#DREAM. dream. 2 be clear this was a dream.

[esote-rika]

Red is Your Color | Spencer Reid

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!bau!reader

Category: smut 18+ MDNI

Summary: You just committed perhaps the most atrocious wrongly sent message ever. By some trick of nature, your coworker is more than willing to play along. (This is from @imagining-in-the-margins Wrong Recipient prompt list. Character receives scandalous selfies from a coworker; check out her prompts, they're really fun!)

Content: softdom!spencer, fingering, multiple orgasms (female receiving), p in v, creampie, reader is on the pill, Spencer calls reader a naughty girl and pretty girl, tenderness and lots of checking in, vaguely Christmas themed. 

Word count:  3.1k

A/N: I read something really poetic and profound yesterday and it inspired me to write, but my mind was in the gutter, so this happened. lmfao happy holidays. UNEDITED, I wrote this at 2 in the morning T.T

Do you think Santa would bend me over and punish me?

Spencer Reid was almost too scared to even open the following messages—he’d already made the mistake of opening this one. And there was a barrage of them, sent a few minutes after the very first one, in quick succession, one right after the other. His phone buzzed and buzzed, matching the distracting hum in his brain at the moment. He should probably read the next messages, because surely, surely those contain the explanation to this one.

Unfortunately, his eyes were glued on this first one—it seemed like it was the only one that contained a picture, after all, and what was that they said about a picture saying a thousand words?

What could it mean then, this picture his coworker had sent to him? What did it mean that he can’t seem to tear his eyes away from it? (What did it imply if he didn’t want to? That he liked the picture? That it made his pants uncomfortably tighter?)

He stared at the picture, his eyes greedily taking every inch of smooth skin exposed by the short, strapless sexy Santa dress his coworker was wearing. It wasn’t explicit—she was fully dressed, after all, but the caption, paired with the way she had been posed… Sitting on what he presumed was her bathroom counter, her legs artfully crossed, the fabric of the dress hiked up to reveal long, luscious thighs. With her pursed lips painted crimson, it was obvious what the message was meant to imply and Spencer felt his mouth grow dry. He shifted on his seat, both hands gripping his phone because he didn’t trust them not to wander down, to give himself relief.

No, he should not be jerking off to his coworker. He shouldn’t even be fucking looking at this photo. He should delete it, call Penelope and ask her to rewire his cloud or memory or data or whatever it was called. Just to get rid of it from his phone. That would be the decent thing to do, and Spencer had always prided himself on being a gentleman. 

He knew that would be futile; knew his mind would be treacherous and have the image of her with those supple thighs, and red mouth in his dreams, his nightmares, in every fantasy—

His phone was ringing.

He stared at it, wondering how she was sending so many messages so quickly, before he realized that she wasn’t texting anymore.

She was calling.

His thumb found the answer button without his consent. The next thing he knew, her voice was pouring from his phone’s speaker. Soft. Contrite. Embarrassed. He frowned. What on earth was she embarrassed about, he wondered. She, who looked stunning, who looked good enough to be worshipped—

“—Please say something, Spence.” she was saying, pleading, and something in his gut clenched. That nickname, coming from her lips. That nickname, coming from her lips, while she was wearing that dress.

“Spence—”

“It’s all right,” his voice was strangled. He cleared his throat, “It’s all right. I’ve deleted it.” Lie, what a liar, she deserved better than hastily told lies.

“Okay,” she sighed, relief palpable even without seeing her face to face, “I just didn’t want to get in trouble with HR, on top of everything.”

HR. He almost laughed. They wouldn’t care (unless someone blabbed, like what happened with Derek and Penelope, but he would never do that to her, not in a million years.)

“You wouldn’t, I promise… it wasn’t even that explicit, if I’m being honest.” he heard himself say. He rubbed his eyes in frustration—why did he have to add that?

Her laughter floats from the phone, nervous and low. “I guess not. I wasn’t about to send a complete nude to my friends.”

He straightened up, confused. “Your friends?”

“Yeah,” she replied, her voice still wavering nervously, “Like I said in my texts, it was wrongly sent to you, I was talking to my friends.”

In other words, it wasn’t for him. He would have known that, had he opened her texts, had he not been too busy ogling the picture she had mistakenly sent, the picture that wasn’t even for him. Something unpleasant burned in his chest, but he ignored it in favor of the curiosity that lingered.

“You send explicit pictures to your friends?”

“I thought you said it wasn’t that explicit,” she chuckled, “But, uh, yeah I do… I dunno, maybe that’s weird, but we were joking around.”

That was something new he learned today. That friends could casually send sexually charged photos to each other. The words flew out of his mouth before he could stop them. “So you don’t actually want to be bent over and punished?”

Dear heavens, sometimes he understood why his teammates gave him weird looks. If he had a mirror, he would give himself a weird look. Still, he held his breath for her answer, surprised by the wave of disappointment at the thought of her saying no, it was just a silly text.

The pause grew between them, and Spencer was almost about to apologize, when she spoke again.

“I mean, if someone were willing to do it…”

He swallowed. His pants felt tight once again, and he had to force himself to take deep breaths. This was not an invitation, he thought, she had not asked him, she was not saying if you wanted to do it (which, he does, desperately so.)

“Right.” he managed to croak. Another pause, as if she was contemplating. 

“Spencer,” she was whispering now, “Do you want to?”

“Yes.”

“How fast can you get here?”

“Give me fifteen minutes.”

You’re not sure what possessed you into inviting your coworker over, but you did. And now, you’re sitting in your living room, in that blasted sexy Santa dress, panic texting your friends about it. He had said fifteen minutes. Eight minutes had gone by, and you knew he would fulfill his promise. He would be here in seven minutes.

Perhaps you weren’t expecting him to agree. Your perception of Spencer Reid has always been of a sweet genius, wholly brilliant and too preoccupied with academics to even give a second thought to sex and romance. He was a germaphobe, for crying out loud, you had thought it would make him have some sort of aversion to the inevitable sticky, sweaty mess of two bodies coming together. 

But you’d heard it in his voice. Strained, low, and riddled with desire. 

So you had mustered enough courage to ask. And now—

Your doorbell cut through your thoughts. Taking a deep breath, you shoved your phone into a drawer, not wanting to see the offensive piece of technology for the rest of the night. You looked out through the peephole, and there he was, still in his office clothes. Tall, and slender, and dishevelled and yours for the night.

You pulled the door open, ignoring the heavy thump in your chest. 

He smiled. “Hi.”

“You’re early.” You teased, standing aside to let him in. His eyes were glued to you, pupils dilating as he took you in.

“You’re still wearing the dress.”

Right. Once you had realized you sent the text to Spencer instead of your friends, you had spent the next several minutes in agonizing anxiety, sending text after text to Spencer in an effort to explain. In your utter mortification, you had forgotten to change out of it.

He seemed to like that. It gave you enough confidence to surge forward, blindly, recklessly.

“I am.” You said, red lips tugging into a smile you reserved for handsome strangers at a bar. You lowered your voice, just enough for the next words to come out breathless, “Honestly, it’s a little itchy.” 

“Is it?” He stepped forward, crowding you into the door. It creaks as it moves with your weight, the knob clicking in place. He reached forward, and you held your breath, anticipating his hands on you, gently running over your skin, but instead they closed over the doorknob, locking it. He didn’t miss your reaction, though, his eyes a glittering night sky of sweet, utter want. “Maybe I can help you with it.”

You nodded, mouth parted in silence, whatever words you wanted to say have died in your throat.

He brought his hand up, caressing your jaw, and you marvelled at how large his hands are, long fingers reaching the nape of your neck. “Red is your color.” he murmured, before leaning in to capture your lips.

His lips were cold and chapped, and you returned his kiss eagerly in an attempt to warm them. Your mouth opens at one swipe of his tongue, moaning as he leans his whole body into you, pushing you harder against the door. Tonight, you learned that Spencer Reid, the sweet, unassuming genius, kisses like he wants to crawl into you. It’s a sloppy mess of tongue and teeth, and a whimper escaped your mouth as he bit your lower lip.

“Too much?” he asked, pulling away for a moment. 

As an answer, you wrapped your hands around his neck, and returned the fervor of his kisses. You heard him chuckle, felt it on your own tongue as it happened and it made your knees buckle from sheer want. 

His arms wrapped around your waist, hoisting you up into his embrace. You felt him move, stumbling across your apartment before setting you down again. The blunt edge of a drawer hit your lower back, just as he pulled away. 

A whine left your lips. You didn’t know if it was from the pain, or the loss of his kiss.

“Turn around, darling.” he murmured, but your brain was so damn distracted you just stared at him blankly. He grinned, hands at your hips gently maneuvering you to face away from him. “You said you wanted to be bent over.” 

Chills went down your spine as he pushed you forward, elbows landing on the smooth, wooden desk. 

“Y-yeah, I did say that.” you managed to reply. This time, the breathless quality in your voice was not an affectation. You felt his nose on your neck, pushing away the stray locks of hair, before his mouth landed over the skin, open and wet, traversing the expanse of your flesh with reckless ardor. You moaned, craning your head back in a wordless plea for more.

You felt teeth, the sting of it clamping over your flesh. You didn’t even realize you’d yelped until he stopped.

“Sorry,” he whispered, soothing the bite with his kisses.

“It’s okay,” You replied, one hand reaching up, running through his hair. “Do it again.”

The rumble of his laughter made your stomach warm. He sunk his teeth into your neck again, sucked at the spot he bit, and you would have face planted into the desk had it not been for his hands holding you up. 

“You’re a naughty girl,” he purred against your skin, “Aren’t you? Sending that picture to me, I bet it wasn’t even an accident.”

“It was,” you protested, but then he grinds his crotch into your ass and any indignation was stifled by the feeling of how damn hard he was. “It was - I didn’t mean to—”

“You didn’t mean to make me this hard?” he asked, rolling his hips against you, “I think you knew exactly what you were doing, naughty girl.” Before you could answer, you felt something digging into your ass. He was tugging at your panties. To the side, as if he couldn’t even be bothered to strip it off of you. 

It was hot as all hell.

“My god, you’re absolutely soaked for me.” he groaned into your ear, and you gasped as the rough pads of his fingers ran through your cunt. Somehow, his fingers have remained cold, and the sensation sent a shudder down your spine.

“S-Spencer,” you whined, knuckles finding leverage at the edge of the desk you’ve been sprawled over.

“Mhm? What is it, darling?”

“M-more.”

His laughter filled the room once again, “And I thought I was being needy.” he said, but he obliged your request easily, slipping two fingers into your pussy. His breath fanned over the overheated skin of your neck as he buried his face against your shoulder, “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” you moved your hips against his hand, chasing the rhythm of his fingers. You’d never enjoyed this by yourself; your own fingers were thin, too short to cause any sort of pleasure when you touched yourself. But Spencer’s hands were large, his fingers long and elegant and perfect. They curled inside you, hitting a spot you’ve never been able to with your own hands, and you cried “Oh, fuck yes!”

It was everything. Quite literally. His arm was holding you against him, his body a solid, lean mass behind you, pressing into the slopes of your own, digging in wherever your softness yields to his hard angles. You moaned and moaned again, as his fingers quickened, as his thumb found your clit and rubbed fast circles until your arms gave out and your entire upper half was splayed on the desk. 

He didn’t stop, cooing soft words into your ear, his tongue and lips and teeth a whole other dangerous territory of its own. You knew you would have hickeys tomorrow. You knew the team would ask questions. You didn’t particularly care.

“Can you take more?” he asked, and you nodded, eager to take whatever he was going to give. A third finger slid into your dripping cunt, stretching you in ways you haven’t felt in a long time and you groaned, head buried in your arms. He paused, his other hand rubbing circles on your hip, “Are you all right, darling?”

“Yes.” you sobbed, and you knew he wouldn’t believe you because you sounded sad, and everything that Spencer has done up until this point proved that, despite it all, he cared. 

“You can tell me if it’s too much, you know.” he murmured. His lips laved featherlight kisses along your shoulder.

“I’m fine,” you insisted, bucking your hips. The idea of being slightly incoherent from the pleasure he’s been giving you was a little too enticing, and you were in no mood to stop, “Please.”

“Okay,” he resumed his ministrations, slower this time, dragging his fingers in and out of you with a precise rhythm, now that he’s figured out your weak spots. “You are so pretty like this, darling. Dress hiked up, your lipstick smudged.”

A mewl came out of your throat, and you would have been embarrassed if you still had the presence of mind to feel an ounce of shame. He coaxed a second orgasm from you, and you marveled at the fact that he could elicit responses like these with just his fingers. It seemed unfair, but a large part of you reveled in it.

“That’s it,” he whispered, slowly pulling his fingers out, “That’s my pretty girl.”

You lifted your head from your arms. The sight that welcomes you is a blurry one, impeded by the clumpy eyelashes and messy tears that had gathered in your eyes. You knew you looked a mess, far from the pretty girl he kept repeating, but you ate up the praise all the same.

As if by their own accord, your hips move back, grinding into his erection. You wanted more. You wanted him to be in the same daze you were in right now, wanted to be one. “Spencer,” you whined, and he laughed, and you wondered if it was possible to get drunk off of a sound.

“You’re insatiable, aren’t you?” he replied, playfully chastising, but the sound of his belt buckle reached your ears and you grinned.

“Just wanna make sure you get something too.” you mumbled.

“Is this a bad time to tell you that I had forgotten a condom?”

Now it was your turn to laugh, bracing yourself on your elbows again, and looking over his shoulder.

“Wow, isn’t your whole thing the complete opposite of forgetting?”

“I was a little distracted.” he said, his smile sheepish.

“I don’t mind,” you replied, “I’m on the pill.” 

“You’re sure?”

“Mhm-hmm.” You nodded, one arm moving and blindly grasping for the zipper of your Santa dress. His hand gently encircled your wrist, placing it back on the desk.

“It stays on,” he said, as the blunt tip of his cock pushed past your pussy, “I told you, red is your color.”

Your mouth dropped open as he sheathed himself inside you in one thrust, and wordless expression of pleasure. He had spent a large chunk of time fucking you with his fingers, and the necessity of it dawned upon you now.

He was big.

The stretch made you groan, eyes squeezing shut as your pussy fluttered around him. He pressed his body over yours, pushing you into the desk as he began to rock, in and out of you. Involuntarily, you clenched around him, earning a sharp hiss.

“You feel so good,” he groaned, holding you tightly around the waist with one arm. The other went to the desk, steadying himself as he found a rhythm that made you writhe beneath him, “Oh god, yes.”

You couldn’t even respond, your body moving on autopilot, meeting his every thrust with your hips. The sounds your bodies made were obscene, wet, sloppy noises of flesh meeting flesh. It filled your head, made you dizzy with pleasure. 

“Spencer,” at this point, you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve repeated his name. The world has anchored all meaning to that one sound, and you said it, over and over again, “Spencer.”

“Mhm,” he responded by snapping his hips, pushing his cock so deep into your toes curl, “That’s it, darling, say my name.”

“Spencer,” you said in your broken voice, every repetition turning higher and higher in pitch, and it seemed like the higher your voice went, the harder he fucked you. Your desk banged against the wall from his rough thrusts, joining the cacophony of sounds from your coupling. 

His pace grew rougher, faster, his grip on you reaching the point of painful and bruising, but it made your head spin in the most delicious way possible. You clenched around him, squeezing his cock in an attempt to find your peak, and instead initiating his.

“Fuck—” he groaned, as his load exploded inside you, somehow filling you even more, and you dropped your head to the desk again as your own body shuddered with release. 

Panting, and exhausted, you both stayed there, bent over the desk half upright, like a tower about to topple. He kissed the back of your neck as you fought to catch your breath. Looking over your shoulder, the sight of him fills your vision, hair tousled and sticking to his forehead, his lips smudged with your lipstick, and you couldn’t help but think that red is his color too.

[narrycherries]

ivy: how’s one to know..

(enemies to lovers) harry is just an ass and (Y/n) is just a stranger

masterlist // ivy series (link coming w part 2)

word count: 8.6k

warnings/tags: enemies to lovers, harry x reader, fem reader, angst

[before you start: I wrote the female character with a description (blonde, blue eyes, short, thicker build) but of course feel free to change the descriptors to whatever you prefer!]

The holiday season had wrapped up a handful of days ago and things were slowly starting to go back to normal. The sparkling strings of lights decorating neighborhoods and businesses all around the city were being taken down and shoved back in their storage boxes until the last month of the year circled around again. The weather was staying consistent, though. The gloomy overcast skies and chilly wind that whipped through the streets were enough to keep people bundled up and wishing for spring to arrive.

Most people she knew enjoyed the holidays a lot more than she did. Sure, she loved to see the colorful lights lining roofs and windows of boutiques and restaurants along the main strip. There was something so juvenile, so innocent about the giddy feeling that would fill her stomach as she saw a pile of fake presents and a decorated tree in a shop window. Somewhere deep down inside of her heart, she still had that spark that a child would have.

When she was growing up, she sought happiness during the holidays by admiring other people’s outdoor decorations or gazing in awe at the displays put up in her schools. She didn’t have what most people had that she went to school with, but she tried to be grateful, even as a young chlid, and appreciate what surrounded her.

A strong sadness was building in her chest as she slid the ceramic Santa Claus into his box to pack him away with the other Christmas decorations. She thought about the many years she questioned if Santa was real. There were so many nights when she’d squeeze her eyes shut and whisper out loud, her knees on the floor as she put her elbows into the mattress. There was so much hope in her. She believed that if she wished and prayed and dreamed enough, Santa would leave a present or two on the coffee table next to her dad’s stained coffee mug. There wasn’t a tree most of the years of her childhood, but her dad give gift her things (there was no magical Santa though). There were no twinkling lights outside of her window, hanging down from the roof with a clumsy droop. There were no ornaments to place on the branches of a fake tree, lined with a dusty skirt that would be covered with presents. There were no fresh baked cookies and steaming hot chocolate topped with marshmallows. The television never displayed joyful Christmas movies and specials. The radio on the kitchen counter never once sang a tune of a wintery song about snow and ice. No, none of that. It was just her dad, her brother, and herself for a while.

“Did you keep the box for this guy?” Emma’s curious voice snapped her from her trance.

She cleared her throat and looked up from her spot on the living room rug. Her ‘new’ roommate was holding a ceramic snowman who’s decorated style matched the Santa she just put away. She reached into the plastic storage container and grabbed the box, passing it up to Emma.

“Here you go.”

“Thanks, (Y/n).” She smiled back, noticing that there was a glimmer of disappoint on her face, but she didn’t mention it to her. “You didn’t have to put everything away so fast. I would’ve been fine with it for a few more weeks.”

Emma had just moved in before Christmas. Her things were half way unpacked throughout the small house they now shared.

“I didn’t want it to crowd you. Besides, Christmas is over.” (Y/n)’s tone was partially rough as she began to pack away the miniature houses placed across the console table that the television hung above.

“I’m so excited to actually be here, like, full time. Niall’s a bit upset.. but I told him he’d survive.” She said with a laugh as she started to collect the small figurines that went with the village.

“I’m excited, too. I’m glad you’re actually up for decorating the space and not just.. letting me do it all. My last roommate was not particularly outgoing.” (Y/n) snickered at the thought, knowing she wouldn’t be missing that person at all. The girl was nice and all, but she was quite boring.

“Oh, totally! I’ve already got some stuff I want to show you in my room. Maybe we could put it out here or something.”

“I’m fine with anything as long as it’s cute.” She shot her friend a grin.

Emma wasn’t a new friend by any means. They met early on while they were both at university. Emma was actually her first partner for a project in one of their biology classes. They met on the third day of class and became friends very quickly. Their chemistry went far beyond the confines of the science lab. Emma was joyful and adventurous and offered (Y/n) that motivating spark to actually go out and have fun. Not that (Y/n) couldn’t match Emma’s energy once her veins were filled with alcohol, she just didn’t go out as much.

“Speaking of Niall, I haven’t seen him a while. How’s he doing?”

A proud smile crept to Emma’s lips. “He’s been good. But he’s been super busy with the store.. almost never get to spend time during the actual day with him.”

“But it’s going well, the store, I mean? Like he’s having success?”

Emma nodded. “It’s been great. I told him it would do good around here, especially with the college students. And besides, people are always looking for music lessons. I’m glad he took my advice and decided to offer those through the business.”

Niall was an excellent musician, or so (Y/n) has been told. She hadn’t actually seen him play anything in person, only through recordings and videos Emma had shown her. She knew Niall was talented, though. He played the guitar and the bass, both of which seemed entirely too complicated in (Y/n)’s mind. When they started dating last year, Niall was in the midst of finalizing a business plan and opening his music store. Emma told her all about it, including her fears and anxiety about the situation - but only because she was afraid Niall would get so caught up in the store that he would abandon their relationship. Niall ended up not doing that, obviously, and was able to balance everything in his life. He and Emma would be celebrating their one year anniversary on Valentine’s Day - which (Y/n) thought was particularly sweet and romantic.

“I’m glad everything’s working out.”

The store opened back in the summer, and (Y/n) had only gone by once to see the place. It was in a part of town she didn’t frequent very often, so the opportunity to casually stroll in was rare. It wasn’t like it was Emma’s store. While she did know Niall well enough to refer to him as a friend, she wasn’t close with him. She was supportive, of course, but not overly involved.

“He’s coming by later to help me put together the dresser. Well.. he’s going to do it for me, not help me.” She snickered as she joined (Y/n) on the floor to start gently laying the mini figurines in a small cardboard box they knew as home.

“I can make dinner if you’d like. Niall likes that pasta I make, right?”

“Yeah! He actually asked me about that a few weeks ago. He said I have to get your recipe.” She grinned back, rolling her eyes at the thought of her boyfriend’s obsession with food.

“He’s only had it like twice.. but it’s flattering to know I’m such a good chef.” (Y/n) laughed under her breath. “I’ll give you the recipe.”

The rest of the afternoon was spent on putting away the last of the decorations and moving them into the hallway closet. The box fit perfectly in the bottom of the closet. Emma disappeared into her room to continue unboxing her belongings. (Y/n) was mostly occupied with dusting the wood furniture and wiping down the kitchen. She liked a neat, tidy home and she was very glad to know that Emma did as well. She checked the cabinets to make sure she had the ingredients required for the pasta she’ll be making later on.

Every now and then, she’d hear a crash of something hitting the floor come from the hallway, presumably from Emma’s room. She would just giggle to herself as Emma’s dramatic cries of curses and sighs would fill the small home. Despite being friends for a handful of years, they had never lived in the same space before. Even while at university when it was mandatory for them to live on campus, they lived in different dorm buildings. Emma was in a sorority and definitely more comfortable with herself than (Y/n) was. She kept to her small dorm with her roommate, whom she didn’t have anything in common with but she was kind to her. If she were being honest, she thought Emma would try to move in with Niall once her old lease had expired. But, Niall was comfortable where he was in his apartment and he already had a roommate. As much as Emma wanted to live with him, it was just too soon anyway. They tossed around the idea, but (Y/n) mentioned to her that perhaps she needed to wait, just in case. Niall wasn’t upset with Emma’s decision to move elsewhere, as long as she was in the city close to him. (Y/n) was also informed that Niall’s roommate wasn’t too keen on letting someone else share their space. She had never met him before, didn’t even know his name, but she couldn’t blame them. She wouldn’t want her house to be permanently crowded either. Niall let Emma stay over there a lot, though, but spending the night for the weekend or on a random weekday when it was too late to drive back home was different than staying full time. And of course, Niall was allowed over whenever he wanted and she made that clear to Emma before she signed the lease. As long as he respected their home and didn’t leave a mess behind, he was welcomed.

A gentle sigh slipped past her thick lips as she trailed back to the living room. The open concept of the front of the home meant the living room was attached to the kitchen with no barrier other than the island. She sat down on the end of the couch, the damp kitchen towel she used to wipe down the furniture sat on the side table. She picked it up, along with the framed photo that was next to the pretty gold lamp. The gold of the frame didn’t quite match the lamp, but it was still beautiful to her. The ornate metal that decorated the frame was cold as she carefully rubbed the pads of her fingers over it. She stared at the photograph locked behind the glass, the speed of her heart beating increased only slightly.

The image was of her and her mother when she was around three years old. It was Halloween, she was dressed in a pink dress that was modeled after Princess Aurora, and her hair was curled and a little makeup playfully swept over her features. Her mother was dressed in a Cinderella themed costume, her matching golden blonde hair curled, too, and pinned up. It wasn’t the last holiday they spent together, but it was one of the only ones (Y/n) remembered. She doubted herself at times about the memory - she was only three and a half, did she actually remember it or was she imagining it? Despite always doubting herself, she knew too well that the memory was burned into her brain. She can remember the smell of the burning iron as her mom curled her hair. She remembers getting tickled by the fluffy makeup brush as a bit was applied to her face just to add to the illusion. She remembers the taste of the mini chocolate bar her mom unwrapped for her in the car in between neighborhoods - the night was full of trick or treating and giggles and squeals. She even remembered the way her mom’s hand carefully adjusted her curls when they got caught in the zip of (Y/n)’s costume. It was a memory she held dear to her heart, one she prayed she’d never lose. (Y/n) had always tried her hardest to find things to fill in the void of not having her mother around. But no matter how determined she was, nothing ever seemed to be enough. She found joy in little things, like collecting whatnots and trinkets that reminded her of the ones that littered her house when her mom was alive. She enjoyed searching for squirrels and birds in the park, collecting odd looking rocks during her walks, listening to her favorite songs on repeat, and a plethora of other things. But nothing could really fill the space in her heart.. It was quite a big space, after all.

That evening, after the sun nestled below the horizon and stars littered the dark winter sky, Emma invited Niall over for dinner. It was third day of actually staying here, since she opted to spend two weeks with Niall for Christmas between her parent’s place and his. (Y/n) was working on preparing the ingridents for the pasta when Niall knocked and was let in with a grinning Emma planting a kiss to his mouth. He laughed and brushed her off, not a big fan of showing affection in front of other people, even though he knew (Y/n) wasn’t watching.

“Hey, long time no see!” Niall said with a smile as he followed Emma into the kitchen.

(Y/n)’s eyes glanced over her shoulder. “Hi, Niall. It’s been a while, yeah?”

“I think you guys haven’t seen each other since the day we moved my crap in.” Emma said with a slight unsure tone.

“Your crap that still isn’t unpacked.” Niall sighed as he leaned against the counter, his arms crossing on his chest.

(Y/n) chuckled to herself as Emma began to give him excuses for why her things weren’t put away and in their new spots yet. The list included things like being busy with work, having errands to run, and of course ‘spending all my time with you’ that made Niall smack his lips and give her a sarcastic ‘okay, sure’.

They kept up their banter for a bit while (Y/n) rinsed her hands at the sink. She had finished everything she needed to do before actually cooking the food. When she turned towards them, Niall was peering his eyes into the pot of boiling water, frowning as he saw it was empty.

“She’s making the pasta you said you like.” Emma said as she grabbed his forearm to tug him away from the oven.

“Oh, really? That stuff was so good.” Niall’s eyes shot to (Y/n)’s. “I want a whole pot of it for my birthday, please and thanks.”

She shook her head in disbelief as a laugh rolled out of her mouth. “Isn’t your birthday in September?”

He shrugged. “Yeah, just don’t want ya to forget.”

“C’mon, let's start with the dresser, Niall. Let (Y/n) cook.” Emma said after checking the time on her phone. “We’ll clean up the kitchen after dinner, okay? Don’t worry about it!”

“Alright, that’s fine. I’ll let you know when it's done.”

And just like that, she was alone in the kitchen again. It didn’t bother her to be alone, she had been for most of her life, especially her late teenage and adult years. Finding something to occupy her bored mind was not a new task for her to learn. She opted for sitting at the small dining table after setting the timer on the oven in case she forgot to check the time.

(Y/n) pulled her phone from the pocket of her sweatpants and started to maneuver through the notifications that had come through since she last checked. One was a message from a random company that was offering a sale this coming weekend, there were two texts from Niall - the first asking if he needed to bring anything, the second saying Emma told him not to and to just ignore the text - the rest were random notifications from different apps.

Her attention went to her photo app as she scrolled to a few days ago, just a day or so after the New Year began. She went for a walk in the park close by one day during lunch when she had nothing else to do. She snapped a few photos of little random things, like a wild flower that had somehow managed to survive the low temperature, a bird that was perched on top of the black metal fence that lined the park, and a snapshot of the sky with the clouds parting in such a way that made it look like heaven. After having lost so much in life, she learned and forced herself to appreciate the little things that were around. Details of daily life, like the fall of a leaf to the ground or the chirp of a bird in a tree, were almost therapeutic for her.

Dinner didn’t take too long to cook, but the dresser was seeming to take much longer than Emma had expected it to. When (Y/n) knocked on the bedroom door and stuck her head in, she grinned as she saw Niall sitting on the floor with his head thrown back and Emma pacing the room with her fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. Her once neatly fixed dark hair was messily tied in a bun on the back of her head. The instruction booklet for the dresser was laid out in between Niall’s legs, along with a torn bag of hardwear.

“Food’s ready.” She said with a singsong voice that made Niall pop his head up.

“Finally.” He quickly rose to his feet and grabbed Emma’s wrist, tugging her behind him as they followed (Y/n) down the hall and towards the kitchen.

“Eat as much as you want, I made plenty.” She said as she let them make a bowl first.

“Don’t have to tell him twice.” Emma’s mouth shaped to a smile as Niall practically pushed her aside to be first.

“Guests eat first, right?” He joked as he gave them both a quick glance, a smirk on his face as he grabbed the serving utensil.

Once the three of them had fixed what they wanted and claimed a spot at the table, (Y/n) offered to grab everyone something to drink. Emma and herself chose a glass of ice water while Niall requested a Coke. Emma had just brought home a box this morning after her quick run to the grocery store. The food appeared to be a big hit as Niall scarfed it down, spitting out compliments and satisfied hums that made the girls giggle and roll their eyes jokingly at him.

“Em told me the store is doing great.”

Niall nodded as he sipped his drink. “Yeah, it’s been good, actually. I’m glad.”

“I’m glad you do the lessons. I told her that people are coming in pretty much all day long.” Emma said.

“Yeah, if it’s not someone who’s into music already or just curiously out shopping.. The sign about the lessons really brings people in. And even if they don’t go through with it, they end up looking around and finding something.” Niall told them with a pleased smile, he was relieved his business was staying crowded and people actually enjoyed coming to the store.

“Did you end up finding someone to teach the guitar lessons? I know Emma said something about you were looking for someone else, since you got so busy with your bookings.”

“Yeah, my roommate actually. He’s decent at guitar and he’s just working with the beginners. I’m sticking to the people who sorta know how to play around that just wanna get better.”

(Y/n) nodded as she took another bite. “That’s good.”

The cooking had made the kitchen a bit warmer than it was before, so she pushed her sleeves up to her elbows. The exposure of the small tattoo on the inside of (Y/n)’s elbow caught Emma’s eye.

“Oh!” She chirped suddenly, making Niall flinch. “I forgot to tell you, (Y/n), I’m getting a tattoo in a few weeks. Already got my appointment.”

“Oh, really? Where at this time?” (Y/n) asked with genuine curiosity.

“On my foot. Just a cute little flower. Niall says it's going to hurt.”

(Y/n) squinted her eyes and pursed her lips. “You don’t have any, do you?”

Niall chuckled. “No, but I’ve been told the foot is terrible.”

“I’m not a baby, Niall. It’s not my first one. Besides, Zayn said it would be fine since I’m used to the feeling.”

“Zayn is lying to you to spare your feelings and get your money. He is my friend, I think I'd know when he lies.” Niall was only teasing her, but it brought a flush to Emma’s cheeks.

“Shut up.” She mumbled through a pout.

(Y/n) was amused by their interaction, but she chose to move on with the conversation so Emma wouldn’t get too sensitive. She wasn’t over emotional or anything, but sometimes she would get embarrassed if Niall playfully taunted her in front of other people.

“Zayn.. is that the guy I met that time at the bar?” (Y/n) couldn’t remember the person’s name, but she was sort of sure that it was the same person they’re referring to.

Niall nodded to her. “Yeah. The one with all the tattoos.. I would say the one with the black hair but right now it’s platinum blonde.” The lift of Niall’s brows made her think that maybe he didn’t approve of the look, but he had no choice but to accept it.

“I thought that was the same guy. I’m pretty sure he told me he owned a shop.”

“He’s the best around.” Emma said with a laugh. “Plus.. he gives me a discount.”

“You’re welcome for that.” Niall puckered his lips and leaned her direction, demanding a kiss that he knew he wouldn’t get.

“Hush.” She pushed her fingers to his mouth and gently shoved his head back.

He laughed at her reaction. “Just saying, Em. He’s my friend.. like I said before.”

Emma ignored him and turned her eyes to (Y/n). “Anyway, Niall can’t come with me.. so I was going to see if you wanted to go.”

“I can see if I can.. just let me know the date and time.”

“Alright. I will. Niall, don’t be a pig.” She groaned as she saw he had slipped from the table and was at the stove, piling his bowl full again.

“Let him eat it. That way we won’t have to worry about leftovers.”

Emma shook her head. “He’d eat the actual house if you’d let him.”

—•—

(Y/n) was puckering her lips in the mirror of the car visor as she applied her lip balm. It was chilly outside and the weather wasn’t being kind to her skin at all. She huffed as she saw the patch of dry skin right in the middle of her forehead. She had just applied her moisturizer before they loaded in the car to drive to the tattoo shop. Emma was driving, and every now and then she’d glance (Y/n)’s way and notice she was still staring in the mirror.

“What’s the matter?” She finally asked as (Y/n) slid the cover over the mirror and flipped the visor up, her back hitting the seat as she felt defeated.

“My skin is horrible right now.” She rolled her eyes to herself, upset that it was bothering her this much. It was just a bit of dry skin and chapped lips, she shouldn’t be so affected by it.. but she was. “Even my lips are dying.”

Emma smiled. “I’m sure lots of people are struggling right now. I’ve got a dry spot on my cheek. It’s been there for a few days. Just the weather.”

“But it's annoying. Y’know my hormones are whacky sometimes.. feel like as soon as I get it under control, I break out or have something like this happen.”

“When we get home, we can look up some different products. Maybe we can find something better for seasonal dryness. My cream isn’t working either.”

(Y/n) shrugged and took out her phone to mindlessly look through one of her social media apps. “Yeah, we can do that.”

Even though the shop wasn’t too far from where they lived, Emma didn’t want to walk in the cold and she didn’t want to have to cover the tattoo with thick, tight shoes afterwards. So, (Y/n) agreed to drive back after they left, and after they grabbed some food. The shop was right around the corner, and it caught (Y/n)’s attention as they turned onto the street. It was just off the main road of the downtown area. The street was lined with different restaurants, stores, thrifting spots, boutiques, and a few law firm offices and an emergency clinic that stayed open during the weekend. She was familiar with the area, and had actually looked towards the tattoo shop’s sign plenty of times. They pulled into a spot and Emma took in a deep breath before pulling the keys out.

“Are you nervous?” (Y/n) said with an amused grin plastered over her lips as she opened the car door.

“What if Niall’s right? What if it hurts real bad?”

“You’ll be fine. You got one on your ribs and your spine. You can take it.”

Emma was still nervous as she followed (Y/n) to the door. She grabbed the handle and pulled the door open, allowing Emma to slip into the building first. It was warm in the small lobby of the tattoo shop. She was unfamiliar with the specific shop, but not the reality of one. It looked like the others she had been to and the place she got her tattoos done at. The walls were dark grey and decorated with interesting pieces of artwork and posters. There were rock band posters, most of which she recognized, on the wall behind the dark wood desk that acted as a check in counter. Nobody was at the counter, though. There was a small sleek, black leather couch pressed against the side wall, above it hung a large canvas with what appeared to be an original artwork painted on to it. She saw the signature in the lower left corner and smiled as she read over the name she had heard Niall use a few weeks ago during dinner. So this Zayn character was more than just a tattoo artist? She was intrigued by the brush work on the canvas, the beauty of the image was breathtaking. The muted colors stood out oddly bold against the stark white and midnight black areas. It was nothing like she had ever seen before. Although she didn’t partake in any form of art herself, she was an admirer. She enjoyed frequenting art galleries and museums and contributing to artists as much as she could. She once got a commissioned painting of a bouquet of flowers from an older woman in the area who was a somewhat known artist. The piece lives on the wall near the hall closet.

“Zayn?” Emma called out suddenly as she grew impatient with standing in the middle of the lobby.

(Y/n) sighed to herself as Emma disappeared through a door. It lead to the main tattoo room, with three different stations placed in it. The back room was Zayn’s private room that his clients were able to be secluded in. Emma knocked on that closed door and waited patiently. A few moments later, Zayn opened the door with a smile, happy to see her.

“Hi, Em.” He said, his accent thick as it rang through the small building.

(Y/n) heard them chatting, so she decided to peek through the door, a nervous smile on her face. Zayn’s eyes caught hers as he towered over Emma. He offered a friendly wave and gestured for her to join them. She nervously stepped over the threshold and swallowed gently.

“Zayn, do you remember (Y/n)? You guys met a while back.” Emma said with a gesture of her hand as (Y/n) approached them.

Immediately, she recognized his features - from his dark eyes to his nearly fully inked arms. His tattooed sleeves wrapped over his shoulders, around his neck, crept over each wrist and wiggled around his fingers. He was covered, to say the least. She could only presume the rest of him looked like that. Colorful tattoos mixed with jet black ones littered his skin. And she noticed, of course, that his hair was blond now like Niall had mentioned.

“I think so, yeah. You’re the chick Niall said could outdrink me, right?” Zayn asked with a laugh.

“I don’t drink that much.. but yeah, that’s me.”

Emma gave her a nudge of her elbow. “She can out drink anyone when she actually lets loose.”

Her eyes rolled as a smile toyed on her lips, still slick from the lip balm. “Yeah yeah.”

“Let me get my chair cleaned off and you ladies can come back here.” Zayn said just as he grabbed the knob to his private room.

They heard something hit the floor and then a shuffle of shoes moving against the tile. Emma furrowed her brows and gave Zayn a curious look.

“Someone in there?”

“Yeah, I just finished a piece.”

He opened the door and went inside, shutting it behind him again. (Y/n) turned towards Emma and gave her a smile, unsure of what to do next. Emma grabbed her hand and nodded towards the open lobby door.

“We can wait in here.”

They returned to the lobby, where (Y/n) was easily distracted by the art on the walls again. There was a print of a skull near the door. It had flowers pouring over the crown of it, which then melted to puddles as they hit the imaginary ground. She thought it was interesting and quite cool. From what she could tell about Zayn’s vibe, it fit it well. The music playing from the speakers in the ceiling was loud enough to be heard but not too invasive. She could tell it was a curated playlist going, because the song that just begun seemed to be sung by the same person as the one before.

“Zayn just texted me.. he said we can come back.”

“I thought someone was-“ (Y/n) stopped speaking the second a body appeared in the doorway. “Oh.”

“Hey, Harry.” Emma said with a friendly tone as she stood up, motioning for (Y/n) to follow her.

“Hey, Emma.” The stranger replied with a quick lift of one corner of his mouth.

(Y/n) was slightly confused because it obviously appeared that the two knew each other. She had never heard Emma refer to anyone by the name of Harry, at least not that she could recall. She licked her lips and let her eyes fall down his tall, broad frame.

“What did you get?” Emma asked with her usual curious voice.

(Y/n) was listening, but she wasn’t paying that much attention. She couldn’t help but be taken aback by the appearance of the person in front of them. He was tall, much taller than Niall but probably close to Zayn’s height. He looked like a sky scraper standing in front of Emma and herself, both of which were shorter than average. His long, dark hair shaped into curls that were messily laying on his shoulders. He suddenly swept his hand through his roots the second she realized he had such long hair. The motion caused the lights above them to ricochet off the rings covering his fingers.

“This.” He said as he extended his right arm to them, well mainly to Emma.

There was a freshly inked snake curling around his forearm, each scale placed perfectly on his tanned skin. There were remenents of blood speckled across his skin, and a deep redness that hazed over the entire tattoo.

“Wow! That’s so good.” Emma beamed at the delicate work.

“Yeah, took two sessions. Zayn got a bit tired last time.” He smirked gently at the girl he knew, completely ignoring the one he didn’t.

“Well, it was cool seeing you! Are you headed home?”

He shook his head. “Gonna sit here for a while. I’ve got to be at the store in an hour to help Niall.”

She checked the time. “Yeah, he said he was the only one closing tonight.”

“Emma?” Zayn called from the back room, his head looking around the doorframe searching for her.

“Coming!” She hollered back, taking one last look at Harry’s freshly inked arm. “It was good seeing you. If you leave before I get out of here, I’ll see you later.”

(Y/n) didn’t even realize she was tracing her eyes over his body. His arms were like tree trunks, muscles taut under his skin and veins popping out, rolling around as he moved. His legs were tightly wrapped in a pair of dark jeans, she could tell through the fabric that they were toned as well. It wasn’t until he suddenly walked past her, not even sparing her a glance, that she realized she had been standing frozen.

Emma started towards the back room, (Y/n) in two as she felt an embarrassed blush cover her cheeks. She didn’t know this Harry guy, but she hoped she wasn’t staring too hard at him. It definitely wasnt polite to just stare at a stranger, especially when she was blanking out. What if she was making a face at him? Something nasty, or something rude looking? She was unsure, but chose to ignore it. He didn’t seem bothered by anything as he took a spot on the couch.

Zayn’s office was just as she expected it to be. It was a deep shade of green, the walls coated in framed prints and a few smaller canvases of what she figured was his work. There was a small accent chair placed in the corner for guests. She sat down and started darting her eyes around the room. The type of work that Zayn had pinned to a board on the back wall caught her eye. He seemed to be good at everything, but most of it was bold color work or extremely detailed realism, sort of like the snake she saw on Harry’s arm moments ago. She wondered if Zayn had given himself any of his own tattoos or if he went to someone else. Surely, not every place on his body was accessible by his own hands, but maybe some of them were done by him. She felt like an amateur compared to him. She had a few tattoos placed on her body, but nothing quite as big or detailed as what she saw on the board or on Zayn’s skin.

“(Y/n) is your new house mate, right?” Zayn asked Emma as she got comfortable on the chair.

“Yeah. I moved in before Christmas.”

“But.. you’ve known each other for a while, right? I can’t exactly remember.”

Emma nodded. “Yeah, since we were in college together.”

“Zayn.. do you mind if I look through this?” (Y/n) asked politely as she picked up the small binder off the console table next to the chair. A few figurines of characters she recognized, an hour glass with black sand, and a plant lived on the table as well.

“Of course not, that’s why it’s there.” He gave her a chuckle, but kept his response nice.

She opened the book and started to slowly flick through the pages. She saw his signature on the bottom of the designs. They were all so perfect. Some were executed with such detail and precision that she could've sworn they were fake, others were more loose drawn in a free handed style or just more whimsical in nature. She saw a sketch of a few bees on one of the pages. They were in black and grey, mostly realistic with subtle, soft shading and delicate lines. The drawing was pretty and neat. She glanced to the corner, searching for his signature, but she didn’t find it. Instead, in the corner opposite of where Zayn favored to sign his name was a small H. She hummed to herself, curious to know why Zayn had someone else’s drawing in his book. She quickly shook the thought out and reminded herself that there three other stations in the front. They were not abandoned by any means, she could tell people worked at them based on the different things displayed and the personal trinkets and objects adnoring the areas. Maybe this was one of his college’s work or maybe it was random.

For the most part, the book was filled with things Zayn did. Some of them were his own creations while others were common tattoo designs just drawn by his own hand instead of being pulled from the internet. She liked the way he had a bunch of his own things offered in styles that were more popular. He appeared to be a well versed artist with the talent to create just about anything.

As Zayn prepped Emma’s skin for her tattoo, he was talking to her about Niall’s store. He asked how it was going and if she had heard any horror stories yet of Niall messing up payroll or forgetting to stock an item. She only laughed and said she was surprised he was staying so calm and organized. Everything about the store was going more than according to plan, as at least as much as (Y/n) could tell from what she’s heard. She was still so happy for Niall. His hobby had turned into a passion and a business and he was able to share it with others, it was like a dream come true she bet.

“Alright, are y’ready?” Zayn said with a deep breath of his own as Emma grew more and more nervous in the chair.

“I think so.”

“You’ll do fine, Em.” (Y/n) encouraged from the corner, her eyes now focused on her friend.

“Just take some deep breaths. Tell me if it’s too much.” Zayn told her as he pulled the stencil paper off her foot. The flower wasn’t that big, but there were lots of tiny details that Zayn knew would probably hurt her more than anything else she’s gotten. “Just a tattoo.”

“If I cry, you can’t tell Niall. I told him I could handle this.” Emma mumbled out with a frown as she stared at her foot.

Zayn smiled and leaned back, the gun still buzzing in his hand. “Before I start, is it in the spot you want?”

“What do you think? Is it good?” She asked him, twisting her foot to a different pose.

“It’s not my foot, love.”

She groaned and looked over towards (Y/n). “Can you check?”

(Y/n) laughed a little but nodded as she stood up. Just as she was about to step towards them, Emma called for someone else to take a peek at the design.

“Harry? Are you still in there?” Her voice echoed through the room, she hoped that it spilled into the lobby so he could hear her. After a few seconds, she grunted and pulled her phone out to shoot him a text. “I’m so nervous.”

“It looks fine to me.. but it’s your decision.” Zayn told her with a gentle sigh.

(Y/n) looked down at the placement of the tattoo, her arms behind her back with her hands locked. “Yeah, it’s cute.”

She gave Emma a hopeful smile before turning around. The door opened just as she moved her body, the stranger that wasn’t a stranger to anyone but her, walked in the room, chuckling as he saw Emma fanning her face, the heat swelling her skin with sweat and her eyes with tears - she was nervous.

“You always do this.” Zayn couldn’t resist laughing as Harry walked to them.

(Y/n) was back in her seat now, her eyes fixed on her phone as she waited for Emma to decide her fate. She could hear snickers coming from Zayn and Harry as they talked about the tattoo and Emma’s apparent hesitation that always came out when she was in Zayn’s chair.

“It’s fine, Emma.” Harry said, giving her a smile before looking to Zayn. “Make sure it hurts.”

“Harry, shut up!” Emma groaned and tried to kick at him. He laughed and took a step back. “You guys are bullies.”

“You’ll be alright, Em. It’s not like it's your first.” Zayn reminded her.

She shrugged, crossing her arms over her chest. “Whatever. Go ahead, then. Thanks, Harry.”

“Welcome.” He said lightly before disappearing out of the door again.

(Y/n) wondered why he didn’t stay in the room with them. Was he not interesting in hearing the painful grunts Emma would sure be letting out soon or watching Zayn draw his design perfected for Emma into her skin? Maybe he was tired of being near the tattoo gun since he spent however long getting his own. She pushed the thought aside entirely the moment she heard Emma groan, curses falling form her lips but not directly towards anyone.

Zayn leaned over her foot, his fingers pulling her skin tight as he worked the needle into it. It didn’t look like it was much fun, and (Y/n) became grateful that she had no intention of ever inking anything onto her foot.

—•—

There was a freshness in the air as she looked around Niall’s music store. It smelt like freshly picked lemons, probably because he had just sprayed down the counter before she came in following behind Emma. Niall was in one of his usual band tees and a pair of jeans as he sat on a stool with a guitar resting on his thigh. He was talking with a customer, comparing the similarities of two different guitar brands. Emma found herself busy with the items on the checkout counter - dropping loose pens back into their cup and adjusting the pile of papers Niall had pushed to the side.

(Y/n) stayed curious as she looked around the store. It was very easy to get caught up in the different items, especially since she had little to no idea what some of the accessories were for. Niall provided more than just items for guitars. She didn’t try to decipher every thing on the shelves, just simply moved her eyes across the packages, curiosity settling in her instead of blurting out questions to Niall. The girls came by to bring him some lunch before they did some grocery shopping for the week. Niall was appreciative, but he was unable to entertainment right away.

Emma smiled as the customer approached the counter, the one Niall had been chatting with. She stepped aside and let Niall take over the register. He had another employee here, but he was in the back room looking for a specific thing they needed to restock on one of the shelves. (Y/n) waited near by as Niall scanned the guitar music book the customer wanted to get and told him that he’d see him when he returned for the guitar - the customer hadn’t made his decision just yet.

When it was just the three of them at the counter, a few customers were lingering around the store just browsing, Niall gave them both a warm smile before wrapping his arms around Emma for a quick hug.

“Thanks for lunch. I’ll eat it when Josh gets off his break.” He said with a sigh, folding his arms and leaning them on the counter.

“The store is so nice, Niall.” (Y/n) complimented as she glanced around.

“Thanks.”

Emma walked from behind the counter to where (Y/n) was standing. She was about to ask her something about their plans for the day when her eyes fell on the few pieces of paper taped to the front edge of the counter. One was the refund policy, one was about the instrument lessons, and the other was new since the last time she was here.

“Oh, a flyer? That’s unusual.” Emma suddenly said as she pressed her finger against the pink dyed paper. “For the show?”

“The show?’’ (Y/n) asked with a drop of her brows as she read over the words printed in bold black letters.

“Yeah, Niall’s band. They play at a bar across town every couple of weeks.” Emma told her.

(Y/n) remembered as soon as she heard it. Emma had told her before, long ago when she first started dating Niall, that he was in a cover band. It wasn’t anything serious, not trying to search for record deals or gain stardom, it was just him and his friends having a good time. They got decent money for it, including tips from audiences, and it allowed them to play the instruments each member enjoyed. She wasn’t sure who was in the band as Emma never got to that detail before.

“Oh, right.” She nodded as the memory returned to her brain. “That’s cool.”

“Can’t believe Emma’s never brought you to a show.” Niall said with a somewhat surprised expression.

“I invited her a few times but she’s usually busy with work stuff.” Emma defended herself, even though there was no issue with it.

(Y/n) smiled at her and shrugged. “I remember you asking a couple times.”

“Well, you’re more than welcome to attend if you’d like.” Niall offered as he pushed himself off the counter the moment the bell jingled above the entrance door.

He went to greet the customer, someone he actually was used to seeing come in the store, leaving the girls alone again.

“Yeah, it would be fun if you came! You could finally meet Alyssa. She’s usually just home with her and Zayn’s kid.. she doesn’t go out much anymore, but she loves the shows.” Emma exclaimed with a sparkle in her eye.

“I dunno.. when is it?” She asked, glancing at the flyer.

“Next Saturday night. It would be cool, (Y/n)! We haven’t went out since Halloween.”

The stress building up at work during the holidays definitely set her back from enjoying a lot of things, including several invitations from Emma to join her and Niall at a bar or go out for dinner with just the two of them. It truly felt like forever since she got to have fun with her friend. She thought about it for a moment, but only lifted her shoulder at the idea. The mention of meeting Zayn’s fiancé was intriguing since she had heard so much about her from Emma, but she doubted that would be enough to pull her out for the night.

“Maybe.. depends on how the week goes.”

Emma gave her a partial smile. “Okay. I really hope you can go with me.”

“Yeah, you should definitely come, (Y/n).” Niall said as he appeared next to them, the customer gone to look for the item they asked him about.

Once again, she let out a small sigh and faked a smile for them. “I said I’ll see how the week goes, but no promises.”

He gave her a fake, dramatic frown. “C’mon! Live a little!”

“I live a lot.. at work.”

Emma grabbed her elbow and gave it a squeeze. “I’ll convince you before the week ends.”

“M’sure you will, Em.”

After spending a few more minutes talking to Niall, and then waiting in the car as he and Emma disappeared into his office to say a private goodbye, (Y/n) was ready to get the grocery shopping over with. The store they frequented was near by, so the drive was short and easy. It wasn’t close to their shared house, but the prices were better than anywhere else. Emma offered to take her car, so that left (Y/n) in the passenger seat with her eyes glued to whatever passed by the window.

“Are you okay, (Y/n)?” Emma asked as they strolled through the fruit section in search for the items on their list.

She gulped gently, distracting herself by collecting a few apples for the cart. “M’fine, just tired.”

Emma watched as she walked towards the basket of lemons and grabbed two, she’d need them for a receipe she was going to try later in the week. (Y/n) was normally not this quiet. She enjoyed the task of grabbing their groceries and checking things off their combined list while Emma pushed the cart and double checked everything. Something about doing such a mundane thing made her feel content and comfortable, even if they decided randomly to try a new store they’d never been in. But today was different, Emma was growing concerned with her unusually quiet friend.

“If you’re irritated with me and Niall pushing you about the show.. I’m sorry. You don’t have to go.” Emma said with a soft frown as (Y/n) returned to the cart with a handful of bananas.

She sat them down and lifted her hesitant gaze to meet her closest friend’s. “I’m fine, Emma. Just tired.”

She shook her head gently. “No, you’re too quiet. What’s wrong?”

“You and Niall didn’t bother me, I swear. The bar thing is.. whatever. I’ll think about it, I promise. It’s just.. one of those days.”

Emma wasn’t believing it all the way. Sure, maybe (Y/n) was being truthful about the role her and Niall played in her newfound mood, or didn’t play - but something else was up. She licked her lips and decided to stay quiet as (Y/n) busied herself with grabbing the rest of the fruits before moving onto the fresh vegetables.

Although she didn’t want to press it any further, Emma couldn’t stop thinking about what could’ve happened at the music shop or on the way to the grocery store. Her worry was growing quickly and it wasn’t very long before she was asking another question.

“(Y/n), please tell me. Are you alright?”

She received a sigh as a response, a couple of tomatoes and a bag of baby carrots joined the cart. “Emma, please.. I’m fine.”

“Something is wrong with you. I don’t want to see you so down.”

(Y/n) walked towards the next section of the store, knowing that Emma would follow her with the cart no matter if they were talking or not. She held her breath as she thought about what was bothering her. She was too caught up with her racing mind to realize she was actually expressing her emotions on the outside. Emma noticed everything, so clearly she wasn't doing well at hiding it. There was no real issue, really, nothing that anyone caused by saying or doing anything. A lump slid down her throat, Emma was her friend - there was no need to keep anything from her.

Just as they turned down the aisle where the bread was, she stopped in her tracks and turned towards the cart, her hand reaching out to stop it. Emma froze, a lift of her brows offering confidence like a good friend should.

“The guy that walked through the door right before we left.. at Niall’s store..” She started with a strong voice, but it slowly faded to almost a whisper.

Emma nodded, encouraging her to continue. She looked down to the floor as the moment replayed in her memory. It wasn’t an unusual thing for her to experience, in fact it was more common than not. One little thing, one random glance from a passerby, one glimpse of someone with a similar shade of hair as her own, one note from a list of songs she knew were special..

“He reminded me of my brother. I.. I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Her response made Emma’s stomach turn to knots. She knew that the conversation was over then, and there wasn’t anything else she could try that would break (Y/n). The forbidden topic had been brought up, and quickly dropped back to the vault she kept it locked away in. Emma didn’t mention it again..

[a/n: this is a series! It’s a lot longer per part than my other stuff so I hope you enjoy! This is just the intro so it will be more interesting and exciting as it goes on! reblog, like, do all that lovely stuff!!]

taglist: (notified for all // if you want to join a taglist for this series, lmk in a comment or message and I’ll start one)

@walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @victoriasigaard @ariiscringe @harlowsgirl @lomllover @haniaaa04 @sideboobrry11 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @fangirl509east @fruity-harry @sassamanda77 @lizsogolden

[tkwrites]

Split & Healed - A snapshot in 2 parts - Quinn Hughes x ofc

gif from @gabelandeskog

Title: Split & Healed, a Snapshot in 2 parts: Part 2 

Part 1

Author: Tory / @tkwrites 

Relationship: Pre-established: Quinn x Sarah

Warnings: smut (18+ only), oral (f receiving)

Summary: Getting home from a road trip in the middle of the night is par for the course for Quinn, but getting home after finally getting his stitches removed means he can’t wait for morning to get his mouth on Sarah.

Word count: 1,600

Comments: Many thanks for the nonnie who sent in this inspired ask! Hope you enjoy what I came up with! 

If you enjoyed this, please let me know by commenting, reblogging or sending in an ask. Your encouragement and comments truly inspire me to keep writing. 

Anonymous asked: Thinking about Quinn being so excited to give Sarah head when the stitches finally come out of his lip. He would be insatiable 

Split & Healed, a Snapshot in 2 parts: Part 2 

A Quinn & Sarah Snapshot 

When Quinn arrived home in the early hours of the morning on Friday, he had no intention of a waking Sarah.

He missed her, certainly, but he'd missed her before.  He had it all planned out. He’d catch a few hours of restful sleep next to her and then spend the morning worshiping every inch of her he could get his mouth on until she had to leave for class.

After Roman removed the last of the stitches after practice in Utah, he sent Sarah a selfie. 

Does this mean we can finally kiss when you get home? 

Sure does. 

Thank God.  

It had been a cruel twist of fate to have the stitches removed and be cleared to do everything as soon as he was no longer at home. 

The entire drive from the arena, he told himself he could wait until a more reasonable hour. 

The moment he got into bed, however, everything changed. As the heady scent of her surrounded him, all of a sudden, his dick was hard and his mouth was buzzing with a need to kiss and taste her that he just couldn’t shake.

It had been torturous to resist her while the stitches were still in place. He loved putting his mouth on her, and the desire only intensified when he was told he couldn’t.

He’d even begged to go down on her, but she’d refused, point blank, telling him, “I will not be the one responsible for your lip getting infected.”  

Perhaps it was just because everything that had been haunting his dreams since his lip had been busted was in front of him.

Perhaps it was because he was presented with so much of her bare skin he hadn't been able to put his mouth on for the past week and a half.  

Perhaps it was nothing more than the simple relief of being home without seutchers sewn into his skin. 

Whatever it was - likely a combination of all three - he found he just couldn’t wait. 

“Quinn?” Sarah asked sleepily, feeling something whisper over her shoulder again. 

He mumbled into her skin. 

“Q, is that you?” It wasn’t so much that she thought it might be someone else as she wanted to make sure this wasn't just happening in her dream.

His mouth skimmed up her neck to whisper in her ear, “yeah. It’s me.” 

She made a contented little humming noise, and shifted to lean against him more. 

Taking this as an invitation to continue, Quinn kept kissing and kissing, savoring the softness of her skin, the taste of her. 

She made that same noise again, a little louder this time, and the control he’d been skimming along stretched taught, threatening to snap. 

“Can I go down on you?” he murmured, giving up on trying to talk himself out of it.  

“Hu?”  

“Can I eat you out?” There was a desperate whine to his voice when he added on, “please?” 

Though she did want it - she’d missed his mouth on her nearly as much as he had - it was the middle of the night. “Quinn, I'm too tired,” she said, words slurred with sleep. 

He knew he should let it go, but found he couldn't. The idea had gripped too much of his imagination. “I don’t want to wait to taste you now that I can.”

She pulled in a deep, sleepy breath, “I don’t know that I can…” she trailed off, gesturing vaguely, miming jerking him off. 

“You don’t need to do anything,” he rushed to assure. “Getting my mouth on you is enough.”

Murmuring his name as more heat rushed down her spine, Sarah rolled onto her back. 

He scrambled on top of her. “This is okay?”

Her eyes were still closed, lashes fanned over her cheeks, as she nodded. 

Relief and desire chased each other through his body.

Hooking his fingers into the waistband of her little purple shorts, he eased them and her underwear down, tossing them off the side of the bed before he spread her legs to find his home between them.

“Quinn,” she breathed. There was so much quiet desire in the whispered way she said his name, it made another surge of heat rush to his cock. 

He licked his lips, anxious to taste her on them, and finally (finally, finally) put his mouth on her. 

A moaned little grunt escaped her mouth and her hips tipped toward him. 

His hunch wasn't far off. One taste of her sweet nectar, and he was straining against the confines of his boxers and rutting into the mattress to get some relief. If she hadn’t been so tired, he would beg for her to touch him next, but that could wait.

God, she was perfect. She tasted so good. 

Her hand slipped down, her fingers lazily brushing into his hair. Another need raged to life inside him. 

“Pull my hair,” he practically begged. He could hear how much she liked it, but he wanted to feel it too. 

Her fingers traced over his scalp again. 

Maybe she hadn’t heard him. He pulled back so he could talk louder, “Sarah?”

“Hmm?” Her eyes were still closed, voice still sleepy. 

“Sarah, pull my hair,” there was a distinct whine in his voice now that he didn’t even try to bite back. He needed to feel it. “Please.”  

She nudged him down. He didn't need telling twice.

As he licked her perfect, sensitive pearl, her hips jumped to his mouth and her hand tightened in his curls.

“Just like that,” he groaned into her. 

“Oh my god,” Sarah breathed. This was by far the best wakeup call she’d ever received. 

Suddenly, he was insatiable, lapping and sucking at her as if he were eating his final meal. He’d missed this so much, he was never giving up the opportunity again. 

“So good, Quinn,” she moaned. 

Her praise swam straight to his cock. “Again,” he groaned into her.

“So good,” she repeated, tightening her fingers in his hair. Then, swimming with pleasure and the want to drive him over the same cliff he was pushing her toward, she found herself continuing, “such a good boy for me.”

The combination of the tingling pain from her grip on his hair and her praise hurled him over the precipice. 

With one last rock of his hips, he shot off, coating the inside of his boxers.

He grunted into her, feeling his eyes roll back. 

When he came back to himself, she was still spread out under him, her breath coming in steady, even gasps. 

She whined when he pulled back to suck in a few deep breaths. He needed to send her over the edge and needed his lungs full of air to do it. 

Sarah moaned loudly when he dove back in, snaking his tongue inside her as he nosed at her clit. 

“Quinn, oh fuck.” Her hips moved of their own volition, shamelessly grinding herself against the bridge of his nose. 

Feeling her fall apart around his tongue while he couldn't smell and taste anything but her was the fulfillment of every fantasy he’d had over the past eleven days.

Had he not already, he surely would have shot off listening to her pleasured moans and feeling her pulsing around and against his mouth. 

He kept going until she collapsed back against the mattress. 

His top lip still felt a little strange to him – too stiff where the wound was still healing – but licking her essence off of it made it feel a little more normal.

Her breathing was coming in deep gasps, one hand over her heart. “Oh my God.” 

Crunching up a little, she found him still on his stomach, languidly licking his lips as if he wanted to savor every drop. 

“That was…” she trailed off, flopping back onto the mattress. 

She could hear the smile in his voice as he teased, “worth waking up for?”

“Holy shit. Yes. I should stop you from going down on me so often if that’s going to be the result.” 

Quinn scrambled away from her. “What?” 

She opened one eye to find him kneeling between her knees, a wary look on his handsome face. She smirked, savoring his reaction for just a moment before she caved, “I’m just joking. You’re the only guy I’ve dated that actually likes going down on me. I’m not going to stop you.” 

He practically slumped over her left leg in relief. 

“What time is it?” she asked. 

“Quarter to three,” he said, glancing at the digital alarm clock across the room. 

“Can you hand me my shorts?” she asked after a few minutes. As the high of her orgasm ebbed away, fatigue settled back into her bones. 

“Yeah,” he grunted, pushing himself up.

She hummed. 

“Here.” 

Opening her eyes, she found Quinn at the end of the bed, threading her shorts and underwear over her feet so he could ease them up her legs. 

She took over at her knees and he went to the bathroom, grabbing a fresh pair of boxers on the way. 

Feeling him relax into the bed next to her, Sarah roused herself enough to ask, “did you get off?” 

He smiled, loving that even in her early morning, sleepy mind, she was thinking of him. “Yep,” he said before pulling her body flush to his and pressing a kiss to her shoulder. 

“Good,” she said quietly, leaning into him and drifting back to sleep. 

Part 1

Want more Quinn & Sarah? Check out the Snapshots Masterlist 

To read all my fics, check out the Fanfiction Masterlist

[glowettee]

Study Like an It Girl: Paris Geller Energy 📚✨

If there’s one fictional character who embodies the ultimate study grind, it’s Paris Geller from Gilmore Girls. Her level of ambition? Unmatched. Her drive? Relentless. And while her methods might sometimes verge on chaotic (okay, very chaotic), there’s so much we can learn from her approach to academics. I'm gonna break down how you can channel that Paris Geller energy while keeping your sanity intact. 🌸✨ (hopefully...)

1. Set Clear Goals (Be as Extra as Paris)

Paris didn’t just want to do well; she wanted to be the best. While you don’t have to make your life a competition, having clear, specific goals can give you direction. Instead of saying, “I want to study more,” try:

“I want to get an A on my next chemistry test.”

“I’ll complete three hours of focused study for math every weeknight.” Specificity helps you stay on track and keeps your energy focused on the right tasks.

💡 It Girl Tip: Create a vision board for your goals, Paris-style. Include dream colleges, career aspirations, or anything else that fuels your ambition. Keep it somewhere you can see it every day—manifestation meets motivation. (digital or IRL is good, USE PINTEREST!)

2. Romanticize Your Study Environment

Let’s be honest: Paris wouldn’t study in a messy, uninspiring room. Your study space should feel like an aesthetic haven. Think:

A tidy desk with your favorite stationery ✏️

Soft lighting (fairy lights or a warm desk lamp) 🌟

A pastel mug filled with tea or coffee ☕

Background music (try classical, K-Pop or lo-fi playlists for the ultimate vibe) 🎶

You’re the main character of your life!!

3. Be Aggressively Overprepared, But Aesthetically So

Paris Geller never walked into a study session without knowing everything. Her energy was all about overachieving to the point of intimidating her competition. You don’t need the rivalry, but you do need the prep.

It Girl Twist: Gather extra resources and organize them beautifully. Think color-coded binders, pastel-highlighted textbooks, and aesthetic digital flashcards.

Why It Works: When you know more than what’s required, it builds confidence. That’s Paris power.

💡 Mindy Says: “Overprepared = unbothered queen vibes. Let your notes be so cute they could double as Pinterest posts.”

4. Master Controlled Chaos

Paris’s intensity could sometimes spiral into chaos, but she always managed to pull through. Instead of avoiding stress, embrace it as a sign you’re pushing yourself—and learn to channel it constructively.

It Girl Twist: When you’re overwhelmed, do a quick brain dump into a journal or planner. Write down every single task, no matter how small. Then organize it into bite-sized chunks.

Why It Works: Getting everything out of your head and onto paper clears your mind and gives you control.

💡 Mindy Says: “Your chaos is part of the process, babe. Just make it chic— glittery gel pens and mood-boosting playlists.”

5. Develop an Intimidation-Level Vocabulary

Remember when Paris dropped SAT words like confetti? It wasn’t just for show; she knew that language was power. Building your vocabulary can make you feel (and sound) unstoppable.

It Girl Twist: Learn one new “power word” a day and slip it into casual conversations or captions. Bonus points if it’s super niche and makes you feel like a literary goddess.

Why It Works: Knowledge isn’t just for exams—it’s for life. Plus, it’s fun to impress people with words they have to Google.

💡 Mindy Says: “An eloquent queen is a glowing queen. Vocabulary flexing is the new subtle flex.”

6. Treat Every Day Like It’s a Debate Prep Day

Paris’s debate skills were unmatched because she thought critically about everything. Adopting her mindset means questioning the world around you and staying curious.

It Girl Twist: Pick one topic you’re passionate about and research the heck out of it. Pretend you’re preparing to debate Paris herself (but in a cute, less intimidating way).

Why It Works: Critical thinking is a muscle—flex it daily. It’s also a low-key way to keep studying exciting.

💡 Mindy Says: “Be curious. Be informed. Be iconic. Channel your inner Paris and make intellectual sass your superpower.”

5. Take Pride in Your Ambition—Unapologetically

Paris never dimmed her ambition, even when people found it “too much.” Embrace that energy and stop apologizing for wanting more—if it’s higher grades, dream schools, or a future as the CEO of your life embrace it!

It Girl Twist: Write a “brag list” every week. Note down everything you’ve accomplished, big or small, and let yourself feel proud of it.

Why It Works: Celebrating your wins keeps you motivated and reminds you that your hard work is paying off.

💡 Mindy Says: “Being ambitious isn’t extra—it’s iconic. You’re not ‘too much,’ babe. You’re just enough to glow brighter than everyone else.”

✨ Final Thoughts:

I hoped you girlies loved this blog post. I wanted to try a different style. If you all noticed the "Mindy Quotes" they're all words by me! I'm Mindy/Glowettee! I wanted to give you personal words of encouragement! Love you all!

[arcane-confessions]

We need to abolish the "Viktor didn't care about Sky" argument. This mandela effect started somewhere god knows where but it's gotten to a point where my eyebrows do the angry bird thing every fucking time someone says it.

1. If he did hallucinate her, that's an insane level of obsession, I'm afraid. Guilt and grief are one thing, building her dream commune is something completely different. Also I'm sorry let's not pretend that guilt and grief are not inherently romantic, they are in their case. He was ready to off himself after she died. There's nothing casual or colleague like in the way Viktor treats Sky post her death. In love with the idea of her or in love with her, it doesnt really matter

2. If he didn't hallucinate her and she was indeed real, then he let her guide him and spent months upon months doing the equivalent of giggling in flowers and holding hands. He again in that case built her project for her and cared for it for her.

3. He wore Jayce's blanket with HER pin. He kept the cog AND the notebook.

Viktor loved them both, it's quite clear when you stop quivering over one ship or the other being more canon. I genuinely dont know how we are all still arguing about it or why as a matter of fact.

Why isn't he allowed to love them both?! Some people act as if THEY are Viktor and their feelings about him are the canonical ones. The rules of fandom state we award him pin of bisexuality until a canon decision is made. That's how it works. If either side doesnt like him being with either Sky or Jayce, then that's frankly an issue that needs looking in and not project onto the others.

Jayce, sky, viktor, mel, get behind me. Baby's first fandom behaviours are ensuing.

I wholeheartedly agree. I love skyvik, I wish people weren’t so crazy over ships in this fandom

[psychics4unet]

✨ Pick a Cat! 🐾 ✨ Which cat will reveal when you might get married? 💍

🐱 1 | 🐱 2 | 🐱 3 | 🐱 4 | 🐱 5

Choose the cat that speaks to your heart, then scroll to uncover your story! 😺💫

🐱 Cat 1:

Your late 20s will be a magical time for love and commitment! 💕 Around this age, you’ll feel like everything is falling into place. Your partner will bring out the best in you, inspiring growth and happiness. Expect a romantic proposal that feels like it’s straight out of a dream! 💍 You’ll build a life together filled with laughter and shared goals. This will be a relationship based on mutual respect and understanding. Friends and family will support and celebrate your union wholeheartedly. 🎉 Your wedding might have a warm, intimate vibe with those closest to you. This love will feel destined, like you were always meant to meet. ✨ You’ll look back and know this timing was perfect for you.

🐱 Cat 2:

In your early 30s, marriage will become a key milestone in your journey. 🌈 By this age, you’ll have a clear sense of who you are and what you want. Your partner will share your values and dreams, creating a strong connection. It might come after a phase of personal and professional growth. 💼 The proposal could be thoughtful and symbolic, reflecting your bond. 💖 Your wedding might be elegant and full of meaningful details. This union will feel like a reward for all the lessons you’ve learned. You’ll approach marriage with maturity and a deep commitment to your future. This partnership will empower you both to reach new heights. ✨ Together, you’ll create a life filled with adventure and love.

🐱 Cat 3:

Your mid-20s will be a whirlwind of love, leading to marriage! 💕 It’ll happen when you least expect it, with someone who feels like home. The relationship will grow quickly but naturally, with no doubts in your heart. Your partner will be kind, supportive, and share your passion for life. 🌟 The proposal will be sweet and heartfelt, reflecting your deep connection. 💍 Your wedding might be vibrant and fun, full of laughter and happy tears. This marriage will bring you both a sense of security and belonging. You’ll grow together as a team, learning and supporting each other every day. Your love story will feel like something out of a fairy tale. ✨ The timing will be perfect for the life you’re ready to build.

🐱 Cat 4:

Marriage might find you in your late 30s, and it will be worth the wait. 💖 By this time, you’ll know exactly what you want in a partner. This love will feel stable, secure, and built to last. ✨ Your partner will bring balance and peace to your life, like a missing puzzle piece. The proposal could be simple yet deeply meaningful, perfectly suiting your style. 💍 Your wedding might have a sophisticated, timeless vibe. You’ll cherish this phase of life, feeling more confident than ever. This relationship will feel like the culmination of years of growth. 🌟 Your union will bring out the best in both of you, creating harmony. Together, you’ll create a future that’s both exciting and grounded.

🐱 Cat 5:

Marriage could come in your early 40s, bringing a beautiful surprise! 🌈 This love will arrive when you least expect it, but it’ll feel just right. You’ll meet someone who values your individuality and matches your energy. 💕 The relationship will feel like a second chance at true happiness. The proposal might be spontaneous and filled with raw emotion. 💍 Your wedding could reflect your life’s journey, filled with personal touches. This union will be built on a foundation of trust and mutual respect. You’ll appreciate the timing, knowing everything happened as it should. ✨ This marriage will inspire you to keep growing and exploring life together. You’ll feel grateful for the love that has found its way to you.

🎀 Which cat did you choose? 🐾 Share your story and let us know if the prediction resonated! 💌✨

[daflangstlairde-art]

"Extremophile" 2/4

Part 3 of ocean depths

Summary:

You drown every minute, every second, with every breath you take. You haven’t breathed for so, so long. The icy waters are inside you, deep, deep inside you. All you could ever feel is cold and colder. You haven’t seen the sun in... so... long. It was so far away from you that you couldn’t even picture it anymore. And here was the sun himself. Here was that gasp of air that burned. You’ve been so cold for so long, the warmth feels like death. — Alt summary: It's not easy but boy do I drag Killer (and everyone around him) kicking and screaming towards a healing arc

Chapter 2: "feel better" 3266 words

Credits, warnings and additional info on ao3.

—

You don't listen to them when they talk to you. You don't even look at them. You only snap, like when Dust kicks you in the shin for ignoring him. 

You don't care.

You don't think about Dream. You don't think about Nightmare.

None of this matters anyway.

Pain and suffering was all you had to make you feel alive, and now you don't even have that. Hah.

—

“...K–”

“If the words that come out of your mouth aren't ‘I’m here to give you your soul back’, I’ll make it easier for you,” you interrupt him, “and advise you to shut the hell up.” 

And once again, Night falls into silence. He stands where Dream usually does. You don't even give him the courtesy of looking at him. 

You don't want him here. You made that expressly clear. In a perfect world, he returns your soul and then leaves you be so you can finally off yourself. In a slightly less perfect world, but still an acceptable one, he just leaves you be. 

You hate him so much it's more than you can handle.

You want to rip him apart.

Instead, he just keeps standing there. What a coward. He can barely muster up a few words for you. What a fucking coward. All that power and yet he's a weakling.

You hear him take a breath. Steeling himself. You want to ruin his resolve.

“...You haven't been reading my–”

“Yep, and I'm not going to.” you cut him off again. “Not unless that results in me getting my soul back.” 

“...I cannot do that.” Night says quietly, and it almost makes you laugh. You're too tired for it, however. 

What a joke though, huh? The almighty Guardian of Negativity can't do something as simple as returning an object that doesn't even belong– ...well. You suppose it does belong to him, in a way. 

It did, at least. 

You belonged to him. 

And now he's... like this. 

“Right.” you reply flatly. “In that case — au revoir.” 

Another pause. It’d be funny how apprehensive he is to speak to you if it wasn't so pathetic and, frankly, annoying. 

“...Killer–” 

“I’m too lazy to get up and force you out,” you bulldoze over his words yet again, no interest in hearing him out, “so be nice and don't make me, baby,” 

Out of the corner of your eye, you see him flinch at the nickname. Your grin widens. Good. He deserves to hurt a little. You hope it made him deeply uncomfortable.

“I merely wanted to say I’m sorry,” Night rushes out in an attempt to be heard. “The way I treated you was never acceptable and it never should've happe–” 

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” 

The silence rings deafening in the quiet that follows. 

That exploded from you in a way that surprises even yourself. You realize you are boiling. It's detached, but it's there. You shove yourself to your feet, grinding your teeth in a malicious grin.

You breathe heavily. The hatred and rage and desire for violence courses through you like liquid nitrogen. 

“Shut up.” you snap, staring at Night. He stares back, mouth pressed flatly, braced. There’s scarring over his right eye, like very wrongly healed cracks, making it mottled. Deformed forever just like Killer’s soul. He can't erase his — their — past, no matter how badly he wants to. “That’s not for you to decide.” 

He doesn't say anything. 

You stalk toward him slowly, blade already summoned to your hand. You want to make him bleed. You want to make him hurt. 

“I remember,” you start, voice coldly cheerful, “the way you would wring my neck until I couldn't even cry out. I remember the way you told me to attack my– subordinates, and I didn't even hesitate. I remember the way you would make me sob with despair–” 

“And it wasn't right–” 

“And I wanted every bit of it!” you raise your voice over his. He’s barely two feet away from you now. You wish he would cower away.

There was always something... larger, about Corrupted Nightmare. Something bigger than life. Something superior to you.

Night, the way he stood in front of you now, was lithe. He was small. It made you want to squash him like an insect. 

“I don't know how you're seeing this in your sorry little brain,” you mock, “but I’m not some victim. I chose every part of what you did to me.” you step closer, raising your knife. “I enjoyed it.”

Pressing it under his chin. 

Forcing it ever so slightly upwards so the little coward meets your fucking eyes. His eye lights tremble. You hope he's scared.

“Wanna know why, Night?” you barely have to raise your voice to be heard, with how close the two of you are. You hope he feels all the violent intent pouring from you. 

“...Why?” Night dares to prompt, even quieter. 

“Don’t you remember?” you laugh harshly, “I’m defined by my suffering. I breathe negativity.” 

Night flinches as you parrot his own words back to him. You can see in his expression that it hurts. 

Good.

“And that...” you idly trace the line of his jaw with the tip of your knife. “...made me perfect, you said. You gave me exactly what I needed. I can’t be ‘helped’ — your idiot of a brother may think otherwise, but we both know the truth, don't we?” you chuckle. 

Night just keeps staring at you, a twisted expression on his face. You entertain the thought of peeling it away bit by bit. 

“You're all I had, and I’m all you had.” you remind him. 

(I loved you at your worst. I’m the only one who did.

And you left me.)

It all happens in a flash — you've barely pulled the knife back before you slam it into his chest and he screams, but you're louder–

“And you THREW IT ALL AWAY!” 

Hands flying up to grab yours but you twist the knife deeper, shoving him back. Until you slam his back into the pillar behind him. 

He clutches at your wrist with both hands, blood streaming down his shirt. But he doesn't leave. He just takes it. Probably due to all that misplaced guilt. It's pathetic. You're almost disgusted to wound him. 

You wonder if he’ll let you kill him. He won't die from this, of course, it's nowhere near enough, though you almost wish the sheer harmful intent you packed into it was enough to make him keel over.

Oh how the tables have turned. Now it's you putting that look on his face and making him cry out in pain. How cute.

He stares at you, tears building in the corners of his eyes despite his set expression. You wonder if it's the pain from the wound or the pain from your words.

“I was ready to do everything for you,” you snarl, still grinning close to his face so he misses none of it. “But nooo! Little Mister Good Night wanted to play nice!” you jeer, ripping the blade out of him. He buckles and chokes on it, gasping for breath. 

You grab his hand roughly. 

“But you’re not nice. You can't be nice. You’re a monster, just like me. We know the truth,” you pull his hand up, and slot the knife’s handle into it, “Don't we, my king?” 

Night tries to jerk his hand back, and then again, but he still refuses to fight back against you. It’d be adorable if it wasn't so stupid. 

You just use your second one to forcibly press his fingers closed around the handle of the blade. 

And then you press that blade to right where your soul always sits, always bared and vulnerable. 

You lean close, until you can even feel the pain from the sharp tip.

“So here's your ultimatum,” you speak slow and calm. Quiet enough so your voice doesn't even echo, because this is personal. Between you and him. You’re grinning. “You can't have both cakes, baby. Either leave me be completely; or stop with your game of pretend, stop being a coward and finish it.” 

The silence is deafening. 

You feel the way your grin is stretched over your face, leering and dripping black. You listen to Night’s harsh, quick breathing. You watch the shake in his wide, wet eyes. 

What a fun idea Night had, coming here. You wonder what he was expecting to happen. Fool. 

“...I–” Night takes a breath, “I don't wish to hurt you any more than I already have.” he says, pushing determined resolve into his voice, even with how quiet and shaky it is.

“Oh, but dear,” you croon, and you wonder if it’ll work if you were the one to shove his hands in the right direction, “can't we do what I want for once?” 

Night shook his head, distressed.

You sigh, releasing him, taking your knife back. 

It won't work if the intent isn't there, so you can't do it yourself. What a disappointment. Although that isn't a surprise, when it comes to this version of Nightmare. 

“Go on then,” you wave dismissively, turning your back to him. “Leave.” 

And in a perfect world, he does. In a perfect world, the Void comes and claims you with its own hands.

“No.” your wrist is grabbed, and you pause. 

Slowly, you turn back around. Until you can once again see his face. Like a little mouse. It has no right holding all that determination all of a sudden.

“...What?” you hiss.

“I said no.” Night repeats, as if you simply didn't quite hear him. Raising his chin a little, eye lights flickery but holding your glare nonetheless. “I'm not leaving you again.” 

You stare at him. 

You spit a laugh in his face and he winces. You hold your face, and you start laughing so hard your head hurts. The harsh sound bouncing around the mess that became of this damned corridor. 

Well isn't that a funny joke? Never knew Nightmare is such a comedian!

“Laugh all you want!” Night goes on the defensive, trying to speak over your deranged laughter. “I know you hate being alone, I’m not leaving you, even if I can't help, I’ll send Dream, or Dust or– I know you hate being alone,”

“And that's why you ditched me, isn't it?” you speak over his words, through your own laughter. He still hasn't let go of your wrist. The contact feels... feels. “Discarded me when I was no longer fun to push around?”

Night cringes, clearly pained at the reminder. Reflexively squeezing your wrist. 

“Left me? In the Antivoid? Poor ol’ me, all alone?” you press deeper into the emotional wound. “Because you wanted to hurt me as bad as you could, right? Remember? What good times we had, Night-night!” 

“You're so–” Night mutters through teeth, and you laugh in his face. 

“I’m what? Callous? Mean? Evil?” you continue mocking, “Come on, saayy it! Hopeless, beyond redemption? Violent and unstable, a distorted freak, scum?” oh yes, you remember the pretty names he’s called you, always the romantic, “Am I still perfect for you, baby? Or is your little toy finally too broken to play with?” you throw it all at him like darts at a board.

You know it hurts because he cries. His expression is set, but there's silent tears down his face. The sight of it might just make the next day a little more bearable to exist through. 

Instead of daring to address any of that, however, 

“...You’re not beyond hope.” Night whispers. 

What a moron. Him and Dream really are twins, huh? 

“Hey, waste as much energy on that as you want. I don't care,” you shrug, “I don't care about anything.” you say airily.

“That's not true.” Night still doesn't raise his voice. 

“Right, because you know me better than I know myself or... something something,” you feign a yawn, “Soo you going to leave already oorr?” 

Now, Night’s hand squeezes your wrist intentionally. There's probably meaning to it. You don't care. You don't care. 

“I’ll be back.” Night states, quiet but resolute.

You don't dignify him with a response. You don't care enough to do so.

When he finally leaves, you exhale. 

And once again it's just you and the silence.

—

You're that sick and tired of this hallway to last for three lifetimes. You need a change of scenery. 

You need something to do. You crave it like a druggie. You need to sink your sharp magic into something soft, watch the life drain out, so you can pretend like you're soaking it up. You need the rush of it, the hit of raised EXP. You need the adrenaline of a fight. 

Or, at the very least, you need a change. The boredom is mind numbing. It's torture. It’s eating you alive. You feel like you're decaying with every breath.

You wonder if Dust’s offer is still on the table. Probably, right? Mm. One small issue, though. 

You have no way of contacting him. You only have company when someone else decides to come around. 

You settle for repeatedly slamming the back of your head into the wall. 

If you're in pain, maybe you're real.

—

Huh. Killer didn't think Night would dare show his face around again. But apparently he was a little more serious about the whole ‘not leaving you alone’ thing. 

Except... he did nothing. 

Killer didn't greet him back when he popped up, but Night didn't push. He just... sat down on the ground. Opened up a book. Started reading casually like he was in a comfy public library. 

At least he wasn't being a bother again. 

Killer avoided looking at him initially, but now, he observed. Just watched the way Night sat, legs crossed. 

He was dressed... proper. Fancy and regal, but far from anything grand — more on the simple side, a caplet with a clasp, that sort of thing. In purple. 

Killer watched him turn a page. Stance calm and easy. Like Killer wouldn't take every opportunity to hurt him. It was... annoying. 

“You really have nothing better to do?” Killer spoke up, almost surprising himself with it. But hey, even talking to this loser was more than the devouring silence. “No charity work? Fixed all the lives you ruined?” 

He watched Night intentionally keep his composure together, not showing that’d gotten to him. Killer knew he had, anyway. He chuckled. It was so easy. 

“There's always something to do,” Night said calmly, eyes on his book. “And right now I’m choosing to do this,” 

“Aww, you missed me that bad, baby?” Killer mocked. “Realized you can never fit among them? That they’ll always hate you?” he spoke cheerfully. 

Night gripped his book. Then pointedly relaxed his hands. 

“...I already knew that,” he said quietly. In the echo of the hallway it was audible enough. “And... I do miss you,” 

Killer fell silent. 

...That... hm. He huffed. 

That was stupid. That wasn't– he wanted to snap at Night to shut up. 

“Well of course you do,” he crooned instead, grin widening, “Who wouldn't want a brainless yes-man of a peon?” 

Night frowned slightly.

“...You're not brainless,” he countered, of all things. Hm. He wasn't rising to Killer’s bait. He was keeping himself a lot more level-headed compared to last time. Interesting. 

“Right, my mistake,” Killer mimed rolling his eyes, “I’m heartless,” 

Night’s gaze broke from his book, but he still didn't look at Killer, only to the side. Frowning lightly. 

“I...” he spoke, considering, “...I don't think you're that, either.” 

Killer immediately spat a laugh. 

“Oh so you've gone delusional!” he revelled, “We should call Dust and Horror here, get the whole Crazy Crew!” he jeered. 

“I’m serious,”

“I’m sure you are!” 

“You're not heartless, Killer,” Night insisted, Killer’s mockery only strengthening his defensive stance. “Dream told me what happened between the two of you. I know you felt his affective aura and you've always been able to feel mine–” 

“Woooww, I’m susceptible to emotions forced on me? You're right, I’m such an empath–”

“That's the thing,” Night now looked at him, closing his book. Oooh, getting serious? “Ink can't. He’s influenced only by his vials. Fresh is immune to our influence too — but you’re not. You can feel it, you feel it all,” 

Killer sighed, enduring the lecture with an almost familiar lack of care. Ahh, the amount of times he’s been scolded by Nightmare. Sadly this one probably won't end like those. What a shame.

“So what?” Killer shrugged. 

“I think,” Night spoke like this was far from the first time he’d thought on the matter, yet still treading carefully, “that... you could, hypothetically... feel on your own. You had the capability before, even if it has been a long time, right? It– it's like an atrophied muscle, you struggle to generate anything on your own, but the senses for it are still there–” 

“You have no way of knowing that,” Killer pointed out. 

Night paused. Squinted. He idly fidgeted with the top corners of his book, contemplative. 

“...You know what?” he chimed, “You're right. How about we test it?” 

Killer blinked. “Test it,” he repeated flatly. 

“Yes! Like an experiment,” Night nodded, a little livelier, “That would be at least a little interesting, right? We can bet on it, even, and it'd be a win-win for you — either you're right and you win, or I’m right and we can work on hea– recovering your emotional senses!” 

...What a nerd.

But he did know how to convince Killer. It was almost nasty, the way he used his intimate knowledge of the inner workings of Killer’s mind. 

It would be more interesting than doing nothing, though. And it would be a win-win for him. 

“Mmm,” Killer tapped a finger, acting indecisive, “A bet, huh? What are you betting?” 

Night paused again. “I meant it more figuratively,” he coughed. 

“And I’m making it literal,”

“Well what are you willing to bet on it?” what do you even have?

Clever, flipping it back to Killer. Night was showing his chess skills.

Hmm. What could he bet? Not like he had... anything, really. 

...But. There was something that Night had which Killer wanted. 

“...My soul,” Killer said, smirking. “If I win, you give it back. If you win, you can keep it.” 

And if Killer was right, and he was truly, provably hopeless, getting his soul back had an obvious next step. If Night somehow, ridiculously, proved to be right, Killer could hypothetically live with that. 

A win-win.

Night was hesitating. 

“...I don't–” he puffed an exhale, “Your soul is– that's too much. I’m not–” 

Killer cackled loudly, “Well then you better be pretty convinced in that little theory!” he prodded. “Come on, it’s my soul after all,” 

Night pushed himself to his feet, storing his book in his inventory. He took in a breath, let it out. 

“...I have a few terms.”

“Okay,” Killer indulged him, amused.

“You’ll also let Dream help. And you have to go about this fairly — give it an actual shot, don't just... shoot it all down.” Night kept his back straight as he spoke. 

“Sure,” 

“...Genuinely?” Night was taken back by his response. 

“Yeah whatever,” Killer shrugged, getting to his feet. “Win-win, right?” 

“...Right.” 

“Well?” Killer extended a hand. 

Night glanced at it, then at his face. Breathed in, breathed out. Steeled himself, committing to his decision. 

He strode closer, took Killer’s hand and shook it. It didn't hurt. Even Killer didn't take the opportunity to hit him with an attack. 

Alright then. Time to see how this unfolds.

[bybdolan]

thoughts on books i read in 2024

This was kind of an abysmal reading year for me ... i did not read a lot, very few books were truly excellent, and most of what I read was written by white guys (which is on me). Let’s hope 2025 is better on all fronts. Anyway, here’s a list of what I read, and about 4 sentences written in 3 minutes trying to summarize my thoughts on the book.

The Autograph Collector (Zadie Smith) – started the year off pretty strong with this one. It’s been a while since I read it, but what I do remember is that smith is an excellent storyteller and I liked how the themes of grief, dreams, and fame were woven together.

Die Insel der 1000 Leuchttürme (Walter Moers) – eh? I was constantly hoping that this would go in a “horror as metaphor for bigotry” or “small communities with strict rules are fucking scary” (think The Wicker Man) kind of direction, and thus was not on board with the way the plot ended up developing. It’s also way too long and Hildegunst’s neuroses are annoying after a certain point.

Faserland (Christian Kracht) – this is as good as everyone says it is. Full stop. I admittedly just love books about sad young men who are or pretend to be assholes (Catcher in the Rye), so this was perfect for me. Very sad and very pale, but in a good way – it felt clear, like nice winter wind. Also: I couldn’t get the boy to kill me but I wore his jacket for the longest time. Etc. etc.

Das fliegende Klassenzimmer (Erich Kästner) – a classic for a reason!!! Children’s books are at their best when they take their audience seriously, and this passes that test with flying colors. Incredibly fun, incredibly moving. Made me cry more than once. Eisern!

Call Me By Your Name (André Aciman) – this was a really interesting experience for me because I strongly disliked the movie when I watched it, as I was constantly put off by Oliver’s behavior. I think the book does a better job at making you understand the fragile and confusing back-and-forth between Elio and Oliver, and I found myself really really liking it because of that. I also greatly appreciate how unapologetically horny it is. Being horny makes you act fucking weird!!! I love weird horny representation!!! YAY peach scene! The style was beautiful as well, though a bit imagery-heavy at times, which did fit the heavy summer atmosphere.

Rico, Oskar 1 – 3 (Andreas Steinhöfel) – listened to the audiobooks on my way to uni. A very fun time all around. Similarly to Kästner, Steinhöfel has a lot of respect for his audience and also doesn’t shelter them. What other kids’ books can you name where the protagonist’s mom works at a strip club? The representation may not be perfect but I love that he went there. Mama Doretti you are forever famous TO ME.

The End of Loneliness (Benedict Wells) – always pains me to say this because Benedict Wells legit is so fucking sweet and nice in person and I’d LOVE to have dinner with him, but ... he is not thaaat good of a writer. This one essentially is a John Irving wannabe, and despite the “dark” themes it feels incredibly shallow and cliched at times. The female character(s) are particularly offensive. However: at the very least Wells is earnest about it all?

22 Bahnen (Caroline Wahl) – Caroline Wahl who had 2 books on the bestsellers list for over a year now recently complained that she wasn’t nominated for the Deutscher Buchpreis, which is partially meant as financial support for authors whose a) books do not sell well because b) they are good and complex pieces of literature, so I hope that she’ll be at least a bit consoled by receiving the “Book That Made Me Seethe With Hatred 2024” award <3 the writing is ass the story is shallow it’s all just a big fucking cliché and the depiction of poverty and addiction is appalling. I’d be ashamed to put a book like this out into the world.

HOOL (Philipp Winkler) – this still is THE book about violent men to me. I read it 5 times in the summer of 2018 and I am happy to report that it has lost none of its appeal and grit and ugliness. Simply a 10/10 and deeply formative to my taste.

Emil und die Detektive (Erich Kästner) – everything I said about Das fliegende Klassenzimmer is also true for this one. Ultimately I do prefer Klassenzimmer though, simply because the themes of friendships and camaraderie appeal to me much more.

The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo (Stieg Larsson) – As a thriller this is near perfect, I could not put it down for two days. Larsson manages to do the whole “intersection of faith and violence against women” thing without it feeling exploitative (I’d be inclined to believe he may have started this trend), and I am glad that he allows his female characters to take gruesome revenge. Howeveeerrr unfortunately the narration still has a very chauvinistic edge to it and Mikkel feels like a male mid 40s wish fulfillment fantasy.

The Goldfinch (Donna Tartt) – I bought this in the Mauritshuis after seeing the Goldfinch so :’) it has a nice little sentimental edge to it. And this is another one of those “it really is THAT good” books. Looking back now, I am surprised that relatively little has stayed with me though – I never was that invested in Theo, and I also didn’t love Boris a ton, so a lot of the novel was just me hanging out with characters I didn’t like reading about that much. What stuck with me the most was the love for beautiful things that comes pouring out of every pages. Especially the parts in Hobie’s shop were just awe-inspiring. I’m planning to do a reread where I just focus on the descriptions because they were so unbelievably rich.

Bluebeard (Kurt Vonnegut) – I don’t remember a ton about this. What comes back to me most is my fondness of Vonnegut. He has a lot of humor and warmth in his writing, and I always find myself deeply moved by him writing about people loving one another, as funny or dark or even sad it may be.

The Virgin Suicides (Jeffrey Eugenides) – IT REALLY IS THAT GOOD. I could go on about the genius of that narrator perspective (the boys who watched the Lisbon girls as this big shapeless faceless conglomerate of first person plural) for ages. The prose is embroidery-worthy and the amount of detail and specificity do not only bring the Lisbon girls to life, but also the entire small town ecosystem around them. A beautiful capsule of stifled adolescence. And yet a horrifying read. (Bonus: I read this at the time when my boyfriend was reading Lolita, so when we were reading in public we looked like Mr. + Mr(s). Coquette.)

The O’Henry Prize Winners of 2024 – I love a good short story collection what can I say? I highly recommend these collections to everybody, as they present an array of innovative, diverse, well-told short stories that you may have not heard about before unless you are a literary magazine afficionado. My favorites were “Roy” and “The Soccer Balls of Mr. Kurz”.

Everybody Jam (Ali Lewis) – listen. Nothing hits like a good middle grade book. This one is veeery heavy at times and I was honestly not ready for some of the stuff that was happening, but it still was an engrossing experience and I just love coming-of-age stories that get into the mess of living. I also learned a lot about Australian cattle farming. Yay.

Fighting Ruben Wolfe (Markus Zusak) – another book about men and violence, yay! Finished this one today (it technically is only the first half of my German joint edition of this + “When Dogs Cry” but shhh). The writing was really good for the most part (I read it to get a feel for slightly gritty and simple vocabulary-wise yet rich in imagery narration for a project of mine, and it definitely delivered), however, it is very cut-up and not very subtle at times. I also felt like it was just missing. Something. I wasn’t really satisfied by the end of it.

so uuuh I think my favorite new reads of the year were The Virgin Suicides and Faserland. Maybe I should lighten up.

[intertexts]

eughhgh.

[demigoddessqueens]

Rest in the most ever loving peace James Earl Jones, you’ve more than earned it and will be missed by all generations 😭💞💕😢💔

[sywveon]

TW for serious discussion and talk of yucky people!!!

oh and on the topic of my new banner, i decided to change the wording a bit bc ive seen too many people who claim to be sfw age regressors turn around and practice 4geplay or related things on the side, or spaces that claim to be sfw still letting in and/or supporting those kinds of people (this problem is rampant on vrchat agere groups.) and because of this i wanted to make it clear that

this blog and my other blogs have a ZERO tolerance policy for 4geplay, 4bdl, dd1g, and the like.

i do not want interaction from ANY blogs, even sfw blogs, that are owned by 4geplayers. i do not want interaction from people who condone that sort of behavior either. no 4geplay means NO 4GEPLAY. plain and simple, but it seems people have been twisting the meaning of it to get themselves into sfw spaces when really they fall right smack dab in the middle of the dni list.

so fellow kiddos, please be mindful of the people you're following in agere spaces - especially those who are bodily minors bc if there are on-the-down-low 4geplayers who interact with underage regressors too thats even more disgusting...

(and no this post is not up for debate i dont care abt ur reasons why u think for some reason that its ok to pretend to be a kid or have ur partner do so for n5fw reasons!)

[bonesandthebees]

do you support cc!dream?

what year is it

[agentark]

everything we know about Red vs Blue means that there's a canonically supported reality in which every bit of the rvb timeline that happens post-Freelancer saga is actually just simulations Epsilon is running in WASH's head as he unravels

[beatcroc]

what kind of frivolity would you engage in, mecha?

<

---

[little-pup-pip]

how about a babyspace moodboard with a lion theme?

Here you go!!

[diss-track]

Not once have I seen anyone mention/bring up that Arthur Fleck is one of the few fictional men we have had that is not racist, misogynistic, sexist, feels his emotions, and is kind and respectful to women in his fantasies and in his reality