now. “You know plenty of women who are perfectly satisfied with their lives. This is how we do things, Y/n. I don’t understand why you insist on fighting it so intently.”

She was never truly angry at your defiance, only tired. You could never tell if she was tired of you complaining or if she, like you, was tired of living this way. Your mother had married young - even for the times - and you knew your father left much to be desired in her life. They were basically repulsed by each other, only joining in union to produce a child. Your mother had been thrilled to have a daughter. Your father would trade you if he could, but he made do. The ultimate lack of affection between the two of them made you ill. You weren’t much older than your mother had been, you could very well end up trapped and child-bound in a loveless marriage.

“I would rather die alone than end up with my father.” You spoke, she sighed.

“I know.”

You stared at her through the mirror for a moment longer, then you rose from your chair. Your makeup was done, your look now complete. You noticed your mother’s eyes start to well up at the sight of you and she started to walk closer.

“My beautiful girl.” She smiled, forbidding the tears to venture down her cheeks, and held your shoulders. “You deserve a man who will worship you. Your future husband will be the luckiest man on planet Earth.” A gentle prompt, but a prompt nonetheless. You knew she loved you, but she carried more shame as you got older. Having only a daughter was something frowned upon, but having only a daughter hellbent on avoiding marriage was something that weighed on her.

“I’ll see you in the carriage.” Then she was gone, kissing your cheek and taking her exit to go talk with the director of the communal ride. Carriage was being generous, it was more like a one-way wagon to the local suiter’s ball. You watched her leave with a sense of grief so intense it nearly toppled you. She deserved a man like that too.

This was your third ball of the month. The pool of potential partners diminished with each one. People would often take whatever they could get, meaning less and less people even needed these nights anymore. You walked in with your mother, hand resting gently in the crook of her extended elbow. Your father stopped attending with the two of you a while ago. You believed he’d given up hope of a man ever choosing you - Lord knows he wouldn’t. Scanning the crowd, you saw little to look forward to. The music was pleasant, you would dance with a couple men who seemed bearable at best and criminal at worst, indulge in some of the enticing pastries and teas, and then you would leave. Back home until your mother dragged you out the following week for another one. With your current rate, you assumed you would end up marrying the vagabond that perused your neighboring streets. Taking another look around, you thought you might prefer that.

You made your temporary home in a corner chair, letting your mother excitedly drag prospects up to you and watch dejectedly as they ruled you out as an option. You felt bad for her, considered caving in and finding a man to give you a child, but you remember swiftly how long the years take to pass when you’re miserable. The chair gave you a good view of the room, you could see the entrance and the dancefloor filled with enticing women waiting for men to notice them. You could feel the sweat start slicking your skin beneath the corset you wore. It was too hot in here.

If you hadn’t been so determined to ignore the occasional advances of bored men, you would have missed the small group entering the area. Two women and two men, you wondered briefly if it was two couples, but discarded that thought. This wasn’t a place for couples. You felt your heart physically lurch at the sight of the last man in the row of four, as though your heart was running to greet an old friend. Had you seen him before? Surely you would have remembered such a visceral reaction. You averted your eyes before he could notice you. You don’t remember ever wanting to be noticed by a man - especially not this badly. You allowed yourself the escape of your own thoughts, getting lost in your head to pass the time and focus on anything other than what was probably the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen.

“Do you mind if I sit with you?”

You looked up, he was standing above you. The chair next to you had been taken all night, the same woman had been sulking in her seat, and you found comfort in the fact someone else was unhappy to be here. She was gone now. Someone was definitely messing with you.

“Not at all.”

Your mouth was drier than it had ever been. You wondered if your lips remained stained from the color you applied earlier. You’d done nothing but sit all night and yet you were praying nothing had happened to your makeup.

“Why are you alone in a corner?”

“Men tend to be repulsed by my pessimism. I also happen to hate it here. Serves for a less than desirable combination.” You refused to let your sudden attraction diminish your stubbornness. You hated the self-consciousness racing through you, no man had the right to take your assurance in yourself.

“Why do you hate it here?” He wasn’t being mocking. He seemed - genuinely - a little sad at the thought of you being unhappy.

“Well, sir, I am of the belief that these dances are nothing but congregations of people settling for lives that won’t make them happy. They trade excitement for safety as though the presence of security has to mean the presence of misery. I don’t think anyone can know the true meaning of love in our current state as a society.” You didn’t look at him as you spoke, instead staring out at the people dancing. “I hold no desire to settle. I am capable of making happiness on my own. Most men don’t like the thought of me not needing them.”

You were almost positive you lost him. You were betting on him not being there when you looked, preparing yourself to bite the bullet and cope with tonight’s losses. Maybe your mother would agree to leave early.

You heard him chuckle softly. “Sir.” He repeated your words, finding humor in the formality. “My name’s Spencer.” He added. “And I also happen to hate the purpose of these events. I’ve never actually been to one before, but I’m new to the city, and something about tonight was begging me to come out.”

You were absolutely bewitched by him. “I’m Y/n.”

“Fitting.” He smiled, a smile directed at his own thoughts, as though something in his mind had clicked. “Will you dance with me?”

The music had slowed severely. You scoffed at his proposal, but you were taking his hand as if you’d been waiting on this. Maybe you had been. You were grateful for the ballad that was playing, never having been one for upbeat dancing. He led you gracefully, and for once you felt yourself relinquish power. With a mind like yours, a man’s company was almost never wanted. With this one, though, you laid your heart at his feet as if you’d done so a dozen times before. The heat of his hands was seeping through your dress, and his eyes were locked with yours.

“I feel like I know you.” A confession. He had an effect like that.

“Maybe you do.”

–

Two in the morning. Everyday you’d woken up at two in the morning from a different dream involving the mysterious ‘Spencer Reid’. You friends had kindly dubbed him the “Man of your dreams” following the stories you told them. You’d been a housewife, trying to welcome him home from work before he laid you down and made an altar of your dining table.You’d been the daughter of a king, at one point, falling in love with his favored knight. Shamefully, that one haunted you. Reappearing in your mind during intimate times when you needed a spark. You’d never been one for desire either. When your friends started preaching the wonders of sex to you during your highschool days, you felt no pull towards the act. Just another it you didn’t understand. Now, though, this house served as an aphrodisiac. You lost count of your streak by day 13, and were now just begging whoever put this apparition in your home for the strength to keep your hand out of your pants.

Spencer had become more like a roommate rather than an unwanted guest. You saw him in most reflective surfaces around the house. You felt him everywhere. He sat at the table with you, watched TV with you, he would wait by the door when you got home from work. Sometimes, your hand or your shoulder would run hot. Physically hot, like he was putting his hands on you. You wondered if he was around during those times, but if he was there he made sure you didn’t know it. You were gaining a sort of intuition for him. The thought Spencer would like that struck you numerous times when you were window shopping or when you tried on an outfit. You were starting to think maybe you were just crazy. Perhaps a ghost who seemed to be your soulmate and made you incredibly horny was how all psychotic breaks started.

Weirdly, through your bizarre dreams and inconsistent sleeping patterns, this was the most well rested you’d felt in a while. Waking up at two am was routine now, sometimes you managed to fall back asleep afterwards but most times you were up dwelling on the images your mind had shown you that night. You thought maybe your body was just adjusting - surely it was nothing supernatural giving you energy - just the adaptivity of the human brain. One persistent thing you couldn’t adapt to, though, was how much you missed him. The increasing number of times you woke up to being the only occupant of your bed was starting to wear you down. You feel like you’d spent lifetimes with this man and yet he was someone you never knew. You'd seen the two of you fall in love countless different ways except the one that actually counted - the present.

“I genuinely don’t know how much longer I can do this.” Another phone call, another conversation about your rapidly declining mental state. “I have fallen in love with a figment of my own imagination. Surely this is some demented form of narcissism.”

“I don’t think it works like that, Y/n.” Your friend was terrible at comforting people. It probably didn’t help that you hadn’t been fully honest with her about the severity of your situation. From where she was standing, you had learned to lucid dream and now that was bleeding mildly into your real life. Not the biggest deal, maybe you were just lonely.

“It’s a ghost, dude, I’m fucking telling you. There’s no way I’m imaginative enough to conjure all this shit up.”

“You know his name right? Go down to the library and look him up. If he’s a ghost then surely there’ll be something to find.”

Holy shit. She was a genius. “Oh my God you’re so smart. I love you. You just saved my life. You’re God’s gift to the planet. Who would I be witho-”

“Jesus Christ will you just go? Stop kissing my ass and start driving. I want details when you get back.”

You don’t know if you’ve ever been so eager to get to the library of all places. If you could snag a computer spot then you could put an end to all of this. He wasn’t real, realistically you knew that, but you had a fool-proof way to check. If he was real you were going to have to come to terms with the fact you could see dead people. Well, a dead person. You had never seen any before Spencer. You’d never seen Spencer either, not before the house at least. They say you can’t make up faces, that if you see someone in a dream then you’ve seen them in real life but you were incredibly doubtful of that by now.

Spencer Reid. Thankfully the man didn’t have a particularly common name. You hoped there would be limited matches, less to look through. Pretty soon you could accept your own mental insanity and maybe ask your mother to spot you for some therapy. Well, moment of truth. You watched each letter be typed in with baited breath until his full name was in the search bar. Even just looking at his name brought that sense of calm. You were hopeless. Until, apparently, you weren’t.

Brilliant Dr. Reid dead at 26

Former FBI agent Spencer Reid found dead in his home

Spencer Reid co-workers speak out on his legacy. Where to go from here?

You scoured every article you could find, analyzing every pixel of every image available. This was your guy. Same Spencer Reid from your dreams. Same Spencer Reid that stands behind you in every mirror of the house. Holy shit who was this guy? He was a little older than you, died last year in the summertime. Each article painted a brutal picture of his death, speculating on how the doctor died but never comfirming anything. Only that he was dead when paramedics got there, the sight of his covered body being extracted from his home was one that would stick with you. His home. It was the same house you were living in. It’s possible your grandfather was renting it out. That’s probably why nobody ever knew about it - he wasn’t living there. You didn’t know when water started pooling in your eyes, you only realized them as they started falling down your cheeks. You didn’t even know him. You didn’t even know him but you felt like someone just sucker punched you and were about 60% sure your lunch was coming back up. Jesus.

There was no way you could tell your friends about this. The majority of your brain was pleading with you to rationalize this. Maybe you’d seen one of the articles before. Maybe your grandpa talked about him. Holy shit he had known your grandpa. Every individual thought you had was identifiable and that was far too overwhelming for your brain to handle. You signed out of the computer and went to go sit in your car. Could you even drive like this? Your hands were shaking so bad there was a good chance you’d crash the car before you got home. It’s twenty minutes, you thought. You had to go back. Staying away from the house any longer felt like a punishment. You can make it twenty minutes.

–

“No, no. Like I said it was just some old guy who wrote a book. No sign of my Spencer.” You were lying straight through your teeth. You figured it didn’t truly matter. If you sat here and told the entire story of finding exactly who you were looking for online, you think she’d have checked you into a facility.

“Maybe if you believe hard enough you can manifest him.”

“Wow you’re hilarious. Remind me again how I ever lived my life without such a humorous presence.”

“I question that same thing everyday, Y/n.” You could hear the smile embedded in her words.

“I’ll let you go. I know Dylan is probably waiting on you. Thanks for checking up on the Spencer chronicles.” You felt slightly bad. She was on her honeymoon currently, and instead of spending time with her new husband, she was listening to your stories of fraternizing with a ghost.

“I’m sorry you’re going through this. I’m sure it’s weird as hell. Call me up if you need to, yeah? Hotel has unlimited calls so I can talk all night if you need to.” She was an angel in this world.

“Thanks, same goes here. If you get sick of your husband you know where to find me. Remember to use protection.”

“Alright, nevermind. You may suffer by yourself for all I care.” She laughed while she threatened you.

“Bye, honey. Love you.” You should have felt alone, but you never did. He was most likely here with you.

The exhaustion had well and truly crept up on you. You planned on getting home and calling your friend immediately, but you ended up needing a good few hours to cry and pace around the house. You weren’t scared - it was essentially the opposite. The complete lack of fear bred so much confusion that you didn’t know how to cope with the amount of frustration on your shoulders. You paced the house hoping to find him. You wanted to be near him. You harbored the immature hope that knowing who he was would grant you the ability to see him. Did you even know who he was? He was a doctor, an agent, but who was he to you? Is that what you needed to know in order to see him?

Now, sitting on your bed, you felt like you’d been through the ringer. The mental gymnastics of the day weighing heavily on your body. You needed to go to sleep. You wanted to go to sleep. In the last week or so you’d noticed a certain excitement regarding the promise of another tale, another dream. They were so extravagant, not even in the details of them, just in the consistency of pure emotion. You could have been fighting dragons or sitting on the porch in rocking chairs. If he was by your side, there was always this certain euphoria surrounding the two of you. A feeling reserved just for you and him. God you missed him.

–

You woke up slowly to a familiar bed beneath you, this was your house. The window was open, curtains blowing cautiously as the mild chill of the Fall breeze wafted in and dusted over your collarbones. It wasn’t this cold last night. You felt the breeze again on your whole body, and realized you were lying naked on top of the ruffled comforter. Had he pulled the blanket off you?

“Are you cold? I didn’t think to shut the window when I got up. I was kind of rushing to get my stuff.” You noticed then that he was sat behind a canvas, angled so he could glance between you and the task at hand with ease. He noticed you furrow your eyebrows, and even managed to catch the minuscule tense of your muscles as you prepared to sit up.

“Stay still for me, honey. I’m almost done.” He was adding feather-light brushstrokes to the piece, a finishing touch of his you now recognized from watching him paint so much.

“This isn’t a very good pose, Spence. You know I’m not the most photogenic.” You referred to the fact you had been sleeping as he painted, limbs not organized and environment chaotic. Notoriously unfavored things by the man. Maybe he was hoping to capture a candid version of you.

He exhaled a laugh. “How rich coming from you.” His lips quirked upward as he continued adding touch-ups to his art. “Something about you this morning…I don’t know.” He shook his head like he was talking to himself rather than you. “You just looked…mesmerizing.” He shrugged, brushing off the sentiment. “Felt wrong to just look at you.”

Dumbfounded was the only word you could think to describe yourself. He’d painted you before, mainly from the neck up for practice with faces, but this was different terrain. You were nervous to see the piece. You thought of your hips, your stomach, your legs. A silhouette he’d sworn time and time again was worthy of worship. One he wanted to treasure. You hoped you’d see a glimpse of yourself through his lens, hoped all that adoration would show on the canvas. Once he was finished with it, he turned it so you could see. It was breathtaking. His talent never failed to leave you speechless.

“I feel like I should be paying for this.” You joked, but still felt as though something should be given in return. He stood from his stool and joined you on the bed.

“I assure you, I’m well compensated.” Your face ran hot. “Can I hang it?”

“Spence, I’m naked-”

“Not downstairs, Y/n.” He chuckled. “I’d put it there.” He nodded to a vacant wall space on the right side of the room, entirely visible from his side of the bed.

“You want me watching you sleep, Reid?”

He grinned at you, shaking his head slightly at your remark. “Just wanna be able to see you.” He held your eyes. “I’m hoping looking at you before I go to sleep will give me good dreams.” You hummed in sarcastic agreement, your gaze falling soft a moment later.

“You can if you want to.” He looked relieved.

“Thanks, honey.” He looked stunning in the morning light. The sun hadn’t risen too long ago, and he was only covered partially by a pair of joggers. He was practically luminous, the bare skin of his chest looking golden in the sunlight. You stuck your hands out to feel him, and you felt as though you were trying to touch heaven itself. He leaned down to be closer to you, he always said you felt magnetic.

“You should let me paint you like this more often.”

“Is that right?”

“Mhm”

And, just like before, you could breathe again when he kissed you. Truly breathe. It was times like these when he felt like your oxygen, like pulling away should be sin. Lord knows you would suffer any version of Hell for him.

–

Your frustration seemed to have doubled in your sleep. Two am. You were gonna find that fucking painting. It wasn’t in the spot he left it - you would have noticed a giant painting of yourself naked on the walls, but you double checked to be sure. You threw up every light switch you came across and started scavenging through the upstairs. There was a certain tug in your body - when you didn’t find it in a room, you knew it wasn’t there, something internal telling you to look elsewhere. It was only when you were halfway done with the downstairs raid that you remembered the storage room. You’d found it when you first moved in, a room full of dust and white tarps covering furniture and other indecipherable shapes. It had to be in there.

You wrecked havoc on the tiny room. Tearing off layers of fabric quickly, leaving little thought to where you were throwing them, completely tunnel visioned on finding the painting. You came across a covered square the same size as the canvas had been. It was coated in so much dust that the covering looked ancient, and you were begging any conceivable being to be merciful, to let you have at least this if you couldn’t have him. You unveiled the shape to find the same vibrant pigments you’d seen just hours before. It was you, draped over the comforter and basking in the hue of the morning. This was it, you thought. Holy shit this is real. You had no grounds to deny this anymore. Spencer was a real guy, clearly he’d died in this house and clearly the two of you had lived enough lives together to fill months of sleepless nights with.

What did this mean for you? Were you a clone? Were you and Spencer both clones? Were you living in a simulated reality and all of this was actually a ruse calculated to induce reactions in the brain that could then be studied? Oh my god - were you a ghost too? Had you died and were now stuck in some form of purgatory?

You felt sick with it. You didn’t know you were capable of bearing such intense metaphorical weight. You needed to see him. Maybe if you went to sleep, you would realize you were having a dream and could figure some things out. That’s so stupid. You mentally scolded yourself for even thinking of such a dumb idea. You needed to speak with him. You needed him to tell you what was going on. Of course him and everyone in your life who could have known him were six feet deep. A seance, maybe? Perhaps just buy a ouija board and wing it. You’d seen the most of him when you were asleep, that had to be the key to figuring this out. Please dear god let it be the key to figuring this out. You took the painting and headed back upstairs. Maybe it could serve as a medium, you thought. That’s a thing, right?

You don’t think your bed had ever seemed so uninviting. You remember how grateful you’d been to finally sleep on your first day here. It was a pain in the ass hauling a mattress up a spiral staircase and the moment you realized you were done was a relief to say the least. Now you stared at it and your mouth ran dry. What if this didn’t work? What did you even want to happen? Were you going to rummage through your dreams and play detective to piece together what might have happened in your past? No degree of mental antagonizing could push you off course by now. He was real. You know he’d been a real man, and surely the painting of you meant you’d known him as something other than a ghost. You were simply praying this would work out how you wanted. You needed a semblance of closure, even just a small one.

–

The room was dark, making you double check if you opened your eyes in the first place. You hadn’t had a dream. This was the first time in months you had fallen asleep and woken up without having lived a different life. You felt tears forming in your eyes. The disappointment you felt was so immeasurable that your brain practically short circuited trying to find a way to process it. You knew it was a long shot for everything to be fixed overnight, but you’d expected something. Like he was reading your mind, the bed dipped down, him now occupying the space next to you in bed.

You were worried your head might fall off your neck with how quickly you turned to look at him. The moonlight came beaming in through the window, like she was your secret ally, giving you enough light to finish your battle. It lit him up, practically shining through him like it would a crystal. He was ethereal. You stared into the same brown eyes you’d been looking into for months and felt your resolve give way from within you. You could have looked at him forever, you wanted to look at him forever, but you crashed hard into him. You would have fused your soul to his at that very moment if you were able to. Nobody had ever drawn out such a reaction - you needed to feel him. It was the proof you had been begging for, he was here, he was tangible. You could finally know what it all meant.

You felt his chest jolt as he chuckled at you. “I missed you.” You could hear the smile in his words.

Choking on a sob, you spoke your response so quietly you could barely hear yourself. “What the fuck is going on?” You knew tears were probably soaking through his shirt but he just held you against him. “Please tell me you know what’s happening.” You were muttering your words quickly, sharply inhaling between your sentences as air refused to stay in your lungs.

He ran his hand up and down the length of your forearm, a motion so familiar and so comforting you’re sure your knees would have buckled if you weren’t lying down. “Just relax, honey. I can explain everything, ok? I just need you to breathe right now.”

It was hard to maintain your oxygen through the sobs begging to get out of your chest but you were nothing if not stubborn. You needed an explanation. If that was his condition then so be it. You took a deep breath, regaining your ability to inhale and exhale at a regular pace. You could see the room better now having been awake in the dark for a while, so you tried to focus on anything that might help. The painting. You stared holes into that thing and forced your breathing to even out.

“I was really proud of that one.” His words held an instinctual twinge of fondness, still smiling as he spoke. Like now that he had you, he could describe any horror of the world and still be happy with you in his arms. He looked back at you, tracing his thumb along your jaw. “You seem to get prettier with every lifetime.”

Even as the overwhelming confusion wrecked your brain, your body was completely in tune with him. Warmth seemed to spring to life in your stomach, his words bypassing any guards you had to root themselves within you. He regarded the situation so lightly, so casually. He wasn’t worried about slipping away, or running out of time. He would have given you a decade to calm down if you needed it. He seemed content with just calling you pretty, as though he’d waited a century to touch you again.

“My dreams, were they -” You paused. You didn’t even know what to ask him. “What were my dreams?” Were they real?

He took a moment to just stare at you. The smallest, knowing smile on his face and a look of pure adoration in his eyes. He knew what you were asking. “They were us.” Fucking obviously. If you were any more on the edge of your seat you would fall off. “All the lives we’ve lived together.” Jesus.

“How long ago-”

“Two thousand years, 5 months, 27 days, and-” he leaned up slightly to check the clock “14 hours.” Giving you the cutest tight-lipped smile when he finished talking like he didn’t just say you’d been in love for two millennia.

“So we’re soul mates?”

“Essentially.” He nodded. ‘Soulmates’ was close enough.

“But - is everyone like this, then?” Did all your friends have this too? Everyone in the world? “Everyone has a soulmate?” Your friend’s on her honeymoon right now.

He laughed a little and shook his head. “No, no. It’s just us.” What was so special about the two of you? “For all I know of at least. Your uh…your husband-” He hesitated for just a second, fingers digging into your skin just a fraction harder. “He found out about us. Had his mother cast a spell. He thought he was punishing us, I think. Figured we’d get sick of it after a while. Poor guy, all he did was condemn us to eternity together.” He held no genuine pity for the guy, more amusement at the thought of his plan actually succeeding.

“How long have you been here?” You hadn’t bothered to check when the articles were from, too busy trying to keep your head on straight to look for the publication date.

“A year.” A year of him alone in this house. God, you couldn’t even imagine. “I started having dreams of you. Everyday I just felt, like, something pulling me away from where I was. I knew your grandfather from an old case I worked and everything just seemed to happen.” He reminisced fondly, like the memory didn’t hurt him. “I don’t even really know how I died. I just remember having a party one night, and how the hallway looked from the bottom of the stairs.” Oh my God the warm spot.

“When you moved in I was thrilled but - fuck, honey, it was torture.” He delivered the line like it was a joke but his eyes were watering. “I couldn’t talk to you, I couldn’t help you - I couldn’t fucking touch you and it was unbearable.” His hands hadn’t left you since you woke up. Making up for lost time, you guessed. There was one question you were brutally aware of, something that persisted in your head even as you tried to enjoy the moment.

“Why can I see you now, then?”

He sighed, so full of devastation that it was clear he’d been preparing for this. “You can’t.”

“What?”

“You’ve seen all our lives, Y/n. This is the only one left.” He was so delicate in his explanations. His palms soothing over your face as if trying to physically soothe the sting of his words.

“Wait what does that-” What was he talking about? “I don’t understand.”

“To be honest, I don’t really understand it either.” He exhaled at his own ignorance, the words unfamiliar in his mouth. “For the first time, I don’t know what’s gonna happen when you wake up.”

“Wake up? What do you mean wake up - Spence I’m awake.” You held onto his wrist that was near your face for emphasis, his hand still caressing your face. “I’m awake.”

His eyes were definitely watering. “No, Y/n, you’re not.”

“Spencer.” You’d never said it so sadly before. Tears were in your eyes for the second time that night. You would have done anything to carve this moment into stone. Sit here in his arms until time forced you into your next life.

“It’s ok, honey.” He was always reassuring, always safe. “We’ve done this for two thousand years, Y/n. You’re bound to get a little unlucky sometimes.” His optimism in the face of such a crushing development almost made you sick. Some things never change. “I finally have you back, alright? Just lay with me for a while. Whatever happens, we’ll figure it out. We’ve got plenty more lives to live.”

You halted the tears in your eyes, sniffling once to reign yourself in. “Ok.” You laughed, a little tearfully, and kissed him with all the love you had to give.

Plenty more lives to live.

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prettieinpink · 6 months

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MAKING FRIENDS ♡

Friends add so much value to your life. Especially ones that you like, and there is a positive healthy exchange of support and love in between. However, some of us do struggle to create meaningful friendships that last. To start this post, I will start by talking about how friendships are essential to becoming the best versions of ourselves.

Friends help us in many ways, even if they don’t even do it directly. We discover new things about ourselves just by talking to them, we have a sense of belonging and build our self-esteem. It’s not impossible to have these things and be alone, though being alone for extended periods can fester feelings of social isolation & loneliness.

As someone who’s experienced both, usually, these feelings can make us spiral deeper as it is just the tip of the iceberg. Humans need daily communication to feel sane, which has been proven again and again.

If you decide to invest a lot more time, effort, and energy in friends, there’s bound to be an overflowing amount of rewards. Hanging around the right people can open up new opportunities for yourself drive you closer to achieving your goals and help advance your skills.

This being said, if you invest in the wrong people or neglect your friends, the opposite will more than likely happen. Remember that the people you allow in your life can influence you, whether for better or worse.

REDEFINING YOUR MINDSET TOWARDS MAKING FRIENDS

Your mindset is so crucial to making friends. It can either help you or not. Another thing is that your mindset towards life, in general, can either repel or attract people to be around you.

Firstly and importantly, do not get attached to people you barely know. Don’t overthink about them, change yourself for them or get anxious waiting for a reply. Seriously, detach. Little things like replies or if they’ll like you, should not bother you. The concept of it bothering you should not even exist in your mind.

Secondly, do not think of humans as assets to support your growth. This is just so icky and once you get that materialistic perspective on friendships, it just becomes harder to create meaningful ones. While friends can help you grow and achieve your goals, they will drop you once they realise they’re being taken advantage of.

Thirdly, stay true to yourself. A bit of common advice, yet not widely followed. Never, ever, make the effort to change yourself for someone to like you a bit better. If someone doesn’t like you for just who you are, they’re not meant to be in your life, forcing it causes unnecessary & avoidable circumstances.

Fourthly, quality over quantity always. When you get older especially, it shouldn’t be your priority to gain masses of friends. Most likely, not all of your friends like you because it’s harder to invest in all of them and causes you to neglect them.

However, having quality friends who help you grow and succeed will never stop serving you in life even if that friendship falls out. Plus, you are too busy achieving your goals every day to entertain everyone you know.

Lastly, do not allow disrespect just because you’re friends. They will test the waters to see how much you can tolerate, then you allow them to, they’re just going to get more extreme with it. Identify disrespect in ‘jokes’ or casual conservation and call it out. These people are praying for your downfall.

That being said, just because it is not happening to you, don’t allow it. Once you establish yourself as only wanting respect, you’re going to get treated like it.

DEFINING YOUR INNER AND OUTER CIRCLE

Your inner circle consists of people whom you are close to, and have healthy and positive relations with them. These are the kind of people who you’d go to for emotional support or to celebrate great successes in your life.

Then, you have your outer circle. These can be people who you’re close to, but they’re not the closest. It consists of people who you talk to regularly, but there’s still that distance. Distance is not a bad thing at all in friendships, not everyone is meant to be your closest friend.

Now those two terms are established, I want you to visualise how you want those two circles to look. These can be people who you want to be friends with, wanting to cut anyone off or just people who you hope to meet one day.

Then define how you want to feel with those two circles, like a loving or caring circle, or a growth and learning circle. This is completely up to you, about how those circles feel and look like as it is for you.

I recommend writing your visualisations down and putting them somewhere you can see regularly. This is just to help us get into the energy of making meaningful friendships every day.

STANDARDS + CRITERIA IN FRIENDS

The heading is a little bit off-putting, I understand. However, it is essential to establish a set of standards once you start making friends. This is to make sure you’re making quality friendships, and not attaching to just anyone.

This is a bit of individual advice, you have to curate your standards by yourself. A personal example is that I’m Christian myself, I believe in God and I’m devoted to him.

So, in that case, I won’t allow other religions or non-religious people into my inner circle. While they can be in my outer circle, I would prefer having most of my friends believe in God and uphold his values.

Standards and criteria in friends can either be a must quality (they must have this quality) or a preferred quality (I prefer if they did, don’t mind if they don’t). You decide which qualities are which, and if they apply to your inner or outer circle.

Can’t say much, but to help you, I advise looking into yourself internally and once again, visualising what those friendships look like daily. To help, I’ve gathered a few journaling prompts!

What do you think are the responsibilities of friendship?

What is the nicest thing a friend could ever do for you?

What do you think friendship is?

How do you expect the aftermath to be after an argument with a friend?

How can someone become a part of your inner circle?

What behaviour makes you want to cut someone off?

Who were your favourite friends in the past? What did they do to become your favourite?

How would you like to be shown appreciation daily?

Do you like banter or prefer showering each other with compliments?

Then, extract from your responses to these prompts, some characteristics or traits that you look for in friendships.

BECOMING SOCIALLY ELOQUENT The first tip i’m going to give to you is to read. Not just in your head, but out loud reading. Read, and see if you’re going too fast or too slow, you’re pronouncing words clearly and know when to pause. Bonus points if you record yourself reading, then rewatch it to see your progress.

Search up any words you don’t know and how to pronounce them, and to test yourself, think of a way to use those words in an everyday sentence.

While this helps to expand your vocabulary as well, really keep in mind the setting of the conservation. If you’re at a science and math invention fair, more advanced language is suited. However, you wouldn’t use that same way of speaking casually at a party.

The second tip is to get rid of all filler words in your vocabulary.

Unnecessary when speaking and it can make you an unengaging conservationist. Just take a pause when thinking, and if you forget what you were talking about, tell your listener or just change the topic. Sometimes, these words are needed when speaking, but not all the time.

The third tip is just to do everything slower, while speaking. Move your hands slower, don’t dart your eyes around and take deep breaths before speaking. If not, you seem anxious and jittery, in which your words will not be clear.

The fourth tip is to pay attention to the listener. Make eye contact with them and ask questions about them too. This makes it a lot more engaging and therefore, easier for the listener to listen.

My fifth tip, and the most important, is to practice speaking. Whether it is in front of a mirror or with a partner. Use notes as reminders while practising to help you remember what to do. There are even videos on YouTube where you can pretend you’re having a conversation with someone, or you could just make your own.

However, practice yourself to speak without preparation. Like for example, you strike up a conservation with your classmate and apply the things you’ve learnt.

Bear in mind, that the whole point of becoming socially eloquent isn’t to make people listen to you, but to make it easier for people to listen to you.

MAKING FRIENDS + KEEPING THEM

Now everything else is out of the way, let’s talk about what you probably came here for. How to make friends and keep them. Better said than done.

The settings where you meet someone are important. It allows you to easily connect with people who are similar to you in any way, without actually having to state it. Here are a few places to meet people.

Church/any religious site (same beliefs)

Sports club (like that sport/exercise)

Any classes (people who like learning/that hobby)

School or university (you’ve got something to connect over)

These are just a few examples of where to meet people, however, you do not have to go somewhere else just to meet someone. Sometimes, I go to my nearest shopping mall or supermarket either after school or on the weekend and talk to any girls who look around my age, with whom I’ve gained so many friends.

While going to a particular setting helps to find people with similarities, it’s not the essential piece to meet people.

If you struggle to make friends just by striking up a conversation, just make yourself known to others first. Help them when needed, compliment them or greet them daily. They will most likely approach you first and talk to you first as you’ve deemed yourself approachable. Do not rely on this method though, not everyone is willing to approach you.

Once you find a potential friend and you’re talking to them, make sure it’s an engaging conversation. First, ask open-ended questions. Open-ended questions are ones that someone can expand on, basically not yes or no answers.

Do you own any cats? -> What’s your favourite cat breed?

Do you enjoy *activity*? -> What’s your favourite thing to do after school?

When can we hang out? -> Where’s your favourite place to hang out?

These are the kinds of questions that you get to know someone and are engaging. Remember, do not be overbearing with questions, it can come off as kinda odd.

Secondly, find any similarities and talk about them. For example, a sport, a favourite book, a hobby, religion. It is so easy for people to connect over their favourite things.

Thirdly, have open and friendly body language. Smile when they’re talking, maintain eye contact, avoid crossing your arms and legs, and lean in to show you’re listening. People love love, good listeners.

My fourth point which refers back to being good listeners, is remembering what they say. If they said, oh I love going to the beach, maybe suggest going to the beach together. Or, they said, I hate studying, then the next time they have a test, help them study.

Lastly, avoid small talk. It becomes awkward and the answers are always the same. If you must, ask them about things that happened in their life. Like, how’s that boy you’re talking to or did you do well on that test?

Most people also hate small talk. So, if every single conservation is just small talk, they would not want to talk to you.

These little things that you remember can make people like you and therefore, want to be your friend. I remember stuff about people by just writing it down and occasionally referring back to it.

Now, let’s say you’ve got your friend now. However, you don’t have a way of talking to them every day. They don’t live close by nor do they attend your school/uni/any place. So, how do we keep them?

Easy, invest in those friendships. Talk to them via messages or phone, schedule days to hang out, check up on them to make sure they’re doing well, be honest with them, remember important dates of their lives etc.

Keeping friends is just about being a good friend to them. Just think about how you would like to get treated by your friends and treat them like that. Even if they don’t reciprocate, putting out those positive actions, will come back to you one day.

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