Grown Up The Same Means, They Are Mutually In Love; But Damian Still Keeps Asking Himself Why He’s

He did not learn a single thing...

Scavenger Hunt

Riddle x GN Reader/Yuu

I was possessed and had no choice but to write this or DIE

Also I made each of those fucking riddles by HAND AND IT WAS SO MUCH EFFORT FOR NO REASON

cw: none, just fluff :)

Treasure hunts, Riddle thought, were wastes of time. The idea of choosing to embark on a wild goose chase, for whatever reason, just didn’t click for him. Its supposed thrill never sat well with him, because who voluntarily gave themselves stress? If they found time to fool about, they certainly had time to do something more productive.

Yet on the rarest of occasions, today his schedule lay barren. It wasn’t as if it was the only box empty on the calendar, but his students seemed to be more than willing to take slices off his workload. Even Ace and Deuce, the troublemakers they were, forced bright grins, crisp uniforms buttoned and collars flat. Something was definitely up. 

Trey, as reliable as he was, could only smile placidly. Knowing the housewarden, the sudden shift in everyone’s attitude would only cause needless worry; yet Yuu insisted that ‘he’ll love it!’ This little surprise took days to plan, with them dipping in and out of the dorm’s halls to plan this one perfect day, and a small card along to go with it. He wasn’t so rude to open it, but even if he wasn’t one for theatrics, there were a few guesses on what was written. Waving the white and red envelope, he adjusted his eyeglasses. “Riddle, the Prefect left you a note, if you want to read it.”

“Oh, so this was their doing.” Even if the vice housewarden needed glasses, he could plainly see the way Riddle’s face softened, as if it was obvious now. Gloved digits plucked the letter delicately, admiring the rosy sticker decor that kept it sealed. Letters should always be sealed with hot wax and a stamp, then opened with a proper letter opener outwards from the body; but he’ll forgive their minor blunder, on account that Yuu didn’t own any wax or stamps. Perhaps he would gift them some, so such an oversight wouldn’t happen again. The letter itself was penned on thick stationery, velvet under his touch and adorned with the same glossy rose stickers. 

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(Read Right to Left) A short comic about Malleus discovering Gargoyles ✨

Thanks to @ask-the-twst-girls for the cute idea! It took forever but i had a lot of fun creating it!🥺💕

4k Follower Special

In which (Y/n) decides to perform at the Mostro Lounge to earn some money for renovating Ramshackle.

The song she has chosen? Dear Future Husband.

And rumours say that tickets are sold out.

Idea by @vallison-rea

"Is my superstar for the evening ready?"

Azul's excited voice rang through the changing room you currently occupied. The sound of the door being closed gently and his footsteps padding against the floor caused you to turn around and shoot him a small smile as soon as you lay eyes on him. Despite the anxiety that simmered in the depths of your stomach, the excitement that rushed through your veins left you unable to sit still — much to Grim's dismay, who was currently doing your make-up.

A restless huff escaped your lips when Azul appeared behind you, his gloved hands resting on your shoulders. His eyes watched you through the mirror in front of you as he waited for your answer.

Taking in a deep breath, you exclaimed, "Yes, I am—" Yet, the grin on your face disappeared when suddenly, a cloud of dust enveloping your head caused you to break down into coughs. Once the air cleared up, you found your cat companion grinning at you innocently, his paws smeared full with make-up. You shot him a glare. "Grim, that's enough powder!"

The cat monster waved you off and instead began dusting you with perfume. "Yada, yada... one can never wear enough make-up!" he muttered while drawing a lipstick from behind his back, causing you to swipe it out of his hands and firmly plant it on the table before he could cause further trouble.

Behind you, Azul let out a chuckle of amusement. "Are you nervous?" he asked and tilted his head to the side teasingly.

The corners of your lips trembled at his question. "Kind of—"

"You shouldn't be," he cut you off briskly, his eyes full of confidence as his gaze growing more intense. You gulped and sank into your seat, feeling the pressure on you growing, as did his grip on your shoulders. But before he could hurt you, he removed his hands and crossed them behind his back, a charming smile on his face. "Just give it your all. All the seats are sold out, and we wouldn't want to disappoint the customers, no?"

You couldn't help but roll your eyes. "Yes, Azul..." A hum of satisfaction escaped his lips, and he turned around to leave you to your own devices. Yet, another matter that lingered in the back of your mind still wouldn't leave you be. So, before he could walk through the door, you suddenly piped up, "I'll get the money immediately after the show is over, won't I?"

The merman came to a halt, then slowly turned around to nod. "As promised, dear. As promised."

Satisfied with his answer, you averted your gaze to the mirror in front of you again, not noticing as Azul remained in the door frame, his arms crossed and his statue leaning against the frame.

Grim, who had been quietly rolling a lipstick between his paws so far, turned his attention to you and grabbed your hands with his paws. "Now, go out there and get us that money! I'm sick of sleeping on that dusty old mattress..." he exclaimed, his eyes full of high expectations. You were about to wave him off in mild annoyance, but were stunned into silence when his usually so boisterous blue eyes revealed a sheen of worry. "But— But! Beware of those simps, alright? Come back in one piece."

His genuine concern caused a smile to appear on your lips. "Don't worry about it, Grim. They're harmless," you muttered under your breath while patting his head.

Yet, the worry that laced his face still wouldn't disappear. "They better be," he growled, "or else the great Grim is going to tear their heads off!"

Before you could assure him that everything would be alright, Azul interrupted the moment by exclaiming, "Alright, now— showtime!" Without even waiting for a reply from your side, he pulled you out of your chair with the excitement of a child and led you down the hallway that led to the backstage area of the lounge.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes in amusement, practically being able to see Madol signs in his eyes.

Azul came to a halt just behind the curtains, where Jade was already waiting to press a microphone into your trembling hands. Both of them wished you good luck before retreating, leaving you on the dark stage all by yourself. Behind the curtains, you could already hear murmurs and whispers — you gulped at the thought of how many people must be be on the other side.

Suddenly nervous, you gazed down at yourself and smoothed out the non-existent wrinkles on your (F/c) dress. And just as you were sure you had eliminated the last flaw of your gown, the curtains began to move aside; the brightness of the lights turning on at the same time almost blinded you. Simultaneously, someone announced, "We present you now: (Y/n), Prefect of Ramshackle, performing the song 'Dear Future Husband'!" You recognised that voice as Jade's.

Once your eyes got used to the blinding lights, you realised just how many students were seated in front of you — so Azul hadn't exaggerated when he said that tickets for the show were sold out. You were even able to discern some familiar faces at the tables. Your knees suddenly grew weak, but determination flooded your thoughts when the music began to play from the speakers attached all around the lounge.

So, taking on last breath, your eyes then shot open, determined to give them their money's worth.

"Dear future husband, here's a few things you'll need to know if you wanna be~" you began softly while making your way towards the staircase that led down to the tables. If Azul wanted you to put on a show, then you would gladly fulfill his wish. Still clutching the microphone tightly in your hands, you ventured over to the closest table. "My one and only all my life~"

Your eyes fell on a familiar ginger-haired Heartslabyul student, who seemed to be recording a video of you. You sauntered over to him and shot him a wink, smiling right into the camera. "Take me on a date! I deserve a break~" Cater laughed along, as carefree as usually, and zoomed in when you blew him a kiss. "And don't forget the flowers every anniversary," you finished before moving on again.

Cater was grinning to himself as he lowered his phone and began furiously typing in hashtags. "#worthit, #everyonesgonnabejealous, #azulisagenius." Then, in utter satisfaction, he posted the video to his MagiCam account.

Your next victim sat right next to him, a fellow Heartslabyul member — good old Trey. A little chuckle escaped his lips when you grabbed his hand and pulled him to his feet. "'Cause if you'll treat me right, I'll be the perfect wife," you sang and made him spin you around, as if dancing a waltz. "Buying groceries— Buy-buying what you need." Before you parted again, he was sly enough to press a kiss to your knuckles.

The gesture caught you off-guard at first, but you quickly regained your composure after a few giggles. With a heavy heart, you removed your hand from his and continued along your way.

Ruggie came into view, and he looked excited when he noticed that your attention lay on him. So, once your free hand came down to rest on his shoulder, he began snickering, like he always did. "You got that 9 to 5," you chanted while playfully kneading his tense shoulder with your hand, drawing a relieved sigh from his lips. "But, baby, so do I~" A disappointed frown grew on his face when you removed your hand and sauntered away.

"So don't be thinking I'll be home and baking apple pies." A chuckle escaping your lips, you booped Epel's nose, who let out an annoyed grumble at your gesture. You couldn't help but swoon when an adorable pout appeared on his face, which served to only irritate him even further.

Your eyes roamed the room for your next subject — and they landed on Jamil. The poor Scarabia student sank into his seat and pulled the hood over his face when he noticed you approaching. But his attempt to disappear was fruitless with how you nonetheless wrapped an arm around him and put your chin on his head. "I never learned to cook," you sang, swearing that you could feel him tremble beneath you. "But I can write a hook, so sing along with me." Eventually, you took pity on the poor boy, and since Floyd — who sat next to him — seemed so eager to have you around him next, you let Jamil be.

Just as you got into the near vicinity of Floyd, he grabbed your arm and pulled you into his lap, much to your surprise. Nonetheless, you appreciated that his hold on you was loose enough to allow you to breathe properly and to escape should you want to. So, smiling, you chanted, "Sing-sing along with me, hey!" And indeed, Floyd hummed along, very reminiscent of a young child — but when he flashed his sharp teeth to you, you sank into yourself in fear.

A nervous smile on your face, you unwrapped yourself from his grasp and rose to your feet again. The second-year made a few attempts of grabbing you again, but you managed to evade his swipes and simply continued on your way through the tables.

"You gotta know how to treat me like a lady," you sang while intentionally bumping against Leona. "Even when I'm acting crazy." The beastman shot you an annoyed look, followed by an amused scoff.

Next to the dorm leader sat Jack, whose fluffy white hair you ruffled. "Tell me everything's alright~" you continued and hurried away before he could send you a threatening glare. The poor wolf remained frozen in his seat, his cheeks tinted a dark red.

As you walked past the Diasomnia table, you shot Sebek a wink, knowing his reaction would be hilarious. "Dear future husband, here's a few things you'll need to know if you wanna be~" you sang, accompanied by a few giggles. "My one and only all my life~" And indeed, the poor half-fae turned beet red, a series of stuttered insults escaping his lips.

Malleus' eyes were filled with hidden yearning as you seemed to walk right past him, but the pout on his face actually managed to make you turn around and approach him again. "Dear future husband, if you wanna have a special night walk," you cooed and patted his hand that openly lay on the table, fearing that a more daring gesture would get you killed by a certain retainer of his. "Tell me I'm beautiful each and every night." The dragon fae nodded eagerly and watched you intensely as you disappeared into the crowd again.

When you reappeared behind Epel and put a hand on his shoulder, a startled yelp escaped his lips. He sat there, frozen — unwilling to move his upper body left and right along with you to tye rhythm. "After every fight, just apologise. And maybe then I'll let you try and rock my body right," you sang jokingly, unable to take yourself seriously, resulting in a series of chuckles escaping your lips.

When you distanced yourself from Epel's table again, his eyes were filled with utter confusion. He even turned to Rook for help, but the hunter was busy laughing his soul out, especially when he gazed into the first-year's lost eyes.

"Even if I was wrong. You know I'm never wrong," you cooed and wrapped an arm around Deuce and Ace each. "Why disagree? Why, why disagree?" They nodded along to your singing, laughing and smiling as they always did. Deuce looked mildly nervous with how close you stood to him, and a relieved sigh escaped his lips when you removed your arms again and skipped off into the centre of the lounge.

"You gotta know how to treat me like a lady, even when I'm acting crazy~" you sang and twirled around in circles. The adrenaline pumped through your veins, and you were having the time of your life despite the doubts you had been plagued with earlier. "Tell me everything's alright~" Completely caught in the moment, you would have bumped against a table, if it weren't for an occupant of that particular table jumping up and catching you beforehand.

A gasp escaped your lips at how close of a call it had been. You soon where propped to your feet again by your saviour, who was none other than Lilia. You shot him a grateful smile. "Dear future husband, here's a few things you'll need to know if you wanna be~" you continued smoothly, all the while looking him deep in the eyes. For a moment, only the ancient fae and you seemed to exist. "My one and only all my life~" A charming grin flashed across his face when you bid him a goodbye with a curtsy.

Your eyes were fixated on Vil, your mind rumbling about what to do with him. Touching him in any way was a no-go — he would snap at you for bringing his hair, clothes, or make-up out of order. So, you simply shot him a wave, at which he quirked an eyebrow. "Dear future husband, make time for me," you sang, the lyrics causing his lips to quirk up in amusement. "Don't leave me lonely~" He waved you off, chuckling.

With Rook on the other hand, you decided to go all out. "And no, we'll never see your family more than mine!" you continued while grabbing his signature hat and lowering it onto your own head. Laughing, you struck a few poses with it.

A playful gasp escaped the hunter's lips, his face contorted into an expression that spoke of adoration. The way his amused green eyes seemed to hold you in place made it difficult for you to turn around and walk away, but you eventually managed to tear your gaze away from him, much to his disappointment. Unable to refrain from giggling, you returned the hat to its rightful owner.

Your feet somehow carried you back to the Diasomnia table, where you approached the only sleeping occupant, who managed to not be disturbed by all the noise around him somehow — Silver. You nudged his shoulder, causing him to fall into Lilia, who seemed amused by the whole situation. "I'll be sleeping on the left side of the bed," you cooed and shot Silver a wink when he awoke from his slumber. Due to how disoriented he seemed, it looked like he didn't have the faintest clue of what was happening.

"Open doors for me and you might get some kisses~" you sang as you walked past Jade, making sure to wiggle your eyebrows at him jokingly. The gesture caused a little chuckle to escape his lips.

"Don't have a dirty mind," you cooed and booped Kalim's nose. "Just be a classy guy." With how innocent the Scarabia dorm leader was, he began laughing and cheering for you as you continued to the next table.

There, you found your next victim — Azul. A grin occupied your face when you looked him dead in the eyes and sang, "Buy me a ring. Buy-buy me a ring, babe." You held your free hand out to him, causing him to chuckle in amusement. His eyes watched you intensely while you skipped to the adjacent table.

Riddle sat there, and his face already had turned red without you even doing anything — just looking at him and winking was enough to make his cheeks become as red as his hair. "You gotta know how to treat me like a lady, even when I'm acting crazy." Giggling, you bowed deeply — just like you had seen Deuce often do, but this time, the gesture held a teasing connotation to it. "Tell me everything's alright~" When you straightened your back again, you found steam of embarrassment coming out of the dorm leader's ears.

Proud of yourself, you carried on — your sights set on the floating tablet in a shadowy corner. "Dear future husband, here's a few things you'll need to know if you wanna be~" you chanted while drawing a heart onto the screen of the tablet with your index finger. "My one and only all my life!" No sound came out of the tablet's speakers, but you swore you could hear a sound akin to some wires short-circuiting.

The end of the song was nearing, and for that, you hurried back to the stage. Once having arrived there, you finished, "Future husband, better love me right~" Your voice rang through the large lounge, and you put every ounce of your remaining energy into the grand finale.

Eventually, the music came to a halt and faded out into silence. Your chest heaving up and down, you opened your eyes to find everyone frozen in their seats. Yet, that quickly changed, and the quietness that used to envelop the lounge quickly turned into defeaning applause. Students rose from their seats and clapped and cheered their souls out.

"Thank you, thank you!" you cried out happily and bowed.

Students threw roses onto the stage, causing a large smile to appear on your lips. Careful not to pick up a rose with a thorny stem, you grabbed the one that lay by your feet and twirled it between your fingers. By then, the applause had faded out, and everyone was watching you again, as if they had been enchanted.

"That was (Y/n) with 'Dear Future Husband'," the announcer piped up. "But one question remains: who will be her dear future husband?"

"Me!" almost everyone yelled out at once.

Your heart sank in dread when the guests all began glaring at one another, some expressing their hostility more openly than others. That was the moment you realised: you had messed up.

I CANT PUT THE OTHER IMAGES😭😭

Look at the reblogs to see the kalim, azul, deuce, and jade version<3

hi!!! here for a request. can we have a imagine where reader has a wound from surgery or whatever on like in a rib and she hides to change the bandages but then spencer sees her and he’s like ‘lemme help you’ and…

you do you for the rest!

in which spencer helps BAU fem!reader change her bandages in the bathroom at work. it's intimate, and he's adorable and awkward, and it only fuels her terrible, terrible crush.

warnings/tags: fluff, talk/description of wound, brief talk of being stabbed (does not actually occur in this fic lol), reader wears a bra, spencer undoes said bra but not sexually, lots of suggestive humor and teasing, a TINY sprinkling of angst but not really, idiots in love

a/n: i'm picturing early seasons spencer and it is filling me with so much unbridled joy. I. LOVE. HIM. thank you for the request!! and lets not talk about how inconsistent my formatting for requests is pls and thanks!!

It’s not like you meant to bend down so quickly that your wound reopened—but here you are, suffering the consequences of your actions in the women’s bathroom at Quantico as you try to assess the injury before you re-bandage it. And your shoe is still untied. 

Unfortunately, the fact that you had quite literally been stabbed in the back last week makes it hard to reach said injury—especially when you’re at work and so can’t take off your shirt like you normally would. And all this struggling means it’s taking longer than it should, so now you’re focused on the wound and its scabby, wet edges and all the things it’s secreting rather than hurrying to give another statement of the entire event to Hotch since the first one had apparently been too sparse on the details. 

A knock sounds on the open door. Spencer calls your name. 

“You in there?”

The angle of your neck has your voice slightly strained as you call back, “yeah, what’s up? Is it Hotch?” you pause to hiss as you accidentally scratch at the wound with a nail. You don’t even want to know how much bacteria you just introduced to it. “Tell him I didn’t forget our meeting, I’ll be there in—”

“It’s not Hotch. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay with your back? I know you said you were going to check on it, but you’ve been in there a while.”

You sigh, dropping your sore arm as you continue to hold up your shirt with the other and regarding the reflection of your back in the mirror. 

“Actually—could you come in here?”

There’s a pause. 

“You want me to come into the women’s restroom?”

“Yes, Spencer. It’s fine. There’s nobody else in here. I just… I need some help, I think.”

The last part is admitted quietly, with an air of defeat. To admit to needing help, is, by your standards, the same as failure. Spencer knows this, which is probably the only reason he puts aside his hesitations and shuffles uncertainly into the tiled room. If you’re asking for help, it’s because you really need it. 

“What do you need help with?” he asks, sweeping his gaze suspiciously around the lavatory as if you were lying about there not being any other women present and this whole thing might be a trap of some sort. 

“It’s gross, and you can totally say no.”

He raises his brows expectantly, before spotting the weeping wound on your back. Unconsciously he steps closer, leaning forward. It’s not your fault, and the gore is not specific to you—anyone’s body would react this way to being stabbed. But you still feel embarrassed by the close attention to such an ugly marring, which nobody besides you and your doctors has actually seen up close.

“That doesn’t look good,” he mutters. The expression on his face is irritatingly familiar—the drawn brows, tightened eyes, barely parted lips—but it takes a moment before you realize what it is. 

“Reid,” you complain. He’s still stooped over slightly to examine the wound, and looks up at you through dark lashes with those infuriatingly warm puppydog eyes.

“What?”

“You’re looking at me the way you look at a dead body on the slab.”

His nose scrunches.

Some might say it scrunches adorably. 

“No, I’m not. That’s just my face.”

“Okay, well stop. It’s freaking me out.”

He pouts—actually pouts. Subtle, but bottom lip jutted out and all. It’s ridiculously endearing. 

“My face freaks you out?”

“Wh—no! That’s not what I said! You have—you have a great face! I didn’t mean—” 

You manage to claw yourself out of the hole you’re digging when you see the dopey smile growing on his face. 

Oh. He was fucking with you. 

He never used to do that. It’s unnerving to be the fucked with instead of the fucker for a change. Especially when it’s Spencer. 

“What did you need me for?” Spencer asks by way of peace offering. You close your eyes and sigh, attempting to collect your thoughts without his presence re-scrambling them.  

“Um—I just need you to put this bandage over it. I can’t reach without taking my shirt off.”

And now you’re forced to wonder if he’s thinking about you shirtless as much as you’re thinking about you shirtless.

“Yeah—don’t do that,” he says absentmindedly, stepping again closer to get a better look before turning to the nearest sink.

For some reason, this offends you. 

“Why not?”

Spencer pulls another face as he washes his hands—you love the constant flow of expressions he always seems so unconscious of. Even when they’re not pleasant and directed at you.  

“Are you asking me why shouldn’t you take your shirt off?” he clarifies. 

“I know why I shouldn’t take my shirt off, but I want to know why you think I shouldn’t take my shirt off.”

“Because we’re at work?” he observes astutely. You frown deeply at his completely logical reply. Spencer chuckles as he dries his hands and approaches once more, taking the square of gauze pre-lined with medical tape from your hand. “I mean, I can’t stop you. But it would be kind of a weird choice.”

“Oh, so me shirtless is weird?”

Cool fingers meet the comparatively hot skin of your back—where everything is still sensitive because the wound wreaked havoc on your nerves there. You flinch slightly. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs gently. Though his touch is so incredibly light it doesn’t really hurt—it hurts much less than when you’re tending to the wound, anyway. It’s almost soothing. After a moment he continues, a bit louder. “And that is not what I was saying. But I am completely comfortable asserting that it would be weird for you to be shirtless at work.”

The gentle touches contrast with his teasing words and serve to disorient you as you’re shaken back in to your usual dynamic. Which is markedly more sarcastic. 

“Well—”

Before you have to think of something to say, Spencer interrupts you. 

“Your, um—I think your… brassiere… is in the way.”

As soon as he says it you burst out laughing. It echoes through the room. 

“My brassiere? Are you actually 70 years old?”

His brows knit even tighter and his face gets very pink very quickly. He can’t meet your eyes over your shoulder. 

“That’s what it’s called.”

“Spencer, you may be the first person to use that word since 1952. Say bra.”

“I don’t want to,” he complains. Your laughter only grows as your head tips back. 

“Why? How is brassiere better than bra?”

“It’s—it’s too colloquial! I’m trying to be professional!”

“Call it a bra or I’m going to rub my dirty hands all over my back,” you threaten, adopting a poker face so he knows you mean business. His eyes widen immediately. 

“Oh my god! Bra! Do you want to introduce staph and meningitis and g—do not do that!”

“See? How hard was that?”

“I hate you,” he mumbles, face still flushed and adorable. “And you still have to take it off.”

“Excuse me?” you grin, pretending to be affronted because you know he didn’t mean it like that but it’s fun to pretend he did. Fun for you, of course. Not so much for him. He's utterly flustered by this point.

“Or at least undo it! It’s in the way.”

With a deeply bored sigh, you go to unclasp your bra—but as you go to do it your shirt drops down. You grimace, humor briefly forgotten as the fabric brushes the damaged skin. 

“I can’t—”

“Okay, just—I’ll do it,” Spencer says. “Just move your shirt again.”

So you do, watching his reflection as he works.

And you have not one joke to break the heavy silence with as you feel his knuckles gently pressing into the middle of your back, as he unclasps the bra with his characteristic tenderness and a surprising amount of agility. It’s quiet except for your pulse in your own ears as he carefully pushes it out of his way, holding it down with a hand to your rib cage and fingertips slipping just under the fabric of your shirt—unintentionally and certainly non-sexual, no doubt, but skimming under your heart in a way that still feels so intimate you’re realizing how touch-starved you are. 

“You do that often?” you find yourself asking, because you’re stupid, and you need to cool the tension before it chokes you, and you can’t help yourself even though you don’t actually want to know the answer. 

“I,” he begins, voice quiet as rustling paper, tongue darting over his lip and eyes narrowed. The sentence stalls as he focuses on placing the patch just so. “Do not think that is an appropriate workplace question.”

Something aches in the pit of your stomach. 

Something resembling jealousy. 

It was not the timid evasive linguistic maneuver of someone who is insecure about the thing they’re discussing. It was not the awkward fumbling no but I don’t want to tell you that which you were expecting from Spencer Reid. 

Nor is it an easy yes—an admission between friends. He doesn’t want to tell you. 

You swallow and try to act like yourself. 

“Yet here you are, in the woman’s restroom at our place of employment, undoing my bra. I think we’re past professionalism.”

“When you decontextualize it like that it sounds like something it’s not. This is professional, because I’m helping you with a wound you sustained on the job. I’m being a good colleague.”

Your lips twist into a smile he can’t see. 

“A great colleague would kiss it better.”

“It's almost like you want me to file a sexual harassment complaint with HR," he says through a little smirk as he smooths the bandage over. Before you can snip back, he steamrolls over his own teasing—you’ve both been speaking in almost reverent tones since he started but his voice loses the sarcastic edge from a second before and reverts back to concerned and sweet. “Does that feel okay?”

You rotate your shoulders best you can without letting go of your shirt or flashing the good doctor to check if it feels secure.  

“It’s good. And hey—if I were going to sexually harass you I would do a lot better than that. You think that’s my best material? That’s just the tip of the iceberg. I keep so many inappropriate comments to myself. You’d be shocked by some of the things I have almost said to you.”

He laughs, secures the band of your bra and begins fitting it to the clasp you’d had it on—and at that precise moment Emily walks in. 

“H—woah.”

“It’s—I’m—I was helping her!” Spencer panics, immediately removing his hands from you like his palms are burning and holding them up defensively. 

“Oh, you helped me alright,” you tease, pulling your shirt back into place. 

“Don’t say it like that!” And then, to Emily, “I was changing out her bandage!”

“Changing my bandage,” you emphasize, winking more than is advisable. 

“That’s—this is a hostile work environment! I feel unsafe!” Spencer almost yells, half laughs, as he scampers towards the door. “I’m going to HR!”

“Shut up! You love it!”

His laughter audibly travels farther away for several moments as he presumably goes back down the hallway to do his actual job. 

You have the stupidest grin on your face, but you wipe it off when you notice Emily staring. 

“What?”

“Nothing,” she says, shaking her head and looking away, moving toward a stall. “You’re just… you guys are funny.”

“What do you mean funny?” You demand, standing right outside her stall as she closes it. 

“Wh—I mean funny! Are you going to listen to me pee, you weirdo?”

You frown. 

She makes a good point. 

Unfortunately, giving Hotch a more detailed statement is just as bad as you’d thought it’d be. Despite how cheery you’ve tried to remain about the whole situation, despite the way you insisted that the wound was so shallow you didn’t need more than a few days off work, despite the jokes you make about forgetting it’s even there because it’s on your back—it’s hard not to remember exactly how the glass felt twisting under your skin, how you’d felt suddenly so hot and lightheaded and sick to your stomach and the way Morgan hollered because he didn’t know how deep it had gone after you crumpled quick from shock, when you’re asked to describe it all in excruciating detail. 

It only takes ten minutes, but they seem to drag on and on and by the time you’re leaving Hotch’s office you feel utterly drained. You hurry back to your desk, covertly wiping away moisture that you refuse to allow to become tears. Once seated, and having dodged sympathetic looks and avoided any do you want to talk about its, you allow yourself a few deep breaths with your eyes shut. 

When you open them, you realize there’s a fresh cup of your favorite tea on your desk, in the Snoopy mug the team is always fighting over. Now his little black nose is covered by a square of yellow paper. You’re already smiling as you peel away the sticky note and hold it closer. 

On it is an adorably odd smiley-face, and a note in familiar, messy looping scrawl. 

I would never report you to HR beautiful

That would be a stab in the back!

You snort loudly and clap a hand to your mouth—but you’ve already drawn the attention of almost everyone in the bullpen. 

When you turn to look at Spencer, he’s not looking back. Instead, his eyes are firmly trained on his computer screen. But he’s got his chin propped on his fist over the desk, and his knuckles are doing a poor job of concealing a giant self satisfied grin. He is the only person on the team who knows you well enough to make such a distasteful joke. And he also knows you well enough to know that it would make you feel so much better after your meeting with Hotch than all the well-meaning sincerity in the world ever could.

Funny. 

Maybe that is the right word for what you two are. 

The Hot One

You're that one hunk that EVERYONE has a crush on. Your wit and charm is known to make fangirls faint, and half of the entire fandom's thirst posts are about you. You could eat a cookie and everyone would lose their shit. Congrats, dude.

NEW CHALLENGE

1. FIRST, create a picrew using this maker, and then 2. SECOND take this quiz on how fandom would see you if you were a fictional character.  3 (THIRD) POST YOUR PIC AND YOUR DESCRIPTION IN THE REBLOG!

Bastard (Good)

You’re a bastard. A wet cat, if you will. And we love you for it. You’re a little shit, but in the good way. You are the baddest babygirl. You killed a man, but you looked good doing it. You flirted with the hero and the enemy. All of Tumblr is madly in love with you. Congrats, I guess?

Tagging EVERYONE but especially @magicaltear, @the-beeses-kneeses, @wafflesrisa, @mykingdomforapen, @marbat, @scientistsinistral, @halberdierminister​!

Hi, so I have a request, but please don't feel pressured to write it now.

I was wondering if you could please do a scene or scenario where Spencer shouts out in desperation and panic "where's my wife" after a close call with the team on a very dangerous case.

A/N: I put a bit of a twist on your request so I hope you still enjoy it! Thank you for requesting~♡

Warnings: minor injury to canon characters, explosion, temporary loss of hearing, sight, etc.

The force of the blow was so strong that when Spencer Reid finally came to, a few seconds after hitting the ground hard, he couldn't hear a thing. 

Whether it was adrenaline, or an injury, or pure shock, his senses were numb, and the only thought in his head as he started screaming was of you. 

“Wh-where,” he coughed, shaking his head to try and focus. “Where's my wife?” 

His voice was quiet and weak at first, but it didn't matter to him. After all, he couldn't hear the words at all. He just felt his lips form the words and knew the familiar vibrations in his throat meant the sound was escaping into the wind. 

You pushed through crowds with a scream as you tried to get through to your team. Spencer wasn't the only one close to the blast. 

Emily, JJ, Morgan, and Hotch were all in various states of disarray around you as you ran back from the car across the street. You'd run back to check some files, feeling something off, and the heat and loud boom behind you was the confirmation you'd been looking for that you were right. 

After his first few attempts, Reid still couldn't see you, much less hear you or touch you or press his arms around you and not let go. He struggled to his feet and began calling again. 

“Where's my wife? Where is… WHERE'S MY WIFE?” His voice broke, and he  coughed gasped through each word, but he didn't stop. 

He stumbled forward, looking to see you through the haze of dust that had erupted from the blast site. Morgan ran to his side just as he tripped, pulling an arm under his as they stumbled together away from the rubble. 

“Where is she? She was right here, I need-” he coughed, leaning more on Morgan than he was walking for himself as his ankles twisted under him. 

“Hey, hey kid, we're okay. We need to get away from the blast, okay? Away.” 

Spencer kept rambling, though, his ears ringing as he blinked away his confusion and the panic creeped in stronger. 

“My wife, where is she? Morgan, I have to find her, she could be hurt,” he demanded, his voice stronger now as he pushed out of Morgan's grip. 

Ambulances and police cars were beginning to pull up, half of them already having been on route when your team had pulled up. 

Spencer searched through the crowd, sorting through faces until he found the one he desperately needed to see. 

Emily and JJ had been thrown back towards the cars, but both seemed to have missed big shrapnel and other injuries. He watched them clutch each other and stumble behind the cars as they called into their phones, requesting backup. 

Hotch was similarly talking fast to surrounding officers, and though he looked fine, he clutched his knee in his hand. The already dark material of his pants was somehow darker, and shinier in places, and it was only a moment later that Spencer realized a large chunk of shrapnel was jutting out of his leg, just above the knee. 

Rossi had been the furthest from the blast, bar you, and it was him that Spencer saw next, dusting off his clothes as he moved quickly to assess the scene. 

Morgan was still worriedly trailing behind him as he tripped over his feet. 

“Where's my wife? Where's my wife?” 

He finally saw you then, as you dove into the dust and smoke to assist your team. He was just about to fall to his knees when you ran to him, holding him up under his arms as he wrapped himself around you. 

“Found you. I found you, you're okay?” He asked, hands gently cradling your cheeks as he asked, tears in his eyes. 

“I'm fine, Spencer. Are you-” 

He silenced you with his lips, mouth slanting down on yours as he pushed every fear, every emotion, every ounce of adrenaline into your body. He kissed you like you'd never been kissed before, with desperation and longing and relief. 

And when he pulled away, he collapsed into your arms. 

Luckily, Morgan had been only steps away and took some of his weight off you as you stood, gasping for air and reeling from the kiss. 

You were so dazed, you collapsed to the floor, your knees giving in beneath you, and both Spencer and Morgan came down with you. The three of you were weak and traumatized, and emotions were running high, which is why you tried not to be offended by Morgan's line of questioning. 

“How long have you two been married?” He asked, and you were suddenly taken further aback. 

“What?” 

“Reid was looking for his wife. He was shouting ‘where's my wife? I need to find her.’ He was desperate. He was pushing away from me, and then he saw you, and he relaxed.” Despite the blow of the explosion and the now whirl of shrill sirens surrounding them, Morgan laid every word out carefully, like you would blow just as easily given the chance. 

“I'm not… we're not…Morgan, we're not even dating. I don't know what that was but…” 

Your hands carefully stroked Spencer's hair, gently smoothing it out of his eyes as you searched for answers in the man's unconscious form. 

You didn't stop until the paramedics arrived four minutes later, sitting unblinking as they hooked him up to an oxygen tank and carted him off to the nearest hospital. 

XXX 

The second time Spencer Reid awoke, it was dark outside, and the lights were low. But you were at his bedside, sleeping with your head by his legs, and your breathing was steady. So he let his eyes close again, not registering any of the pain the day had inflicted, and let himself sleep beside you. 

XXX

The third time Spencer Reid awoke, you were gone. He wasn't alone, though. Rossi sat upright in a chair beside the window of his hospital room, reading from what looked to be a case file. 

“Spencer, glad to see you returned to the land of the living,” Rossi said, noticing the younger man's movement and walking to his side. He pressed a button, and a doctor raced in, closing the door gently behind him. 

“Where is she? Where is-” 

“Spencer, it's okay. Everyone's okay. The doctor needs to run through some questions with you to check if you're feeling okay. Do your best to answer, okay, genius?” 

Spencer nodded, ignoring the small ache in his head, so similar to the headaches he'd been plagued with in earlier years. 

The doctor ran through standard questions, checked his blood pressure, checked his reactions, and made sure physically he was fine before moving on to more probing issues. 

“Doctor Reid, I'm going to ask you some simple questions about yourself now to assess for any neurological damage.” 

Reid nodded, regretting it instantly, but wanting to get out of the hospital as fast as possible to see you.  

“How old are you, Doctor Reid?” 

“Thirty, I'll be thirty-one this fall.” The doctor nodded and continued. 

“Where did you grow up?” 

“Las Vegas, Nevada. My mom still lives there. She's a patient at Bennington Sanitarium.” 

The doctor nodded and continued. 

“Are you married, Doctor Reid?” 

“Yes, my-” Spencer had to cut himself off as he processed the question fully. Was he married? No. He didn't remember any wedding. He had no romantic arrangement with anyone at this point in time. So why was he saying yes? 

Your face flashed into his head, and he grabbed his chest as his heart ached. It wasn't your face as he usually saw it, but that dazed and shocked expression you'd worn after he'd kissed you. 

He blanched and reclined slightly, suddenly needing all the pillows on the bed for more support as he realized the weight of his mistake. 

“Doctor Reid? Doctor Reid, did you understand the question?”

“What? Oh, no. No, I'm…I'm not married, I guess.” 

Rossi and the doctor shared a look before the doctor took his leave, promising to check in on you again in a few hours. 

The concerned look from Rossi as his bedside was almost too much to take. 

“Stop looking at me like that, Rossi,” he said, grumbling to himself, suddenly upset at the end of his delusions. 

“Like what? I'm not allowed to look at you now?” 

“You're not allowed to pity me. Where's everyone else? They're okay?” 

Rossi took a seat next to him and sighed.

“Hotch is in surgery - non-critical. They just want to be sure the shrapnel that landed in his leg didn't strike anywhere near a nerve or an artery. Morgan survived with a few bruises and scrapes that make him look even more like an action movie hero. He's coordinating with local law enforcement to catch out bomber.” 

Reid nodded along to each revelation, but his patience was growing thin. Rossi was watching him squirm. Reid, waiting for your name to pop up in conversation so he could talk about you, think about you with a valid excuse. 

“Emily and JJ are back at the motels, Penelope met them there to help them out. Emily's left arm is broken, and she has a nasty cut on her face, JJ twisted an ankle and sprained it pretty bad, so she'll be sitting for a while. I, myself, survived with pleasantly few cuts, a boon given my advancing years-” 

“Y/N, what about Y/N?” Reid finally burst, looking pathetically down at Rossi from his hospital bed. 

“Eager, aren't we?” 

“I need to know she's okay, and that... that she doesn't hate me.” 

“You can find those answers out yourself, kid. My shift is almost over.” 

Rossi stood and grabbed his cup of coffee, saluting Reid as he strolled out of the door. 

Reid was confused until the door opened again thirty seconds later, and you rushed in, breathing heavily as you took in his appearance, checking for damage. 

“Y/N,” he said, sitting up again. “Listen, I'm so, so sorry for kissing you yesterday. My mind must've been jumbled after the explosion and- and I thought you were actually my wife, and we were married-” 

You closed the distance between you quickly, grabbing his cheeks like he had grabbed tours only a day before and planting your lips back on top of his again. 

You kissed him the way you'd been kissed once before. With desperation, and longing, and relief. And when you pulled back, there were tears in your eyes that you didn't let fall, as you pressed yourself into Spencer Reid's arms. 

“Don't. Don't scare me like that again. I thought we'd lost you, I thought you'd kissed me and then - and then died!” You ranted, your arms gesturing wildly, every few seconds pausing to rake a hand through your hair. 

“You're not angry?” 

“Yes. Yes, I am angry, Spencer. You got hurt again, I'm seething.” 

“At me. You're not angry at me for kissing you?” He asked, smiling up as you goofily, a little bit worse for wear, but still shining nonetheless. 

“Oh. No. I was confused, but I'm not angry.” 

“Good,” he said, nodding, the two of you falling into an awkward, tense silence. You picked at dust on his shoulder as he stared at you, neither of you bold enough to say another word until the tension was palpable and Spencer Reid burst open. 

“Can I kiss you again?” 

Re-visited Sunshine After the Rain~

I really wanted to see a back hug ;w; it's too cute

so i saw a tiktok about an athlete in the olympics who lost his wedding ring in the river during the opening ceremony…

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

and i couldn’t help but think of sweet, sweet bokuto who doesn’t mean to lose the ring, but he’s just so clumsy. and afterwards, he’s absolutely mortified and stresses so bad that you’ll be upset with him.

granted, you are sad, but you understand it wasn’t intentional. you just nod with a soft, slightly forced smile, telling him, “it’s okay, kou. focus on the games for now. we can worry about it another time.”

but bokuto can’t seem to forgive himself…

until he gets an idea. your anniversary is coming up soon…

so when japan claims the victory against argentina and wins the gold, bokuto turns to you in the stands, watching as you happily cheer him on. he basks in the spotlight and relishes the feeling of you, his sweet wife of five years, always supporting him no matter what.

while you’ve always known bokuto to be an unpredictable human being in all your years together, nothing could prepare you for this. all the cameras pan to bokuto with his usual dazzling smile, and they zoom in on the beautiful ring, adorned with your favorite gem, as he yells out, “marry me again!”

and with a shy nod and wide smile, you feel yourself fall in love with him all over again.♡

a/n: akaashi helped him come up with this idea

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