#Yes I used the word vintage correctly.

[stormy-talks]

Some vintage validation and confirmation for bi lesbians. ⚡️

[jiliansky-blog]

Spell of the heart. Chapter 5. Get to know you

Pairing: Morpheus x FemaleReader

Rating: PG

Words: 3100

Notes: Spoilers to Brief lives. Sorry, some events I cann't remember correctly

Morpheus

Her words awoke something in me that I was willing to forget. She wasn’t afraid of me. She didn’t try to seduce me. Furthermore, she wanted to know me as a person. And I didn’t want to attach myself to a human. And I shouldn’t give her much hope. She shouldn’t fall in love with me. I will ruin everything again. And I don’t want to do it. It would be better if she hates me and leaves as soon as possible. Does Thessaly want to ruin me that way?

“My lord?” Lucienne asked. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” I replied. “Why should I not?”

“You are very distant,” she said.

“I think Thessaly wants this girl to be my downfall,” I admitted.

“That can be true,” she sighed. “You know the rule about mortals. But do you think this girl is going to fall in love?”

“I can’t risk it,” I replied. “I don’t want another catastrophic situation. I don’t want to ruin another mortal again.”

“I understood,” said Lucienne quietly.

Somehow, it doesn’t feel reassuring.

After Morpheus left, you didn’t know what to do or what to think. So you decided to return to the library and do some reading. Perhaps, it would help you find the answers.

“Are you alright?” asked Lucienne.

“Why shouldn’t I be?” you asked. And then you understand. Morpheus was here, and she thinks that we argued.

“You are just like him,” she sighed. “Lord Morpheus can be a little harsh. But he just worries about you or your world.”

“I noticed,” you said. “But I just want to help him.”

“I’m afraid you can’t,” she said.

“Why not?” you asked.

“The universe rules,” she replied. “You can make everything worse. And he is now in bad state of mind after…”

“After that woman left him,” you finished.

“Yes.” Lucienne nodded. “I would advise you not to fall in love with him. It cannot end well.”

“Why not?” you asked. “Oh, wait, the universe rules. But why?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged.

“It doesn’t make sense,” you whispered.

“That’s not for us to judge,” she admitted.

You understood that Lucienne doesn’t want to talk about it. And she also doesn’t know why it is the way it is.

“Alright, how can I help him with missing books?” you asked. “I know there is a way I can help him.”

“Even if a magical user can’t find that woman, you can’t either,” she said.

“I know, I can help him communicate in another city to find her,” you said. “Perhaps I can talk to her. She won’t hurt me.”

“We can’t know it for sure,” she replied. “And Lord Morpheus won’t be happy if you follow him to the Waking world.”

“And what do you suggest me to do?” you asked.

“Just stay here until he finds a way to return you home,” the librarian replied. “You shouldn’t stay here forever anyway.”

You were annoyed by her answers and left the library. But as soon as you left the castle, Matthew joined you.

“Rough day?” he asked.

“You can say that,” you sighed. “I just want to help. But they won’t let me. What is the point of being in another world when you can’t do anything?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “At least you are not a raven. Perhaps the boss is still in a bad mood. And he is not cooperative.”

“I can see that,” you admit.

“But he can be good,” the raven replied. “It was just a difficult time for him. And I know he said to stay away. But he is desperate for company and a kind world. And he is so bad at expressing feelings. Don’t let it scary you away.”

“So you think I can talk to him?” you asked.

“You can try,” he said. “Talking is not falling in love. He thinks that he doesn’t deserve friendship or is incapable of it. I don’t agree.”

“Thank you,” you smiled, and you went to find Morpheus.

You found him in the throne room. He was thoughtful and serious, and he was looking at the vintage window with an image of a woman on it.

“Boiling yourself in thoughts and grief has never worked out for me,” you admitted quietly. “It doesn’t even feel better.”

“Perhaps I don’t want to feel better,” he replied.

He didn’t shut you up or tell you to leave. It’s a good sign.

“Torturing yourself doesn’t help you find her either,” you said.

“I can’t recall asking your opinion,” he said, looking at me.

“I decided that you might like a company,” you said.

“Matthew told you something,” he huffed. “That bird sometimes talks too much.”

“He didn’t say anything dangerous,” you admitted. “That place is beautiful. This star and stars are something else.”

“You don’t need to flatter me to make me feel better,” he said.

“I don’t”, you smiled. “I really think so.”

“Don’t get used to it,” he smirked.

And then he was distracted by some voice and became very serious again.

“My lord, your sister came to see you,” was the voice of the dragon.

“Death?” Morpheus asked.

“No,” he replied. “Delirium of the Endless.”

Morpheus sighed and looked tired.

“Let her in,” he said. “You can wait here in the library.”

“Can I meet her?” you asked.

“She can…influence you,” he said after a moment of consideration. “It wouldn’t be safe for a mortal to be near you.”

“Oh, alright,” you said, even thought you wanted to meet his sister.

He has a sister, you’re thinking while he is leaving the throne room. He said it earlier. Interesting. How many sisters or brothers does he have?

You’re waiting for him, but time has passed, and he is not here. So you decided to go to the library. And that is the moment when someone almost knocked you over.

“Delirium!” you said, Morpheus. “Watch where you go.”

“You hid immortal here,” said the girl.

She was pale. Her eyes were different colors, and so was her hair. And she wore a dress. You felt a little bit dizzy.

“Hold your strength,” Morpheus hissed. “You don’t want to make her insane, do you?”

“Sorry, brother,” she smiled. “Do you like fish?”

“I guess,” you replied, a little bit surprised

“Good!” she said, making flying fish and bubbles. “Can she go with us?”

“No”, Morpheus said coldly.

“Go where?” you asked.

“We are looking for our lost brother!” she said happily.

“Delirium!” Morpheus almost hissed.

“I can help,” you smiled. “You might need help if you’re going into my world.”

Something tells you they might act weird there and don’t have enough experience out there. So you smiled charmingly. You wanted to go with them.

“Yes, you can definitely help us!” she says brightly.

“Okay, so where are we going?” you asked.

“It can be dangerous,” Morpheus said, looking at me. “And that’s a family business.”

“Well, your sister thinks that you need help,” you replied. “Don’t worry, I will be helpful and useful. And what should I do here in your absence?”

“I want…to find her to bring you back,” he said.

“Alright,” you said. “Then I will help you to do that.”

“Are you always so stubborn?” he sighed.

“I can ask you the same question,” you smiled. “So, where to begin?”

“I have a list of people who saw him,” Delirium said gladly. “Where do I put it? It must be somewhere here.”

“Don’t tell me, you have already put it in your realm,” Morpheus said.

“Find it!” she said. “We need to visit this lawyer first. And we already have a car and a driver. It will be fun.”

You didn’t ask where she found these things. You just hope everything will be fine. Furthermore, you were sitting next to an absolutely distant Morpheus.

“So where can your brother be?” you asked carefully.

You didn’t want to sit silent all the time. You want to get to know him.

“I have no clue,” he said.

“Do you want to tell me a story about it?” you asked carefully.

“Not really,” he replied.

“He disappeared a long time ago,” said Delirium, and suddenly she was very serious. “I miss him so much.”

“He abandoned his kingdom,” Morpheus added. “And us.”

“Were you close?” you asked.

“Not really,” Morpheus replied. “But he was the most…kind among us. He didn’t want to cause more destruction.”

“Destruction?” you asked, surprised. “So that was his power?”

“Yes,” he nodded.

“Wow,” you said.

You didn’t know what else to ask. So the rest of the way, you were silent. But at the end of the trip, you’ve got nothing. The lawyer died.

“Who is next on your list?” you asked.

“We need to go to the hotel first,” she said. “I always dream of sleeping in a hotel!”

“We don’t need to sleep,” said Morpheus grumpily.

“But she needs it,” replied Delirium gladly. “And so is our driver.”

“Let me help you with check in,” You smiled and went to the registration desk. This came smoothly. But you’ve got only two rooms. Morpheus wasn’t happy.

“What do we need to do now?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” you said. “I suppose I can stay with her in a room, and you stay with your sister. Do you have any other ideas?”

“No,” he said. ”Perhaps, that would be best.”

“Alright,” you said, giving him a key.

You would prefer to stay with him. But he wasn’t approachable now. He was in a worse mood than before. But you hope to make him feel better.

“He is scary,” said Ruby, the driver. “Cute, but scary.”

“Yes,” you laughed. “I think it describes him pretty well.”

“Why are you going with them?” she asked. “They are so weird.”

“I wanted adventures and to help,” you said.

“Interesting,” she smirked.

You went to sleep, but you woke up because something was wrong. All the rooms were on fire. And you tried to save Ruby, but she was unconscious. And then someone took you out of the fire. You understood that it was Morpheus.

“We need to help her,” you said.

“You can’t help her anymore,” he said sadly. And you started shivering.

“What?” you coughed.

“Let’s go,” he said. “I don’t want you to die too.”

Die… This word stunned you. You were numb, and he could take you out of the building. You began to breathe and caught. Ruby died, and Morpheus saved you.

“Are you alright?” worried, Delirium asked. “Don’t say you are dying.”

“I think I’m fine,” you said. “Thank you for saving me.”

He nodded, but he was still holding you. And you didn’t mind.

“What happened?” you asked.

“They said she smoked in her bed,” said Delirium.

“It’s strange; I didn’t sense it earlier,” you said. “Why didn't I wake up earlier and didn’t wake her?”

“Perhaps the presence in my realm changed your dreaming,” Morpheus replied. “Your sleep was deep. I should wake you up.”

“Wait, you woke me up?” you asked. “Oh my god, I could die there.”

“I told you it was dangerous,” he said, looking sad and tired.

“I know,” you said. “What are we going to do now?”

It was already morning. So perhaps you don’t need to stay up for sleep again. But who is going to drive the car now?

“We need to move on,” he replied.

“Alright, but who is going to drive the car?” you asked.

“Can I? Can I?” asked Delirium enthusiastically. “I always dream of driving the car. It can’t be that difficult.”

“It’s a bad idea,” Morpheus admitted.

“I can try,” you said. “My father taught me to drive.”

“I think it would be better than Delirium’s driving,” he said. “It can get you killed. Or other people killed.”

“Hey, I can hear you!” said Delirium, offended.

“I speak the truth,” he said. “You have never driven.”

“Alright, where are we going now?” you asked.

“We need to visit Ishtar,” said Delirium.

“Who is she?” you asked.

“The former lover of Destruction,” Morpheus replied. “As we know, she works at some nightclub. We need to go there.”

“Alright,” you sighed and got in the car. “I need coordinates.”

“To the airport first,” Delirium said.

So you drove to the airport when you helped him buy tickets. Morpheus was sitting very straight on his sit. Like he has never flown before.

“You didn’t fly, did you?” you asked.

“I didn’t,” he replied.

“Are you afraid of flying, Morpheus?” you asked carefully.

“I don’t know what to expect from it,” he pouted.

“Really?” You couldn’t hold back the surprise.

“You can have fun at my expense,” he says, sounding offended.

“I’m not laughing,” you replied. “I’m just surprised. Here, take my hand.”

“How does that help?” he asked me suspiciously.

“It helped me in the past to get through this, if I’m not alone,” you smiled.

He looked at you, and you started to think he would refuse. But then he took your hand. His skin was pale and cold, but silky. His fingers were long. And you blushed a little bit. It was nice to hold his hand. To help the god of dreams fight the fear of flying.

“Is it better?” you whispered, when the plane was already in the sky already. Morpheus looked very tense and serious.

“A little bit,” he said.

“Do you want me to tell you a story?” you smiled.

“Do you want to tell a story to the Prince of Stories?” he smirked.

“Why not?” you said.

“Tell me then,” he replied, closing his the eyes.

And you began to tell him about your life, family and friends. No one understands your desire to go to another world. About your dreams. He listened without a word or a single glance. Perhaps, he even fell asleep.

“Interesting,” he said when you became silent.

“I thought you fell asleep,” you smiled.

“I don’t require sleep,” he said seriously. “Thank you. For trying to distract me. You are…nice for humans, Y\N.”

“Wow, almost a compliment,” you said.

“Don’t get used to it,” he smirked.

You felt sudden warmth inside your chest. Perhaps, you can get to know him better.

“We still have time,” you smiled. “Do you want to also tell a story?”

“Very well,” he said. “It’s a story about the god of dreams and gods from other realms that wanted to capture him.”

You listened about the woman who saved him. And he fell in love with. And then fell out of love and how they broke up.

“It’s sad,” you sighed.

“I wasn’t made for the relationship,” he sighed too.

“I’m sure it’s not true,” you said.

“Are you trying to analyze me again?” he smirked.

“Not really,” you replied. “It is just what I understood. I believe that you are better than you think. You saved me from fire.”

“You don’t know me,” Morpheus said, but he was more upset than angry.

“We can fix it,” you whispered.

“Why do you want to know more about me?” he asked.

“Well, we are in the same world and now on the same trip,” you replied. “We can be at least friends. To help each other in danger.”

It wasn’t the whole truth. You want to get to know him because he attracts you. But you need to be reasonable with him.

“My family said that I’m not interesting,” he admitted.

“I don’t want to know what your family says,” you replied. “I want to listen to you. What you like and don’t like.”

“I don’t have preferences,” Morpheus said. “All my life is my function. But I like good stories and find talented people.”

“See, you do have preferences,” you smiled. “I also like reading.”

“I know,” he smirked. “You spent almost all the time in the library.”

“You put me there, remember?” You pushed him a little. “But I’m not complaining. So what talented people did you find?”

“William Shakespeare,” he said.

“Really?” You looked at him. “You knew Shakespeare?”

“I inspired him,” Morpheus said. “He was unknown. And I gave him fame in exchange for two poems for me.”

“What poems?” you asked.

“Tempest and the Midnight Dream,” he replied.

“Dream,” you said. “It makes sense.”

“This poem was actually a gift for fairies,” he admitted.

“Wow, do fairies also exist?” you asked.

“Yes,” he said. “But they haven’t visited the mortal world for a while.”

“Can I meet them one day?” you asked.

“I don’t think that this is a good idea,” Morpheus replied.

“What do you like to do in the mortal world?” You changed the subject.

“I usually meet my sister or a few of my friends,” he replied. “Or people I know. I try not to visit your world without a need.”

“Why?” you asked.

“I…don’t trust humanity,” he said.

You felt like there was more to this story, but you didn’t pry. You couldn’t make him open up and ruin these pieces of trust you gained today.

“I wouldn’t leave your kingdom either,” you said instead.

“Why?” he asked, looking at you.

“Because it’s a fairy tale that came true,” you said. “All my life, I have dreamed of finding another world. Isn’t it interesting?”

“But you can’t sleep forever,” he denied.

“I’m not sleeping right now, am I?” You smiled.

“Touché,” he smiled.

Soon, you will reach the club. It was difficult to believe that this was the place where the goddess could perform. It wasn’t big or prestigious.

“What can she do here?” you asked.

“Hide,” Morpheus replied. “I need to talk to her alone.”

“Alright,” you said, and you stayed with Delirium.

“Perhaps we should find room for this night too,” you suggested.

“You make my brother softer,” she suddenly said. “I don’t know how. Usually, he doesn’t like mortals. But with you, it’s different.”

“I don’t know,” you said. “He has just started to melt up for me. But he didn’t trust me a day ago. He wanted to leave me in his palace, remember?”

“He is kind,” she said. “Deep in his heart. But he doesn’t want to admit it, so no one can hurt him. Are you not going to hurt him?”

“No, of course not,” you replied.

“He deserves better than all his previous girlfriends,” she said seriously, and then, in a second, became smily like before. “Come on, let’s find the room.”

It turns out that they only have rooms for lovers. And they didn’t want to give you the room. Then you're told that you are with this tall, pale man in black. That worked. They gave you the key to the room. It is interesting to see what Morpheus will think about it.

@shadowqueen1322 @mypsychoticlove @justathirstyhoe​ @ladymoztaza @sapphireonline @deniixlovezelda

[patriciavetinari]

Also a post I've been marinating for some time, but I had a thought that when I see very valid concerns from autistic and neurodivergent people about untold/unwritten rules about communication and social life and now that I've fallen into a certain vintage rabbit hole I keep thinking how those rules used to be much less unwritten because that's what etiquette was there to teach.

But this is such a big topic and I realize the bourgeois origins of etiquette but on the other hand it is/was at some point an entire field of learning and developing.

I don't necessarily think neurotypical people are inherently (even less genetically) better at social norms or even social cues, I mean most of us will meet plenty of people that are rude, offensive, inconsiderate and we wouldn't know about their mental health or they would be neurotypical and still fuck up social situtations. They might get away with them in some scenarios because Those specific fuck-ups would be considered Lighter than common and harmless neurodivergent behaviors because of current socia norms.

Society and every form of behavior is shaped by mainstream views and politics, so a society thay hates neurodivergency will have an etiquette that hates neurodivergency, but essentially, etiquette as a study is still the tool to achieve some common ground in understanding social behavior and set up norms for being considerate that have been changing with the times.

Etiquette as a tool can very much be used for good, especially if rewritten and reurposed to include neurodivergent people, just like it has been repurposed to not include a chapter for disciplining a slave.

I just think that now on social media popular etiquette content focuses too much on stuff like napkin placement and how to cross your legs and how to eat a prawn correctly with knife and fork and less on how to have a conversation, which in itsef is and has always been a skill and neurotypical people are also generally garbage at conversations, genuinely, because it's not really viewed as a skill anymore.

Things like choosing words, expressing yourself, being mindful of the time spent speaking, including others in a respectful way, eloquence – this is not some underlying genetic code that neurotypicals inherit and neurodivergent people lack, it's all a skill that can be honed. Plenty of neurotypical people make others uncofortable in social situations, even if the manner of the doing this might be different from neurodivergent people. Not even necessarily that, because even on tumblr one regularly sees discussions and polls if certain very common behaviors are considered offensive or helpful and the answers are often very polarized (eg opinions on infodumping, providing help by wallowing together or planning actions, is telling your own story to comfort another's misery helpful or not etc etc etc). Is it worse etiquette to infodump or to consider person infodumping weird and ostracize them? Discuss.

Still, I'd say, honing the etiquette and rhetoric as skills intended to resolve Anxieties around social situations could help a lot of neurotypical people be more at ease in that area of life. I should probably research if any such work exists already, because I frequenty see neurodivergent people here sharing advice on how to fit their behaviors better into society which is an advice, essentially, on how to be more considerate – which is etiquette. Tumblr users are writing etiquette advice.

So I think we should very much lean into that and explore that. Instead of saying 'what is a safe way to infodump or stim' we can reframe it as 'what is the etiquette for taking the floor to talk about a passion at length / what is the etiquette of incorporating stimming into a social setting'. And this absolutely should go both ways: 'what is the etiquette of communicating with a non-verbal person' etc etc.

And yes I 100% do think it should be framed less as a medical / patronizing / coping issue and more like 'this is a fellow human being, be fucking polite and considerate to them'.

[vincentmatthews]

This is a small excerpt from a recent project of mine that I've been working on called Summer Rain. This is a work in progress, so apologies if filler words are missing, words are used incorrectly, or some things don't make 100% sense.

Small content warning, this is depressing as all hell.

Vincent sat outside on the cold, wet concrete steps. He was wearing Johnny's Samurai tank top, his bullet necklace, and a pair of Kerry's ripped black jeans. His green eyes watched the zippo lighter he kept flicking; entranced by the hot, dancing flame. He didn't move from his spot, unaware as the door behind him opened. The soft patter of rain falling on the cement road and sidewalks.

"Christ, V. How are you not fucking freezing?" A soft male voice spoke from behind him, placing his warm hand on V's bare and cold shoulder.

"I'm not."

"Mhm. That's bullshit." The flame went out as the lid was clicked back on it. His eyes flicked up to meet Kerry's worried greyish-blue ones.

"I'm not."

"V, you have goosebumps and you're shaking."

"I am?" V looked down at his trembling hands, ones he'd just passed off as being sick and weak. Yet there they were, trembling and goosebumps freckling his arms. He didn't feel cold, in fact, he didn't feel most sensations any more. His sense of touch was gradually diminishing, as was pain; and now his brain couldn't tell the difference between hot and cold. He just felt numb.

"Babe?" Ker knelt down next to V, his hand still on his shoulder. "How long has this been happening?"

"What?" V's fingers nervously fidgeting with the lighter again.

"Don't give me that shit." Kerry spoke in an authoritve voice that made V feel small, wanting to hide in on himself. Seeing this, Kerry took a deep breath and calmed himself. "How long have you noticed this change?"

V went quiet, looking at the lighter in his hand; it was a vintage black zippo lighter with a gold KE engraved on it.

"How long have you noticed that you can't feel the difference between hot and cold?" Vince stayed silent for a long moment before letting out a forced answer.

"It's new.." V continued looking down to avoid eye contact, which worried Kerry on how long it's actually been. Could be days, week, hell, even months, for all he knew.

"New? What else have you noticed?"

"Nothing.."

"Any loss of motor functions such as: your legs or hands not working correctly, anymore?"

Yes.

"No." V lied, his fingers clicking the top of the lighter anxiously. He put the end of his bullet necklace in his mouth, and the taste of the cold metallic metal tinged his tongue.

"Loss of depth perspection and/or balance?"

Oh god, yes.

"No."

Liar.

Kerry sat down next to V, sitting cross-legged for the next question, which almost seemed to worry him.

"Any loss of your sensation of touch?" There it was. The question was like being stabbed in the back by someone you trusted. It was sharp and unexpected, and just the honest answer to it, made V feel tears prickle the corners of his vision. He felt his heart drop to his stomach, as if it was tied to a brick.

"No." That was a fucking lie. He'd been gradually losing his sense of touch for over two months now. It terrified him because there's a good chance it's completely irreversible.

"You know, I can tell when you're lying." Kerry's voice was still calm despite him having the burning desire to grab Vince and scream at him while they cried. Yet he had to remain composed for him. "You get quiet, give short answers, you get fidgety with whatever's in your hands, you refuse eye contact, and you always put the bottom of your necklace in your mouth."

Vince looked up with the end of the necklace still in his mouth. There was no point in trying to lie to him, Kerry knew him like the back of his hand. And he knew that if he kept it up, there's a good chance he's going meet his backhand. His lips parted enough for the necklace to fall from his lips around back on his chest.

"What are you so worried about?" Kerry placed his hand on V's thigh, looking up at him with those large blue doe eyes. Vince was quiet, snapping the lid of the zippo as he looked back down. The male sighed, looking down at V's fidgeting hands that were bruised all to hell.

Vincent's lungs felt heavy, each breath was agonizing. His throat burned with the desire to scream, to yell, do anything to get the point acrossed that just the idea of dying fucking terrified him. If he had it his way, he'd grow old with Kerry and never leave his side. But instead, he felt like he was suffocating, that he was drowning, unable to see the surface of the water; that no matter how far he went, he'd never reach the top. His fingers wouldn't stay still now, he couldn't feel anything, and now all he could think was how he was affecting Kerry, just by staying.

"Vince?"

He didn't want to hurt him, but he could tell just by looking at him that he was affecting Kerry and not in a very positive way. Then it dawned on him. He was Kerry's Alt.

"Vincent.?" His voice was more broken that time.

He was Kerry's Alt. He was dying slowly because of Arasaka, just like Alt. Ker even made a joke the other day that if V was to suddenly drop dead, that he'd bomb 'Saka tower, in his honor. Even go as far as sprinkling some of his ashes in the explosives used, so V could have one last big bang while also tearing down an evil corporation. He even said he'd get a sexy golden arm in the same style of Johnny's. It was a joke that they both laughed off, but now, it felt more like a promise. His hand holding the lighter trembled as another wave of shakes cascaded through him.

"Dean?" There it was, V's real name.

"Hm?" He hummed, his mind still a million miles away.

"An enny for your thoughts?" He smiled softly to V who tried his best to continue to avoid eye contact, remaining silent.

"Please, Dean. Give me something." Ker reached out, gingerly taking V's face in his hands. "At least look at me." Kerry's hands shook against his face. "Please." Guilt knawed away his heart, he knew without even looking, that Eurodyne was crying. "You know I love you." He sniffles, and yet V still couldn't bring himself to looking Kerry in the eyes. "I just hope you always remember that." He kissed his forehead, he could feel the moisture of tears on the male's face. He let his face go, standing up.

"I'll be inside if you need me." Was all that was said before the door opened and closed.

Vince sighed, leaning his head against the door. He closed his eyes, trying to clear his head. The sweet smell of rain mixed with the cool summer air. His mind kept wandering to how Kerry gripped his face. How his voice broke when he spoke his name. It made his stomach churn and his heart ache. He couldn't help but hysterically weep into his arms. He pulled his legs to his chest, crossed his arms over his knees and cried. He didn't tell him because he didn't want to be seen as a burden. Yet not telling him made Kerry feel like he didn't love or trust him enough to tell him. He wanted to tell his husband everything, but knew that it would kill him. Kerry still had his music career, his fans, his tours, his upcoming albums and collaborations. Something as small as this would just get in the way of Kerry's big plans for the future. One that V had to be as supportive as possible for; even knowing he'd probably not live long enough to see it through to the end. And just that alone was soul-crushing.

His heart rate picked up. He couldn't breathe. His mind was racing, he couldn't focus. His mouth got dry and he felt reality slipping from his grasp. He felt like he wasn't himself. His mind didn't register pain or other sensations. His head hurt so much, like it was being split open. His teeth hurt, and his jaw locked up from the stress which put pressure on his sensitive teeth. It felt like he'd gotten into a fist fight with Johnny Silverhand. His eyes prickled from the tears and next thing he knew, he was crying, hysterically.

~♡

Thank you for reading this, I hope you like this🥺💕

[seitmai]

Very important chapter, so obviously very many thoughts under the cut

You could feel and hear his laughter as one big hand came up to squeeze your shoulder before gliding down your side to your waist. "Make you move? I want to keep you with me forever, Gorgeous." Did he know the extent to which his words excited you every time he said forever? You tried to play it cool, wrapping your arm around his waist, but as soon as his lips met your forehead in a gentle kiss, you whispered, "Forever sounds really good."

I have a feeling that forever is gonna be happening sooner than later 🤭

"Of course you are," you murmured, letting your hand rest on his flat belly. He only took a quick lunch break earlier during Career Day before pulling off the flyover surprise that had your whole school buzzing with excitement. "I don't think you ate enough today. Let's remedy that."

I love so much that she feeds Bradley 🥰

"I did notice," he whispered. "There has to be something there. He was looking at her the way I look at you."

Yes!!🥳

You must have been watching the sexy way he walked for a little too long, because Natasha honked her horn and yelled out the window, "I want some wine!"

Ahahaha I love Nat and honestly would have done the same 😅

"You're going to freak out later," she mumbled, making a left turn. "What?" You weren't sure you'd heard her correctly.

Good god, Nat is playing with fire

"I might have to start bringing headphones again though, because the man will not shut up about you the whole time." You covered your face with your hands while she laughed. "Sorry." "Don't be sorry. It was so bad at times before he met you, I used to have to put my earbuds in and pretend I was listening to him complain about his exes. It was always the same thing. Nat, I don't know how to break up with her, but she's kind of mean to me. Nat, I can't keep taking her to the bar, because she flirts with everyone else. Nat, why is she being so selfish? Nat, I feel like she's just using me. Nat. Nat. Nat. Nat. Nat." Her voice softened as she said, "It's not like that with you at all. Now he just wants to know if I think his date ideas sound stupid or romantic. And if I think he's crazy for already having you move in."

Geez all of Bradley’s exes sound horrible lol

She grinned as she switched lanes. "Trust me when I say I've given him some solid date ideas. And I told him he would have been miserable if he waited any longer to ask you to live with him. That man is so solidly in love with you, it is disgusting." "The feeling is mutual," you whispered as your cheeks burned.

I wanna know all about Nat's date ideas!!!

"I know. Now let's enjoy some wine while we talk shit about him. I've been way too nice today up to this point."

This is peak Nat and I love it 😅

When Natasha dropped you off after four hours of wine and conversation, your cheeks hurt from smiling so much. You were already looking forward to hanging out with her again soon.

Those are the best times 🥰

"Bradley?" You glanced at the wall and then back at his face. You weren't even sure if your words were intelligible as you muttered, "Paper planes?" His smile widened. "It's all the letters you and your class sent to me. You know... when you were looking for a Naval aviator to write back and answer a few questions? I guess a few questions turned into a lot more than that. And a simple correspondence with a gorgeous fourth grade teacher soon made me realize that you're the woman of my dreams. My pen pals changed my whole life." He nodded toward the wall. "Your students helped me fold them up yesterday."

Ahhhh what a cute way to pop the question🥰🥹

"It was my mom's." He held up his right hand, fingers curled in a loose fist. You watched as he carefully unfurled them, revealing a ring resting on his palm. "I want you to have it. Unless you don't like it. It's from 1984, and it's definitely vintage, so I won't be upset if you tell me you'd rather have something more modern." He was rambling, but you could barely breathe from the butterflies which were fluttering hard against your ribcage. "Maverick was holding onto her engagement ring for safekeeping. I had no idea until he heard me talking about how desperately I want to marry you."

She is gonna marry him with whatever ring but it's so cute that he shared the backstory of the ring with her 🥰

I'm SO happy that Bradley FINALLY popped the question and has gotten the desired answer 🥰🥹

Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw Part 26 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley has a plan of action, but he needs to make sure you're a little distracted before he can proceed.

Warnings: fluff, adult language, smut, 18+

Length: 3400 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female teacher!Reader

Check out my masterlist for more! Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw masterlist

"Today was exhausting," you whispered, pulling your legs up so you were sitting on Bradley's lap on the couch. His flight suit was a little scratchy, and you were still wearing your dress, but you yawned and nuzzled against his chest in surrender. "Please don't make me move yet."

You could feel and hear his laughter as one big hand came up to squeeze your shoulder before gliding down your side to your waist. "Make you move? I want to keep you with me forever, Gorgeous."

Did he know the extent to which his words excited you every time he said forever? You tried to play it cool, wrapping your arm around his waist, but as soon as his lips met your forehead in a gentle kiss, you whispered, "Forever sounds really good."

His posture stiffened a little bit as his fingers flexed on your waist. You could feel him fighting the urge to jump to his feet with you in his lap.

"What's wrong?" you asked, stifling another yawn.

"Nothing," he replied quickly, but you could tell he was antsy. "Just getting hungry."

"Of course you are," you murmured, letting your hand rest on his flat belly. He only took a quick lunch break earlier during Career Day before pulling off the flyover surprise that had your whole school buzzing with excitement. "I don't think you ate enough today. Let's remedy that."

"No," he insisted, pulling you back down when you tried to stand. "I can wait a bit longer. We were just getting comfortable."

"Mmm," you hummed. "Did you notice Marty and Ms. Masters earlier? I think there might be something there."

"I did notice," he whispered. "There has to be something there. He was looking at her the way I look at you."

With a smile on your lips, you felt yourself succumbing to the warmth of his body and his deep voice and his big hands.

Soon your eyes were closed, and you were drifting to sleep.

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

Bradley's growling stomach was the least of his concerns as you dozed in his arms and drooled on his Golden Warriors patch. You were clearly exhausted from how busy and emotional this week was. He'd only just returned from a mission where you and he hadn't spoken for weeks, and then you hosted Career Day at work. Hell, he was still tired, and he'd taken the week off from work.

He thought he had himself under control. He thought he would be able to bring you home and let you have a relaxing Friday night. After all, he was in no hurry. But as soon as you told him forever sounded really good, he felt his muscles coil with anticipation. His body told him to get up and prove to you that forever was what he needed. All he had to do was walk into the bathroom and get the engagement ring.

You seemed to be able to feel the energy he was trying to reel in even as you started to fall asleep. Tonight was not the night. Truly all he wanted to do was hold you until tomorrow morning and let you rest, but his foot was bouncing gently. There was always the chance you'd say no or that you weren't ready to be engaged yet, and he couldn't stop thinking about it. But previous conversations indicated otherwise, and he knew he was ready for everything.

His head tipped back against the couch in frustration. He should have told Nat that he wanted to propose sooner rather than later, but she didn't even know he actually had his mother's ring. His best friend would have riled him up more before helping him calm down.

After kissing your forehead a few times to test how asleep you were, he unzipped the side pocket of his flight suit and carefully removed his phone. You shifted a bit, and your nose twitched in the most adorable way, but you dozed on while he texted Nat to see if she could help him out tomorrow. She already told him numerous times that she liked hanging out with you.

"Bradley," you mumbled, arching your back and stretching as soon as he set his phone down on the couch. "You need dinner," you told him with a soft kiss before standing and reaching for him. He took your left hand in his right one, hoping this might be the last night that you weren't wearing the ring that would signify to everyone else that you'd be his wife someday.

"I came up with a plan while you napped," he said softly. "Dinner and then a shower together and then we'll get in bed early. You look so tired after nailing Career Day, Gorgeous. You need a little break."

His stomach growled obnoxiously. "And you need to eat," you told him with a laugh. "Come on. I'll make you something."

"Nope," he replied, gripping you tight as he stood up with you in his arms. "I'm going to take care of it."

You held on as you guided your legs around his waist. Your lips on his scarred cheek took him all the way back to the early days of those flirtatious emails. "Okay, handsome," you whispered, kissing him softly. "I'm not going to argue with you tonight. It's our first weekend with you back home, and I've been missing all of this. I'm finally off tomorrow, and we can relax all day."

When Bradley set you down on the kitchen counter with a kiss to your perfect lips, he heard your phone vibrating on the coffee table and tried not to grin as he asked, "Want me to grab that for you?"

"Please," you replied, looking beyond cute perched between the stove and the wilted bouquet in the makeshift Miller High Life vase. When he backtracked and picked up your phone, Bradley saw that the text notification was from Nat, and he knew he was going to have to take her out for another steak dinner soon as a thank you.

"Oh," you said when you tapped your screen. "Natasha texted me."

"Really?" he asked, feigning surprise as he took inventory of what the refrigerator had to offer. It was honestly a little scary how much he'd eaten since Monday.

"Yeah," you murmured, eyes skimming the message. "She thanked me for inviting her to Career Day. And," you added, giving him a cautious look, "she wants to know if I want to hang out with her tomorrow afternoon. We still have money left on the winery gift card."

"You should go," he urged, pulling everything out to make pancakes for dinner. "I love that my girl gets along with my best friend."

You were chewing your lip nervously. "Yeah?" you asked, thumbs poised like you were ready to type back. "Even though I literally just told you I can't wait to relax with you tomorrow?"

Bradley chuckled, knowing he was leading you in the direction he wanted you to go. But of course you'd be in good hands. "Gorgeous, we can still sleep in late. And as soon as you get home, I'm hoping you'll feel so in love, you'll want to cuddle with me for the rest of the night."

"I always feel so in love with you, Bradley."

He abandoned the eggs and butter as he whispered, "Say my name again?"

"Bradley."

It was another hour before the pancakes were ready.

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

"I thought we were going to sleep in," you whispered, lips brushing Bradley's as his hands explored your naked body. It was around the time you usually woke up for work, and you were still tired. But his words had you pushing him onto his back.

"I missed you so much, I'm still making up for lost time."

His hands were big and rough as you took them in yours and pinned them above his head. His body was beautiful in the early light, all muscular angles and ruddy cheeks. You kissed his biceps and then his stubbled cheek and then his lips. He was already hard, you could feel him. Bradley was strong and sexy, and he was yours.

"I'm not going to lie... I love how much you missed me," you told him before kissing your way along the side of his nose. "Because that's how much I missed you, too."

Bradley's kisses were sweet, yet they lingered. Your hips moved slowly against his body, setting the pace exactly how you wanted it. Your reaction to him was always effortless. His wide pupils let you know it was the same for him. 

"Baby," he whined as you tightened your hold on his wrists. He was rubbing himself up against you, looking for the friction you needed as well. Slick with arousal, your pussy welcomed the tip of him, and you rolled your hips slowly, taking him inch by inch until you were full. "Oh, fuck, Gorgeous," he rasped, lips parted as he looked up at you with those pretty brown eyes. "You feel so good."

You went slowly, and your hands eventually found their way to his shoulders. Bradley coaxed you closer until you were kissing him as you worked your hips in a steady rhythm that you knew would give you both what you wanted. You thought about every cold morning you woke up here without him while a bead of sweat rolled down along your spine. You got lost in the way he smelled and how his hair felt between your fingers. He was yours.

"I love you," he groaned. "Oh, I love you so much."

You came on his cock as your movements turned jerky, and he filled you with cum as you whimpered his name. Then you eased your body down so you were laying on top of him. "This is how I want to spend the rest of my life," Bradley whispered. "Loving you and fucking you and cuddling."

With a soft laugh, you relaxed enough to fall asleep again while he ran his fingers along your back.

The next time you woke up, it was three hours later, and Bradley wasn't in bed. He wasn't even at home. After you pulled on his sweatshirt, you found a note on top of the sandwich he made for your lunch in the refrigerator. 

Out for a quick run with Nat, and then I'm stopping at Home Depot for Edith. I love you.

You enjoyed your sandwich quietly in the kitchen while taking inventory of the grocery situation. Bradley already ate everything which made you smile. It would take a few weeks, but you'd make sure he bulked up again. Maybe you could get him to go shopping with you tomorrow morning.

When you sat down on the couch with your phone, you were pleasantly reminded of how sore you still were from the past few days with Bradley back from deployment. The gentle ache brought with it the memory of how much better your orgasms were with him than alone. You really needed to start getting dressed since you were sure Nat was going to want to head to the winery after they finished their run, but you stayed sprawled out on the couch until Bradley walked back inside.

"Hey, Gorgeous," he rasped, still a little sweaty in his gym clothes and carrying a bag from the hardware store. "You got enough rest?"

"I did," you giggled as he tossed the bag onto the coffee table and straddled your waist. "Do you think we should buy a bigger couch at some point?"

"Nah. This one's more fun," he replied as your fingers threaded through his damp hair. "Means I can get nice and close." 

Would this needy feeling for him ever go away? You hoped not. But just as soon as he really kissed you nice and hard, he was pulling away. Bradley smacked you lightly on your rear end where he spanked you the other night.

"You better get ready to go with Nat. And I need to fix Edith's mailbox and get my free piano lesson."

"And then when I get home, we're cuddling and watching a movie right here," you told him firmly, patting the couch cushion.

"As long as you still want to."

You rolled your eyes. Of course that's what you were going to want to do. Maybe you and he could even enjoy some more wine after you had wine with his friend. You were smiling as you thought about the plethora of wine you might be enjoying today as you got dressed in some jeans and an oversized sweater. You skipped makeup, because it was Saturday, and when Natasha arrived, you walked outside with Bradley.

"I love you. Call if you need me," he crooned, kissing you and waving before turning toward Edith's house.

You must have been watching the sexy way he walked for a little too long, because Natasha honked her horn and yelled out the window, "I want some wine!"

"Sorry!" you told her, laughing as you climbed in the passenger seat.

She was pulling away from the curb when she replied, "It's nice to see you so happy again. You seemed to have a good time at Career Day, and now you're all smiles for your boyfriend."

"I missed him so much," you said, watching Bradley get smaller in the side view mirror as she drove. "I felt instantly better when he got home from Norfolk."

"You're going to freak out later," she mumbled, making a left turn.

"What?" You weren't sure you'd heard her correctly.

"Nothing. You ready for some wine?"

"Absolutely. We can finish off the gift card," you told her. "And I found another winery for us to try next time that serves frozen wine slushies."

"That sounds like heaven. Thank god you fell in love with Bradley so we can have girls' days."

That put a permanent smile on your face. Just knowing that Natasha thought you and he were a good match really meant a lot. She'd known him for a long time.

"How was your run earlier?" you asked, settling in for the ride.

"Running in February is always better than running in July or August," she replied easily. "I might have to start bringing headphones again though, because the man will not shut up about you the whole time."

You covered your face with your hands while she laughed. "Sorry."

"Don't be sorry. It was so bad at times before he met you, I used to have to put my earbuds in and pretend I was listening to him complain about his exes. It was always the same thing. Nat, I don't know how to break up with her, but she's kind of mean to me. Nat, I can't keep taking her to the bar, because she flirts with everyone else. Nat, why is she being so selfish? Nat, I feel like she's just using me. Nat. Nat. Nat. Nat. Nat." Her voice softened as she said, "It's not like that with you at all. Now he just wants to know if I think his date ideas sound stupid or romantic. And if I think he's crazy for already having you move in."

"What did you tell him?" you asked immediately.

She grinned as she switched lanes. "Trust me when I say I've given him some solid date ideas. And I told him he would have been miserable if he waited any longer to ask you to live with him. That man is so solidly in love with you, it is disgusting."

"The feeling is mutual," you whispered as your cheeks burned.

"I know. Now let's enjoy some wine while we talk shit about him. I've been way too nice today up to this point."

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

When Natasha dropped you off after four hours of wine and conversation, your cheeks hurt from smiling so much. You were already looking forward to hanging out with her again soon.

"Want me to tell Bradley you'll run with him tomorrow morning?" you asked, leaning back in the passenger side door as you stood next to her car.

"Nope," she replied, shaking her head. "There's no way he's going to want to get up and run in the morning. Tell him I'll see him at work."

"Okay," you replied, confused by her thought process. Bradley usually liked getting his cardio workouts in with a partner rather than alone. You'd follow up with him about it in a minute. "Thanks for driving. Wine slushies next time?"

"Wine slushies next time. Enjoy your night," she said with a wink.

You waved as she drove off, the sky getting dark and the air cooling down even further around you. Edith's mailbox next door looked perfect once more, so Bradley must have finished that project. You shivered as you hustled up to your front door ready to get inside and into the warmth of his arms.

The living room was a little darker than usual when you walked in, and then you realized it was because the only light was coming from your candles which had been placed around the room. You were about to call out for Bradley and ask him why he was burning every single candle you brought with you when you moved in, but then you froze.

"Oh my god," you gasped, taking one stumbling step further into the room to get a closer look. The flickering light illuminated dozens and dozens of paper airplanes all folded up and taped to the dark blue wall above the couch. They were arranged beautifully, and you swallowed hard when you realized they spelled out a message.

MARRY ME?

It was just two words, but they took up the whole wall. Your fingers were shaking as you brought them up to your lips, and then you heard Bradley's voice.

"Hey, Gorgeous," came that familiar rasp. You turned to face him as he stood there in one of his tropical print shirts and his worn out jeans with a nervous smile on his face.

"Bradley?" You glanced at the wall and then back at his face. You weren't even sure if your words were intelligible as you muttered, "Paper planes?"

His smile widened. "It's all the letters you and your class sent to me. You know... when you were looking for a Naval aviator to write back and answer a few questions? I guess a few questions turned into a lot more than that. And a simple correspondence with a gorgeous fourth grade teacher soon made me realize that you're the woman of my dreams. My pen pals changed my whole life." He nodded toward the wall. "Your students helped me fold them up yesterday."

"They did?" you managed as he took a step closer until he was right in front of you, and then and sank down onto one knee. 

"They did." He was all vulnerable brown eyes and sincerity as he looked up at you and said, "I love you. And I have something for you, Gorgeous." He swallowed hard. "It was my mom's." He held up his right hand, fingers curled in a loose fist. You watched as he carefully unfurled them, revealing a ring resting on his palm. "I want you to have it. Unless you don't like it. It's from 1984, and it's definitely vintage, so I won't be upset if you tell me you'd rather have something more modern." He was rambling, but you could barely breathe from the butterflies which were fluttering hard against your ribcage. "Maverick was holding onto her engagement ring for safekeeping. I had no idea until he heard me talking about how desperately I want to marry you."

"Bradley," you gasped, trying to hold back your tears as you sucked in shallow breaths. "Are you serious?"

You'd known him for less than a year, but you never felt this comfortable or safe around another person before. You never felt so loved. When he raised his hand a little higher like he was ready to hand you the ring along with his heart, he said, "I'm serious. You told me forever sounds good to you. It sounds good to me, too. I think we should do it. Will you marry me?"

There was really only one acceptable answer when you knew he belonged with you. When you were certain your future and his matched up perfectly. When there was no chance you could love anyone else like you loved him.

"Yes."

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

Yes. Yes. Yesss! Thanks kiddos, for making it extra special. I don't think any of them will be surprised to find their teacher sporting some new jewelry at school. Bradley plus Gorgeous equals forever.

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[original-siphon]

"Bored" - Elijah Mikaelson

Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x Reader

Warning: Smut, oral (female recieving), mentions of captivity. Long? And not proofread.

A/n: It's 3 in the morning and I can't sleep. Also I've got nothing better to do than writing so here you go witnessing me expressing my love for the certain original.

*yes I'm aware that I have 2 fics pending right now, but whatever. I'll post this one first.*

__

You remember correctly, you were out with a few friends, having drinks. You just went to grab another round of shots, but when you came back, all of your friends were gone. Puzzled, you looked around and got startled when you saw a man almost right behind you. "Y/n Y/l/n," the man exclaimed in his British accent. "Yes, I'm her," your voice was just a bit above whisper, "Who are you?"

"I'm Klaus Mikaelson," his smile was sly, which somewhat got you creeped out, "and I'm here to abduct you."

With that, he turned you around by your arms, pulling you into his chest. One of his arms snaked around your waist to keep you in place while the other went up to hold your mouth and nose tightly. You tapped on his arm multiple times so that he lets go, but instead, you smelled something in his palm and that got you dizzy. Next think you knew was your vision getting darker by moments and then... black.

You remembered everything as you woke up on a strange bed, in a strange room. It was dark, you could still make out the details, as your eyes set on the doorway. You took a leap out of the bed as you ran to the doors only to find them locked. It didn't surprise you though, you were abducted, obviously you were going to be locked in a room. But that didn't keep you from banging on the doors. "Hello? Anyone? Let me out of here! Please let me out!" You kept banging on the doors till your hands hurt. Few sobs left your mouth as you stopped banging, helplessness setting over, "Please, tell me what you want. Don't keep me here, please. Someone get me out." You fell on your knees, tears now freely ran down your cheeks. This guy, Klaus Mikaelson, you've never heard of him. You couldn't understand whatever would he want from you. Thoughts kept running in your head as you leaned against the wall beside the doorways, pulling your knees close. You heard footsteps suddenly, that caught your attention and you whipped your head towards the doors in hopes that someone might let you out. And that happened. You heard the lock getting opened from outside, and the doors creaked open, letting rays of lights into the room.

You got up, and looked at the man who just unlocked you. He wasn't the man from before, the one that kidnapped you. He looked gentlemanly, wore a neat suit, and approached you with a kind voice, "Y/n?"

Even this man knew your name, you felt disturbed by the fact that you didn't know what was going on. "Why am I here," you spoke your thoughts, voice crocky, "why was I kidnapped?" You took a breath to calm your rapid beating heart, "Who are you people? What do you want?"

"I'm Elijah Mikaelson and I get you have a lot of questions, Y/n," his voice was calm and smooth, "and we plan to answer them. Would you like to come downstairs, we can discuss further in there?" His words were more like a statement, and too stern to be a request. You nodded, you knew there's no point in refusing. Anything to get some answers, some explanation for this.

You followed Elijah down the stairs to see two guys and a girl gathered in the huge living room. You took in the scene before you, a house with vintage decor, large staircase and a fireplace in the massive sized living room. Even though you were just kidnapped and kept here, you couldn't help but admire the house, it was beautiful. Your trance broke as you stepped down the last stair, you saw the man who had kidnapped you earlier. "You..." you trailed off, meeting the man's eyes, "you kidnapped me. You're Klaus."

"Yes love, I did," Klaus turned fully to face you, sly smile returned to his face, "because you are currently of huge use to us."

"Use?" Your question blurted out of your mouth, with the same amount of disbelief and confusion that you were feeling right now.

"Brother here means that we need a favour from you," the lady in the room spoke, so you turned your gaze to her, "I'm Rebekah, and I'm sorry for my brother's ill manners. It could have been done without kidnapping you, I'm sure."

"What sort of favour?" You questioned again, nothing made sense.

"Nothing harmful, darling," the other man in the room said with a cocky and charming smile, "we just need a bit of your blood. Oh and by the way, I'm Kol."

"Blood?" You exclaimed, heart beating fast again, "what do you mean?" You felt dizzy from this creepy information you got. This lot kidnapped you to get your blood. As you tried to process whatever you just heard, your knees gave up and you felt yourself faint. But right before you could seize to the floor, large arms wrapped around you, steadying you back on your feet. It was Elijah. "I suppose we could have this conversation without scaring the girl, brother. " He didn't let go of you, instead helped you sit on an armchair.

"Agreed, brother," you heard Rebekah say, as your eyes were glued to the floor before you, mind running a thousand miles.

"We should enlighten this poor girl about our needs now, and I suggest we do so without making her uncomfortable."

You looked up at her, then Klaus, then Kol, and then back at Elijah. All of them were looking at you, and you could tell you were now going to get some actual answers, not the vague ones.

And that's exactly what happened. After an hour of a very mind crumbling conversation, you came to know about the supernatural world, how the people in front of you weren't only vampires but the first ones, making each of them a thousand years old. You tried your best to wrap your head around everything, in which you succeeded.

"So let me get this straight," your voice was a little more confident than before, "you are original vampires which makes you pretty much indestructible except for some ancient dagger you just found out about, that was made by my witch ancestors, and to destroy it you'll need my blood?"

"Precisely," Klaus hissed, "and make no mistake, we'll take your blood to get the job done. With or without your kindest consent."

That made you gulp. Klaus just threatened to hurt to if you didn't go along with the plan, to say you were scared to your core was the least. And your face conveyed your emotions pretty clearly when you met his eyes.

"Come on, Nik," Kol chimed up, "I thought we weren't trying to scare the girl?"

"We don't," you heard Elijah spoke from where he sat now, "we're not trying to scare you, Y/n, neither would we need to harm you in the process. As we explained, it is important for us to use your blood to destroy the weapon that is a threat to our family. I hope you understand our obligation to bring you here and ask for the favour."

"Yes I understand," you were still scared, but at the moment you needed to make it clear that they don't need to harm you, "if a few drops of my blood can help you guys and get me out of here then you don't have to ask too many times, you can surely have it."

"It's settled then," Klaus smiled again, sending a chill down your bones, "glad we're on the same page, love."

You huffed, you were so ready to just give your blood and get out of there, so you asked, "When do you need it?"

"I'm afraid we still have to retrieve the dagger yet," Rebekah replied with a sigh, "and the ritual happens on a full moon night, which means 12 days later from today."

"12 days!?" Annoyance was audible in your exclamation, "And what am I supposed to do till then? Just stay here locked up?"

"I'm sorry, love," Rebekah's voice was regardless, "but that is what is going to happen, we'll have to hold you captive here."

You opened your mouth and raised your hands up, but no words came out.

"What she meant was," Elijah's words were sincere, that made you look up to him to hear him complete the sentence, "you can enjoy your stay here at the mansion as our honorable guest."

"Are you serious," your voice was low and calm, "is there no other way?"

Disappointment settled in your guts when you heard his reply, "I'm afraid, no."

---------

It's been a week since you started staying in the compound, as an honourable guest. You didn't have to do anything all day, just wake up, sit around, eat, sleep and repeat. You were tired of the routine, so no one could blame you when you started roaming around the mansion at 3 in the morning. A brownie in hand, you walked down the hall just staring at anything and everything.

When you walked towards the living room, a voice startled you, "What are you doing up so late?"

With an audible yelp, you whipped your entire body with a jump in the direction of the voice, finding a nonchalant, casual Elijah. He wore only a shirt and a pair of dress pants, jacket discarded and sleeves rolled up. Your eyes fixated on the bourbon filled glass in his hand that he twirled occasionally. You were silent for too long as you realised, so to break it you whispered, "I couldn't sleep."

His eyes showed a glimpse of amusement and he raised his brows, signalling you to continue, "I was hungry and bored."

His lips quirked up in a small smirk. "Explains the brownie."

You suddenly became concious about the chocolate stains that smeared across your lips, and started rubbing your mouth. And at that you definitely saw his smirk grow bigger. "And what are you doing up at this time?"

He simply looked into your eyes, "I couldn't sleep either, but for different reasons."

"May I ask what is it?" You knew you were just stringing the conversation now.

"I won't bother you with those." His reply was curt, but polite enough so you dropped it.

"So I've eaten, not hungry anymore. But I'm still bored, suggest what should I do?" You genuinely didn't know what to do next, you wouldn't sleep that's for sure.

"Join me," he said with a glint of question, "I'll finish this drink on the terrace, you can keep me company."

You sat side by side on the patio couch placed on the spacious terrace. Elijah was content drinking his bourbon quietly, while you couldn't help but talk out of boredom.

"I have to ask," you slowly turned to face him, "what's kol's speciality?"

"What do you mean?" He turned to you in return, swirling his drink.

"I mean Klaus paints, Rebekah has an impeccable fashion taste, you play music, what does kol do?" Elijah heard the plain curiosity in your voice, that eased him up a bit and thus he let himself slip into a pointless conversation with you.

"He.. well if we don't consider killing then I'd say he has a talent for writing."

The way he put it earned a chuckle from you, "Oh? That's nice."

"Yes," he smiled at you in return, "he writes good poetry."

"Well then we should wake him up and make him recite a few of them!" The idea suddenly popped in your head and seemed too good to be ignored.

"It's three in the morning, dear," hiding a laugh Elijah tried to reason with you, "did you not hear the part where I said he has a speciality in killing?"

"He won't kill me for wanting to hear his writings, come on." You plopped a little back into the couch, wondering.

"He will." His reply was short, but accompanied a fit of laughter he couldn't control anymore.

"Well he can't," you laughed in return, "I mean not yet. I'm special, remember?"

"That you certainly are." Elijah looked at you with a glint in his eyes, conveying something you couldn't put your finger on. "So tell me, what do you do?"

"I... well a bit of both painting and music. I do both of them." His question made you realise you long has it been since you pursued any hobby of yours.

"Really? So you just sing or do you play any instruments?" Curiosity even got better of him, now he was genuinely interested in getting to know you as it seemed.

"I play the guitar," you say quietly.

"Guitar? Nice." Something about that look he gave made you believe he plays the guitar too.

"You know how to play a guitar, don't you? I mean you are a thousand years old, you've had a lot of time to practice," you said, surprised and not surprised at the same time, and continued, "Especially you're a vampire, you have enough strength to play the Barre chords effortlessly. I'm human and I can't play them. Look at me, so pathetic, complaining about Barre chords of all things."

You let out a long and hearty laugh, even clutching your stomach in the end. You were so focused on how funny you felt that you missed the way Elijah looked at you, with complete and utter adoration.

"I think it's cute." His voice pulled you out of your trance slowly, making you look at him. You noticed how he looked at you, and felt a pull when Elijah tugged your hair behind your ear out of nowhere.

"Cute?" Your voice got a lot quieter now, shy even.

"Yes, why," he asked a frown creasing his forehead as he looked deep into your eyes.

"I don't know," you fought hard to get your words out straight and to not focus on Elijah's fingers caressing your hair, "cute sounds so different on your lips."

"And why so," he asked, inching dangerously close now.

"Because you're so suave," for a moment you allowed yourself to forget everything that was going on in this world and just look into his chocolate hued irises, "Cute sounds just so quirky when you say it."

"Suave?" His voice was barely a whisper, as he inched even closer, squinting his eyes at your comment.

Your breath hitched when you realised just how close you were right now, and that didn't go unnoticed by the man in front of you, so he tugged your hair behind your ear again.

"You keep doing that." Your tone was a question and an acknowledgement that you liked it.

"I can't help but," he tilted his head slightly, as if taking you in "you look beautiful."

That sent heat right down your core, a moan escaped your lips "Oh come on."

"I'm serious," his breath fanned on your lips, "You know your lips are so soft." He slided his thumb across your lips, and you distractedly licked your lips, your tongue brushing his thumb slightly.

You weren't taken aback, you were just fused. So the question came out bluntly enough when you said, "Oh my god, are you going to kiss me?"

Elijah froze visibly, eyes going slightly wide, "I was going to," he backed away a bit, "till you ruined the moment."

You immediately regretted what you did, "Oh, I mean you can you know," you stuttered, "I won't mind."

"You wouldn't, sure?" His eyes glinted with hope again and you loved it. You loved the effect your words had on him.

Slowly smiling, you looked down and uttered, "Yes, because I'm bored." You looked back up at him and immediately regretted your words once again. Elijah was visibly taken aback now as he said "You'd let me kiss you because you're bored?"

You knew you had to do something, say something to repair the situation. God you just wanted to kiss him. You shouldn't have interrupted him in the first place. What were you thinking?

"When you put it like that..." you slowly mumbled, thinking of saying something clever somehow before you blurted your thoughts out, "I mean yes, it gives me something to do."

"What?" Elijah was openly confused now, waiting for an explanation, so you gave him that.

"I get like this when I'm bored," you tried to shift closer, "I get open to do anything interesting." Your eyes looked into his perfectly chocolatey hues, which turned a shade darker at your words.

"Anything?" He asked, his voice low and husky. You knew what he meant and that got your heart racing again.

"Well that was more suggestive than just a kiss," you said breathily, your eyes moved in between his eyes and his lips.

"I mean it does give you something interesting to do," his hands found its way to your lower jawline, both of your eyes locked, "Plus it'll be a good opportunity to see my room, to see if my bed is comfortable." He tried his best to convince you, you thought. But you didn't even need to be convinced, you were ready. But admitting that out loud is something you never did. So when you tried, your voice weakened noticably, "I.. think so.."

"Don't think too much," he reasoned, his voice an octave lower, "You're bored and you're just doing something about that, okay?"

"Okay," it didn't take you too much time to agree, you thought, "I just can't believe I'm going to have a one night stand with a thousand years old vampire!"

Blurting your thoughts out loud again, yes that's what you did. It earned you a stern, reprimanding look from Elijah, "You keep ruining the moment, dear. Now come on before you ruin it too much." With that he grabbed your wrist, got you up and dragged you downstairs to his bedroom.

He closed the door without letting go of the grip on your wrist. Then in a split second he shoved you on his bed, and started to unbutton his shirt. You followed in suit, getting rid of your satin slip and lacey red bra. He started climbing on top of you slowly and captured your lips with his once he reached you. His hands travelled around your body hungrily. He moved to kiss your jawline, then your neck and found your sweet spot. He sucked and bit you there, and from the feeling of it, you knew there was gonna be a huge hickey.

Your core throbbed with need as your hands tangled in his hair. His lips moved lower, his large hand coming up to cup your breast. He growled, the sound reverberating in his chest and sending shivers down your spine. You kicked off your shoes, him doing the same to be rid of them.

A moan slipped from between your lips at his praise, and you smiled. His hair was messy now, his face flushed with lust. His hand reached up again to fondle your breasts, his lips wrapping around your nipple as his tongue flicked over it, his teeth grazing the sensitive bud and sending the arousal straight to your core. You were already so wet, your panties soaked and sticking uncomfortably to your body.

Your arched your back in a moan, Elijah's name falling off of your lips. He switched sides, his hand squeezing you as he adored your body. "Fuck, yes," you gasped.

His tongue dragged down your chest and belly, his teeth leaving marks along your skin. His hands pulled your panties off of you, throwing your legs over his shoulders. He looked up at you, a silence question in those hungry eyes.

A smirk graced his lips, "You're so beautiful, babygirl." That nickname pushed you over your edge, you knew you needed him right now. He took the hint as his lips wrapped around your wet pussy, hot tongue meeting hot flesh as he began to devour you. You almost screamed as the pleasure filled you, spasms shooting through your body.

He sucked on your clit, his fingers suddenly burying inside of you as they started pumping in and out. Elijah had to pin you down by your waist to keep you from lifting off of the bed. "I'm gonna cum," you gasped, your fingers tightening on his scalp. "Already?" His cheeky smirk was evident on his lips, now glistening with your juices. He continued his ministrations making you come hard on his fingers, his lips curling back around you. His tongue captured all of your cum like it was his last meal. His name ripped from your throat, your body quivering as your thighs clasped around him.

He lifted his body up, taking a good look at you. "Oh baby," he moaned, "you're so exquisite, all for me to ruin."

You looked into his eyes, still coming down from your high. Suddenly your eyes travelled down his chiselled chest, stopping at his bulge inside of his lowly hung dress pants. "Elijah," you softly moaned, "I need you now."

The hunger in his eyes grew deeper, darker. He smashed his lips on yours, dominating you with one hand snaking around your waist and another one gripping your neck. As soon as he broke the kiss, he lost his trousers and boxers. His cock sprung out in front of you and you couldn't help but stare at it, thinking how the fuck could you take it. He was bigger than all the men from your past.

"Like what you see, babygirl?" You whimpered at his words, that nickname did something unexplainable to you. You pulled him into you by a fistful of his hair, locking lips, giving yourself to him completely.

He positioned his cock to your core, slowly inching inside. You cried out from the mixture of pain and pleasure, nails digging into his back. He stayed still for a moment inside you, until you signalled him to move. He started thrusting in a slow pace, then little by little it grew an inhuman pace. You bit into his shoulder to stifle your lewd sounds but Elijah's fingers tangled in the hair behind your head and pulled you back by it, "No, babygirl," he looked deeply into your eyes, thrusts not faltering for even once, "I wanna hear all of it." You let out a loud moan at that, him grunting with each hit. You gasped, gripping his shoulders, "Elijah, I'm close."

"Are you, now?" he moaned into your neck, "then let it out for me." He kissed you again, full of lust, "Let it all out, babygirl, and make a mess of my cock."

That was your undoing, your grip on his shoulder got stronger as you came, every wave bringing ripples of pleasure throughout your nerves. You rode your high as his pace picked up, and you felt him twitch inside you. He came almost right after you, his thrusts becoming sloppy.

Your movements stopped, you just stayed like that for a few moments, him on top, caging your small form beneath him as you both panted through the aftershocks. After a while, he slid out of you and settled beside, pulling you close to his side.

"Still bored?" Elijah asked, sliding an arm around you.

"No I think I'm ready to sleep now," you looked up at him, cheeks flushed and eyes droopy, "I should go back to my room." You shifted, trying to get up, only to be stopped by him.

"Stay here, in mine," he said, "that way you get to wake me up whenever you feel bored." Both of you smirked at each other.

"That... sounds like a good plan." Your face inched closer as you planted a wet, hot kiss on his lips. Elijah kept licking all the insides of your mouth until he lazily broke the kiss, "I thought you were ready to sleep?"

Your smirk grew bigger as you climbed on top of him, straddling his hips now, "Nope. Bored again."

[latte-fairytaekwoon]

Morning Routine (Jung Wooyoung) Rated

Part Two

Pairing: Jung Wooyoung × Reader (Female)

Genre: Smut, Fluff.

Summary: Seeing an advertisement online in need of a camera handler, Wooyoung jumps at the opportunity, not knowing his employer is a renowned camgirl.

Word Count: 4.3+K

Warnings: Exhibitionism, voyeurism, nude taping, masturbating in shower, breast play, a rather tamed smut

Taglist: @seacottons @multidreams-and-desires @galaxteez @deja-vux @yunhofingers @little-precious-baby @brie02 @couchpotatoaniki @daniblogs164 @a-soft-hornytiny @yunsangoveryonder @minhyukmyluv @nanamarkie @mingismoon @ateezbabysitters

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"Wanted: Experienced photographer/Camera Operator for personal/private filming. If interested, please contact number below for more information or details. Students majoring in said field are welcomed to apply. 19+ only."

Seeing the advertisement, Wooyoung's eyes popped up. Usually most jobs wouldn't even allow people without a degree or years of experience. And it would be perfect practice that didn't include boring or basic projects his professor would often assign, not to mention a little extra money would come in handy.

Not thinking twice about it, he quickly dialed the phone number listed and waited patiently as it rang. It took a while, but eventually someone on the other side picked up.

"Hello?" He discerned that it was a young female's tone.

"Hi! I was calling about the advertisement for a camera man?" He inquired.

"Are you 19 or over?" She immediately asked for his age, which slightly confused him. But thinking about it, he kinda understood why she might want someone older. After all, teenagers weren't exactly reliable or responsible when it came to taking on a job. She probably wanted to avoid them dipping out on her randomly.

"I'm 21 and very serious in my work." He assured her, already making it clear his intentions to be committed to the job she was offering.

"Hmm...I take it you probably haven't had a lot of experience outside of college right?"

Wooyoung slightly gulped as she discerned correctly. But she did say students were welcomed to apply and he was fairly confident in his skills.

"N-no but I can assure you that I'll work hard and meet your expectations."

There was a deep and defeaning silence that had Wooyoung worrying. He could already feel her hesitation to hire him or give him a chance. He was so worked up on being rejected once more that the slight giggle that ensued after that pause momentarily confused him.

"I like your attitude and drive already. What did you say your name was?" She asked.

"Jung Wooyoung." He answered right away.

"Well Wooyoung, how soon can you start?"

His mood lightened up quite significantly at hearing her say those words.

"If you'd like, I can come over to the location you wish after I get done with my classes tomorrow." He offered.

"All right, just one thing....... do you think you'd be able to stay over at my place for a few nights?"

Although he thought it was a rather unusual request, he didn't put too much thought, especially since someone was offering him a chance to actually have some work.

"Um.. of course."

Unbeknownst to him, the woman on the other side had her lips curling up into a smirk.

"Wonderful. I look forward to seeing you real soon Wooyoung."

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Checking the direction that was sent to him, Wooyoung looked at the corresponding number on the front door to make sure it was indeed where he needed to be. Adjusting the bag that was hanging by his shoulders, he slowly walked up to the vintage style house and rang the doorbell. Hearing the soft patter of footsteps coming from inside, Wooyoung mentally prepared himself to see a middle aged lady carrying a Siamese cat as soon as the door opened. But he was not prepared by the sight awaiting him. Indeed there was a cat in the arms of the figure in front of him, although it was a Persian cat and not a Siamese, but that wasn't the most surprising factor. What shocked him was to see a very young woman near his age be the one holding the cat in her arms, her face illuminated by the warm smile she was donning.

"You must be Wooyoung. I'm Y/N." She extended her hand out towards him, prompting the feline in her grasp to shuffle around and climb part of its body on her shoulder. Judging by the slight crinkle of her nose, Wooyoung guessed the cat probably clung its claws into their master's skin.

"Yes I am. It's a pleasure to meet you. I promise you won't regret hiring me." Taking hold of her hand, he gave it a firm shake while his face radiated the most reassuring smile he could make.

"Oh trust me, I don't think I'm going to." Her lips formed a rather curious smirk that slightly baffled him.

She gestured for him to step inside, which he immediately did as he tried to ignore the slight hissing the Persian cat gave him when his shoulder barely made contact against its swaying tail.

"Baby stop. He's going to be around for a while so be on your best behavior." She chastised her cat as she closed the door.

Y/N let out a soft 'hmph' when the cat suddenly jumped out of her arms and ran over to where Wooyoung was standing. He got stiff and held his breath when the cat pressed her nose on his leg and began sniffing him. Pulling back, she licked her lips and then scurried off somewhere in the other part of the house.

"Well we know for sure she doesn't dislike you." Y/N chuckled slightly.

"But I take it she doesn't like me?" Wooyoung raised an eyebrow.

"She's a cat, it'll take time for her to get used to you, that's all."

Shrugging softly, Y/N walked over to the kitchen and started taking out a few cups and saucers from the cupboard.

"I was brewing tea before you got here, would you like to share a cup with me?" Removing it from the stove top, she held up the elegant teapot to him after she finished her question.

"Oh, thank you." He gladly accepted her gesture.

Noticing him standing there awkwardly, Y/N pointed to one of the chairs surrounding the kitchen island.

"Wooyoung don't be too tense and just make yourself comfortable. After all, you're going to be staying with me for a few days."

Her words reminded him about that particular part of the job, that still felt odd to him and he was very curious to find out why she needed him to stay over with her.

"So.... can I ask what exactly is this project you're hiring me for that requires me to stay here?" He asked as he pulled a chair forward so he could sit on it.

"Oh yes, I thought you'd probably ask me about that since it is rather unusual."

She paused briefly so she could properly pour the tea into the cups, the rich aroma filling the atmosphere with its notes of chamomile and lemon. After sliding a cup over to him, she turned behind her to grab a tray that contained sugar cubes, honey, steamed milk and a few lemon wedges, all in different saucers or dishes that matched the tea set that they were currently drinking in. The cute floral design amused Wooyoung slightly. He could tell Y/N seemed to have a thing for classy and vintage style aesthetic, her house and the things inside was a major clue to it.

Pouring a tiny teaspoon of honey and some milk in her tea, Y/N carefully stirred them in the cup before finally answering the question Wooyoung had been pondering over.

"Well to make a long story short, I wish to film an everyday vlog for my....channel." Lifting the cup to her face, she gently blew on it before taking small sips out of it.

"Channel? Like for YouTube or like that?" Wooyoung himself started drinking his own cup of tea, preferring not to add anything to it since he liked straight tea as it was.

"Yeah something like that. But basically, I wanted to show my viewers how I live and what not. Show them what I do inside my home that they hadn't seen before. For example, I wanted you to stay over because I wanted to film my morning routine. I want to capture every move I make from the moment I wake up to when I get ready to start my day. Am I making sense?" She worried she was probably confusing Wooyoung even further, but he was actually not. It had become a popular trend this day to document a person's morning routine for people to see.

"Yes you are, no worries. Now I understand why you needed me to stay over." The smile he had was half covered by the cup that was brought back over to his lips.

"I mean if you're uncomfortable by it or would rather not, I completely understand."

Wooyoung quickly dismissed her worries, shaking his head as he cleared his throat.

"Trust me, I'm not uncomfortable and I'd love to help you in your project. It'll help me out as well, you know, gain experience and have someone to put as a reference if I ever want to get another job."

Y/N giggled softly at that and nodded.

"Ahh yes. I guess if you look at it from that angle, of course you would accept."

They spent a few minutes in a serene and tranquil silence, the only noises heard was the sipping of their lips against the rim of their cups. Wooyoung tried not to notice the way Y/N would occasionally stare intently to him, a slightly curious grin on her face at times. It wasn't that it made him uncomfortable, but it certainly made him self conscious, especially since he put a lot of effort into looking as presentable as possible. Did she perhaps thought it was too much? Or not enough? Or was it because she thought he looked funny? Whatever it was he got no chance to ask about it since he only opened his mouth to let out a sharp yell when he felt a certain feline's claws tangled themselves on his thigh, the sharpness of her claws even sinking into his skin.

"Baby!" Y/N got up from her seat and quickly removed the paws of her cat off her guest. She looked extremely embarrased as she apologized profusely before shooing the cat off to another room.

"I'm sorry. She tends to get a bit aggressive when trying to play. She didn't hurt you too much right?"

Dropping down on her knees in front of him, Y/N gently examined the damage done: a slight tear in his jeans but no visible signs of a deep scratch or anything.

"N-no it's fine, I'm fine." Wooyoung uttered.

He tried so hard not to blush at the position she was currently in. On her knees, between his legs as one of her hands caressed the attacked spot in an effort to soothe the pain. Wooyoung wanted to smack himself right then and there for the dirty picture his brain had imagined about the semi stranger in front of him, and his cheeks started to produce a pink hue when his body involuntarily started making a visible effect of his reaction to her stance by him in between his legs. He gulped as he realized she would be able to see the bulge that was starting to show.

"If you want, I could mend your pants for you-"

"No that's fine don't worry!" Wooyoung stood up from his seat and inconspicuously hid his tiny problem by pulling his sweatshirt further down as he moved away from Y/N.

"I mean, these pants were old. I was going to throw them out anyway." He tried as much as he could to seem as normal as possible, but judging from the look on her face he was probably not doing a good job. Luckily she seemed to not question his behavior and instead decided to start cleaning up the dishes that they used.

"Here let me help you with that." Wooyoung offered, trying to take some of the china off her hands but Y/N pulled her hands back so he wouldn't touch them.

"It's ok, don't worry about it. You're my guest and I'm very particular about the way to clean my silverware and dining sets. Nothing against you, I'm just.... slightly obsessive compulsive." She remarked in the most cheerful tone one could have while giving him a shy smile.

"Umm ok..." Wooyoung scratched the back of his head.

"If you want, why don't you bring the rest of your stuff so I can show you where you're staying?" Y/N suggested.

"Yeah. Sure."

Wasting no time and thinking keeping his mind occupied could help cool him down, Wooyoung picked up his keys and nearly sprinted out the door. Y/N hummed a soft tune to herself as she ran the cups under the lukewarm water. Her eyes were staring out her window, watching as her guest was head deep in the back of his car's trunk. She giggled softly as she remembered the flustered look on his face just a few minutes ago, tongue poking out at the image of his crotch outlined in those tight jeans of his. She looked down when she felt a soft face nuzzling itself against her ankle, soft purring coming out of her cat's throat before letting out a meowing noise. Bending down, Y/N gently scratched under Baby's chin as she liked.

"Yes I think he is absolutely adorable as well Baby.."

Picking her up, Y/N kissed the top of her head and smirked.

"And I'm going to have lots of fun with him."

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"Ok you ready?"

Looking over at the girl still in her bed, Wooyoung got a thumbs up to let him know she was indeed ready. Turning on his camera, he held up his hand and started putting one finger down at a time to count down the starting time. Hearing the slight beep of the camera go off, Y/N immediately plastered on a commercial worthy smile.

"Hello my darlings. As I promised you guys, I'm going to take you guys through my morning routine step by step. I hope you all enjoy it." She finished off her words with a wink before tearing off the blanket off her body.

Wooyoung had to give it to her, she definitely didn't seem to be camera shy nor awkward in front of the lens. He liked that she had confidence. Then he remembered that she had a channel of some sorts and that was probably the reason why. He stepped back a few steps to fully capture her as she neatly tucked her covers under her mattress, impressively folding the corners of her bed like they did in 5 star hotels. Smoothing out the top before patting it down, she looked at the camera once more.

"As you already know, I like to make sure everything looks absolutely pretty for you guys." Her voice dropped slightly in tone as she said those words.

Getting up from the floor, she pointed over to her still sleeping cat that was perched on its bed by her window. Wooyoung made sure to angle the camera towards her, zooming in slightly.

"She won't wake up for another hour or so....perfect amount of time to get all clean and dolled up."

Beckoning him over, Wooyoung carefully followed her inside her adjoined bathroom, keeping a steady hand as he made sure to capture everything inside. From the long vanity with its mirror to the walk in shower with its clear glass lining, all of it looking spotless and shiny. Clapping her hands together, Y/N beamed with enthusiasm.

"And of course, the first thing I do each morning is wash up."

When he heard that, Wooyoung thought she meant like her skincare routine as he had noticed her cleansers and toners perfectly lined up next to the faucet sink. But he was not prepared to suddenly be hit with the image of her bare chest in front of him when she suddenly pulled her black satin tank top off and let it drop to the floor, his own jaw going slightly agape. As if he couldn't get anymore flustered, he nearly wheezed when she turned around and bent over to slide her matching pajama shorts down her smooth legs, her ass staring him right in the face. It took everything in Wooyoung's strength not to drop the camera when Y/N stood back up and turned around so that her completely nude body would be in the frame. She giggled as she took notice of Wooyoung's beet red face, further teasing him as she kicked her discarded lace panties by his feet, the poor boy swallowing hard as one of his hands shook nervously.

"Eyes up here baby." He immediately looked up from the ground when he heard her sweet and sultry voice.

Walking over to him, Y/N snaked one of her hands to grab at one of his belt loops so he could follow her. Opening the large glass door to the shower, Y/N released his belt loop and made a sign for him to stay there and keep the camera towards her. Stepping inside the enclosed space, she twisted the knob on the tile wall enough so that the shower head above her would start pouring out the refreshing and cool water onto her body. She released a soft moan when she felt it splash onto her, hands gliding down her torso and thighs as her eyes closed and reveled in the tingling and cooling feeling of the water dripping down on her.

Wooyoung stood there completely speechless and flabbergasted, his eyes unable to blink the longer he stared at the scene before him. It felt completely wrong to be there, to watch and film as this girl he just met the day before stand naked in front of him and continue her shower routine as if he wasn't even there. He just couldn't believe it, couldn't believe what he had gotten himself in to when he called and accepted to work for her. But he still accepted and he had a job to complete so he tried his best to look as composed as possible as he kept the camera pointed at her.

And yet more often than not he found himself biting down on his lip hard, trying to suppress the groans threatening to spill out as he continued to watch her as she did the most normal things a person often did while they took a shower. The camera captured every minute starting from when she lathered her head with her shampoo, its scent of coconut and hibiscus filling the entire room with fragrance that further made the tight feeling in Wooyoung's pants ache even more. His eyes were exclusively locked on her body, watching as the water cascaded down her soft skin, focusing especially on her breasts. He licked his lips as he took in the way her nipples peaked out due to the temperature of the water, wanting nothing more than to take one of them in his mouth and suck on it. The fact that Y/N would purposefully bring her hands up at times to cup or rub against her fleshy mounds wasn't helping his case, it only made him more sad that it wasn't his own hands touching and caressing her breasts. He was willing to bet they were probably the most soft and squishy pillow like tits to exist.

Wooyoung was really aching when she poured some of the pomegranate scented body wash into her sponge and began to distribute it around her body, starting from her arms and working them down her legs and between her thighs. He didn't mean to but he couldn't help himself as he fantasized about being him the one who was lathering her body, imagining all the things he'd do if he could. Like perhaps teasing her by grazing his fingers across her wet folds or even pressing his thumb down on her sensitive clit. Either way, he knew he wouldn't be able to keep his hands off her if he got the chance, but he doubted that would ever happen. So he decided to take what he could of the moment and perhaps use it for fap material when he was alone.

As if knowing exactly what he was thinking about, Y/N turned her body to fully face him and smirked. Sliding her hands up her torso, she took hold of her breasts and gave them a tight squeeze before releasing them. Wooyoung could not help the audible whine that spilled out from his tongue as he saw her repeat the same action a couple more times. Pressing her boobs together, her thumbs played with the hardened nipples, tweaking at them and even giving them slight pinches every now and then. Wooyoung knew she was doing it on purpose, trying to arouse him even further....and it was working perfectly.

With one hand kept on one of her breasts, the other one snaked its way in between her luscious thighs. Dipping one finger inside her entrance, her lips parted and began spilling out breathy moans as she started to slide her finger in and out of her body.

"Oh fuck..." Wooyoung muttered, not caring about if his words got recorded or not. He became too invested in watching as Y/N continued fingering herself in front of him. She looked absolutely exquisite, body drenched in the rippling water as she continued to stuff her pussy with another one of her fingers. Her eyes shut tightly and her head tilted back as she let out even louder whimpers when she began scissoring inside her fleshy core. Her hand that was on her breasts pulled away to twist the showerhead knob so the pressure of the water could be at its lowest setting. Without the intense sound of the splashing water, her strangled noises became more audible as well as the slopping and squealching sounds her dripping pussy was making due to the intensity of her rapid finger movements. Wooyoung could clearly see and hear that the sounds were definition not due to the shower she was taking. Y/N was definitely horny and the slick her heat collected was clear evidence of it.

Having someone as hot as Wooyoung not only watching but helping her film something that thousands of other people would see, and more likely than not jerk off to, made her weak. She loved having people watch her do naughty things as she was doing now, it thrilled her and riled her up even more. And she loved seeing the effects it had on others, like the obvious bulge in between Wooyoung's thick thighs. She could practically make out just how big he was given how painfully hard his erection seemed, and that image served to help push her over the edge. With high pitched whines and cries, she shuddered as she felt herself cum all over her hand, her fingers slowing their movements down to help prolong her orgasm without making her become overly sensitive. She panted heavily as she took out her fingers and brought them up to her lips so she could lick off the secretion left from her climax.

Wooyoung's tongue poked out as he witnessed the pornographic image of Y/N drinking up her juices as if it was a delicious and sweet dessert.

"It probably is and it only makes me crave to have her smother my face with her pussy even more." He mused inwardly to himself.

He was so lost in his fantasy that he didn't notice Y/N had completely turned off the water and finished until her breasts were displayed right in front of the camera lens. He let out a soft stutter when her hand came up and pressed the pause button, being careful not to drop any water onto the camera.

"I'm going to finish drying myself off in my room so you can have some .....alone time." She snorted softly as she passed by him, her hand brushing against his crotch which made Wooyoung hiss softly.

Grabbing the towel that was hanging on the wall, Y/N wrapped it around her body, tucking it in so it wouldn't fall down. Stooping over, she picked up her lace panties and looked back at Wooyoung.

"Here, in case you need a little help." She flung it over to him, which he catches in his free hand.

Wooyoung stared at the underwear and then at Y/N with a dumbfounded expression.

"So I take it this is why you specifically wanted 19 plus people?" He quirked an eyebrow up, one corner of his lips pulling up into a knowing smile.

"Yes. I might as well mention now that I'm a camgirl with a porn channel." She explained.

"Yeah, I kinda figured that out when you flashed your boobs at me."

They both bursted out laughing at his little joke.

"Ok but seriously, are you sure you're comfortable with all this?" Y/N asked.

Wooyoung looked down at her before looking back down at the panties in his hand.

"I'm definitely going to be hard most of the time, but I think I'll be fine." He assured her with a mischievous smile as he set down his camera on the vanity dresser. With a sly smirk, he began unzipping his pants, not missing any of the facial reactions she was making as he began to pull his cock out of its confinement.

"I mean, I got up close fap material with an actual pornstar. What guy wouldn't want my job?" Cocking his head to the side, he rubbed the tip of his dick with his thumb, spreading some of the precum down the shaft. Although she had said she would give him alone time, Y/N couldn't move her feet out the door as she stared intently at the way Wooyoung hugged his length.

"Wanna watch me jerk off with your panties to your image?"

Stepping forward, Wooyoung reached up and pulled the towel off Y/N's body, causing her to inhale sharply at his bold move. Sucking in a breath, Wooyoung shamelessly looked down at her body as he placed the hand that had Y/N's panties around the base of his cock.

"Just stay there and don't move beautiful...."

[watchmegetobsessed]

Never Have I Ever - Harry Styles (part 5)

uh ohh, part 5 baby! im quite enjoying this story so far and i have some fun things planned for it, so i hope you’ll stay with me for them! in today’s part, our fav new celeb couple takes it all the way, though i chose not to include the actual sex part, however im still treating you all with some dirty stuff so enjoy!

pairing: Harry x actress!reader

word count: 4.6k

warning: NSFW content

SERIES MASTERPOST

masterlist

New couple alert?

Harry Styles and Y/N Y/L/N have been spotted having lunch and grabbing coffee several times in the course of the past few weeks. All the outings looked casual and friendly, they gladly stopped for fans that approached them and the word has it that they’ve been getting closer to each other, though neither of them confirmed anything.

Harry Styles has been known to be single for a while now, only faint rumors swirling up sometimes, but none of them were proven to be true, the young actress is the first woman he has been linked to in a long time. Y/N Y/L/N has been focusing on her blooming career and has been single since her split from long time exboyfriend and fellow actor, Levi Hudson. The pair dated all through 2018, splitting in the beginning of 2019. Hudson has admitted their hectic schedules made it impossible to maintain their relationship while Y/N did not confirm anything.

Styles is going on his world-wide tour soon, while Y/L/N is currently between two projects. The young celebs seem to be enjoying each other’s company and fans have been quick to jump into speculations about their alleged romance, however there is no evidence as of right now.

“Thank you so much for your time, it was a pleasure to talk to you,” the young interviewer smiles at you, holding her hand out and you shake it with a warm smile.

“Thank you for having me! And I really like your shoes, by the way,” you point down at her electric blue pumps that you’ve been eyeing since the start of the interview.

“Oh, thank you! Got them from a vintage store,” she beams, a slight blush playing on her cheeks clearly a little starstruck from your compliment.

“Love those little stores.”

“Me too,” she giggles collecting her papers and notes. “Someone will contact you and your team soon about the photoshoot and I’ll email you a draft of the interview in about a week.”

“That’s perfect, thank you so much,” you nod at her grabbing your purse from the side table next to you. Grabbing your phone from the depth of it you smile to yourself upon seeing the text from Harry.

“Call me when you’re done with the interview Xx.”

You say your goodbye to everyone before heading out of the building. Lawrence is at the front waiting for you in the car and he greets you with a warm smile when you sit into the backseat. As he starts the car and heads back to your home, you call Harry, who picks it up after the second ring.

“Hey! How was the interview?” he beams brightly, his voice immediately making you smile.

“Great! This young girl did it and she had some exciting questions.”

“Sounds lovely. Can’t wait to buy a Cosmopolitan with you on the cover soon,” he says and you can hear the grin through his voice.

“Will look good in your hands for sure,” you chuckle.

“Right. So I have a question for you.”

“Go for it.”

“I’m doing this very small show at Beacon Theater this weekend, kind of a practice before the real tour begins and I was wondering if you’d be up to come. Would love to have you there.”

“When is it exactly?”

“Saturday at nine. I know it’s a short notice and I get it if you have something else going on, just wanted to ask.”

“I think I can make it work,” you smile, thinking back at what your day looks like on Saturday. “Can I bring someone?”

“Of course! Just let me know how many people so I can have the tickets sent over to you.”

“Thank you. It’s sweet of you to think about me.”

“You know I always think about you,” he murmurs and his voice sends a shiver down your spine. Crazy to think how much he can affect you with just his words, he just has a special spell on you, it seems.

“Still such a flirt, I see,” you chuckle, feeling your cheeks heating up as you hear his soft laugh on the other end of the line.

“For you, always.”

“Alright. I’ll text you about the tickets and thank you again. Can’t wait to see you perform finally.”

“It’s been due for a while now, right? Kind of promised you some tickets on Ellen, if I remember correctly.”

“You did!” you laugh thinking back at the time you met him. How funny that just one short game on a talk show led the two of you here. You have to thank Ellen though.

“Now I’m finally keeping my promise. Talk to you later then, Love. Have a great day.”

“You too, Harry.”

 You manage to convince Sydney to join you for the concert, she sounds excited when you ask if she had anything to do on Saturday. Seeing Harry perform before his tour kicks off is a thrill for her she wouldn’t pass on for anything, so she is really grateful that you thought of her as your plus one.

Harry has your passes sent over to your place on Friday and it comes with a bouquet of flowers as well as a card.

“Can’t wait to see you tomorrow. What’s your favorite song? I’ll make sure to perform it just for you. –H”

He never fails to make you feel like the only woman on the planet and you can definitely see why so many fall for him even without meeting him. The man has all the power to charm anyone with just a smile.

You put the flowers into a vase and leave them on your dining table before grabbing your phone and sending him a quick text.

“It’s Only Angel,” you simply write, hoping he’ll get it why you just wrote that. Luckily, he does.

“Straight to the setlist. Dedicated to You.”

 Finishing up the last touches to your makeup you bop your head to the song blasting through the stereo. It’s Only Angel, of course. You’ve had it on repeat all afternoon and now you can’t wait to actually see Harry perform it live.

Just as you are about to get changed, Syd arrives so you let her in with a beaming smile and when she hears the music upon walking into your place she cheers in excitement.

“Yes! This is such a jam!” she smirks, doing a little dance as you lock the door behind her.

“You look fantastic, Syd,” you tell her. The black short dress looks amazing paired with the lilac oversized blazer. Her makeup matches the same color and you are obsessed with the fishnet tights. She will surely make men wish she was into them.

“Thank you! Spent two hours figuring out what to wear, so I hope I look fantastic,” she giggles.

She helps you put together your outfit as well. Wide legged flaming red pants that make your waist look snatched, a black sheer top tucked into it with just a black bralette underneath. You already know Harry will be a fan of the skin you’re showing, you can’t wait to see his face when he finally spots you.

You quickly pack your essentials into a black Chanel purse along with stuff you need for a possible sleepover if things might take a pleasant turn, and you finish with everything just when the doorman calls up through the intercom that Lawrence has arrived.

“So, what’s the deal with you and him, if I may ask?” Syd questions in the car, not in a nosy way, more like a curious, friendly way.

“We are… getting close,” you say, tasting the word on your tongue. You haven’t labeled whatever you have going on with Harry, nor do you really know what it should be called. You’ve been trying hard to make time for each other as much as possible, making small lunch and coffee dates a regular thing. He came over to your place one evening for a movie and that’s the only time you were able to be alone with him, though nothing sexual happened. Yet. The real deal is yet to happen and if you are being honest you are running short on patience. It’s getting harder to hold yourself back and keep your hands to yourself as well when you are out with him, but you agreed to keep it lowkey out in the public.

Tonight, however, you have a feeling what you’ve been waiting for so long might actually happen and you can only hope Harry is planning the same thing. You are absolutely ready to bluntly ask if he wants to spend the night at your place.

“But you’re heading… somewhere, right?”

“I hope so,” you smile shyly.

“That’s amazing. I think you two are a match,” Syd smirks at you.

By the time you arrive to the venue the gates have been opened so people are busy getting inside, giving you the chance to walk inside through the backdoors without any fuss.

“Miss, Harry requested me to usher you to his dressing room when you arrive,” the girl at the door smiles at you with a clipboard in her hands and a headset covering her ears.

“Oh, alright,” you nod, turning to Syd. “You go ahead and get us a good place,” you tell her and she nods walking away with a wave as she heads up to the second floor that’s fully reserved for friends and family.

Following the girl down the hallway you are led to a room that has Harry’s name on it. She gently knocks on the door and a few moments later it flies open, revealing Harry in a colorful suit and a simple white button-down shirt. He looks breathtaking, hair fixed perfectly and the wide grin stretching across his lips when he sees you standing there.

“You’re here!” he breathes out, grabbing your hand and pulling inside, snatching you away from the preying eyes. Once the door clicks closed behind you, he is quick to press his lips to yours in a sweet welcoming kiss. Ever since your first official date he hasn’t passed on any chance to kiss you whenever you had the luxury of privacy to yourselves, which hasn’t happened too much, leaving you both with a growing hunger for each other every time you meet.

“Mm of course I am,” you smile against his lips before pecking them one last time and leaning back. “Looking great, Mr. Styles,” you grin, taking your time to wander your eyes down on him.

“Yeah? Like the suit?”

“Absolutely.”

“Well, I love your outfit as well. M’gonna have a hard time not thinking about you on the stage.”

“Please think about me,” you breathe out with a coy smile.

“Don’t fucking say that to me, you are giving me a hard time,” he groans and you just chuckle at the tortured look on his face.

“Sorry,” you mumble, but your face doesn’t meet your words. He squeezes your waist gently, pecking your lips in a rush before he lets go of you.

“I need to go over a few things before we start, so just go ahead and join Syd. Meet me here after the show?”

“Yeah, perfect,” you nod smiling. “Good luck out there,” you wink and he grins at you with bright eyes. His hands grab onto yours before you head out, pulling you in for one last kiss before you leave.

You feel flustered and you take a few deep breaths on your way up to the gallery to find Syd who managed to get an amazing spot at the front on the left side.

They offer everyone up on the gallery some champagne before the show starts and looking around you see a few familiar faces, but no one you specifically know. You stick with Sydney who is over the moon about the show and you are kind of sharing her excitement.

When the lights go down and the music finally starts, you can’t help but join in with the screams that fill the theater.

You’ve seen videos of him performing, in One Direction and solo as well. You’ve seen pictures and you’ve heard the words about how amazing he is on stage, but none of those live up to the actual experience. The sensation that takes over you just by seeing him appear on the stage as the whole theater chants his name as one, it completely sweeps you off your feet and for a second you wonder how you could live a life without this experience.

When his voice starts to flow through the massive speakers you need to take a deep breath, a shiver runs down your spine and you chug down the rest of your champagne so you could get rid of the glass and hold onto the railing with both hands because you feel like you need to ground yourself before you shoot into the sky.

Song after song, he performs perfectly, bringing every single person in the audience to that euphoric state they’ve been probably seeking their whole life. The experience is surely one of a kind, something you’ll definitely be thinking about for a long time.

Time seems to stop, though it cruelly carries on even when you forget about it completely. The concert is nearing its end and Harry takes a breather as he places his guitar to the stand behind him. You watch his every move as he walks back to the microphone, his gaze moving up to the gallery, roaming through the people until they find you.

“This last song is dedicated… to my Only Angel,” he murmurs into the microphone as the audience erupts, blows up at once and your heart skips a beat when his eyes linger over you for a little longer before the music starts to play.

You faintly hear Syd screaming next to you, probably aware that the dedication was addressed to you, but you can’t tear your eyes off of the man on the stage.

He nails it perfectly, looking like an absolute rockstar that he truly is and for a moment you can’t believe you have his attention and interest. How can such a precious and unbelievably talented man be in your reach?

Because I deserve great things in life, you tell yourself, a little mantra you’ve gotten around to repeat every time you found yourself doubting your success and happiness.

The concert eventually ends and though no one in the room desires the end of it, Harry leaves and you are abruptly brought back to reality.

“That was… something else truly,” Syd breathes out as the two of you linger around a little longer, trying to come down from the high you just experienced.

“Yeah. He is so fucking talented it’s almost unfair,” you chuckle running a hand through your hair.

“This tour will kill thousands of people all around the world,” she muses and for a moment, reality sets in and you realize that Harry will leave for his worldwide tour very soon, leaving you behind.

You get rid of the thought, not wanting to stress over something that’s not relevant just yet and you don’t want to ruin the evening either. Fears and stress can wait a little longer.

The two of you make your way backstage, walking into a bit of a chaos as all close friends and family want to congratulate to Harry and the band as well. Standing at the side you let everyone have their time, barely even seeing Harry in the sea of people in the spacious green room. Syd keeps you company as you wait and about thirty minutes later it seems like the crowd is starting to loosen up.

Harry spots you and excuses himself immediately from his conversation with a couple, heading in your direction with the widest grin you’ve ever seen on his pretty face.

“Congrats, that was mind-blowing,” you smirk as he reaches you, a hand curling around your waist as he leans down and places a kiss to your cheek, keeping it as moderate as possible, though you both just want to jump at each other.

“Thank you, Love,” he nods, a blush tinting his cheeks from your words. “Hello Sydney, so great to see you again,” he greets the girl next to you and they share a short hug.

“Hi! Loved the show so much!” she giggles in excitement.

“Thank you for coming.”

The three of you chat for a while before Sydney says she is gonna call herself an Uber, so after saying her goodbye she leaves you alone with Harry, as much as you can be alone with a bunch of other people around.

“I wanted to ask you something,” he clears his throat as his hand finds its way back to the small of your back.

“Go for it.”

“We are gonna grab a drink at some bar, but nothing over the top and I wanted to ask if you would want to join.”

“Sounds good,” you smile, feeling a little disappointed. This is not exactly what you wanted him to ask. Luckily, he is not done with his questions.

“Also… I-If it’s cool by you, I thought that… maybe you could come over?”

“Mmm, go over and do what?” you tease him, your smile stretching wider with each passing moment.

“I have plenty of ideas, Love,” he breathes out, making you laugh. “We could drop by your place if you need anything to stay over.”

“No need. Packed a bag,” you slyly grin at him, taking him by surprise clearly, but it’s surely a pleasant one.

“Always a step ahead of me, huh?” he smirks, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

It takes some time to actually leave the venue and head off to the bar with a close group of friends of him and the band. A secluded area was already reserved for you that has its own bar, so you could enjoy the evening without worrying about preying eyes of strangers or fans. You really weren’t in the mood to keep your distance from Harry, this way at least you were able to touch each other in a more intimate way without speculations swirling up immediately.

You get to know his band and some of his friends, they are all genuinely amazing people, but you weren’t expecting anything else. You figured he only surrounds himself with people like him. His hands often find your waist and he doesn’t shy away from kissing your cheek or giving your hips a gentle squeeze, just letting you know you have his attention and he appreciates that you’re there.

It’s nearing one am when the guests start leaving and soon enough you find yourself in the back of your car with Harry, heading to his place, while you try your best to keep your hands away from him. You wouldn’t put Lawrence through the trauma of having to see or hear something he shouldn’t.

But that doesn’t stop you from kissing, something you’ve been dying to do all night. Your hand rests on his thigh while he has an arm curled around your shoulders, keeping you tight by his side, delicately brushing his nose against your hair every time your lips are not connected.

“Thank you, Lawrence. I’ll call myself a taxi in the morning, have the day off,” you tell your driver who smiles in your way thankfully while Harry grabs your and his bags from the back of the car.

“Thank you, Miss. Enjoy your night,” he nods in your way as you shut the door closed.

You try to take your duffel bag from Harry, but he insists to carry it as the two of you walk inside his house.

“Want something to drink? Water, tea or something?” he asks, setting the bags down near his giant, comfortable looking couch. Your thoughts immediately wander to a dirty field, picturing him sitting on that very couch as you kneel in front of him, pleasuring him so good that his eyes roll back…

“Yeah, water please,” you say clearing your throat. Some hydration will come handy after the drinks you chugged down at the bar.

You follow him as he shuffles into the kitchen, grabbing a glass and a bottled water from the fridge for you, pouring some into the glass before handing it to you.

“Thank you. You have a nice place for yourself,” you tell him, looking around in his home.

“Thanks. Been working on it for a while,” he chuckles softly. “Feels a bit too big for just myself though.”

You finish the water and set your eyes at him, feeling your hunger for him grow with each passing moment. Placing the empty glass to the marble counter you take a step closer to him.

“You feel lonely often?” you question in a low voice. His eyes return to you and you are happy to see the same lust in them.

“Would say so, yes,” he nods, running his tongue over his pink lips before he reaches out and grabbing you by your hips, he draws you close to him. Leaning down his lips brush against the shell of your ear, a shiver runs down your spine when you hear his whisper in it. “Hope it’ll change soon.”

At a loss of patience, you grab his face and angle it perfectly so you can kiss him hard. And by hard, you mean real hard. He stumbles back from the force, but manages to keep his balance, returning the kiss just as vehemently as he receives it, a tug of war starting between the two of you.

His hands work fast on the sheer fabric of your shirt, pulling it out from the waistband of your pants, getting rid of it eagerly as his lips wander down on your neck, collarbones and chest. He easily turns the two of you around so you are pushed against the edge of the countertop, his hips pushed against you and it’s clearer that daylight just how excited he is to have you here tonight. Your eyes flicker over to the couch again and the desire to please him with your mouth just bursts, you can’t hold yourself back anymore.

So you push him away from you, grabbing his wrist and yanking him after you, heading towards the couch. You push him down and his lustful eyes follow every move of yours as you kneel in front of him and he realizes what you are about to do. He doesn’t stop you when you work to unbutton his pants, but his hand finds your chin and he pulls you up for a swift, but passionate kiss.

Once you successfully undid his pants he lifts his hips and you spare some time and energy, pulling them down along with his underwear, leaving him only in his vintage printed t-shirt as his cock springs free. You push your thighs together just at the sight of him, the way his eyes burn down on you, how his lips part when your gazes meet and the way he sucks on his breath when your fingers dig into his thighs near his crotch as you situate yourself closer.

“I believe I owe you an orgasm, don’t I?” you ask with a cheeky smirk before wrapping your left hand around the base of his shaft, giving it a gentle squeeze, just enough to get him even more excited. A whimpered moan slips from his lips and you lean closer, giving his cock a lick from bottom to top, wrapping your lips around the head as you swirl your tongue around it.

“Fuck hell!” he breathes out, clearly enjoying himself, hands fisting the cushion next to him, but you bet they’ll be buried in your hair soon.

You’re not an expert in the field of blowjobs, but it’s been your thing to come barging right through the door and jump the easy teasing whenever you were on your knees for a man. So with your hands fixed on his beautiful face, you sink down on him, his cock gliding into your mouth right until the tip reaches the back of your throat, earning the loudest moan you’ve heard from him. Shutting your eyes closed you keep him like that for a second until the urge to gag starts to set in, so you slide him out, your saliva dripping down his erection as your eyes meet his and you can tell you shocked him with your bold first move.

“Do that one more time and I won’t last for a minute,” he warns breathing heavily and you just smirk up at him before going into action again, this time only taking a smaller portion of him, pumping the base to make up for the lack of deep throating, but it appears that he enjoys just the simple part of it equally. As you keep bobbing your head, taking as much of him as you can without gagging, his right hand flies to your hair, taking a handful of it as he gently guides your head, keeping it in the rhythm that works the best for him and you happily let him do whatever makes him feel good.

When your free hand goes to gently massage his balls your name erupts from him in the most voluptuous way you’ve heard him call out for you. As if he just cried out for God himself.

“Y/N, fuck, I won’t last long,” he warns you, but that’s all you want. You need to see him come undone under your touch, you want to be the reason his breath hitches. Picking up your pace you see him whimper some more, head falling backwards to the back of the couch. It’s a heavenly view and you wish you could take a picture of his beauty as he enjoys himself on this intimate level. You’ve never wanted to please a man more than him and just seeing him in this blissful state makes you wet through your underwear.

When his breathing starts to get uneven, chest heaving wildly, you take all of him again, his head poking the back of your throat and you push your tongue against his length as you slide him out, picking up the same pace that you kept before, both hands working hard on him.

“Fuck! I-I’m gonna cum!” he warns again and just a few seconds later, you feel the evidence of his satisfaction spurt into the back of your throat, eyes falling on you as you give him one last lick before swallowing everything that’s in your mouth.

“Holy shit,” he breathes out pulling you up, eagerly kissing you without a second thought, his hands cupping your cheeks to keep you in place. “You surely know how to kill a man, yea?” he huffs making you chuckle.

“Think you can go for a second one?” you sheepishly ask, blinking up at him from under your long lashes.

“I’ll have enough time to recover while I eat you out like you’re my last meal,” he bluntly replies, and a moan almost slips from your lips.

“Show me what you got, Styles,” you challenge him and he doesn’t need more, he easily picks you up, wrapping your legs around his waist as he heads straight to the bedroom.

“As you wish, Angel,” he mumbles against your skin, peppering your neck and shoulder with featherlike kisses along his way until he throws you to his bed, ruthlessly tearing the remaining of your clothes off your body.

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[prettylittlelyres]

Hello! These are all the ways I make my writing sessions more comfortable for myself (I have HSD).

Handwriting

For a start, I keep lots of different writing equipment on hand. I go from pencils to fibre tips to fountain pens to rollerballs to ballpoints on good days. They're all different thicknesses so that it doesn't matter if my ability to grip things fluctuates.

I also have a few sponge grips that I put on pencils and Bic Crystal pens to make them softer and larger to hold, so that my finger joints don't collapse. I live in the UK so I got these grips from The Works; for some reason it is much cheaper to get hold of a pack of 10 already attached a pencils (removable) then it is to buy them individually. Be careful when you're sharpening pencils if you have skin involvement, because I can only sharpen about eight pencils to a pinpoint before my hand starts to blister. Take breaks, and avoid sharpening all your pencils at once.

In primary school, I was made to use Stabilo ergonomic pens and those didn't work at all for me; my hand can't sit in that shape without my finger joints bending back. Nobody noticed, and they just kept telling me off for not holding my pen correctly! (I wasn't diagnosed until I was 22 but the signs were all there in my childhood.) I guess having an unconventional hand posture is another way I accommodate my hypermobility when I'm writing, but I've developed my own by accident.

Fountain pens need a special mention, because there are so many different types, so there's something for everyone. They also generally require so little pressure to make a mark on the page that they are often good for hypermobile people who can't press hard. I tend to avoid pens with a triangular grip, and those that have metal parts in contact with my hand (they conduct the heat out of my fingers, and I get really cold really quickly).

The best pens I've found for my hypermobility have been the Kaweco Sport, the Faber-Castell Grip 2010, and -surprisingly - the cheapest calligraphy pens from The Works, with the fine nib. I got a vintage Waterman Flash set a free market in Belgium a few years ago, and that works really well for me too, but I don't know how easy they are to come by. @mamoru has a lot of really informative posts about fountain pens, and will certainly be able to recommend you something more effectively than I can. (I do know now that Kaweco is a bit dodgy, but only found out since I got my pen.)

Computer writing

I have a Bluetooth keyboard that connects to my phone or my tablet, and that's very lightweight, so that I can write in bed. It's less useful now that I use Scrivener, because I have Android devices and there's no app for those, but if you had an iPhone it probably wouldn't matter. I carry the keyboard with me when I am going on long journeys because it's useful to be able to write when I'm on a train, and it's much lighter than lugging around an entire laptop. This also really helped me when I was at university! I didn't have to take my computer to campus every day, because I could just go into Google Docs, type my notes, and paste them onto my laptop when I got home. A lot of back pain saved, I think.

I also use the voice typing function on my phone and tablet, especially when I have a lot to write, or want to write on days when my hands are just not cooperating. Yes, I still have to correct the occasional word, but it's better than having to type the whole thing on a day when that's causing me pain. I believe Scrivener also has a voice typing function, but I haven't tried that out yet, because I've been lucky in the last few months and haven't had too much pain in my wrists. This post, however, was voice typed on my phone!

(Less helpful for you, personally, but may help others?) Learning to touch type made my life a lot easier; when I put my laptop on my laptop desk, I can sit however I need to, and don't need to look at the keyboard. That makes it easier to change position frequently when I'm writing. My physiotherapist says that just about any position is probably safe to sit in, as long as you change it soon enough.

General

I often write in bed so that I can lay down, or - if I've got my laptop - on my lap desk. That makes it easier to write on days when my fatigue is getting in the way; it's one less thing using my energy. I have a wooden desk with adjustable legs and a hinged top, so that I can type on a slanted surface. That takes the pressure off my wrists a bit, and make it easier for me to see the screen without having to strain my neck.

Fingerless gloves are a good way of cushioning the wrists (the cuffs are thick, but, because they're fingerless you cans still grip the keyboard). I've been thinking about getting (or making) wrist cushions for writing, but because I use a laptop, I can't go for anything that actually fixes to the keyboard. At the moment, fingerless gloves are my best option. If you can knit, opt for a fingerless glove or convertible mitten pattern, and make the cuff twice as long as it needs to be, so that you can fold it back on itself and have even more support for your wrist. Go for natural fibres so that they'll wick away moisture, and remember that cotton will not keep you as warm as wool will, so may be a better option for summer writing gloves.

Sometimes I lay down with the lap desk, but, when I do sit up with it, I try to prop myself up with lots of pillows. Cushions at my lower back provide the bulk of my support, and one behind my upper back / against the headboard protects my head if I want to look up to think for a bit. I also have a hot water bottle in a padded case that I place against my lower back, so that there's some heat to help my muscles relax. It also provides just a little bit more support, but it's the heat that's most helpful for avoiding stiffness when I try to move.

I find sitting is a better option than laying down when I have a choice, because it's easier for me to move my legs and change position if I'm not actually underneath the desk. (If you're going to use a computer in bed, please consider getting a lap desk, and ideally run with vents in the top, so that the heat from the computer has somewhere to go.)

I know a lot of people with hypermobility use finger braces. I personally don't, because I type so fast that if they're not properly fitted, they just fly off. Fitted braces are currently too expensive, relative to how much I need them, so I don't have any yet. However it's something I'm keeping in mind, and they may help you. Remember: you can buy them for individual fingers and don't need to buy a full set of 10.

I'm hesitant to suggest yoga for hypermobility, but sessions that focus on strengthening the muscles in the hands and wrists may create more support for your joints and prevent a few dislocations over your lifetime. Whether or not you do dedicated yoga sessions, it's important to keep your hands strong and supple of your writer, so squeeze a stress ball or sponge to strengthen your fingers, and do weightlifting motions with something in your hand. It can be a can of beans, it can be an empty water bottle, it can be a stress ball that weighs nothing, or it can be a dumbbell if you want. It's more important to get the shape of your hand right when you're doing these exercises so that things are in the right position, than it is to be lifting anything particularly heavy. Even a stress ball - held in your hand and "lifted" backwards and forwards - will strength and the muscles that flex your wrist. Exercises for strengthening the muscles in your shoulder and back may also help. My physiotherapist would say it's best to avoid extending the joint as far as you possibly can, and we don't need to extend the range of motion as much as we need to build strength within the range we already have. Find out how far you can move your wrist comfortably without it clicking for popping out and do your strength training within that range. You might find you get a bigger range of movement because of it.

Finally, and it's not so much a hypermobility-specific thing as a "writing with chronic pain" thing in general, the Pomodoro Method forces me to take breaks, stretch, and move about a bit. I'm lucky enough not to have POTS or vascular involvement, but I do have Raynaud's disease, and blood pools or gets trapped if I sit in one position for too long. I work well when I write for about 20 or 25 minutes, rest for 5 or 10, and then write for another 20 or 25 minutes before I have another break. Like this, I can do three or maybe four sessions of writing before I really need to stop and take a longer break. You might need to adjust the timing to make them shorter, or you might be able to adjust them to make them longer, but the Pomodoro Method's timings are a good place to start.

I hope something in here is helpful! This is just what works for me, but writing is so much more soothing since it's become a lower-pain activity for me.

This is a real long shot but... any writers who see this who have hypermobility or a hypermobility disorder, please feel free to share your tips! How do you make writing sessions comfortable for your body?

Sincerely, a person with g-HSD whose pinky knuckles have a personal vendetta against touch-typing.

Non-hypermobile people please feel free to share this around<3

[alcinadimitrescuwu]

The Night Before (An Alcina x Reader Fanfic)

Warnings: NSFW

You are trying to go about your daily tasks in Castle Dimitrescu but are finding it very hard to focus. It could be the fact that spring has finally arrived in Romania, the birds chirping, the sun beaming down from the heavens, the snow finally melting away to make way for new life teeming from the earth.

It could also be the fact that your wedding to Alcina Dimitrescu, the love of your life and the Lady of the Castle is tomorrow.

The housekeeper turns in your direction and gives you a pointed look. “Are you going to stand there all day away with the fairies, dearie, or are you going to polish those candelabras like I asked?”

You immediately snap back to reality. “Of course! Sorry, Mrs. Fischer.”

Mrs. Fischer shakes her head, clucking to herself. “Tomorrow you may be the Lady Consort, but today you are still a maid and you have your duties to perform.” She inspects you over the half-moon spectacles perched over her nose. “Now I expect you to polish those candelabras until they sparkle!”

“Right away, Mrs. Fischer.” You turn and set to work on your polishing.

“Oh, and Y/N?” Mrs. Fischer calls over her shoulder.

“Yes, Mrs. Fischer?”

She gives you a conspiratorial wink. “Congratulations, dearie.”

You can’t help but be shocked. Mrs. Fischer never gave out compliments or congratulations freely. You only knew you were doing a job correctly if she wasn't constantly checking up on you to make sure you didn’t mess anything up. You start to get emotional in spite of yourself. You may have started out working at Castle Dimitrescu as extra income for your aging parents, but there had always been something satisfying about taking care of a large house. You didn’t even mind the extra hours that you put in saving up for your engagement ring to Alcina, which had turned even more beautiful than you could have imagined.

Alcina had put her foot down about you staying on in your job once the two of you got married, however. “Darling, after our vows, you’ll be a part of this house. Your place will be with our family, not working for it,” she had said, taking your chin in her hand and stroking your cheek.

You finally agreed and she smiled indulgently at you as you asked to work just one last day, for old time’s sake. “Of course, draga mea,” she said, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand. “If that is what you wish.”

A sudden crash breaks you from your reverie and you smile as you see one of the parlor maids, Constanza, making her way over to you with a sheepish grin on her face after picking up the tray she had dropped on the floor. Constanza was a lovely young woman with auburn hair and blue eyes, perfect for a parlor maid. Unfortunately, she was also very accident-prone. She finally comes to a stop in front of you with a silver tray. On the tray is a single envelope sealed in wax with the Dimitrescu family crest.

“Good morning Y/N!” Constanza says brightly. Then thinking better of it she tries, “Er, good morning Miss -no, Lady Consort- wait you’re not Lady Consort yet-”

You stop her before she can continue her babbling and put a placating hand on her arm. “Constanza, you’ve been working here as long as I have. You can still be familiar with me if you want to.”

Constanza breathes a sigh of relief and breaks out into a grin. “So the big day’s tomorrow! Are you excited?”

Yes, you were excited. And nervous. And terrified as all hell. But you give her a smile as you say, “Yes, Connie I am. Alcina and I have been waiting for this day a long time.” It still felt weird to say Alcina’s given name out loud and not in private like when you were first courting.

Then your attention turns to the sealed envelope on the tray Constanza is holding. “Is that for me?” you prompt.

Constanza’s face suddenly turns a lovely shade of puce and her blue eyes grow wide behind their spectacles. “Er- yes, the Lady herself gave it to me with, er, very specific instructions to tell you to not look at it until you’re alone in your room. At night. She said she would give you a call when she wants you to open it.”

You feel your own cheeks start to burn as you take the envelope off the tray. “Thank you, Constanza, I’ll just take this back to my room for now.”

Constanza gives you a nod and turns to leave. Suddenly she turns around and gives you a brief curtsy. You suddenly notice all the other servants of the house staring at you and you feel a pang of sadness as you realize you won’t be able to interact with them as freely as you normally could. You’ll be in your own separate worlds.

Without a word you head back to your room, the envelope clutched in your hand. Night cannot come soon enough.

***

After what seems like eons, night has finally fallen on House Dimitrescu. You’re alone in your bedroom pacing back and forth like a caged animal. You’re not used to sleeping alone as for the past couple of months you had been sharing your bed with Alcina in her bedchambers. However, Alcina’s daughters- no, your daughters too, soon- had insisted that it would be bad luck for the two of you to see each other before the wedding. It had taken you aback as you hadn’t considered the girls to be traditional, but they were insistent and after some protesting, Alcina had finally relented.

Still it wasn’t easy. You hadn’t seen Alcina all day since you had left her side this morning. You had heard her talking with the Duke outside earlier discussing last minute wedding arrangements, her elegant velvety voice carrying through the entrance hall. You had longed to run over and put your arms around her, burying your face in the curve of her hip, but you held yourself back out of respect for your future daughters’ wishes.

The phone begins to ring loudly in your bedroom and with your heart already pounding, you pick it up off the hook and hold the receiver to your ear. “Yes?”

“Draga mea?” Your heart skips a beat as you hear your fiancee's voice on the other line. “Is that you?”

“Yes,” you say, holding the receiver closer to your ear.

“Did you receive the envelope I addressed to you this morning?”

“Yes,” you say. The envelope is on a nearby table with your name on it in Alcina’s beautiful cursive handwriting with a letter opener nearby, ready for opening. “Can I open it now?”

“Not so fast, pet,” Alcina’s voice takes on a teasing quality. “You didn’t look at the contents inside did you?”

“No.” But you were certainly tempted throughout the day to sneak a peek. You held firm, though, knowing that even after all the waiting it would be worth it.

“Good girl,” Alcina purrs on the other line. “You’ve been so very patient and that ought to be rewarded. But first, tell me, what are you wearing right now?”

Immediately you wished you had put on sexier clothes than just your nightgown. Oh well. You have to deal with what you got. “Just my nightgown. Nothing fancy, I’m afraid.”

“Oh? Is it the one with the ribbon in the front?”

“Yes,” you say looking down at your nightgown. There is indeed a ribbon in the front. You remember when it’s unfastened that it reveals more of your cleavage. Your outfit choice might not have been so bad after all.

You can tell that Alcina is recalling the exact same thing as she says, “Loosen up the ribbon for me, dear, would you?”

You loosen up the ribbon and the nightgown slips off your shoulders slightly. You’re finding breathing normally difficult. You feel a slight pinch as you feel your nipples grow hard at the sound of Alcina’s husky voice.

Alcina chuckles. “All right, dear, I’ll stop torturing you. You may open the envelope now.”

You practically lunge over to the table to slice open the envelope. Inside are a bunch of photographs taken with a vintage style camera. As you take out the first one you see that Alcina is featured on it and you suspect that the rest all show her as well.

“Now, pet,” Alcina purrs. “Tell me exactly what you see in the first picture.”

You hold the picture in your hand to the light to get a better look. “You’re sitting in front of your mirror. Your hair is down and your hat is off. You’re, um, wearing a black peignoir and brushing your hair. It’s all, uh, very tasteful.”

Alcina lets out a laugh like tinkling bells. “Oh, rest assured, darling, the rest of the pictures will become progressively less tasteful.”

Your mouth runs dry and you feel your palms have grown sweaty. You wipe them on your nightgown before continuing.

You take out the second picture. “Just like before, pet. Describe it to me and leave no detail out.”

You clear your throat. “You’re standing before the window and smoking. You’ve cast off your peignoir and are wearing a red and black lingerie set. The bustier is black and your garter is clipped to red stockings, the exact shade of your lipstick.” You swallow before continuing. “You look stunning.”

She lets out a girlish giggle at that. “Thank you, darling. Speaking of garters, how about you unhook yours?”

With shaking hands you unhook your garter belt and peel down your stockings. You push the skirt of your nightgown up a little bit, but you know to wait until Alcina gives you further instructions.

Onto the next one then. You take it out and you suddenly find your mouth moving but no words coming out.

“Dearest?” Alcina prompts. “The next photo?”

“Um,” you stammer. “Your back is turned to the camera now and er, the back is very um, sheer.” The back indeed is very sheer with only a thin layer of lace covering the curve of her hips. You feel your core growing hot with desire. You feel your arousal drip down your bare leg.

“You sound a tad overwhelmed, darling,” Alcina purrs. “If you need to take some time for yourself you may do so now.”

Now that she had given you express permission you glide your hand up your skirt and slip it into your already dripping cunt. You let out a soft gasp as you feel your fingers move inside you. It’s not the same feeling as when Alcina’s fingers are inside you, but at this point anything will do. You can hardly wait for your wedding night. You try to maintain the pace she usually uses.

“There, pet,” Alcina is panting now too on the other line. “Just like that. Now the next picture, please.”

Alcina’s moans from the other line are driving you to distraction but you hold the phone against your shoulder while you use the other hand that is not in your core to pick up the next photo.

“You know what to do, now, draga mea,” Alcina gasps out.

The last photo nearly takes you out. You feel your climax building as you describe it to Alcina. She is sitting at the foot of the bed, her lingerie set on the floor, her legs open. You take in her full breasts and the soft black down that covers her nethers. One of her arms is extended and you see her muscles rippling in her shoulders as she beckons you teasingly to the bed.

You cry out her name as you orgasm and you lean your head against the table, spent. “Good girl,” Alcina purrs, still riding out her own climax. “That was but a foretaste of what our wedding night will be. I do hope you’re prepared, dear.”

“Yes,” you practically squeak.

“Good to hear,” Alcina chortles. “Well, I suppose we ought to get our rest before tomorrow. I’ll see you in the morning, my bride.”

You blush scarlet at Alcina calling you her bride. You could definitely get used to that. You have something prepared too. “Alcina?”

“Yes, my dear?”

“Te iubesc, draga mea.”

You can almost see Alcina’s beautiful face break out into a grin, her eyes crinkling in the corners, cheeks dimpling. “Your pronunciation has much improved, dearest. Very well done. And I love you too, darling. Noapte bună.”

You fasten back up your nightgown and head over to the bed. You are not the least bit surprised when you find you can’t sleep. There is simply so much to be excited about.

[lucky-draws]

hi lisette. please give me your bingo opinion on REVOLVER OCELOT from METAL GEAR SOLID

hello animalscamo "grace" "weezer" snake. i will gladly give you my opinion on REVOLVER OCELOT from METAL GEAR SOLID.

UMMM SO...where do i even BEGIN....i could talk abt my precious ocie for hours xD <3 no but erm seriously good god. i've never liked a character as much as ocie before. like i dont have brainrot of this level for anyone else like i dont usually give a shit but for him? i do. he lives in my mind. there's like a little room for him inside my skull like fully furnished with a little sofa + tv for him to watch westerns on.

(gonna do a read more bc im probably going to write a novel's worth of insanity.)

i put he's a blorbo but not in an i want to fuck him way just in a he's my friend and he's a funny little man that i love to see way. i want to carry him in a handbag like a dog yes but also scrunch him up like a sheet of paper and throw him in the bin but also carry him in my pocket like a doormouse and feed him crumbs.

i put he needs more screen time bc why wasn't he in peace walker :( he should have been on that beach instead of nasty kaz :( (i am only half joking i wish he was in peace walker but it's fine i can rotate my own idea of 70s ocelot in my mind.)

i half filled in everything i like abt them isn't canon because admittedly sometimes i think about him too much in relation to big boss. big bosselot even. and in general i think i have created my own specific ocie and my own "headcanons" if i can use that word about him HOWEVER.

well. i think i've said enough really. i tried to be normal. i wasn't. there's a lot more Thoughts i have that i can't quite articulate. but yeah. um. <3

canon ocelot on his own is just a fucking epic character. like he's so cringe and funny and such a cartoon villain whilst at the same time being highly intelligent/powerful/mastermind megamind quintuple agent etc. mgs3 ocelot is so horrible and silly but it's like this contrast of. he's 19 or 20 or whatever and acts it, he acts like an insufferable brat and is so silly in his meowing and his pridefulness but then it's like. his fucking MOM who he doesn't KNOW is his mom is being fucking killed amidst all this. killed by the very same dude that he's got this insane childish crush on. it's just the ridiculous tragedy of it all for me !

also i just LOVE his mannerisms. like his finger guns/arm flourishes are so STUPID but so endearing. he's really just a joy to behold.

i put got done dirty by fans because i guess i dont like to see him uke-fied (or woobified in a way that isn't the way that i (correctly) woobify him) and made to be a blushing little maiden when he's like . not that. like even in a sort of bosselot context it's like. it's the fact that he's this cold, uncaring, double crossing spy who kills in cold blood and has a torture fetish and is just as dangerous in fact MORE DANGEROUS than big boss . and yet. his (canon basically?) motivations are because he never got over his teen crush. because somehow, throughout all his double crossing and billion different affiliations, he's doing it all for one (1) person. which. ironically. is kind of the very definition of "loyalty to the end". but while he has the intelligence to see through any need to be loyal to a country/government, or to any organisation, he doesn't have the moral desire to fight for anything or anyone good. so he fights for big boss. (AND FOR WHAT? like he doesn't even get anything for it in canon. big boss doesnt give a shit. so he's somehow "selflessly" doing all the shit he does. expecting no reward. like it's the weird martyrness of it all. big boss as the devil and ocelot as his evil apostle. idk. sorry. im not being normal.)

he also fights for himself of course because he enjoys murder and evilness and misogyny and well i mean he needs to get the money for his authentic vintage cowboy boots from somewhere and well the patriots are very rich or so ive heard. a secret billion dollars in an underground vault or something. so yeah he's simply the worst BUT he's such a fucking funny stupid meowing cowboy also . he has the RANGE!!! he deserves to rot in hell but he's also my best friend in the world and i feed him kibble.

ALSO ALSO i forgot to mention but just on a purely aesthetic like character design level i can't help but enjoy his fucking stupid dinky red scarf and gloves and cowboy drip like it's just FUN to draw him.

put simply, he is my silly boy. i guess i cannot put it more succinctly than that !

[galaxytastes]

Jumin’s Birthday

Hi! This is my first post and, rightfully so, it will be a “little” 10 page long “drabble”. It’s pretty self indulgent and non-romantic. I’m a sucker for angst and platonic affection, so buckle up, simps. Thank you so much for reading!

Words: 3033

TW: Alcohol, mention of death. 

CW: Spoilers for the secret endings/Saeyoung’s after end 

Jumin Han has always been a curious person when it came to commoner practices. Whether it be family traditions, silly superstitions, or childlike games; all of it intrigues the man like nothing else. Even as a child, despite his privileged and sheltered upbringing, Jumin still felt the temptation to explore the world of the common folk. And who better to experience the unknown than with his best friend? The two would often find themselves lost in their own world. A world without responsibility. A world without heirs, businessmen or conglomerates. A world where two boys could be just that; boys. 

But, life is not so simple. Summers and winters pass. With time came more responsibilities and adulthood pressures. Long felt the days of childhood; that which there was not much to begin with. Despite the challenges and tribulations life threw at the pair, one tradition remains unshaken by time. Birthdays.

Slender fingers wrap impatiently around his Rolex as Jumin checks the clock. He sighs in annoyance, noticing how quickly the day flew by. On most work days, the director can barely wait to get out the door. While he certainly didn’t dislike his office, he much preferred most anywhere else once the clock ticked past 6 pm. But today was different. Today was October 5th. 

The dark haired man pinches the skin between his eyes and only looks up from his desk upon hearing the familiar clicking of heels up his office hallway. Jaehee knocks gently at the door and peers in from around the corner. The woman has a concerned look in her warm eyes, but Jumin can’t begin to worry about what was the matter. 

“Yes, Assistant Kang. Have you come to bother me more about Saeyoung’s complaints over my lack of celebrations this evening?” Jumin speaks to his assistant, his voice icey cold. “I understand, Mr. Han. I… did come in here to talk about that, but not because of Saeyoung. It’s just… it’s 7 pm and you’re still here. It’s your birthday, and you say you have plans. I was wondering w-” “I’m well aware of what today is.” The director hisses as his hands clench together on the wood desk. He sucks in a quick breath and immediately backpedals, offering Jaehee an apologetic look. “Forgive me. I’ve been getting bothered about this day for… weeks now.” The director sighs and stands from the desk, making no move to hurry himself on gathering his things. 

“No need for apologies, sir. I completely understand. I’m sure you’ve heard enough pushing from the others.” Jaehee dismisses his coldness and grabs his jacket from the stand near the door. She meets him halfway across the room and gives his arm a comforting squeeze as she hands him the coat. 

“I think everyone just wants to share today with you since we truly care. So, if you change your mind, do let us know, please?” The brunette woman smiles sadly at her boss, earning her a weak smile from him in return. His heart warms a bit at her genuine words and he almost wishes to take her up on her offer. But, he made a promise to a friend for this evening. As always, Jumin Han is a man of his word. 

“I will. Thank you, Assistant Kang.”

The ride to the venue is quiet, and most of the time Jumin prefers it this way. His days are loud and chaotic, full of phone calls and stuffy conversations. His backseat oasis behind his trusty Driver Kim is normally a breath of fresh air. But, tonight, it feels suffocating. Both hands rake through his thick hair and he quietly wades in the painful silence. As if on cue, a voice perks up from the driver’s seat. “Mr. Han. I’ve prepared the supplies for your evening. I assume it will be to your liking?” Driver Kim meets Jumin’s unusually scrambled gaze, and the tightness in the director’s chest loosens just enough to allow him another deep breath. 

“I appreciate you, Driver Kim. I’m sure it looks beautiful.” Jumin nods gratefully to the older man. “Did you happen to retrieve the bottle I’d set aside for this evening?” 

“Of course. It’s wrapped in the basket along with some other things I thought would pair well with the wine. You have exquisite taste as always, Mr. Han.” The man’s eyes crinkle behind his glasses as he clicks his turn signal to pull to a stop. 

“Thank you again… Ah. We’re here already?” Jumin looks out the window, admiring the landscape lit beautifully by the setting sun. “Right on schedule. The sun will set the mood for a lovely birthday evening.” Driver Kim hums as he fishes something from his coat pocket. He turns in his chair and reaches to the backseat, holding a small box with a ribbon atop of it. “This one isn’t for you, young director. So, don’t go peeking until he gets to see it first.” Jumin chuckles and nods, gently taking the small box from the other man. The driver moves to let out his employer, but Jumin waves him dismissively. “We will not be too long. I’m not one to fuss over birthday celebrations.” The director smooths out his suit jacket and pant legs before opening up the car door. “I know, Mr. Han. Take all the time you need. Tell him I say hello, and happy belated birthday.” Driver Kim keeps his gaze on the horizon ahead of him, wetness stinging the old man’s eyes. Jumin actively ignores the sudden show of emotion and uses his free hand to shut the door. 

Tiny lights sparkle along the trail up through the finely landscaped hill, leading Jumin directly to his destination. Clammy hands hold onto the tiny gift tightly as he continues along the rocky trail. Once he reaches the top, he strays from the path to greet his friend. His chest storms with emotion and dark eyes widen as he counts each step. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. His breath sounds too loud in his ears, and he’s sure his heart is beating much too fast. Suddenly, he wishes to be anywhere but here. Anywhere but anywhere. But, Jumin Han is a man of his word. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Oxfords continue to pad across the grass and eventually come to a slow stop. “Ten.” Jumin breathes aloud. “Hello, old friend.”

Jumin’s mouth remains open as he goes to continue greeting the other before he takes a moment to take in his surroundings. A checkered blanket, red and white, is delicately laid out in the plush, green grass. A picnic basket brimming with all sorts of delicacies is centered on the blanket, along with another smaller basket, cushioning two crystal glasses. Candles flicker over petals of flowers, casting a glow to compete with the setting sun. “It’s like something from a film. This is…” Jumin lets out a breathless laugh as he eases himself onto the blanket. “This is beautiful.”

Jumin wastes no time in exploring the basket prepared for the two. The smile never leaves his lips as he pushes past fine cheeses, chocolates and a beautifully decorated cake. He lets out a little “ah-ha” upon finding the thing both men would enjoy more than anything. “Now, this is more like it, hm?” Jumin wriggles out the vintage bottle, holding it up for the both of them to admire. “Henschke, Hill of Grace, Shiraz. 1994, if I recall correctly? Australians know their reds.” With a skillful hand, Jumin uncorks the bottle and pours the red liquid into the fine crystal glasses. The aroma of the wine fills the evening air between them, and for a moment, Jumin feels lighter. The weight of the day melts away in the twilight’s embrace. Perhaps birthdays can just be birthdays. Jumin muses to himself as he wraps his fingers around the stem of the glass. He scoots slowly across the blanket to hand the drink to the other man. Perhaps it is alright for him to enjoy himself this way. The crystal is set down with great care onto the stone and Jumin uses the wrist of his jacket to smudge away any thumb prints he may have left. His vision blurs as he clinks the glasses together. The sound is familiar, but in a very different way now. Lonely.

The other glass is still. No hand reaches to join him in the toast. No voice returns his greeting. No smile returns his grin. Jumin’s black eyes blink and he swallows back the pain that threatens to lurch from his stomach. He raises his drink between himself and the headstone and tosses back the entire glassful. The wine burns his throat and he is grateful for the pain. 

“Happy belated birthday, V. And, as you would surely remind me. ‘Oh, it’s your birthday. Quit pretending it's not, Jumin.’” The man’s voice cracks a bit and he clears his throat. Please, keep it together. He wills himself to hold on as he continues. “I don’t care much for my birthday. But, I promised you I would make time for my birthday if it meant I could celebrate yours.” 

For the next few minutes, Jumin forces small talk with the stone. He talks of work. He talks of Elizabeth. He reaches desperately into the backs of his mind to talk about every nonsensical thing he could imagine, avoiding the things he wishes to scream out. 

“Ah. I should update you on how the RFA is doing.” Jumin leans back on his elbows, horizontal with his friend’s grave. He looks up at the stars, allowing himself to instead imagine V there next to him; laying on his side as he listens to Jumin in attentive silence. The thought warms his cheeks and his heart. “Assistant Kang has been especially… gentle since the incident. Even Zen has begun showing me a side to him I never expected. He’s… kind. Yoosung, on the other hand… He has matured in a way I was not expecting. He misses you…” Jumin clears his throat once more before he continues. “Saeyoung and Saeran are doing very well. Both of them speak of you often. The twins and MC live together, all under one roof, as you always wished for. You’d be so proud, V.” Jumin shakily inhales as his lips tremble around his fourth glass. The tears that well in his eyes finally spill over onto his pale cheeks as he finishes off another drink.

So many things are left unsaid. So many angry, sad and desperate questions of why and how. Jumin sets the glass down and sits up, pushing his hand against his mouth to muffle the sob that escapes him. He should be here, pulling the glass from me, telling me I’ve had enough. He should be here to slug my arm around his shoulder. He should be here. No one but him should be here. Why, V? Why did you leave? The silence is louder than ever as Jumin attempts to calm himself down with a deep breath, using the back of his sleeve to wipe his cheeks. While the pain still clings to every inch of the man’s body like a bed of nails, Jumin swallows it back to properly finish his evening. “I almost forgot. Driver Kim wishes for me to give you this belated birthday gift. On my birthday, of all days.” Jumin sniffles with a smile as he fishes out the small box to set down on the memorial stone. He carefully unwraps the brightly colored ribbon and wriggles open the box. “Here, I will open it for you. Driver Kim has excellent taste in gifts. Perhaps it is a matching cufflink to my own. They’re designer, you know. And-” Jumin’s voice catches in his throat as the top of the box pops open. Cushioned inside a bed of white tissue paper is a small photo frame; no bigger than the palm of his hand. In the frame stares back two boys wearing birthday hats in front of a cake. Happy birthday, J & J is written across the cake in cursive writing. Jumin bites the inside of his cheek as a final tear escapes from him. The boys look like complete strangers. Both so innocent; so unaware of what the future will hold for them. Young Jihyun’s eyes are crinkled in a smile and his toothy grin takes up nearly half his face. Young Jumin smiles just as wide, but his eyes are wide open and looking directly at his friend. Cheeks flushed red, black and teal hair a complete tangled mess. They were happy. “We’ve changed, but not much. I loved you then, and I love you now.” Jumin whispers to V as he carefully sets down the frame along with all the other flowers and trinkets left scattered around the grave. His hand traces across the name etched into the stone slab and he uses the other hand to finish the wine directly from the bottle. “‘Happy birthday, Jumin.’” The director whispers into the lips of the bottle as he drains the last drops. 

The car ride home is quiet. Driver Kim helps a drunken Jumin into the car, taking no time at all to clean up the picnic and wine glasses. The shared silence between the two men is comfortable and calm. No words are shared with the driver and the director. Driver Kim simply hands the man a handkerchief and drives him back to his penthouse. 

Jumin’s eyes sting from the tears and his legs stumble as he steps from the car. He quietly thanks his driver who helps him up to the penthouse and fumbles with the keypad to unlock the door. Jumin exhales into the quiet room, letting the darkness consume him. His hand comes to rest on the center of his chest, and he takes a moment to appreciate the lighter feeling in his torso. The pain is less like broken glass now, more like the remnants of a broken mirror. The sharp and painful pieces have been removed, leaving the frame of what once was. It’s obvious something shattered the mirror, and a few bits of glass are left behind. But, the danger of the pain has been cleared away. 

“Shhh. Don’t yell, you’ll scare him. He looks sleepy.” A voice whispers from the kitchen. “How about you shut up and say surprise like we practiced? We’ve been here for an hour now, my legs hurt from squatting.” Another deeper voice grumbles in reply. 

“Hm?” Jumin drunkenly stumbles further into his seemingly empty penthouse as his tired eyes scan the dark room. 

“Can everyone at least attempt to remain quiet?” Another softer voice sighs.

“Saeyoung, this was a stupid idea. Put his cat down.” A voice exclaims, accompanied by a smack and a familiar yelp. 

“Hey! That’s my job!” A woman giggles and another smack echoes through the penthouse.

“Well, now I feel left out.” A man’s voice speaks, adding on another, more intense smack sound. “GAH! Okay, okay. Princess, we’ll catch up later. Go see your daddy. He needs a birthday hug.” This voice, he recognizes immediately, and his eyes fly wide open as he reaches for the light switch. “Saeyoung?! What?!” Jumin shouts as he squints into the bright light. 

“Wah! SURPRISE!” “Hehe! Surprise, Jumin!” Saeyoung and MC screech, dressed to impress, both sporting white cat ears and paws. “Surprise, Jumin!!  Woo-hoo!” Yoosung pops up from behind the counter, tossing an armful of balloons into the air. 

“Jesus. Well, surprise, trust-fund-kid.” Zen leans from around the sofa, smiling sheepishly at the other man. “Sorry about all this.” The albino laughs and rubs the back of his neck. 

“I was dragged here without my consent. Do not blame me for the home invasion.” Vanderwood growls from next to MC, winning another giggle from the girl and her fiancé.

“Surprise, Jumin Han. I apologize for my brother breaking into your home.” Saeran smiles, shoving his twin away from the white cat as she scuttles to her owner’s side. “Though, I may have helped a little.” Jumin leans down to wrap Elizabeth in his arms as his mouth hangs open in shock. Each face looks back, expectantly and worried. 

“Is he okay?” Yoosung whines, slowly inching closer to Jumin as his eyes dart from person to person. “Is he having a heart attack?!” “Yes.” Saeyoung says confidently, his cat paws resting on his hips. MC nods with him, looking to Yoosung with mock concern. 

“No.” Saeran, Vanderwood and Jaehee reply in a harmony, sharing looks of annoyance. “I know you wanted to be alone after your evening with him but…” Jaehee stood from behind a chair, offering an apologetic smile. “No.” Jumin interrupts her, shaking his head in disbelief. 

Each member of the RFA continues to stare at the man as he wobbles and before anyone can say a word, the director sets his princess down and lurches forward.

With arms wide open, he embraces his friends. With no reservations, no walls of emotions, no tightly wound strings. He holds his friends and finally inhales a full breath of air as each friend wraps their arms back around him. 

Sure, he’s drunk. Very drunk. Sure, he will regret and deny everything tomorrow morning. But tonight, Jumin will laugh with his friends. He will laugh till he cries, indulge in birthday cake, glare as the redheaded twins crown him with matching cat ears. He will open silly and thoughtful gifts and read cheesy and stupid birthday cards. He will refuse to sing karaoke, but instead watch and clap along as Zen and Saeran have a battle of the bands moment. Jumin smiles and laughs to himself, feeling an unseen hand wrap around his shoulders. He closes his eyes and pictures V there, smiling along with him. “Thank you for allowing yourself to enjoy today,” he would probably whisper to his friend. “You deserve this.” Jumin allows himself to believe his friend’s memory. This is what he would have wanted. “Happy birthday, Jumin!!” The RFA cheers together as the song comes to an end, the room lit by smiles and camera flashes. 

And a happy birthday it was, indeed. 

[reidecorating]

Like Ivy

Request: “Being able to see you smile, being in your vicinity, just that is enough for me.” and “Uh, here, this is for, uh, you.” I’m thinking something Christmas-y with Reid - Anon

A/N: I do apologise for procrastinating on getting this out, but I wanted to make sure it wasn’t terrible. Merry Christmas to all of you who celebrate it, my present to you is the longest fic I have ever written. I had so much fun writing it so I hope you guys enjoy reading it! Happy holidays <3

Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAUFem!Reader

Word Count: 7.7k

Summary: Best friends yearning & best friends pining - but make it festive. Entails Secret Santa, the classic penny behind the ear and waltzing.

Warnings: Fluff, proceed with caution :)

The Cathedral of Santa Maria. Spencer had finally put his finger on it. The small glass dome encasing a building, with doors small enough to allow entrance to ladybugs who may practice religion, adorned unmistakable timely Italian architecture and ornamented pine trees, all dusted with flitters of snow. For the past week, Spencer had caught sight of the trinket each time he wandered past where it sat, as one of the few other decorations surrounding the name plate displaying in gold Times New Roman ‘DAVID ROSSI’, on the often unoccupied desk. So, he gathered that it must be important. Filing away his final stack of paperwork for the night, a silver paperclip glistening in the artificial light, Spencer made a mental note to ask the man about it the next morning. Standing from his usual office chair slouch, he stretched his limbs, feeling a series of clicks in his back as he regained his posture, only to bend back down in reach of his satchel. He made his way home giving tight lipped smiles of encouragement to the few agents sprinkled about the room, working over time. Haphazardly, he pushed the arrow pointing downwards with a cardigan clad elbow. As if on queue, his phone buzzed to the simultaneous ‘ding’ of the lift. 

I understand you’re nocturnal, but I hope you’ve gotten home by now! If not, text me when you do so, safely :) 

He didn’t realise he was grinning from ear to ear until an aggravated looking bureau member from a floor above, evidently itching to get home, cleared his throat to gain Spencer’s attention. “Sorry,” he grimaced. Noticing the button for the ground floor having already been lit up, Spencer stepped inside and stood as far away, as was possible in the small space, from the rankled looking man and his briefcase. A dimple appeared on his cheek as he remembered you, two years, three months and seventeen days ago - not that he was counting - offering him cherry scented hand sanitiser from a small bottle, and, only after he’d nodded, gently grasping the tips of his fingers to steady his shaking hand as you poured the gelid liquid into his palm. The act was so pure he chose against telling you that while alcohol based hand sanitisers reduce the number of microbes on hands in some situations, they don’t eliminate all types of germs - making soap and water the most effective way to go. Since then, you occupied his thoughts in the same way ivy grew along bricks of long forgotten towers. In abundance, in the most beautiful way. He turned his attention back to the tiny mobile he was holding. 

On my way right now. I have a date with microwaved leftovers at midnight, can’t miss it. Will do. 

The next time his phone buzzed was when he’d dozed off on the way home, using the concave pane of a metro window as a shoulder to lean against. He waited until his feet landed on the uneven pavement of his stop to open it. 

Tomorrow you have a date with a properly cooked meal, at mine. What is it that Hotch always says? That’s an order, not a request. 

Spencer’s heartbeat quickened as he read what you had written, his brain immediately carrying variables in an effort to slow it down by convincing himself that friends make each other feel this way. However, when he counted the rose flush on his cheeks and nose whenever you were around, the looks you shared which said more than words ever could and the way you held each other nearer than the distance between the sky and the ocean where they met at the horizon after close calls and mentally grappling cases, it didn’t quite equate to being just friends. Dwindling leaves clinging to their branches shuddered as scissors of winter wind pruned the trees scattered about. Spencer’s pale hands slid into his coat pockets, hiding from frostbite. On the short walk to his apartment, he admired the twinkling lights on either side of the streets, feeling as if he were a plane which had just landed upon a runway in the night. Candy canes, reindeer and eccentric portrayals of Santa Claus glowed amongst bushes and on porches, making Spencer wish you were there to see them too. It wasn’t rare he found himself wanting to share everything he did with you. Pretty things made him think of you. Eventually reaching the familiar building, tiredly, he followed wreaths and holly all the way to his undecorated apartment door. 

You? Cooking? I’ll bring a fire extinguisher. Home safe. Goodnight, sleep well. 

He kept his promise, despite seeing the time was nearing to one in the morning and being doubtful you were still awake. 

Hilarious :/ and I will, knowing you’re alive. Goodnight Spencer :) 

Spencer coveted for nights when he could tell you goodnight from right beside you, perhaps with his hand draped around your waist while yours tugged at his hair. He wanted to fall asleep to the scent of your skin and whatever soap you’d picked up from the store that week, not the quiet hum of his vintage fan. His microwave beeped, acting as an alarm to return down to earth from the clouds, presenting him with far less than gourmet potatoes. Realising he would take your burnt cooking over this any day, he settled for a sandwich.

 ∗∗∗

“Did you know that snowglobes were invented in France. They were first introduced as ‘water globes’ at the Paris Expedition Fair in 1889, and, to no surprise, the first snow globe actually contained a tiny scaled Eiffel Tower covered in snow,” Spencer lectured, almost putting the two agents who had struggled enough to get out of bed, back to sleep. The days were slow. Annual leave for a majority of the bureau was looming nearer and files kept them busy as the jet gathered dust. “Glad to hear the French contributed something, other than their opprobrium of a language, to this world,” Emily complained, from her desk. “Well, baguettes… Croissants, parachutes… Aspirin-“ Spencer was halted by the unimpressed look on Rossi’s face, as he hovered on the edge of Spencer’s table, a bushy eyebrow raised in vexation. “What’s with all this talk of snowglobes, kid?” The older man squinted at Spencer, craning his neck towards this, the way he did to suspects behind the glass of an interrogation room. “Since you brought it up,” he smiled smugly, swivelling in his chair from one side to another. “What’s the story behind the Santa Maria sitting on your desk?”

“Yeah, the eighties have come and gone, Rossi, isn’t it a bit late for repentance?” Emily let out a sly smile, walking over to also lean against Spencer’s desk with a steaming mug in hand. “It was a gift from my grandmother, handmade, I take it out every Christmas to help get in the festive mood,” Rossi explained. “Also, that was very funny Emily but now… I can’t help but recall what Garcia told me about the time you got a little tipsy and licked peanut butter off J-” 

“No one told me it was National Congregate Around Spencer Reid’s Desk Day today.” The three agents turned their heads in unison to find who the voice belonged to, Spencer’s breath hitching at the sight of you. You stood before them, an upturned magician’s hat in hand, semi-curious as to what the ending of Rossi’s sentence would have been if it weren’t for you interrupting. “Y/N!” Emily waved, flashing a smile. “You’ve taken an interest in magic and didn’t even think to tell me,” Spencer feigned a hurt look. “Spencer, I knew magic wasn’t for me after I did the card trick you taught me, wrong . Six times,”

“It was seven. Plus, the student is never as good as the teacher,” he suppressed a smile. “Or maybe the teacher just isn’t good,” you raised an eyebrow at him. “That’s a little hostile, someone didn’t get enough sleep last night,” Spencer defended himself, putting his hands in the air. His eyes held a glimmer of mischief as if to say ‘we know something that you don’t’ when they met yours. Emily’s jaw dropped. “That… Didn’t sound suggestive at all,” Rossi pursed his lips in concern, looking back and forth between the pair of furiously blushing agents. “Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t,” you winked at Rossi. Basking in the radiance of your laughter washing over him like the sun, Spencer chuckled along. “Anyway, what’s with the hat?” Emily questioned. “This,” you shook it by its brim, “contains the remaining names for this year’s Secret Santa, courtesy of Miss Penelope Garcia. I was just ordered to present it to you all. She calls it being her ‘little elf’ - I call it unpaid manual labour - but pick a name, any name,” you encouraged. You watched as Spencer’s tongue comically poked out as he eagerly concentrated on picking a name, elbow bent at a worrying angle. “I just want to say that every time I get a gift that isn’t alcohol, I’m slightly disappointed,” Emily turned to you as it was her turn to fish for a piece of paper. “I’ll keep that in mind,” you grinned at her. You watched Rossi’s expression as his eyes skimmed the name in his hands. “Oh, and Rossi, yes, there’s a budget,” you called over your shoulder, causing them to laugh as you gave them a wave. Slinking away from the comity of the bullpen, back to Mrs Claus’ lair, you retrieved the only remaining name. You paused in the hallway to double check if you’d read the glittery scrawl correctly. Spencer Reid. It was just your luck. You were prepared to engage in hand to hand combat with Garcia, seeing her office looming ahead. “Penelope. I hate you. I love you,” you kissed her cheek, placing the top hat on her curls, “but I hate you.” She recognised the tone, beaming at the implications. “Thank me later, beautiful!” She called after you as you rushed away to get started on completing the mountains of reports you had been avoiding thus far. 

The day had come to a close, a headache making a home for itself in your head. Scanning the, now, mostly empty room, you caught sight of the back of Spencer’s uncombed head. Double checking that not enough people were around to be reprimanded by HR for misconduct, you inconspicuously made your way over to him snaking your arms around his neck and burrowing your nose in its crook. “Hi,” he chuckled, amused at the sudden affection, his unoccupied hand immediately reaching to grasp one of your wrists. Spencer had followed your strict, but coffee induced, orders earlier that morning telling him not to distract you unless, one, he was dying, or two, something was on fire, because you were determined to finish the numerous write-ups you had left until today. “Hi,” you mumbled into him. “Ready to go home?” You asked sweetly, arms still slung around him, pulling your face away to get a glimpse of his soft features. Your heart stopped for a little while, at the beauty of him. He was breathtaking. You refrained from tracing the small bump of his nose with your own, and settled for admiring the five o’clock shadow presaging a hidden jaw. The part of Spencer that craved domesticity was enchanted by your simple question, the word home resounding in his head, acting as an old film reel for projections of images of the two of you together; leaving work together, going home together. Little did he know that, as if through an unnoticed telepathy, just a few inches away, the same images occupied your own head. Coming home to an empty apartment had become tedious. You allowed yourself to give into your daydreams of returning home to Spencer - with Spencer. Spencer, with his warm eyes and words that drip like syrup from his tongue. You wanted nothing more than to revel in him filling your senses once the cologne from the day had been washed away, and hear him harp on about the history of mattresses, attempting to retain questions to ask him later in your memory bank, as you capitulate to sleep. “As a matter of fact, I finished most of what I had to do last night so I am ready to go… home,” he tested out the word, to which you had assigned a brand new connotation, feeling a flutter in his chest. You quickly rescinded your arms as you peripherally detected a flock of agents returning from what you assumed was an afternoon break. Spencer suddenly missed your body on his. Having already packed your things, feeling accomplished noticing that the pile of folders on your desk had shrunk significantly, you packed Spencer’s things to save him time, aimlessly throwing the strap of his satchel over his head for him once he had ungracefully shoved his arms into a blazer. “Hang on,” you gently pulled at his shoulders to meet your height, carefully fixing his tag and creased collar. The blush on his face, at the feel of your cold fingers brushing the nape of his neck, said everything he didn’t - save a meek, “Thank you.” You smiled at him in return. “Wait,” his eyes widened, “I need this,” he mumbled, reaching into the bottom drawer of his desk, pulling out a large black bag, decorated in gold intricacies. He didn’t explain it, but you knew that if Spencer had something to say, he would come out and say it, just all in good time. “Now are you ready?” You eyed the thing curiously, and glanced back at him. “Let’s go,” he motioned his arms in front of him, with a small nod, letting you lead the way. 

Afternoon rays of sun fought their way through clouds, battling with the winter air to warm the people mingling outside as you made your way towards the crowded station. “Penny for your thoughts?” You asked, intuitively slipping an arm through his when the sun began to disappear altogether. Your cheeks grew warm as you realised your compromising position, feeling your heart rate return to its usual pace once he relaxed into your touch. “Hm?” He turned to look at you, letting his river coloured eyes unabashedly scan your face. “You look like your mind is far away,”

“What’s on my mind is definitely not very far away,” he said, quietly. That glimmer had returned. You noticed that the crease between his brows had disappeared, indicative that whatever thoughts were rattling through his brain, were good ones. You hummed a smile, content with his contentedness. “So… Hand it over,” he extended a palm a second later. “Hand what over?” You asked, genuinely confused. “A penny,” he said as if it was obvious. You blinked up at him, unfazed by the joke, as he bit his lip provokingly. All of a sudden he stopped walking, eyes still on you. “Just… Hold on a moment,” he whispered, squinting at you as he reached a hand towards your cheek. You remained still, thinking that Spencer had finally lost his mind. “Here it is!” He exclaimed, breaking out into a smile as he retrieved a one cent coin from behind your ear. “What!? You’re kidding! That was brilliant,” you beamed at him, eyes wide in bewilderment. “For a second there I thought you had gone crazy,” you teased. “Magic does that to people,” he nodded, satisfied with how impressed you seemed. “Ah, but alas, you gave me a very ambiguous answer, so I,” you snatched the penny from his fingers, “am entitled to a refund.” Spencer shook his head with a soft smile. “You might need to use that for the bus if we miss the next train,” he informed, hurriedly examining the watch on his upturned wrist. 

No trains were missed, that day, the two of you arriving at your door in time for the six o’clock news. “Here, let me take your coat,” you offered, putting it on the small rack beside the door, placing yours adjacent to it. Spencer relished in the warmth of the place, setting his things down. “So, I’m thinking we get a proper meal in us, and then you can help me decorate this dreary place,” you instructed. He wanted to let you know that anywhere you are is far from being dreary, but something told him that was far too sappy, so he settled for a simple, “Sounds good.” He took in the familiar apartment, its walls embellished in old paintings snagged from secondhand stores and books scattered about on almost every horizontal surface, in a certain disorderliness that said, yes it’s messy, but everything has its place. “Also, I hope you know that you’re only leaving in the morning so make yourself at home.” It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for the two of you; you falling asleep at his apartment out of feebleness, him at yours, and more often than not, it involved discarded games of Scrabble as the two of you settled for debating the rules instead of actually playing. Lately, he’d been craving it more and more - and so had you. Spencer would never say no to that offer, but he was taken aback. “But I didn’t pack- I don’t have-“

“Eidetic memory is slipping I see,” you giggled at his flustered state. “I told you, I kept finding toothbrushes, sweaters and socks here every time you left, so I made a drawer full of your things, since you practically live here anyway,”

“An entire drawer? I didn’t think I was missing a whole lot,” he responded, nose tinted red. “I have to water my plants quickly, before I put dinner on, but feel free to shower,” you said, still laughing quietly. “Let me help cook, first. You need someone to disassemble the smoke alarm,” he raised an eyebrow at you. One ‘KISS THE COOK’ apron and half an hour of seasoning a chicken, spilling sweet potatoes and bumping elbows later, the two of you stood back from the counter, you boasting to Spencer about how nothing had turned to ashes, and him pointing out that the oven hadn’t been turned on yet. Soon after, you put the oven on high, humming an indistinguishable carol over the shower that could be heard running from the next room. A warm, tingling feeling overcame you.

By the time you had showered, Spencer stood serving - a well timed and flawlessly cooked - chicken, wearing mitts matching the baggy flannel pyjamas keeping him warm on top of the open oven. “Smells good,” you complimented, slightly startling Spencer. He stood at the small wooden dining table, mouth agape at the sight of you. He was sure his heart was a puddle. “I like your sweater,” he praised. You glanced down slightly confused, shortly realising that your sweater, with its much too floppy sleeves, reaching a little way above your knees, was actually his. “Oh, I’ll wash it and give it back to you at some point,” you said shyly. “I was wondering where it went, but don’t worry about it, the colour looks nicer on you than it does on me,”

“Nonsense, you know that’s not true.” Soon enough, you found yourselves digging in - not before you expressed your gratitude towards food that wasn’t charred for the first time in months. You sat across from each other, your reindeer sock clad feet occasionally tapping his beneath the table. Spencer’s heart was full, marvelling at you from where he sat, wishing this could be something he could experience forever, much preferring it over a stale sandwich. You watched him intently through your eyelashes, chin resting on your interlaced hands while he taught you about how the thalidomide scandal emerging from Germany led to safer drugs in the pharmaceutical industry, the lecture prompted by an article he’d read recently. It continued into getting the dishes cleaned up, his rambling only being interrupted by your intermittent questions which incited further tangents, or requests to pass the tea towel. His voice was a ruffled silken sheet, on which you would like to lay for eternity. Admittedly, you found it difficult to focus on retaining any more information than the odd date, due to being too focused on the way his lips moved to form every word he said, hopelessly enamoured by the overly enthusiastic expressions he made to match the tone of what he was saying. Eventually, he wandered towards the living room as you stacked away the final plate, butterflies still spurring in your stomach from when his fingers brushed yours as he handed it to you.

“Spencer Reid effortlessly navigating technology, Christmas miracles really do exist, huh?” 

“Actually, I just remembered watching you choose music, instead of paying attention to the road, that one time you drove me to work,”

“I was most definitely paying attention,” you huffed out a laugh, slightly bashful at the thought of him remembering small things you do. “You hit the kerb four times! That was the day I vowed to never let you transport me anywhere,”

“I see your argument, and I raise you with the counter argument: the kerb hit me.” Sitting with his back against the couch, legs sprawled out over the rug beneath your coffee table, Spencer couldn’t hold back his laughter. After watching you disappear into the kitchen, he busied himself with reading the holiday edition of Reader’s Digest laying on the table. He recounted you telling him that you had accidentally  drunkenly subscribed to it, and never bothered to cancel the subscription, the first time you’d caught him reading an issue. You emerged a short while later, with drinks in both hands. “Bonjour monsieur, on tonight’s menu, we can either open this Merlot or, drink Capri-suns like the sophisticated adults we are. Your pick,” you said, hiding the juice pouches behind your back and noticeably waving the bottle of wine in front of you. “I have a feeling it isn’t my pick,” he let out a laugh, “so just fill a glass with enough Merlot for two,” you were on your way to get a glass before he had the chance to finish. “Your wish is my command!” You called. Spencer put down his magazine once he saw you rushing towards him with a large glass of wine in hand. “Of course you opt for Christmas Jazz over Mariah Carey,” you teased, hearing the music he’d queued floating from the withering speaker in the corner of the living room. It was the kind of music that would play in the diner of an expensive hotel, you noted. “I can change it if you’d like?” He began reaching for your phone, when you halted him by grasping his arm. “No, it’s good, I like your taste.” Spencer grinned sheepishly, taking the glass from your hand as you sat down beside him. 

Hours of conversation and decking the halls with tinsel later, with wine flushed cheeks and twinkling eyes you moved the furniture to cater for your very own dance floor. Carefully, Spencer placed a hand below your ribs, touching you like new glassware, lacing the other with yours. Your unfettered hand, replaced the weight of the world as it rested on his shoulder. You recognised the look on his face as he settled into the close proximity, it was the same look that painted yours when you admired him whilst he failed to notice. The soft glow of a lamp illuminated the man you held, making an indistinct halo of golden light appear above his unkempt hair. “I apologise for any damage caused to your feet,” you giggled, struggling to find a rhythm. “Here, follow my lead,” he looked down at your feet. “The Waltz?” Dazzled, you raised an eyebrow, a few seconds after recognising the box-like steps in unison. Spencer tried to focus on anything but your lips, glistening in the dull light, so close to his. “Mhm, I’m not exactly the most co-ordinated-”

“You don’t say?”

“That’s tough talk for someone I’ve seen fall up a flight of stairs,”

“That sounds made up, but as you were saying,” you laughed into his chest. “It’s simple because its a repeating pattern. Did you know that name of the dance comes from the German word waltzen, which means to turn, or to glide? Some say the dance itself comes from the folk music and dances of west Austria, but others debate that it’s a variation of the Volta, from the 16th century,”

“Interesting, makes sense to debate that though. I’m pretty sure volta means ‘a turning’ in Italian - although that’s mostly in reference to the turn of a new thought or idea in sonnets… I’m thinking of Shakespeare,” you chimed in. “Sonnet one-hundred and thirty being a classic example of that,”

“Of course you would know that,” you shook your head in awe, cheeks hurting from grinning too wide. The incandescence of the smile that hadn’t left his face all day was mesmerising, the honeyed expression tied together with the dimples on his cheeks and creases around his eyes. “What would you like for Christmas?” He mumbled, lifting a moment of peaceful silence. “If you pulled my name out of the hat today you’re going to have to be a lot more subtle than that,”

“Unfortunately not,” he pouted. “Don’t tell anyone I told you, but I have Rossi,” he whispered the words into your ear, neglecting that no one else was around to hear. “What do you get a man who already has everything money can buy?”

“A new wife,” you joked, causing him to scoff. He studied your visage as you pondered his earlier question, still swaying to the soft piano sounds. “Honestly Spencer, being able to see you smile, being in your vicinity, just that is enough for me,” you finally answered, tilting your head up at him. Spencer thought his knees would give way. He thought his knees would give way, and he would hit the ground with enough impact to implode through the earth’s crust. In reality, he only stumbled over his feet momentarily, regaining his composure before you noticed him slowly becoming unhinged. “If that’s the case, I wish I’d picked your name,” he managed to utter, breathlessly.

The music which continued to play was drowned out by the sound of steady breathing, you were too caught up in each other to pay attention to the world. Wordless, you looked into his eyes, his actions parallel to yours. “You look beautiful right now,” he sighed. “Of course, you always look beautiful but, you know.” You shook your head, refraining from averting your eyes from his. He wished you believed it, promising himself to never abstain from letting you know until you saw yourself the way he did. “It’s funny you say that, because I was thinking the same thing. About you of course,” you rushed out the last part, realising the potential for miscommunication. “I love seeing you happy,”

“Well, as long as you stick around, you’ll be seeing a lot of that,” he spoke lowly, on the verge of telling you about all the things he felt for you. You hadn’t realised, but you had unconsciously moved closer together. You could feel his warm breath on your skin, lighting a fire inside your lungs, as he took yours away. Spencer saw all of the signs; the signs that this was not usual for a friendship. Maybe, if it weren’t for his defeated battle with fear, and doubt, he would have told you by now that he had fallen desperately for you. Spencer knew there wasn’t a drop of insincerity behind any of the kind words you spoke into him, he understood that you were his person, but he found it difficult enough to comprehend that someone could feel this strongly for someone. So, the implausible idea that someone could feel this way about him, was one he was not even prepared to entertain. “Y/N? I, um,” he tried, wearily. You gave him a soft smile, both tired arms laced behind his neck now as his rested on your waist. He dropped his sword. Once again losing the fight against his unreasonable insecurities, changing his mind at the last second. “I need to give you something,” his demeanour changed and he vanished from your line of vision. Your heart sank, hopes of hearing him say that the love you had for him was requited, fallen. Before you got too lost in your head, he emerged from the doorway with the same black bag you’d been inquisitive of. “Uh, here, this is for, uh, you,” he tucked his lip beneath his teeth. “Spencer…” you trailed off as he handed it to you. You sat yourself on the carpet, patting the spot next to you for him to join. “I thought I should give it to you now, since I’ll be in Vegas for Christmas,” 

“Spencer, you really didn’t have to-“

“Go on, open it,” he ignored your humility. You gave him a look as you opened it - it being replaced with a look of elation as you realised what it was. In your hands, you held a scarf, long enough to hit the floor, striped in all your favourite tones. “I had to ask my mom for help with the tassels, but-“

“You took the time to make this? For me?” You exclaimed. Without thought, you draped it around his neck to tug him closer to you, throwing your arms around him in a tight hug. “This is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me, thank you so much,” you lauded, refusing to let go of him. “I think it was last winter, we were walking back to our hotel in Minnesota during a case, and you insisted that the both of us use my scarf to keep us warm, because you didn’t have one,”

“Ah, I remember that, except it ended up being one of the top ten worst disasters in U.S. history due to the height difference, and we both ended up falling face-first into the snow,” you giggled, recalling the way you had used up most of the hotel’s hot water afterwards. “Exactly,” he matched your expression, “seeing as you still haven’t bought one for yourself, even though we lose eighty percent of our body heat through our head and neck, I thought I would take matters into my own hands,”

“Well, I love it. You’ll have to tell your mother I said thank you and that I’m sending my love,” you finally dropped your arms from around him, out of fear of crushing his shoulders. 

Once the zeroes had lined up on the twenty-four clock, Spencer sat where he usually resided on your bed, ardently admiring you as you folded away his gift. “Wait! Spencer close your eyes! Please!” You squeaked, immediately shutting the cupboard doors, realising your unwrapped present for him was hidden within. “Y/N? Is everything alright?” He asked, eyes now sealed shut. “I didn’t want you to see what I’d bought for Secret Santa,” you let out, too exhausted to form a coherent excuse. “We only got those names today - well, yesterday, now - so how did you manage to-”

“Shoot,” you cursed to yourself, knowing his unintentional profiling would lead him to the conclusion sooner or later. Spencer’s eyes slowly opened. “Okay, let’s say if, hypothetically, I had intended on giving you something for Christmas anyway, but then drawn your name today, would you, hypothetically, be able to act surprised when you receive it from me at work?”

“Hypothetically speaking, I would?” He squinted at you, stifling laughter. Your hair was slightly messy and your drowsy eyes were visible to Spencer even without his contacts in. He thought you just looked so adorable, wanting nothing more than to hold you and share your warmth. “Anyway, come to bed,” he beckoned, his voice gravelly, giving way for the day. Obliging, you shuffled towards your bed before sliding your cold feet beneath the covers. Spencer turned to face you, resting his cheek on an upturned palm. “Sorry for ruining the surprise,” you whispered, tucking the duvet under your chin, bright eyes looking through him. “You didn’t ruin anything,” he assured, treasuring the sight before him. There had been a shift in the air between the two of you. Spencer held the wine accountable, but he could sense that you felt it too, a level of intimacy that you had not quite reached during previous nights like this. “Come closer, I need to exploit your body heat while I can.” Spencer listened to your instruction, inching nearer to you, his heart rate so high he was sure you could feel it when you nuzzled your head into his chest. “Goodnight,” you felt his chest rumble. “Hang on, the night isn’t over yet,” you mumbled, “talk to me,”

“About?” He asked, amused by your grit to avoid sleep. “Anything you want,” you yawned. “You’re sleepy,” he stated, coaxing you into getting some shut eye. When you tilted your head up and continued to blink at him, he gave in. “Have you ever wondered why a lot of our most vulnerable conversations happen  at night?” You nodded in response. “Well, a study done by the University of Colorado a couple of years ago concluded that natural light from the sun actually regulates your circadian rhythm, or internal biological clock, which standardises your sleep cycle. According to their study, this sleep cycle coincides with sunrise and sunset, meaning that if you regularly expose yourself to sunlight, your body enhances its internal clock to align more closely with the natural light cycle,” 

“Based on that,” you contended, words slightly jumbled, “our circadian rhythm would vary between seasons, right? And yours would be different, since you’re a literal vampire, to say... someone who surfs down in Florida because of disparity in sun exposure?”

“Precisely,” he raised his eyebrows, “I’m impressed you’re still paying attention, you look like you’re already dreaming.” Spencer nudged your forehead gently with his own, causing you to breath out a laugh. “Alright, so how does all of that relate to being more vulnerable at night?”

“It relates in the sense that the rise and fall of the sun reflects in our physiological, as well as emotional behaviour. During the day, we’re a lot more active, and at night, we become more relaxed and receptive. Hence, since your mind is at ease, all the thoughts and emotions that might have felt jumbled up during the day become clear, making them a whole lot easier to express,”

“Mhm,” you managed, eyelids growing heavy. “Do you… have anything to say now,” you whispered drowsily, eyes now closed, “that you can’t say during the day?” Spencer couldn’t handle it anymore. He was already so fond of you but as his hand settled to rest around your waist, feeling your warmness, he believed his ribs could collapse from the way he felt inside. As you dozed off, gradually, winter became less cold in his arms and dreamscapes of his tea leaf eyes. “And, she’s asleep,” he whispered, minutes after silence, into your hair, “but to answer your question, yes,” his lips planted a chaste kiss on your forehead, “I love you.” Of course, unbeknownst to him, you weren’t asleep just yet.

∗∗∗

A couple of days went by, and as more time went on, the less certain you became as to whether Spencer had really even said the words, wondering if the whole thing was just a fatigue driven hallucination your lovesick mind had conjured up. Waking up beside him the next morning however, tangled in a warm cocoon of cotton and limbs, had left you feeling giddy, smiling like a fool with heart shaped eyes as he attempted to feed you the waffles he’d made - which the two of you gulped down far too quickly than sanctioned, to avoid being late for work. When you didn’t succeed, and the clock had beaten you by ten minutes, you both wrestled past evocative looks from the rest of the team for the remainder of the day, JJ even singing something about the two of you ‘sitting in a tree’ . The soft, shared, smiles and light brushes of fingertips when he handed you coffee in the mornings left you wanting to concede; let him know that you would walk on burning coal for him, the more logical side of you reminding you that professing your devotion to him over an open case file consisting of a double homicide, three days before Christmas, was far from ideal. Spencer wanted the kind of love only the poets could express. This had become evident the evening you took him to a midnight screening of ‘Un homme et Une Femme’. You recalled leaning into him to translate, catching sight of his welling eyes glimmer in the dim lit theatre. Believing his love should be celebrated, you decided to withhold the unsurfaced feelings a little while longer.

Later that week, you all gathered around the BAU tree, a small framed picture of Derek decidedly hanging from one of its upper branches after Garcia had to be heavily persuaded, and eventually bribed, to not place it at the top, arguing “But he’s my star.” Spencer snuck behind you, subtly placing a hand on your back to glide through and place Rossi’s gift under the tree. “I want to let you know that I’ve been practicing my ‘surprised’ face in the mirror,” he discreetly whispered against your neck, making you roll your eyes. “Okay super sleuths, I know we’re all itching to fly away for a break, but hold your reindeer, because we are yet to kick off our annual Secret Santa,” Garcia excitedly exclaimed, shuffling in with two large sparkling bags. “I thought there was a budget?” Rossi quirked. “Yes, sir,” she looked smug, “for you.” The team shared smiles at Rossi’s perplexed look. “So, who wants to start us off?” Garcia chirped. With that, the festivities were under way. You held tight an abnormally large heat sensitive mug, which you were sure would also reveal a promiscuous image once warm - a gift from Emily, who gave herself away by insisting it would help your caffeine dependency - watching as the others tackled ribbon wrapping paper. You threw an impressed look Spencer’s way, that glint of knowing something the universe doesn’t returning to your eyes, when Rossi opened a small portrait of what looked to be a Venetian cathedral, the Santa Maria to be exact. Once the banter and excited chatter had died down, everyone turned to the recipient of the final gift, neatly labelled Spencer Reid, enveloped in brown paper and tied with deep purple ribbon. Penelope looked as if she were about to pass out. Spencer’s shifting eyes landed on JJ as she mouthed a small ‘you’re up’, causing a smile to tug at his lips when he eyed you gazing at him with the soft look he adored. Your eyes lingered on his hands as they swimmingly untied the mauve knot and tore open the paper to reveal a large leather-bound journal. He examined the old looking thing,  trailing his fingers along the convoluted golden details of the artistic interpretation of a moon calendar adorning its umber covers, partially covered by thin leather straps. His mouth was slightly agape, shaking a little at how well you knew him, clumsily catching the matching novelty pen before it slipped out of the wrapping and onto the floor. You had picked it up at a forlorn occult shop after it had caught your eye while looking out of place as it lay surrounded by large crystals. Knowing in an almost divine way that it should belong to Spencer, you had bought it. He couldn’t help but look at you briefly, communicating a silent gratitude. “This is amazing,” he ogled, “I love it.” Your heartbeat was in your throat. He was yet to find out you’d filled the first page for him.

Shouts of Merry Christmas, long hugs and season’s greetings were thrown around the room before, one by one, everyone slowly bade their goodbyes. While helping JJ clear away torn reds and greens of gift wrapping, you caught sight of Spencer, ears and cheeks scarlet, with his nose buried in his new, opened, journal.

“We are asleep until we fall in love," you looked up from Leo Tolstoy’s one thousand page book and recited to me, once. Since you walked into my life, I’ve been wide awake. You know that I’m never far away, but this is for the days you need to let out some of what you hold in, without saying it aloud. 

I love you too, Spencer.

Spencer read and re-read the words until he was sure he could recite them like the Lord’s Prayer. It was commonly Spencer who remembered small details and remembered paltry quotations, but this time, it was you. Sitting in the glow of the afternoon sun, one October, he had been reading War and Peace, and couldn’t help but share the line with you as you sat across from him, chewing through a much smaller number of pages and reading a collection of poetry. The woman he had been so captivated by, admiring from afar that day - and all others, felt the same way he did. In disbelief, he began breathing manually. Making sure he was deciphering the cursive lettering correctly, he scanned the page again. While his eyes were definitely not deceiving him, they remained glued to one word. Awake. The havoc caused in his heart by the train of thought hitting him so brutally, rivalled only Gare Montparnasse. You must’ve heard his confession nights ago. It was the only explanation for the ‘I love you, too’. You most definitely were awake. Profiling tendencies overcame him. With his basic background of graphology, he could make out that the last line had been written in fresher ink than all the others, confirming his hypothesis. For the first time in a while, his mind was quiet, the uncertainties which fought to float in, unable to make their way through as if the thee simple words you’d handed him were a barrier for them. He needed to talk to you.

Walking quickly towards the elevator, an overwhelming wave of anxiety crashed over you. You had subconsciously been avoiding Spencer for most of the evening, second-guessing whether or not you’d heard him correctly, whether he’d even meant the words in the way you’d interpreted, wondering what you would do if this friendship were to ever end. However, a more hopeful side of you contended to quiet those thoughts. He had to feel it too. There was no room in which you hadn’t shared a longing look. The feather touches, and dancing. So badly did you want to believe that he thought this too. A slender arm appeared through the closing elevator doors, tugging you back to reality, causing you to jump before quickly pushing the open button. “Spencer! You could’ve lost an arm!” You yelped. “It’s okay, I have two of them,” he huffed. He avoided your eyes for a moment, before inhaling half of the oxygen in the small lift and turning towards you. “I wanted to say thank you, for this,” he held up the book, “it’s gorgeous, and sort of… exactly what I needed - and not just the book itself but what you wrote… inside it,” he nervously looked at you. “Did you- do you mean what you wrote?” His tone of voice syringed into you a drop of hurt. “Spencer, I never want you to think that I don’t mean it,” your let out in a shaky voice, gently grasping his elbow. You visibly saw his body ease, a smitten smile replacing the lip being chewed at. His throat bobbed as he gulped before he spoke again, heartbeat in his ears. “I want you to know that I’m in love with you, Y/N. I don’t want you the way I want a best friend, I want you in a-” he sighed, clenching and unclenching his fist trying to find the words, “I want you in a way that means I want to fall asleep beside you, and wake up to you the next morning, for as long as the sun rises. I want you. I want you - no, need you, the way the tide needs the moon to rise and fall, I want you-” he swallowed, furrowing his brows at his feet, “I want you, like this.” Hazel eyes fluttering shut was the last thing you saw. Large hands lightly caressed your face, one travelling behind your ear, brushing your neck to delicately tangle in your hair. After years of wondering, you finally knew what his lips felt like on yours. His nose bumped yours lightly as you tasted his soft lips, their slight chap reminding you that winter had kissed them first. Your hands wrapped around his wrists, before one settled on his tilted jaw and another hid in his chestnut hair. He felt warm, everywhere you touched setting electricity through him. Even after you pulled apart, his arms remained on either side of your face, holding you like you were fragile. His breath fanned over your face, as you shivered, the fluttering in your stomach unsubdued. The elevator had long reached the ground floor, causing the two of you to bashfully laugh concurrently. You thought to yourself that Spencer’s crimson flush and wide grin was a sight you would lose sleep to gaze at. “All this time, I’ve been missing out on that,” you teased, watching him shyly bite his lip as he waited for you to say something else. “I’m very glad you said all of that because I’m very much in love with you, Spencer Reid, and, if you’ll let me, I want to love you, the way people love in all the books you’ve lent me,” you told him. At that, he was sure his heart was yours, fearlessly. So, making afternoon plans and debating which train to take, neither of you really caring as long as you were in the other’s company, you finally stepped out of the elevator, oblivious to the mistletoe that was hanging within it, but more than mindful of what was to come. 

[sailingintothenight]

Imagine Peter meeting Loki's daughter, (Y/N) Laufeyson:

(Not my gift)

A/N: I was planning on doing a story on this imagine but I'm not sure yet. Maybe i will or maybe not. Romanoff is alive here because yeah.

Just a short imagine about how I think Peter would meet Loki's daughter:

After Tony's death, Peter knew nothing about a new initiative that included other little future avengers: The Romanian twins Nica & Alexandre and the daughter of the God of Mischief.

For young Peter Parker, the same one who had fought an infinity war and an endgame alongside the greatest and most honorable avengers, the thought of spending his days caring for small avengers and large social misfits, was the least tempting idea of the world, but when he learned that Tony himself had asked him to do it before he died, he had no choice but to accept.

"Okay... so you want me to be friends with them." Peter trailed the sound of the O between his lips as he narrowed his eyes, because a part of him collided with an invisible, metaphorical wall that did not allow him to understand everything correctly. “One question first: what about the music through the speakers? It's a piano."

Happy sighed, so long and heavy as if his soul no longer fit in his body and he needed to expel it. "It is to know where (Y/N) is. She teaches Morgan 2 times a week."

(Y/N)?"

“(Y/N) Laufeyson."

It was then that Peter's eyes widened and his mouth suddenly went dry upon hearing the last name that was born from someone else with a kinship to the god of mischief, the same one who once wanted to end the earth in his alliance with Ultron during combat in NY.

"Are you talking about Laufeyson, like Loki Laufeyson?" Peter blinked, losing sense of the world around him.

"Yes. He was my daddy, but not in a dirty way of course." Peter was startled by the sound of an angelic voice that pierced his ears like sweet honey, staring with puzzled eyes at the young woman, who could be his age, standing behind him, arms folded as he shot Peter a suspicious look. “Don't be scared by the last name. You should be more afraid of the person behind it. Excuse me."

On your way to the chairs that were placed in a circle in the center of the room, Peter followed you with his gaze the whole way, catching inside his eyes the daisy you were wearing behind your ear and the way your hair was fluttering with your walk. Your Led Zepelin t-shirt was slightly bigger than you, making you look like those vintage girls MJ used to see on a page called Tumblr.

"Wake up boy, I didn't bring you here to daydream." Happy said, giving Peter a warning look that wouldn't scare even Morgan. "Help us Tony, I see this was a bad idea."

"Well kids, thanks for coming." Said Romanoff, whom the children did respect enough to keep silent every time she spoke. “I think we've had a very progressive week in terms of controlling your powers and knowing how to use them when it's due. I've worked a lot with the twins, as well as (Y/N), who has come a long way these weeks. (Y/N) Would you like to share with us?"

"Uh, okay... Hello." You said, changing position in your chair. “I am (Y/N) Laufeyson, daughter of the god of mischief. Uh… I can blow things up with my mind, including heads, although this device on my arm minimizes the power of my telekinesis. Thanks to Tony. I'm good with knifes too, courtesy of my dad, so stabbing you would be the easiest thing in the world. And sometimes I have the urge to burn this place to the ground, but then I say, Nah. What for? I like it here." You chuckled, making everyone else uncomfortable. "I think that's all. Thank you."

“At least she said thank you.” Said Happy quietly, fixing the perfect knot in his tie, and fighting the urge to wipe the silent sweat that begins to collect on his face. Peter is more than surprised, but he is able to hear Happy's next words. "(Y/N) will be in your class next week, so good luck kid, you'll need it."

I know this probably sucks but hey, a little bit is better than nothing. Thank you for reading!

[barbasbodaciousbeard]

The One with the Engagement Picture

Ayy, using this to try new ones. Another for @thatesqcrush​’s FRIENDS challenge.

Peter Stone hadn’t always been as much of a partier as he’d become, and he would certainly reject the term womanizer. Anyone he dated or slept with knew that he just wasn’t ready to settle down anymore. Maybe it was because he’d tried to do that once and ruined it. When he tore his ulnar collateral ligament, he’d accepted he wouldn’t be pitching anymore, and slowly an ocean seemed to settle between himself and his teammates. He was bitter, and they were busy. As the partying stopped for him to heal and return to school, there was one woman he found himself content to spend nights with on the couch with. It was the first time since he’d been an adult that Peter was in a serious, monogamous relationship, and he thought it suited him.

Dahlia had moved to Chicago for graduate school, and she was thoroughly unimpressed with his baseball background. Did she think it was cool? Sure. Was she understanding they’d be going to games? Yes. But, he had to teach her how the game worked and let her know which of his friends even played when she met them. She was more interested in dragging him antique shopping or to old bookshops where he’d have to keep her from falling off of a ladder. While she learned his world, Peter got far more comfortable than he ever expected to with pin curls, vintage compacts, and inspecting dresses for sweat stains or cigarette burns. It made her happy to invest time in it, so if she’d wear his old jersey tucked into her high waisted jeans and go to a game with him, he’d take pictures of his pin up at the rockabilly festival they drove out to.

When he proposed, he was nauseatingly proud to find a mid century ring at the vintage jewelry store she loved. The owner knew him from each time he had followed her through, shopping bags in hand as she purused. That meant he had help from a woman who knew Dahlia’s ring size and which cut she’d like the most; he picked correctly anyway, she’d said. He’d been careful to plan an outing to the park, packing a picnic and red and white checked blanket. He had a friend hiding to capture pictures, and it felt like the timing was perfect. Soon enough, he had a picture of her, hand over her mouth as he asked her to marry him sitting on his desk at home, and one with her showing off the ring as she pressed a kiss to his cheek, his arms slung around her waist, sitting on his office desk.

Things were easier then, when he was working and she was in school. Their schedules still aligned, so they could see each other in the evenings.  Then, she finished her MFA and taught night classes in order to make ends meet while she worked on her next novel. They’d met not long before the first was published, and he’d read a preview copy the first weekend he knew her and dug up poetry she’d published in volumes stored at the university. His brain didn’t work like that and he liked that about her. He was more about practicality and comfort. She was creative and artistic, comfort be damned.

The change in schedules made things hard. Peter wasn’t good when things got hard. The transition to not seeing each other much during the week, even though they lived together, quickly coupled with wedding planning stress to create arguments they hadn’t had before. Instead of quiet togetherness, they’d bicker. He got home late, so they didn’t see each other before she left to teach. She had to pick something up after work, so he was asleep when she got home. Dahlia wanted to plan the wedding, and Peter was getting nervous because he hadn’t watched many marriages stay happy. He pushed off decisions, avoided picking a venue. After a while, she got an offer to teach creative writing in New York. 

“I could have normal hours, Peter. We could see each other. You know you’d get a job in New York.”

“I’m not going back there, Dahl.”

“It’s a big city. You wouldn’t even have to see him. We wouldn’t even have to tell Ben, would we?”

“No.”

“So we just keep not planning a wedding and not seeing each other? Do you even want to marry me?”

“You know I do.”

“No I don’t!” 

“Then maybe you should take the fucking job without me.”

The minute he said it, he regretted it. The way Dahlia’s face fell and tears came made him feel stupid. She’d spent her weekends helping him with physical therapy. She’d taken the shitty adjuncting job to stay in Chicago until he was a little more established. She was patient about maneuvering the strained dynamic between Ben and Peter Stone. Hell, she wasn’t even asking him to go back to New York forever. It was a year and then the university would evaluate if they’d offer her a permanent position. They could be back in Chicago after a year. And now she was crying. He hadn’t made her do that before, not because she was sad.

“Fine,” she managed, jaw shifting as she tried to get the tears to stop. “I’ll go then. I can’t keep doing this. You won’t plan the wedding. We fight all the time. And now you want me to go? Here’s your fucking ring.”

If Peter had been used to having a girlfriend or wanting her to stay, Peter might have developed the skills required to do more than stare as Dahlia shoved her clothes into a suitcase and clutch the ring in his outstretched hand. He might have thought to fly to the city when he realized she’d actually gone ahead and moved and show up at her apartment unemployed and ready to go to the courthouse to prove he needed her there. 

Instead, he steeled his jaw over the next few weeks. His arm had healed the first year of law school, so he simply returned to his circle of friends that went out and dated whoever and covered for each other. He always ignored the ones in a vintage dress or with dark curled hair. Those were the ones who could hurt him. Who let him pretend afterwards that it was Dahlia beside him, and they were married and happy. 

When he moved out the apartment they’d shared-it was too much there now- he picked a painfully modern place and filled it with sleek modern furniture, The antiques she hadn’t taken were sold, and he finally felt that maybe he’d scrubbed his life of Dahlia, save the engagement pictures he kept in the top drawer of his desk. She had probably responded to the break up like an actual adult and moved on. Had a husband and career. Maybe even a baby. He hated the thought, so when he thought it, he’d pour another drink. And it was fine, because he’d just distanced himself from everything that could make him think of her. And that was fine, really it was. Peter had been a playboy before. He was a partier. He was an ex-baseball player. And he was fine.

Then his father died. 

Peter felt the solitude then. There hadn’t been anything new and hard to process since Dahlia left. He wandered New York and wondered if she was still there somewhere or if she’d gotten another teaching job somewhere. When McCoy convinced him to take the ADA position after Baba’s trial, he couldn’t say no, and one of the engagement photos found a new home in the top drawer of his new desk. SVU was harder, and it found its way out more. He’d hold it in his free hand, sipping a drink as he tried to channel the advice she’d have given him. 

“Ben liked her,” Jack said softly one day. “He had a copy of that picture until the engagement ended.”

“I was an idiot.”

“Aren’t we all at some point? Learn from it.”

Peter left it out after that. It faced him from the corner, and he remembered feeling grounded. That was what he really missed. Dahlia had given him a place to land. His dad had always felt unstable, and he wasn’t close with his mom. He wasn’t even always at home, staying with his aunt periodically.  And then he’d made a happy stable home with Dahlia and ruined it. 

When Pamela died, he stopped partying for fun and started using it to numb himself, but one night, he met a woman with dark brown pin curls and fair skin. She’d left when Dahlia’s name fell from his lips. That’s when he knew he had to reach out. He had to know if there was a family or a set of kids or a job in another city. He needed closure.

“Hello?” She sounded confused when she answered, and he suddenly remembered it was nearly midnight. He also remembered she never checked caller ID. Oh God, or she’d deleted his number.

“Dahlia?” Papers stopped shuffling and he could hear her sharp intake of breath. He could almost picture her, perched in an armchair, probably a yellow velvet one, with wide eyes and hair pinned up for the night and tied in a silk scarf as she graded or proofed her own manuscript. Maybe it was a friend’s manuscript.

Oh God, what if it was a husband’s manuscript. Another writer. She’d like that.

The cool metal of the picture he kept at home was pressed into the skin of his palm before he whispered, “Dahl, it’s Peter.”

“I know,” she said softly. “You don’t sound okay.”

“I’m not.”

“What happened?”

“Pamela.”

“What happened to Pamela? I can be on a plane to Chicago if you need someone. Or if you need help in the city, I can arrange things. Check on her.”

“How do you know I don’t have someone?” 

“Would you be calling if you did?”

“I’m in New York. Where did you end up?”

“They offered me a permanent position. How long have you been in the city?” He could tell she was trying to mask hurt that he hadn’t called before now. But what was he supposed to say? Dad’s dead so I live here now.

“Since January. Dad died. I prosecuted an ADA. Then I took his job.”

“Ben’s gone?”

“So is Pam.”

“Pam’s gone?” He let out a shaky breath, chest tight. “Send me your address.”

“You don’t have to--”

“Address or I start calling your baseball buddies.”

“I’ll text it.”

“I’m not hanging up until I’m there.”

“Is it creepy I keep the engagement photo on my desk?”

“We’re not touching that right now Peter. You’re drunk and not okay.”

She was true to her word, not hanging up the phone until she arrived at his apartment. When he opened the door, he saw her just as he’d imagined her. Her hair was pinned in the silk scarf and a silk robe was tied over her pajamas. She had thrown it on over the same babydoll top and short sets she’d always been hunting down patterns for so she could make them herself and she’d slid on flats. 

The sight of her made him feel tethered again, though he had had enough more to drink between the initial call and her arrival that he had gone from tipsy to unsteady. He went to hug her, and Dahlia carefully kicked the door close, locked it, and maneuvered him to his big leather couch that she looked terribly out of place on. 

“Let it out, Peter,” she whispered, and he buried his face into the crook of her neck like she might float away or vanish. The cry wasn’t like anything he’d let her see before. He’d been careful and controlled anytime something hurt, glossing over details that could make it worse to give her a pig picture. But now, he cried like he was alone, heaving sobs with snot and tears and drool as he clutched her. 

She settled into the couch enough he was basically curled in her lap. That’s how he woke the next morning too, curled against her torso with his head on her shoulder. She’d fallen asleep with her cheek pressed against the top of his head, and he was both embarrassed and relieved she was still there. Carefully he untangled himself from her, wanting to clean up before he had to face her. Face the fact it was his own fault he’d had to deal with it all alone.  

He came out to find her having obviously used the guest bathroom to rinse her face, though she was clad in his boxers and henley now. She was too averse to pants for his sweats. And like the angel she was, Dahlia was cooking. He was, however, mortified to see what she was holding as whatever she’d put in the oven cooked was the engagement photo he’d been clinging to when he called. But he could also see she seemed to be looking at it fondly. 

“Your interior design is terrible,” she teased gently, setting the frame aside. “I left you so much of the good stuff.”

“I couldn’t bring it from Chicago.”

“Peter, you forget I brought it from Chicago.”

“When I looked at furniture we found together, it made me miss you, so I got rid of it.”

“I kept mine because it made me remember you.”

“I’m the one that was an absolute moron.”

“It was easier then, huh?” she said softly, picking the picture up again. Their smiles were wider. There were fewer lines on their faces. Ben and Pam were in New York alive, and Dahlia and Peter had forever in front of them. Peter didn’t need to talk to her about something he didn’t want to remember.

“Yeah,” he whispered, leaning against the kitchen counter. “I’m sorry I let you go.”

“I’m sorry I let you. I shouldn’t have left the first time we fought. I knew how you were.”

“You were right to. I went for what I knew would hurt.”

“We can address all of that later. For right now, do you want to start talking or eat and then talk?”

“It’s my fault Pam’s dead.”

“You need to elaborate on that one, Peter. Because I’m sure there is more happening than you’re saying.”

“I didn’t drop a case. A victim tortured her attacker. We didn’t know for sure at first. A cartel was involved and they threatened to hurt Pam if I didn’t drop the case. We had guards, but they massacred Pam’s facility and took her. Diaz killed her in the gunfire. Dahl, she recognized me. She called for me, and he killed her. It’s been months, and I just, I feel so lost.”

“Peter,” she whispered, pulling him close. 

He stiffened at first. He’d expected disgust, not sympathy. This was his fault. That’s what he’d been telling himself for weeks, distracting himself with booze and bars and women like he had done when he wanted to pretend his family was fine, that Pam wasn’t sick, that he was close with his dad. This time though, the hurt was bigger.  

He was crying into her shoulder again, and he suddenly wished he’d been smart enough to call the minute he’d arrived. That she’d been there at dad’s funeral and for the trial of Rafael Barba. Maybe then he wouldn’t have even taken the job. He’d have recognized something bad was brewing. Instead he’d gotten his sister killed and was clinging to Dahlia in the early morning light of his kitchen. 

“It happened in May.”

“Why didn’t you call sooner?”

“I didn’t mean to call now.”

“How have you been coping?” He was quiet, shifting awkwardly. “Baseball methods?”

“Yeah.” He was ashamed to tell her, and she squeezed him gently. 

“I went with baseball methods after we split. You’re a single man. I don’t like the thought and it’s not healthy, but it’s better than other things you could’ve done.” They didn’t speak much as they ate. Neither one knew what to say to the other any more, but she didn’t want to leave him alone and he shouldn’t be left alone. When he did speak again, his voice was gentler than it had been in a while.

“Can we go antiquing?” 

“You want to go?”

“I want to carry your bags and think about sweat stains.”

“How does that help you?”

“Is it manipulative if I say that’s the last time I was really happy? Because if you say no I won’t be mad. It’s just true.”

“It could be. But I believe you. I think it’s the last time I was really happy too.”

“Really?” 

“Depends? Did I pretend to understand baseball between our last antiquing trip and moving?”

“No. You moved in the off season.”

“Then really. Don’t get me wrong. I’ve been fine. I love work. I love writing. I love the city. But I like everything more with you. Even if you’re a jock.”

“I thought I was happy before you. But I wasn’t.”

“You have to take me home first so I can get ready.”

“Deal.” And that’s what found him in her living room while she got dressed. He wasn’t stupid; Dahlia was the same as she’d always been, so he was waiting patiently as she brushed out her set curls and did her make up. She came back out in a pretty shirtdress, one he felt sure he’d found for her a long time ago, and keds, and Peter knew he’d do anything to get this back. The feeling of groundedness, that maybe they could be a team again, awe she was even agreeing to comfort him on any level. 

She led him through new vintage shops now. They were in a whole new state after all. He decided that maybe baseball methods didn’t work, and he talked to Dahlia. This time he really talked though. He’d brushed over stories about his father and Pam. He didn’t like the bad ones or the feelings they could bring up. Besides, Ben Stone was a saint, didn’t you know? Peter hadn’t ever been talk about his father, so he kept that habit up with Dahlia the first time. He also told her the truth. He’d panicked over marrying her because she was his first real girlfriend and the prospect of settling down and having her grow to hate him like his mother had his father scared him. That one was a revelation to her. 

He’d basically moved in with her a month after their outing to go antiquing. She preferred their old furniture and her vintage collection. Besides, Peter, I have a built in vanity here! The engagement photo in the park was replaced on his desk a year later. It showed them now in a different park in a different city with different lives to the ones so long ago. They also had different methods of communication, meaning they’d weathered fights as they adjusted to things again. The same ring was on display, however, and the same smile was plastered on Peter’s face as Dahlia pressed a kiss to his cheek.

[echoghost1]

The Paleontologist and The Princess

Word Count: 2218

For: @aggressivelyclueless

Summary: Danny had one true passion; Paleontology. So can anyone really blame him for getting excited when he thinks he comes face to face with a dinosaur? Even if it isn't a dinosaur after all.

You can read it on AO3 or down below the cut

"Actually, Dad? I wanted to be a paleontologist." Danny admitted as he tried not to squirm in his seat. Sitting this close to the portal felt weird.

It felt like all his hairs were standing on end and that he’d jumped into an ice-cold pool at the same time.

“You know, dinosaurs?”

Just because both of their fields involved dead things, didn’t mean he was at all interested in ghosts. The closest he wanted to be to death was the bones of the ancient creatures who used to roam the earth, not the spooky floating scary things that went bump in the night.

His dad prattled on about the inventions that might not even work. Completely ignoring him, as per usual.

Of course, ever since Danny had got the portal to work last month, his parents had decided that meant he was their lucky charm and he needed to be around when they turned on any and all of their inventions from now on.

He hated it.

Mostly because they were right and everything just worked better, or at all, with him around. Probably because the inventions kept picking him up as a ghost.

Somehow his parents just kept thinking it was a fluke. That he only had some minor contamination and it would wear off eventually.

He was pretty sure that wasn’t true.

Especially given how he had fallen through his bed this morning and had gotten his hand stuck inside his doorhandle when it had partially phased through and then resolidified before he could pull it back out.

That had hurt.

He flexed his hand at the memory and really just wanted all of this ghost nonsense to go away.

================================================

It had been almost two months since his accident and his powers had only gotten stronger. They definitely weren’t going away anytime soon.

Although, he was starting to see the silver lining now. With his abilities, he could explore underground areas and discover fossils and specimens that no one could reach before without disturbing a thing. That was definitely a positive with such ancient and delicate things hidden deep within the earth. It was like they were waiting just for him.

So now whenever his parents called him down to the lab to show off their newest invention he’d just think about how cool and easy spelunking would be with the perks of ghost powers.

“Hey, Danny! Want to try out the Fenton Fisher?”

“Fenton Fisher?” he echoed looking from his dad’s fisherman get-up to the open portal.

“Yeah! I figured fishing and hunting aren’t too far off and I already enjoy the sport anyway. Might as well combine it with my work, am I right?”

Danny just chuckled and shook his head. You couldn’t say his dad wasn’t creative.

“Here, hold this. I’ve gotta go!” his dad said as he jumped up from his seat, pressed the fishing pole into Danny’s chest, and raced up the stairs.

Danny readjusted his grip on the pole and stared into the portal. The swirling green was somehow both super off-putting and oddly inviting.

He wasn’t sure which thought was worse.

Before he could truly think that over, Danny gasped as his ghost sense went off, “Oh no,” there was a tug on the line

The line went taut and he felt the vibration and tug of something very large.

Without enough time to react, Danny just stood there, in the open lab completely exposed, as two large clawed feet stomped out of the portal. Then a large reptilian head emerged from the vortex. Its glowing blue scales shining brightly more from the light the creature produced than from the shine of the scales as they reflected the lights of the lab.

Danny blinked at the massive creature before him. He hardly reacted at all when it spit out the hook onto his head and snarled at him.

All he could think was that there was something that looks suspiciously like someone had mixed a Tyrannosaurus Rex with a Triceratops in his basement. Or at least, the ones depicted in movies anyway.

There was a real-life dinosaur in his basement. Or a real ghost dinosaur anyway.

He didn’t know dinosaurs could be ghosts. Or that ghosts could be dinosaurs?

He couldn’t suppress the manic grin spreading across his face as the beautiful creature snorted hot breath through its nose at him.

He was so going to die.

If Jurassic Park taught him anything it was that being eaten by a dinosaur was the S-tier death.

The creature took another step forward revealing that it had large leathery wings sprouting from its back.

“You’re a dragon!?”

Forget being dino-chow, dragons were way cooler!

The dragon tilted its head at him. Like it could understand him.

It could understand him!

“Hi. You’re amazing! Did you know that?” Danny said full of awe and wonder as he dropped the fishing pole and just took in the absolute beauty of the literal dragon before him.

The dragon’s features went from confusion to surprise and suddenly instead of a dragon, there was a girl.

She wore a blue dress that went down to almost the floor, or it would have touched the floor if not for the fact that she was floating a good foot above it.

Her blonde hair was done in a braid and her bright red eyes looked over him with a mix of confusion and apprehension, “You do not fear me?” she asked with an accent that reminded him of that old Shakespeare movie Mr. Lancer had played in class two weeks ago. The movie was so old that it was only on VHS.

He shook his head, “Why would I?”

“But I’m a cursed beast.” she implored almost as if she wanted him to be afraid of her.

“Well, who told you that?”

“My step-mother.”

“That wasn’t very nice of her.”

The ghost girl looked away, “she rarely spares me any kind words.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Still,” Danny took a step forward but stopped when she took one back, “If you want to talk about it, I’m all ears.”

If he didn’t have to fight he would gladly take that option. Fighting was exhausting and he always ended up getting knocked into a wall or something and his back was not at all enjoying the experience.

“You really wish to hear of my troubles? You don’t even know me?”

“That’s an easy fix,” he smiled, “I’m Danny, what’s your name?”

“Princess Dorathea of Mattingly,” she replied as she cautiously took his offered hand and just stared at their clasped hands as he initiated the handshake.

“Wow, I’ve never met a Princess before.” he chuckled as he let her hand go, “Or a dragon, but before today I figured my chances of meeting royalty were a bit higher despite not living in England.”

“It’s very nice to meet you, Danny.” she curtsied and he scrambled to give a quick little bow back. “I do apologize for appearing here when I was so distraught. I do try to keep my temper in check, but sometimes it gets the better of me.” she clutched the amulet on her neck as her gaze went nowhere in particular, “But such is the curse.”

“You turn into a dragon when you’re upset?” Danny asked hoping he was interpreting what she was saying correctly. This fancy English was a bit difficult for him to translate.

“Yes.” she dropped the golden amulet back onto her chest, “But you are the only person outside of my family that does not fear the sight of my enraged form. Why is that?”

“Dragons are cool?”

She cocked her head to the side, “Cool?”

That was right, she spoke fancy English, she probably didn’t use modern slang. “Neat? Uh, awesome?”

“Do you find my other form more appealing?” she asked and her pupils flashed momentarily into reptilian slits.

“No, no! Both forms are great! You look pretty either way.” he said in a rush as he realized his earlier eagerness to die had left and he very much did not want to die in his basement.

Again?

“You think I’m pretty?” she asked as she blushed.

He blushed too because he’d never just said that to a girl before. Even if he had thought it. “Yeah.”

“That’s awfully forward of you.”

“Sorry! I don’t normally say stuff like that.” He wasn’t even sure why he had in the first place. “I just, uh, weren’t you upset about something?”

He grimaced at just how terrible of a transition that was.

“Oh right. Honestly, I shouldn’t have gotten so upset.”

“It’s okay to be upset about things.”

“Not if your me. Not if your anger makes you dangerous. And all over a silly ball.”

“Ball?”

“Yes, there was this wonderful ball I wanted to go to but my horrible stepmother forbade me to go.”

“Ah, I see she’s really trying for the Mother of the Year award.”

Dorathea just stared at him.

“Sorry. Sarcasm doesn't always work. My bad.”

“It’s quite alright. I just didn’t realize it was a joke at first. I think I get it.” She thought for a second and then smiled, “Yes. It’s funny because she’s terrible?”

“Yeah! It’s ironic.” he shrugged, “I really like puns and wordplay. Sarcasm is like my default setting.”

“There’s nothing wrong with using one’s wit. ‘Tis better to disarm thy enemy with a quick tongue than a hidden dagger.”

“Well ain’t that the truth!” he said with a smirk and a finger gun. Then he quickly dropped the finger gun, because it was both, kind of lame, and also she probably didn’t know what that gesture meant anyway.

He had a feeling that the Princess wasn’t just wearing that outfit because she was into vintage fashion.

“So a ball is like a dance, right?”

“Yes, there is dancing, and food too.”

“How come your step-mom said no to the ball? Besides just being the worst.”

“I had no escort. But it’s all moot now. The ball was ages ago. I’ve long since missed my chance to go.”

“There’s a dance at my school this Friday. It’s not the same, but-��� he was cut off when she gasped.

“Are you asking me to go with you?”

Was he? “Yeah? I mean if you think she’ll let you. I don’t want to get you in trouble or anything.”

“Tell me everything!”

He walked over to the chair his Dad had previously occupied and pulled out a flyer from his backpack, “Everything you need to know is on here!” he said handing over the page.

She beamed in excitement and hugged the paper tightly. “Oh, I can’t wait! Thank you so much for this Danny!”

“Meet you here at 6?”

“It’s a date!” Then she flew off back into the portal.

================================================

The next morning Danny walked up to his friends and attempted to show off his best smile.

“What have you done this time?” Sam deadpanned before he even had a chance to get a word in.

“What makes you think I did anything?”

“No one enters this building with a smile that big. Now spill.”

“I,” he hesitated, “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“But you did do something, didn’t you,” Tucker added.

Who’s side was this guy on?

“I just have some news.”

His friends just stared at him.

He may be half-ghost but they certainly could give him the spooks, or Sam could anyway.

“You know how there’s a dance this Friday?” he started, hoping if he just came in real gentle they would be super understanding and not laugh in his face.

“Go on,” Sam said as Tucker looked between the two as if expecting a showdown.

“Well I got a date and I think it would be really neat if you guys came too so you could meet her.”

He smiled again and tried not to think about how much it felt like a grimace.

“Wait, when did this happen?” Tucker asked at the same time that Sam glared harder.

“Who is she?”

“Dora? She’s not from around here. I think she’s British?” he put a finger to his lip in thought, “Or at least I think that’s where she’s from. I didn’t ask, but she’s got the accent.”

“When did you meet a potential British girl?”

“Last night.”

“I thought you went home after school?”

“I did. That’s where I met her.”

“You meet a girl and immediately asked her to the dance?”

“Was she wearing a Land Before Time shirt or something?”

“No!”

How dare his friends think he was shallow enough to only ask a girl out if she happened to be into one of the best-animated movie series ever made. Although he probably would, now that he’s thinking about it.

“So what is it about her that’s so mesmerizing?”

“I didn’t say that! She was just upset because she missed this big dance a while back and I just invited her to ours to cheer her up. Plus she’s really nice.”

“And?” Tucker asked knowing him far too well.

“And she has this nasty little habit of turning into a giant dragon when she’s upset.”

His friends just stared at him.

“Also she’s a Princess.” he bit his lip and finally added, “and a ghost.”