#i had been planing on reading it for a while before now but its very long and i hadn't gotten around to it

[st4rguy]

ok so i was reading fanfiction and thought about the nightmare knight calling people "my child" (yknow like toriel in undertale) AND THIS MIGHT BE THE BEST IDEA I HAVE EVER HAD

[utterlyazriel]

an eternity, my love

eep! this is a bit longer than the last at just over 6k forgive me... but thank so much for all love on the first piece 🥹 and thank u for all your lovely ideas! i hope this does sum justice to the nonnie who asked for further miscommuncation... <3 part one here but u don’t need to read it to read this :)

How does one even begin to decide what to wear to dinner with a person, the person, who matched your soul perfectly?

When your friend had hunted her way through clothing stores of Velaris and stashed away a custom dress — far fancier than anything you owned — for the first date with her mate, you had laughed at her.

Now, staring at your closet in only your undergarments, you were beginning to envy her preparation.

Seriously, how are you supposed to choose?

You pick up your latest addition to your closet, a glossy dress the colour of red wine that reveals the length of your legs and planes of your collarbones— perfect for a night out dancing.

With a grimace, you place it back on the hanger. It was far more scandalous than you would want to be on a first date, even though — well, you’re sure that, being mates, Azriel would like anything you wore.

You heave a sigh. An uneasy prickle beneath your skin has you crossing your arms; it was almost alarming how badly you wanted to impress him. But… mating bonds were rare and powerful.

Almost as if you had summoned it — in fact, maybe you had — there’s a soft shimmer in your chest. Your beautiful glow, the bridge between you and Azriel humming to life. In a way you can’t explain, it’s as though you can feel him soothe across your mind, his soft touch full of assurances.

He’s comforting you. All your emotions must be shooting down the bond without your permission. Gods, that would take some getting used to. You wonder if he can feel your resounding pang of embarrassment as well.

You do your best to push back something less nervous, more of your excitement for the night to come — and you know, without even seeing him, he’s smiling.

After another moment of fussing, you decide on something simpler than your glossy night dress.

Comfortable black slacks with plenty of flow to them and a shirt you thought was one of your nicer ones. With the slightest touch ups to your makeup, you rush yourself out the door before you convince yourself to change all over again.

The Sidra keeps you company, a rush of water beside you as you wind through the streets of Velaris, eyes flicking up to take in the darkening sky. The sun was sinking below the mountain tops, rays tickling across the ridges.

And while you could admit that Velaris was very beautiful in the daytime, you were a true Night court citizen— and believed its true beauty came out at night.

Somehow, despite the lack of concrete plans made as you had ushered the male out of your office, you knew resolutely that you would be able to find him. You weren’t even worried about the timing of it all. It was… what was the word? Absurd. Insane. Utterly, breathtakingly incredible.

Sure enough, as you exit the alley and round the corner, your eyes falling on the sage green building you reside in for work, there he is; waiting for you.

You inhale a sharp breath. A thousand cells in your body fizz, hum, and glow, at the mere sight of him.

It's easy to understand just how he had garnered his dark reputation, the image of him every bit of the Spymaster of the Night Court — a title like Shadowsinger has never been so fitting for him.

He’s blurred at the edges, a thousand tiny wisps that blend him into the shadows of the nighttime. His wings stretch up behind, towering over his already tall frame, black as ink, and beneath his darkened attire, you can spot his tan skin. Your eyes drag up his neck, tracing his adam's apple, along the scruff of his sharp jaw until you reach his hazel eyes.

Your heart burns.

In the depth of it, you know, if he doesn't love you, he will undo you completely.

It's wholly terrifying to come face to face with — the intensity of the mating bond scorching through your mind like a fierce wind, burning embers left in its wake.

It's enough to make you pause, the definitive thought that doing this, offering him your heart and trusting him, could very well lead to your ruin.

Your chest squeezes tightly. You let your eyes drink in the Illyrian, the Male who waited so patiently for all those years and was prepared to wait years more, if you had asked.

Focusing, you pluck up that golden thread in your chest and hold it tightly. It heats and melts, hotter and hotter, and you know that any fear you have, you can conquer to be with him.

Ruination be damned.

—

Azriel notices you the moment your frame exits the alley, notices the moment you pause — has been able to feel you drawing nearer to him this whole time. Your every emotion is transparent to him through the bond between you, whether you’re aware of it or not.

You must not have the tightened mental shields he had come to be so familiar with over all his years. It makes sense; you are no warrior. Mental walls over your mind are not something you have ever had to concern yourself with.

Azriel vows it to be one of the things he teaches you. You deserved the privacy of your emotions, at the very least.

But... for now, Azriel can feel them all. It's why, as you round the corner, Azriel can feel your eyes on him and then, then he feels it.

The wash of fear that spills over your bond like icy water.

An old enemy rises within him. He grits his teeth, even as he feels the fear from you slide away and he tries to ignore the sting from an unhealed wound. But self-deprecation never seems to drown, no matter how much he tries to suffocate it within him.

He shifts his hands, relieved suddenly to have them covered up beneath gloves. His wings tuck in tighter, if possible, and he wills his shadows sternly to contain themselves. Something in the slightest baring of his teeth has them obeying. They shoot to his sides and make themselves scarce.

All this in time to greet you pleasantly as you bounce into view, sidling up before him with a shy grin. It's only been a few hours since he got his proper look at you and yet, you're every bit as breathtaking as you were earlier. More so, in fact.

It feels as though Azriel has never seen the sky before and you before him, are the first sunset of his life. You look so pretty that Azriel could probably gaze at you all evening if you so allowed him to.

And then, he remembers the pang of fear.

He doesn't waste time mulling over which detail of him had made you afraid — only that he would dim or change or hide any part of himself to stop it from happening again.

"Hello, again," You say, your lips pressed together to contain your smile. You have to tilt your head back to look up at his handsome face. His shadows swirl around him and despite his strict instructions, one still slips away to touch you.

You don't notice it circling your ankle, tentative and shy.

"Hello, again." Azriel echoes your words, unable to help his own glimmer of joy.

He wants to offer you his arm, his hand. Can feel it within him, down to the very marrow of his bones, the craving to be closer to you, to touch you, however he can.

Azriel swallows heavily and does what he has done over decades, over centuries; he takes the wanting and pushes it down, down, down.

The two of you begin to walk, side by side, with no destination in mind. Aimless and content at the same time.

Azriel doesn't need the bond to see the flittering of nerves hidden in your expression. The shadow still circulating around your ankle climbs higher, like it wants to comfort you too.

Azriel wills it to still, desperate to not scare you again. He drops his shoulders from his usual warrior posture in hopes of making himself a little smaller.

“You don’t need to be nervous.” He says reassuringly.

You steal a glimpse at him, your smile breaking into a grin. Your nerves are still potent but less so.

“Who says I’m nervous?”

Azriel smiles gently, his eyes dancing across your face as he reads your lie easily. “I do."

There's a scrunch between your eyebrows then, like he had seen during his time in your office earlier. Azriel places a hand on his chest, over the place where the glowing tug is strongest.

"I can feel it.”

Your eyes widen slightly as you stare at his gloved hand, the cogs in your brain spinning and turning at a rapid rate. Still strolling, your hand rises slowly and touches to the same spot on your own chest. Azriel can feel his heart stutter at the sight, you holding the spot that connected you to him undeniably.

"You can?" Your gaze lifts to his face, puzzlement adorning your features. You frown and focus for a moment, staring hard into the distance — and Azriel feels a sudden twinge of disgust through the thread.

"Did you feel that?" You ask, eyes wide and curious.

Azriel nods wordlessly and he can't help but ask. "What is it you were thinking of?"

You look embarrassed for a moment, eyes averting to the ground. You chuckle awkwardly and tuck your hair behind your ears, glancing back up at the Male with a sheepish smile.

"Brussels sprouts."

Azriel blinks once, twice, and then has to turn to hide his smile. He tries to cover his laugh with a cough. It doesn't work, given how you make a small noise of indignation. He turns back, his politest expression on.

"Don't laugh at me!" You whine, reaching out to poke him in the shoulder. Your touch radiates through his body like a drop of golden sun, blazing warm.

"You're right," Azriel hums, his lips twitching as he presses back his smile. "My apologies, my lady. This is important knowledge I should be filing away. I swear on my life I will feed you no brussels sprouts this evening, or any in the future."

He wants to nudge your shoulder with his own, just to touch you, wants to reach out as easily as you had. But his shadows slip before his self-control does, skittering out along onto your shoulder and giving you a small shock and Azriel remembers himself. His fists clench tightly at his sides.

You walk side by side all evening, like two planets in orbit — close, oh so close, but never quite touching.

—

The first date you share is nothing short of… wonderful.

Resolutely and overwhelming good, the entire date you can't help but feel as though your very soul is singing, a thousand particles blithesome at the nearness you get to share with Azriel. He's surprising in a manner of ways.

Firstly, he's terribly quiet.

Next to him, you look quite the blabber-mouth, no matter how much he insists he enjoys it. His dark eyes are intense as they watch you closely, soaking in every word that passes your lips, and yet, beneath it, his dry sense of humour comes out to play. There's the occasional tease, almost as if just to see if he could make you flustered. (He could, easily).

With a Male as beautiful as him, suited to your very being in every way, it's nearly unbearable how much you ache for him. How much his very attention creeps down your neck and makes every nerve along your spine tingle.

You know it will take some time to get used to his unwavering and devoted attention.

There’s… just one small, itty-bitty, tiny problem.

He doesn’t touch you.

Throughout that whole first evening, you had noticed it somewhat— a flex in his gloved hands, a moment where his wing strayed too close only to be pulled back in a flash, even his shadows, darting out to be near you but never quite touching you as they had on that first meeting.

His hands reach out but they do not find you.

At first, you believed it was a first date thing. Azriel was, first and foremost, a gentleman, and you thought perhaps, his skirting touch, like his hand lingering over the small of your back but not touching it, was to be polite. Courteous and gracious.

Then, you had seen him just two days after that date, all bundled up in your giddiness that it had managed to slip your mind.

The two of you had spent the day together, traversing through the market — before you quickly found a quieter space for your mate as it became clear that large bustling areas, such as the Palace of Threads and Jewels, were not so suited to his tastes.

As you had tugged him out of the crowd, laughing over your shoulder at how he fought to keep his broad wings from knocking into anyone else, the thought suddenly snapped back into you.

Though you yearned to link his arm with your own, to interlace your fingers with his, you remembered his hesitance. Remembered the hover of his gloved hand.

And so, you dropped his arm the moment you cleared the crowd.

A hurt warbled deep within you to so do and knowing you were not the deftest at schooling your expressions, you hid your face so you could contain your childish reactions. You huffed at your own upset. What matter is it if your mate has no affinity to touch?

Truly, it was a miracle to have found a mate at all, you tried to scold yourself. You would not take him for granted for a moment, not even if it was not quite the picture of perfection you had envisioned.

Rooted deep in you was a truth; you could abide by this, abstain to his level of comfort for years, for millennia, if it made him happier.

The fabric of the mating bond, connecting the two of you intrinsically, made it so you would not want it any other way.

It's a decidedly Azriel thing.

He always wears the gloves, he never touches you more than he has to, and he's got... this really specific look when you're doing a terrible job of hiding your emotions.

As he had vowed, Azriel had set about teaching you how to build the mental walls up within your mind, brick by brick by brick. While it would help you hold against daemati if that loathsome situation should ever arise, it would also shield you from your mate.

It would protect you from having your emotions ripped out for him to see, no matter how much you held back — if it was in your mind, it would travel down the bond.

So, the wall had to be built. It had been tedious, tricky, and tiring work. Yet every time you would feel yourself ready to throw in the towel, Azriel would lean in closer, his hazel eyes softened, and his hand resting upon your arm, thumb swatching up and down, to encourage you.

"I know it is tiresome," He had mused, that faint smile twitching at his lips as you scowled at the ground. His thumb was still moving, still drawing light circles on your bicep. The skin beneath it blazed with warmth. "But it is worth it, that I can promise. You deserve this privacy, my dear. I would never wish to take it from you."

My dear, my dear, my dear— the words had sunk into your sternum and bloomed, bright and golden.

It's enough to hold onto, his kind affections. The sweet shape of his mouth when it says your name. The way his lashes kiss in the corner when he can't hold back his smile.

It's enough to soothe yourself over. To take the lack of touch on the chin and swallow down your desire for more.

It's why— why you can't help yourself— why you couldn't tear your eyes away from Azriel's hand where it touches Cassian's arm.

You're meeting his family today, which you've quickly realised doesn't mean his mother or father but instead means... the literal Highlord of the Night Court.

There are several warriors crowded around the cramped entrance room to the River House. Each of them is taller than you, and two of them with the very same huge wingspans that you've come to revere on your own mate.

Your usual talkativeness has been dimmed in your shock, though, really, it shouldn't be such a surprise. Azriel is a force to be reckoned with, honed over decades, and the Spymaster of the Night Court. You know these things. The company he keeps makes sense.

Somehow... still, seeing them all together leaves you strikingly speechless. The legion that protects your home — a family.

Rhysand greets you first, dapper in his dark attire, his violet eyes equal parts calculating and welcoming as he steps forward and offers his hand.

Despite the fact you have never bowed to him before, you still have to repress the urge. His power is overwhelming, the very night lapping at his edges and you're suddenly very grateful to be meeting him as a friend and not as a foe.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Rhysand's voice purrs out, soft as silk. When you place your hand in his, he brings it to his lips and presses a polite kiss to the back of your hand.

"Any friend of Azriel's is a friend of mine."

You can feel your own heart thundering in your chest. Azriel hovers behind you, his presence soothing in itself. You can't see it but his wings are outstretched towards you, cocooning around you ever so slightly. A shadow hovers behind your shoulder, just out of sight.

"I— the pleasure is mine, my Highlord." You manage to make yourself speak.

You almost wish you hadn't when your words inspire a burst of laughter from one of the others behind Rhysand, the other Illyrian. He's tall, his hair dark but longer than your mate's own.

As your hand is dropped, Rhysand turns to scowl at the Male laughing, and you only grow further perplexed when he gives a whack against the other's shoulder. They begin to squabble for a moment — and you don't even hear Azriel move until he's speaking, his lips right by your ear.

"You'll have to forgive Cassian." His voice is low, raspy in a way that sends a zing down your spine. You shiver lightly. "He can be well-mannered at the best of times. But I promise he isn't laughing at you."

The two Males seem to tune back into Azriel's words, even though they had been whispered for you specifically.

"It's true!" The Illyrian, Cassian you now know, pipes up. He brandishes a devilishly handsome grin at you, with his hands held up in defense. "I apologise. It just still makes me laugh to see someone address this one so formally."

You blink. "But... he is the Highlord."

Azriel speaks again, bent over still to talk in your ear, but much less of a whisper this time. "Rhys is our Highlord but he does not bother with such formalities."

"And," Cassian interjects, lugging a punch into Rhy's shoulder, much like the other had done to him not a moment before. "Before he was the o'mighty Highlord, he was our friend."

Cassian says the word o'mighty with such an air of sarcasm that you can't help but glance at Rhys, sure he wouldn't take such disrespect. But around you, there are only easy grins.

"Might we move to somewhere more comfortable than the doorway," Azriel speaks up from behind you, his voice dry. "Unless that is, you're all hoping to do one-on-one greetings with her?"

There it is, the dry sense of humour you've come to adore. The group before you seems to grumble, as if they were quite keen on the one-on-one meetings but begin to move through the house.

One of the group dips back to walk beside you and you do your best not to repeat your past mistakes, even as your eyes widen almost comically. Azriel chuckles silently to himself, feeling your polite astonishment down the bond.

"It's so great to finally meet you.” Feyre, your Highlady greets you, her pretty face rife with glee. She seems genuinely very happy to make your acquaintance. "Azriel has told me all about you."

You stumble in surprise, your eyes casting back to Azriel behind the pair of you. His eyes are fixed on Feyre, narrowed at her blatant betrayal, his shadows swirling around him. She sticks her tongue out at him playfully and you smother a laugh.

When his eyes shift over to you, you're positively delighted at how his cheeks have turned the lightest shade of ruby.

"Feyre is very persuasive when she wants to be." He murmurs, almost grumbling. You turn back to the Highlady and she grins at you, devious and captivating all at once.

It’s a whirlwind once you reach one of the many living rooms, each member of Azriel’s family all very eager to shake your hand.

Cassian grips it firm, his grin still on the side of wicked as he tells you he’s been waiting years to find the woman who could contain Azriel. Nesta, his mate as you find out, is a fierce kind of pretty with a grip as strong as Cassian’s. She tells you welcome to the family with the smile of a shark.

Morrigon is next, breathtakingly gorgeous, and every bit as charismatic as Azriel had described. You don't catch the glimpse between Mor and Cassian, not the beat of relief they both feel at your arrival in their lives— in Azriel's life.

It's swallowed up in her words, going a mile a minute. She jumps about, like popcorn in a pan, overly keen to finally speak to the one whom the Mother deemed worthy of Azriel’s heart. Where are you from? What do you do? How did you meet?

“Mor,” Azriel warns, after her twelfth consecutive question about your life. He hasn’t moved from his protective position behind you, close enough you can feel the heat of his body. His wings had brushed your shoulder just once.

“Yeah, Mor,” Rhys jeers. He nudges his cousin in the side playfully and Cassian snickers behind the group. “Give the girl some time to breathe.”

Even with all of Azriel's masterclass on who you would be meeting, it's still terribly overwhelming just trying to keep track of them all. They're each such strong spirits, each with seemingly a thousand battles in their past and far more years with Azriel.

On top of this is the fact you met both your Highlord and Highlady so casually in one single afternoon. It's difficult to not be daunted by the group that is so clearly intertwined with each other on a deeper level altogether— bonded by devastation and choosing each other through love.

Try as you might, you can feel the seed of doubt, of insecurity, make a home between your ribs.

You clamp down the shields you've spent the last few weeks learning, building the wall up and holding it tight. It's silly to feel dismayed because these Fae, these friends, know your mate better than you do.

Azriel had told you he had been waiting for you for five hundred years. For the first time since you've met him, you wonder if he was ever disappointed.

And then— then, you see it.

Azriel's hand on Cassian's arm. Then the half embrace they share, a hand on each other's neck as Cassian grins, wild and fierce, and presses his forehead against Azriel's own; brothers, sharing a moment of euphoria at the other finding his long-deserved happiness.

You should be soaking in the smile Azriel hides from you too often, showing his teeth and crinkling his eyes. But instead, you can't see past it, can't stop the loop in your own mind as it prints a fact over and over and over.

It isn't an Azriel thing; it's a you thing.

He doesn't touch you.

The mental walls in your mind feel paper-thin as a fresh kind of agony ripples through your chest. The soft rejection of a mate stings, a papercut on your very heart. You can feel it warble through you and know, terribly, the exact moment that Azriel feels it too.

His head whips around, his dark shadows that surround him suddenly spinning and flitting faster than before— a couple dive across the room to you.

You stand up and the chair scrapes noisily beneath you.

"I—" You say before you realise you haven't planned an exit or an excuse in the slightest. Azriel's gaze burns into you. You turn to Feyre instead, who had been talking across from you when you rudely stood up.

"I'm so sorry, I just—" Some excuse, any excuse! "I think I— left the stove on."

It's a lie. A complete utter lie that fools no one in the room as you retreat from it hastily. None of them try to stop you though, which you're thankful for. Each of them watches, every expression slightly concerned as you hurry out of the room, your feet walking backward rapidly until you bump into the door frame.

You pass through it with your eyes on the floor, knowing that all of the eyes are on you. You know the ones you can feel searing into your soul are Azriel's.

You leave the River House. You walk along the Sidra, your steps hurried and your chin tucked low. It hurts. It hurts the feeling inside you. A tear streaks down your cheek, unbidden, and collects on your jaw. You wipe it away meanly.

The sight of your apartment door is an overwhelming comfort, one that has you sighing aloud as you rush up to it, your fingers already digging around in your pockets for your key.

And like always, you never hear him coming.

"What happened?" Azriel asks, his voice almost pained.

You give a little yelp of surprise and whip around, remembering half a second later that there's still evidence on your face of your tears. Azriel grows characteristically still, his hazel eyes fixed on yours as you sniffle for a moment, aggravation beginning to creep in.

He could feel everything from you and you got... what? Whatever he deemed fit to offer? How is that fair?

His usually wispy shadows are inkier than usual, almost tornado-ing around his shoulders. They keep leaping out towards you before being caught in an invisible net, a barrier between you and them.

Even as Azriel remains motionless, his eyes are the opposite—they jump around, searching, hunting, begging to find the cause of your pain. Had it been one of his friends?

"Please," He tries his words again.

His heart throbs painfully when you finally find your key and turn your back on him without a word, unlocking your door and pressing your way inside. He follows quickly, wings tucked in tight, unable to keep his shadows at his side this time. They whiz to you, circling your ankles protectively.

"Please," Azriel says, an anguished growl to his words. "What hurt you? I will— my friends, if they said something— if it was someone, I hunt them down and make it right for you."

You inhale sharply and when you speak, your tone is cold in a way you have never used before with Azriel. You say the words without thinking.

"It would be impossible to hunt yourself, Azriel."

Regret howls through you like a hurricane the moment you say the words. You don't mean to be mean, jealous, or whatever unseemly emotion you can't stop from sprouting in your chest, growing in size, tangling into your heartstrings like twisted gnarled vines. It hurts.

You turn back to him, mouth open. No words come out.

Hurt is slashed across his face, his eyebrows furrowed tightly, his shadows tucked in tight. It's as though he's blended into the very air, the wispy edge of him threatening to retreat into his own shadows.

All his emotions on display just for a moment, before they're schooled away. Tucked away, hidden, not for you to see.

Inside, your hurricane howls again, this time in pain.

You can tell he feels it, even as you mentally gather your bricks. It isn't fair. How can he have every bit of you and you get what he pleases to return?

You want to know him completely, want to see every part of his rugged, weathered soul, and love him anyway. It's an untold type of agony to have him deny you.

"My love," His feet finally move, his wings almost dragging on the floor as he steps forward, slowly, as though he was afraid he might spook you.

"Tell me how to fix this pain." He pleads. His gloved hands are held out, palms up and suddenly, he looks nothing like a warrior. Just a Male, afraid of losing what is most dear to him. You shake your head, like a child, and keep building your brick wall.

"Please don’t keep this from me," He takes another step forward, his shadows sent awry as they dart across to you. You can feel them on your calves, on your arms, feel the tiny kisses they leave. Azriel speaks again, voice low. "My love, I can feel your pain.”

You can't help how you screw your eyes closed, the ache in your chest unbearable— made worse when you know he can feel it too.

"That is my problem." You utter the words quietly, eyes still clenched shut, knowing he can hear you. He takes another step, close enough now that you can feel the heat of his enormous frame, his wings bracketing around you. "I cannot hide anything from you."

Azriel makes a noise, a punched-out wounded sound that reverberates down the bond.

"My love," He murmurs for the third time. Down the bond, you can feel his sweet love, his golden gentle feelings travelling along to assure you. "I would not wish for you to hide anything from me."

“But you hide everything from me." You whine, eyes finally crinkling open. Azriel stares down at you, his eyes softer than they've ever been. You can see the hurt swimming in them, the hurt you've caused. Still, you speak.

"You hide your emotions. You hide your touch, yet you give it willingly to your friends." You share each ugly thought with him, whispered as you gaze into his face to search for your answers.

Lifting your hands, you curl your fingers around his wrists tentatively. Azriel swallows heavily, his eyes dancing down to where you're touching him. You slide your hands forward, dragging the pads of your fingers over his pulse, along his palm, til your hands are holding his gloved ones.

"Is there some test I don't know about?" You ask, your focus on your intertwined hands. "Is there— do I have to earn this?"

"No," Azriel chokes out the word suddenly. You look up at him. He clears his throat and you feel his hands grip yours back, surer and stronger than you had. "No, I'm sorry. There is no test, nothing to prove you deserving of this. I just..."

His words trail off and you watch as he closes his eyes, inhaling deeply, as if gathering his courage. His hands slide from yours, pulled backward and you nearly feel the urge to cry once more— before you realise he's removing his gloves.

The skin of them is warped, you realise acutely with horror. The skin of his hands is swirled and mottled, an injury long healed but scarred for eternity. Azriel is watching your face closely, holding his hands close to his chest as though he was prepared to hide them away at the first flicker of fear.

You're grateful for the link between and all your shoddy attempts at blocking him out. Your love and your unwavering devotion drifts along the bond.

Azriel shudders, his wings giving the tiniest shiver. Slowly, gently, he reaches out towards you. You feel his hands, the unruly scarred feel of his skin sliding along your jaw to hold it tenderly. He has never held you like this before.

He cradles your face gently — like his hands have never held weapons of war, like they aren't twisted and marred with a memory he can't forget, like they're worthy of holding something so precious.

Azriel holds you as if you're holy — and he's come to kneel at your altar.

"I was afraid of what you would think." He admits. His voice is hoarse, gravelly as he fights off the lump in his throat. "I— on the first day we met, I felt your fear along the bond and—"

"It was not of you." You interrupt him, your hands jumping up to cover his own where they hold you. Azriel inhales sharply, eyes darting to watch.

But you pay him no heed, the palm of your hand covering his like a lover would. You let your thumb soothe up at down the ridges of his skin. You let your love ripple along the bond.

"It was not fear of you, Azriel." You repeat, your voice soft. His eyes are still fixed on your joined hands. His wings have begun to pick up, no longer drooping behind his back— you're not sure if he even notices.

"It was fear for how strongly I already felt for you." You lean into his hand and Azriel lets you, lets the length of your nose nuzzle into the touch of his hands — something no one in all his years of living had ever done before.

"It was fear that you already could ruin me," The words are murmured. "And that I would let you."

You whisper his name to pull his wide-eyed gaze from where his hands touch you and his hazel eyes burn into yours. Every whitened scar on his skin, every eyelash, the adorable pinch between his eyebrows; you drink it all in and smile at him. Azriel, your mate.

"Azriel, I chose this despite that fear. I choose you.”

Azriel quivers at the words, at your unflinching tone and suddenly the world seems such a perfect place, time moving around you, untouching, with such a perfect grace.

“I choose you too,” He murmurs, an emotion so strong a fire of possessiveness streaks down the bond. This time, you can feel his wall melt away, allowing you access to all he feels — his mountain of fear and his melting relief.

“Forgive me—” He begins and you laugh without meaning to, cutting him off.

“Stop,” you say, the word light and as pretty as your grin. “We keep doing this to ourselves, tying ourselves in knots over and over.”

Azriel laughs, his lips twitching into a smile as he allows himself to stroke his thumb lovingly over your cheek. The way you melt beneath it, your lashes fluttering and heart burning so brightly he can feel it in his own chest too— Azriel knows this longing will long outlive his body.

“We do,” He agrees. He dips his head a little lower, probably the only apology you’ll let him have, and inhales shakily. His hands shift across your face, down to hold your chin, his fingers pressed together tightly to hide the way they quiver.

“Then let me apologise in another way,” He murmurs, his voice closer to playful. “In a way I’ve been selfishly depriving you of.”

And when he kisses you, it’s with a reverence that softens all your corners.

His lips are plush and sweet, and with the way he dedicates himself to your bottom lip, you can’t help how you sigh into his mouth. He finds home in the curve of your mouth.

It’s delirious the way he kisses once, twice, three times like he’s hungry for something found only in your lips.

Your hands stagger forward, leaving his own to wind over around his neck. Your fingers curl up, raking through the hair on the nape of his neck — feeling the shiver that travels up his spine, his wings giving a little flare out.

He kisses you breathless, one hand abandoning your jaw to wrap snugly around your waist, bringing you closer to him.

When he pulls back, something within you glows molten gold at the panting that leaves his lips. He’s gazing at you, his hazel eyes alight in a way you haven’t quite seen before. His wings shift behind his shoulders, curling forward to wrap the two of you together, not quite touching.

Your heart thrills. You grin, your lips still just an inch apart as Azriel nudges forward, his own twitching in that way when he fights his smile. His lips brush yours, his smile barely held back.

“Have you forgiven me yet?” He says, sweet and low, allowing the smile to finally pull his pretty mouth up at the corners.

“Or should I make it up to you a little more?”

He kisses the corner of your mouth, chaste and gentle.

“Mmm,” your eyes are bright as they peer up at him, full of playful mirth and adoring affection. “You're forgiven but... I think you should make it up to me, just a little more.”

Azriel willingly obliges, his smile as sweet as the moonlight.

—

some people i thought might want to be tagged :)

@strangerstilinski @astoriaviviane @lana08 @florence-end @lportes-22 @torrick17 @florencemtrash @sidthedollface2 @seafrost-fangirl @goldenmagnolias @jeweline16 @meshellexplosionmurder @michellexgriffey @susiekern @toobsessedsstuff @fxckmiup @littlebookbengal @elenapril0502 @glitterypirateduck @hnyclover @technoelfie @itsapunklife @coffeecares

[soularsss]

Drawing Likeness: with Tem!

okaay since a few people actually showed interest in me sharing a bit of what I've been doing to figure out how to really capture likeness, specifically Temuera Morrison, I figured id do my best to write it out

I am also going to entice you with some of my recent clone art! (oooh some of it is unreleaaasedd)

I am putting the whole thing under the cut because I have a feeling its going to be long:

Read more!!!

a couple disclaimers before we start

-This is not some definite post about how everyone should be drawing clones, nor is it in any way claiming that this is the right way. This is just my musings as I stare at a mans face for way too long and try to replicate it

-I am inexperienced. As kind as you all are to me, drawing real people is relatively new to me, capturing a persons identity through their features is difficult for anybody, and I am no different. I have watched many a video on likeness and had my share of classes, but If im being honest, i rarely put it into practice successfully. So there'll probably be errors in this post or things i will come back to in a few months and wish I had said/done differently

ANYWAYs you guys get my vibe im just here to ramble and today we are rambling about mr copy paste. I am doing this for Law, my clone boy, because I plan on delving further into oc fanart and I want to put effort into representing him correctly!

SO LETS BEGIN

Before even deciding what specific pose of a person I want to draw, I tend to grab a bunch of references and compile them like so

(all of these can be found on my pinterest)

Why so many? Well, we are about to delve into facial features, so when we are dealing with photos we have to take into account that there are an abundance of circumstances that will influence how a persons face will appear, some of these include:

focal length: All of these are taken on different devices, and focal length can play a big part in distorting faces

age will play a part, your face changes a bunch throughout your life!

lighting, while not as major, can muddy the waters and make it difficult to interpret facial planes and features

SO, to make sure we get a proper grasp of what's really going on, I like to make sure we have lots of options to compare and contrast with.

Next up! What I like to do is block out the main facial features with colour on different layers, the features I block out usually are the general face shape, eyebrows, eyes, nose and lips. But what you are looking for is the defining features of a person, so that could include other things! Maybe a scar, or some particularly prominent cheekbones.

I dont have any rhyme or reason when it comes to picking my colours, all that matters is you can see all the shapes clearly.

Now I may be biased, because Ive been staring at these for 4 hours, but notice how it still looks like Tem? :D

Anyways, now we can break these parts down, and you'll see what I mean about compare and contrast:

We'll start with isolating the facial shape, putting all these next to eachother you'll notice they arent exactly the same (partly because of my shoddy work) But the distinguishing features run through each shape! Namely the very soft rectangular shape I sketched out in the bottom right there. Along with his soft, wide jaw structure.

I did the same for the rest of his features!

You'll notice I highlight the prominent shapes and ratios,

When drawing anything, it is important to start from the very base shapes and build up.

When drawing something you want to look like someone, those shapes relative to other shapes is what makes it look like them.

I didnt use the same technique with his eyes and lips, but I wrote out some helpful info for them! More importantly for his eyes.

When drawing eyes, I find the most important part is where exactly I draw the creases, (along with the overall shape of the eye itself) it is important to understand where those will present themselves with hooded eyes.

NOW, with an understanding of his facial features in place, lets take a detour to colours:

before I start, a couple things to note:

-Temuera morrison versus the clone troopers in the animated shows:

While I love the animated shows they don't exactly stay close to their source material. Im going to link here to an excellent post discussing whitewashing specifically in relation to the clones.

Temuera is Māori, of Te Arawa (Ngāti Whakaue) and Tainui (Ngāti Maniapoto, Ngāti Rarua) whakapapa, and also has Scottish and Irish ancestry.

The Māori people are the indigenous Polynesian people of mainland New Zealand (Aotearoa). Māori originated with settlers from East Polynesia. Māori people often vary in skin tone, Skin colour doesn't determine ethnicity. There's often a correlation but it's not a requirement.

But that is a tangent! What we are aiming for is to stay true to Temuera.

Bringing back my reference photos from before, Ive colour picked a buncha values and theyre all over the place. Why doesnt this work?

Similarly to earlier, you have to take into account the photos themselves. Many things like lighting, colour grading (when it comes to filmography) and makeup, can alter how a skin colour presents in photo.

You can attempt to get true to life by swatching from certain places on the face. Here I've tried to pick some photos with good lighting, and I've also tried to avoid overly lit/shaded areas.

Tem has a very warm, tan skin tone, Instead of colour picking I tend to try and replicate it myself, but I do often bring in references to make sure Im staying true to the source!

a brief intermission to talk about colour theory, something I myself struggle with alot. Often, when putting in flat colours without a background, I will forget to make sure the colours i intend to use will work with the skin tone i have picked! (something that is apparent in older works of mine, not just in relation to clones, but in general, the colours I end up with stray largely from their original sources and it is something I am doing my best to keep in mind and improve in! Although I don't think i am nearly experienced enough in the topic to say I have succeeded yet lol.)

anyways back to Tem :))

Now we can put all of that into practice! Things to keep in mind when drawing out a piece next to a reference like this:

the distance between the eyebrows? how far down his face does his nose go? Basically just, in relation to eachother, where do all those shapes we found earlier, sit?

The screenshot above is from before I did it myself, but instead of directly tracing from the reference, a handy trick I use it to complete your sketch first, and then overlay a traced version to see where your inconsistencies are! Alternatively, you could move your sketch over the image, but I didnt do it that way so!! uh!! im sure it works exactly the same!!!!

When it comes to a final illustration, or any sketch that isnt a direct study, of course you can push and pull and stylise! You'll see below that I'm not exactly 1:1 to my reference photo either.

The important thing with stylisation, or at least my own personal understanding of stylisation is that you need to thoroughly understand the thing you are stylizing! "You need to know the rules to break them" and all that. While shapes, lines and rendering can change, when it comes to drawing someone, and making it look like them, you have to make sure to keep their core features true to source. Caricature can capture a persons vibe whilst drastically exaggerating features, but it will only look like them if you KEEP THOSE FEATURES!!!! SHAPES!!! AHHH!!

But that is just my perspective on the discussion of style versus realism, please dont take is as Law, I dont know what Im on about half the time!!

anyways, after fixing your sketch, add local colours!

I rexified him because why tf not! But this is where you can go crazy with that clone personalization!

And then here is a very very barely rendered version (if you guys want me to explain how i RENDER that would need to be a completely different post, and I havent had anyone ask about it yet so who knows! maybe one day) But I digress, hopefully you learnt something new through my ramblings! It has certainly helped me organize my thoughts and I have also found some areas I would like to focus more on in the future to improve my own art!

TLDR: In order to understand an object, be it a face or a building or literally anything, you have to break it down to its simplest forms, understanding LARGER shapes will help you immensely in the long run

If you guys like this sorta content do let me know! I'd be down to do similar things for armor/anything really, I am very anti gatekeep so really anything at all you want to know! Send me an ask :))

also if you see a spelling mistake.. i don’t know how that got there

[roosterforme]

Aim for the Sky Part 12 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: You and Bradley embark on the babymoon of your dreams where a warm beach and hot sauce await. When you not only indulge his current fantasy but allow him to take it to the next level, he's more excited than ever for the future.

Warnings: Fluff, smut, lactation kink, cockwarming, slight exhibitionism

Length: 4800 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Aim for the Sky masterlist. This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order.

"I wish you could fly us there in your Super Hornet. We would save so much time."

Bradley kissed the top of your head as you wrapped your hands around his bicep and snuggled against him. "Sweetheart, I got us first class tickets for a reason," he murmured. "I'm getting sick of sitting in an uncomfortable cockpit seat every day."

"I thought you bought first class seats because you love me and Rosie and wanted us to be comfortable."

You were looking up at him with your chin propped on his arm and a smirk on your face. "Well, yeah. That, too," he promised, and you laughed. "But I'm getting old, and the seats are uncomfortable."

"You're not old, Roo," you told him with an eye roll. "You're just right."

Bradley relaxed back in his aisle seat as you stretched up to kiss the gray hairs that were starting to show along his temple. He was tired, but he knew you were as well. It had been a long week at work for both of you, and now the commercial airplane was starting to pull away from the gate. In approximately five hours, it would touch down in Loreto, Mexico for five days in the sun.

A bit of a January cold snap had taken over San Diego, and everyone at work seemed a little jealous about the babymoon location. But truthfully, Bradley had really only chosen it with you in mind. The luxury resort was right on a beautiful beach, and there was a chef who taught cooking classes every day. Bradley could already picture you happily sunbathing before attending the hot sauce demonstration. He was just along for the ride, happy to go anywhere that you and Rosie wanted to.

You kissed his ear and whispered, "As soon as we get to the hotel, I need you."

Bradley groaned in response and then laughed. "I literally just fucked you three hours ago."

"That was three hours ago."

"How do you make it through a day at work right now? Please explain that to me."

"Very carefully," you told him.

Your hormones were all over the place, and Bradley had taken to checking your blood pressure before and after any sort of sexual activities. He knew he was probably going overboard, but you had mild preeclampsia, and he was feeling more protective of you than ever before in spite of your protests that you and the baby were fine.

"I'll make a deal with you," he murmured as the plane took off. "How about you order a meal from the flight attendant while I take a nap, and then when we're alone, we can do whatever you want."

Your eyes lit up, and Bradley was already half asleep a few minutes later when he heard you ordering a wrap and a fruit bowl.

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

The resemblance of the hotel in Loreto to the Four Seasons in Waikiki was uncanny, and you were trying to keep your cool while Bradley chatted with the woman at the concierge desk. You were having honeymoon flashbacks, and it was making you dangerously horny as you laced your fingers with his and gave him a little tug.

"Roo," you whispered, pressing your nose to his bicep and inhaling deeply. You knew that he knew what you needed, but he just kept on laughing at everything the other woman said. Now he was asking her questions. Another few minutes of this, and you were going to lose it. 

You were about to tell him that social hour was over, but she started laughing at something. As soon as he mentioned that you were pregnant, she looked at you instead of Bradley and started making a fuss over your belly. Next thing you knew, you got a free room upgrade. 

"Why do you think I talk to everyone like I do?" Bradley asked, pulling you into his arms when you were finally alone with him in your hotel room which overlooked the beach and had a private plunge pool. "You never know when they might decide to give you an upgraded room."

Now he was the one following you around, trying to undress you, while you checked out the stunning accommodations in awe. "Good job, Daddy," you muttered. "You got us a private pool. And we can sit out on the patio and watch the sun rise tomorrow. Oh! And we can order room service for breakfast!"

You were about to step outside and see how warm the pool was when Bradley grabbed you from behind by your hips. "Get back in here. You can't just whine for my cock for an entire flight and then act like a brat in the lobby and expect me not to be hard as a rock by the time we get to the room."

It was impossible to contain your smile as his hands found their way up inside your shirt. And that's when you felt just how hard he was. "I wanted to check out the pool," you whined, knowing you'd get an even bigger reaction out of him.

"And you will," he promised, turning you around and pulling your shirt over your head. "Just as soon as I fuck you and check your blood pressure."

"Bradley, did you seriously bring the blood pressure cuff with us?" you asked as he unhooked your bra.

"Yeah," he grunted. "Of course I did. I promised Dr. Morris we'd keep a close eye on it." Then he swiped his thumb along your nipple, and your entire body reacted to him as he stared longingly at your chest and said, "Good god, your tits are exquisite."

"My bras don't really fit anymore," you whispered as he dropped yours to the floor.

He moaned your name. "I did happen to notice that." Your breasts were in his big hands, and he gave you a hard squeeze, making your head tipped back. Your nipples felt a little sore, but his calloused fingers gave you an undeniably delightful sensation when he touched you. "Jesus, Baby Girl. They are fucking huge. And so warm." Your husband had been fixating on your chest throughout your entire pregnancy, but right now, his pupils were wide, and his voice was impossibly raspy as he gently pinched you. 

"Roo," you gasped, unable to process the pleasure with a bit of pain except to grab him closer. "Do it again."

"Fuck." He guided you so you were sitting on the edge of the bed, and you watched him unbutton his shirt. He tossed it aside and pulled his undershirt off as well, and you placed a kiss to his abs before unzipping his jeans. Once he was undressed, you tried to suck his cock, but all you were able to do was get one good lick in before he took a step away from you.

"Please?" you whined, but he was shaking his head.

"I'll come in two minutes if you start doing that," he rasped. "And I want to spend some quality time with your tits first."

"Oh," you said with a smile, smashing your breasts gently together. "Like this? A titty fuck?"

You watched him touch himself as his eyes were glued to what you were doing with your hands, but he shook his head again. "No," he whispered, licking his lips. "I want my mouth on you."

As you leaned back on the bed and started to pull your leggings and underwear down, you watched his cheeks grow a deeper shade of pink as your breasts bounced. "Roo," you whispered. "You can put your mouth anywhere you want." But his gaze never wavered as he palmed his cock and climbed into bed with you. Neither suitcase was unpacked. You hadn't even finished exploring the room. But your husband was pulling your nipple between his lips, and you knew you were in this for the long haul.

He released you with a pop as you dragged your fingers through his hair, and he murmured, "You're fucking perfect." Then he kissed your round belly and said, "And so are you." Then he tossed all of the throw pillows to the floor and sat with his back against the headboard and patted his thigh. "Come here?"

You crawled up the bed to get to him, and he groaned as he watched you, his cock jumping with excitement. He wanted full access to your boobs; you knew that much. But you desperately needed to feel him. When you straddled his waist, his hands were on your chest, but when you eased yourself down around his length, his eyes went wide. "Let me just keep you warm while you take your time," you told him with a smile.

The sensation of feeling so completely full was incredible, and Bradley kissed along your tender breasts as he let his hands rest on your bump. "God damn it," he panted. "Your nipples are fucking delicious." He lapped at the underside of one breast before trailing his nose along one furled peak and then the other. When you moaned and clenched around him, his hands crept back to your hips, pulling you down harder until you gasped. But his mouth stayed on your chest.

He was obsessed. It was like he couldn't help himself. And he seemed to be getting worse, which you actually kind of loved, if you were being honest. Your weird, pregnant body seemed to just make him hornier, but especially your breasts. As he nipped hungrily at your chest, you decided to test a theory that had formed in your mind. "If you love them this much now, what are you going to do when I'm actually lactating?"

Bradley met your gaze, cheeks flushed and eyes wide. "Fuck," he whimpered. His Adam's apple bobbled as he swallowed hard, and he thrust slowly up into you.

You kissed his forehead and whispered, "You've been going wild for months, Roo."

Your husband looked embarrassed as he nodded and pressed his nose to the valley between your breasts. His mustache prickled your skin as he said, "I don't know why. I just can't get enough. They feel... warmer. And you smell insanely good. And I just can't stop thinking about how you look and taste right now."

You took his face in your hands as you wiggled your hips, and you were rewarded with the needy sound of his grunting. "You're blushing so much, Bradley. But you don't need to be embarrassed. I don't think I'll ever get over how much you like my body this way."

"It's perfect. You're always perfect. I love you."

You nodded and kissed his forehead again as he ran his fingers along both of your nipples. "I love you, too. But I want an answer, so I'm going to ask you one more time... If you love them this much now, what are you going to do when I'm actually lactating? Leaking breast milk and feeding the baby?"

Your husband's brown eyes looked like melted chocolate as he took a few deep breaths. His brow was furrowed, and his voice was deep and needy as he asked, "What will you let me do?"

Your eyes went wide as you gasped, and you ran your thumb across the scars on his pink cheek while he squeezed at your tits, his expression timid and skittish. You weren't used to seeing him like this, and you knew you were completely in control here. You were turned on beyond reason as you took a deep breath and asked, "Would you like it if I let you taste me when I'm lactating?"

He didn't hesitate, voice low as he said, "Fuck. Yes."

You tipped your head back for a beat while he kissed your nipples. "And would you like to rub your cock all over them while they leak, Roo? Titty fuck me until I'm an absolute mess?"

He growled your name, and then in an instant, you were on your back in the middle of the massive bed. He was fucking you hard, your breasts bouncing as he watched them before burying his face against your neck. His hips were relentless, pounding into you as he muttered, "I want to taste what you'll feed to the baby."

"Oh, god!" you moaned, voice quivering from how hard he was fucking you.

"I want to lick you everywhere, but especially all over your gorgeous tits, Sweetheart. I keep thinking about how you'll taste when you have milk, and it's driving me crazy."

"Bradley," you whined, tugging on his hair as his mouth found your breasts. "I'll let you do anything you want."

He withdrew his cock and knelt above you, one hand gently caressing your belly as he jerked off onto your breasts and your necklace charms. His cheeks were still pink, but he was looking at you with needy certainty now. There was nothing to worry about. You knew what he wanted, and he seemed pleased that he didn't have to put the words together himself.

He leaned down and kissed your lips, running one finger through his cum and then feeding it to you. "If you'll let me, then I'll do it all."

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

Bradley thought perhaps he should be embarrassed. He knew his thoughts were a little depraved as of late. Your breasts were his achilles heel at the moment, and he already knew he wouldn't be able to contain himself once you actually started leaking breast milk. He liked to imagine it. Liked to think about sucking on your swollen tits. He even enjoyed the mental image of running the tip of his cock along your leaking nipples before asking you to give him head.

But you just indulged him in his fantasies. You got him to admit what he wanted, and you told him he could have it all. Then you licked up some of his cum as he fed it to you before pulling him into the shower and holding a completely normal conversation with him while you lovingly washed his hair. Alright. So you were definitely more than okay with how badly he wanted to lick up after your breasts as soon as they started leaking.

"I'm so in love with you," he interjected as both of you toweled off. You just smiled and kissed him before flouncing back into the bedroom with your hand on your belly. Then he took your blood pressure, making sure it was completely normal, while you looked at the room service dinner menu.

"Bradley!" you almost screamed, and he dropped the blood pressure cuff on his foot. "They serve twenty different kinds of hot sauce!"

"Why do you think I brought you to this specific resort?" he asked, picking up the cuff and putting it away safely while you read off all of the different kinds of hot peppers in the sauce varieties. "I signed you up for a private hot sauce making lesson with one of the chefs tomorrow."

"You did?" you gushed, looking up at him like he just told you he bought you a hot pepper farm of your own. "That's the sweetest thing I've ever heard."

"I thought you and Rosie would have a good time trying some specialty samples and making one of your own," he said with a shrug before running his hand along your belly.

"Well, you're officially the best husband ever." You handed him the menu and said, "Rosie and I are starving. I want the tacos, the taquitos, and the catch of the day, but I'm too embarrassed to call it in myself."

"Got it. Why don't you go relax on the patio, and I'll meet you out there?"

He watched you though the open French doors, admiring the perfect curve of your cheek and your round belly in the fading sunlight as he ordered an absurd amount of food along with two virgin margaritas. He asked them to send a few of the hot sauces for you to try, and then when he ended the call, he went rushing outside to be with you.

Just as you finally got cozy on his lap, the plethora of food arrived, and Bradley groaned as he stood to let them bring it in. As soon as you had the taco platter in front of you, your eyes lit up, and you started trying all of the sauces. Once he took a sip of both margaritas and confirmed there was no tequila involved, he handed one to you and took a seat at the patio table.

You laughed and asked, "What do you want me to do with this?"

"There's no alcohol. I got two in case you want both." He bit into his own meal which tasted even better than he anticipated, and the sound of the Gulf of California just beyond the short stretch of beach left him feeling very relaxed. "Or maybe the Nugget wants her own."

You took a sip and grinned. "Well, you've thought of everything. What else do you have planned for this long weekend?"

"You'll find out," he promised. 

That first night, you fell asleep curled up at his side with a full belly and your hand resting on his chest. He'd left the Nugget notebook at home, and truthfully he didn't have much on his mind other than the fact that anything involving your tits was apparently fair game for him, so he decided to just talk to his daughter quietly instead of jotting anything down.

"Hey, Rose the Nugget," he whispered, feeling her thump as soon as he let his hand rest on the side of your bump. "It's Daddy." He smiled as she squirmed a bit, and honestly he didn't know how you were ever able to get any sleep when she was like this. "I love you. I can't wait to meet you in about eight weeks. Don't give your mom too hard a time, okay? No blood pressure spikes or anything like that. You just take it easy in there while I take care of her out here."

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

"Let's start with one habanero and see how you like the spice level before we add too much."

You nodded at Chef Santiago and did your best to mimic him cutting up the hot pepper. You were in the kitchen wearing latex gloves, a hair net and an apron over the adorable dress you bought. If you had known what Bradley had planned, you'd have packed something other than a pile of cute outfits and lingerie for the babymoon.

Not that your husband was complaining. His cock was in you just moments after you woke this morning. And when you got dressed earlier, he made a comment about how good your breasts looked and threatened to take you back to bed. If you didn't have plans with a hot sauce professional for the afternoon, you'd have let him.

"That looks perfect," Chef Santiago told you, and you moved on to the next step, trying to memorize everything you were learning. There were so many tiny nuances that would apparently raise or lower the spice level of a hot sauce, and you never knew it. 

You could already imagine turning your own kitchen at home into a workshop while you make a signature hot sauce for Christmas presents at the end of the year. Bradley would be holding Rose to let her watch, telling her about how hot the peppers were and then probably singing a Red Hot Chili Peppers song to make her giggle. You'd be in your apron, dancing around to their nonsense.

"Now we're ready to blend." You looked up at Chef Santiago as he pulled you from your beautiful daydream. He was plugging in a blender, and you nodded in agreement. 

"Yes. Time to blend it."

When you were finished, you left the kitchen with two bottles of the most delicious hot sauce you could imagine. Even the orange-red color was pretty, and you went right out to the beach instead of back to the hotel room. Bradley had supposedly gone kayaking while you were creating your masterpiece, but when you found him on a lounge chair between the pool and the sand, he was laying on his stomach, sound asleep and snoring.

"Roo," you whispered, running your fingers along his glistening, sweaty bicep. His mustache twitched, but that was it. "Bradley," you said a little louder, tracing a scar on his cheek. Even when you poked his neck and raked your fingers through his hair, he just kept snoring. "Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw."

With a groan, he cracked his eyes open against the afternoon sunlight. "Are you talking to me or yourself?" he asked, carefully rolling onto his back.

"You!" He liked to tease that you both had the same name at work, even though your last name was hyphenated. "You're going to get sunburned."

"Nah, I sprayed myself before kayaking," he insisted, reaching for your belly. "Did my girls have fun?"

"Absolutely," you replied, shaking your hot sauces as he pulled you down onto the chair next to him. "How was kayaking?"

He flexed as he lounged back on the chair. "It was a decent upper body workout. You gonna let me try the hot sauce?"

Now you were distracted. "Do that again," you whispered with a smile, and this time when he flexed, he tightened up his abs too. "Let's go back to the room for a quickie and some more sunblock, and I'll let you taste my hot sauce."

"That sounds like a euphemism," he murmured, but he was already standing up. "I'm in."

When you got back to the room, he wasn't quick at all. He was languid and methodical, skin warm from baking in the sun. His hair smelled like sweat and salt water, and his voice was deep as he made so many promises to you.

"I can't wait for Rose to get here. I love her so much already. I'm gonna take care of both of you forever."

True to form, his mouth was all over your chest, and he made sure you came before he indulged himself in some deep thrusts, filling you up as he called out your name against your neck. Two minutes after he cleaned you up, you already wanted more, but he looked tired, and he definitely got more sun than he thought he did.

"Come here," you coaxed, leading him out to the patio where you took a few minutes to coat him up with sunblock, kissing him each time you had to squeeze some more out of the tube.

"Thanks, Baby Girl," he murmured.

"This is purely selfish," you told him, licking his ear before putting a dab of sunblock there. "If you get a bad burn, you'll be out of commission, and you know how horny I am right now."

When you started to walk away, he reached for the hem of your dress and grabbed your thigh. You met his gaze once again, and the needy look there made you swallow hard. "Why don't you put on your red bikini from our honeymoon? We can go down to the water for a bit."

You knew he really wanted to see you wearing it with a big belly, but you felt a bit self conscious. The thing was skimpy enough before you were pregnant. But when he started stroking your tattoo through your dress, you whispered, "Let me get changed."

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

Bradley had his arm casually slung over your shoulders as the two of you walked along the beach in the early evening sun. It was a little less crowded now, and you were chattering away and wearing his aviators as you dropped your tote bag off at two empty chairs. Everyone was looking at you and your bump. You were some sort of combination of adorable and sexy at the moment, but he especially appreciated that you were wearing his sunglasses. 

Just when he was ready to settle down and potentially take a nap with you this time, you shook your head and started leading him down to the water. He was exhausted from the sex and sun, but you were wearing your tiny honeymoon bikini, and he could see your rooster tattoo below your belly.

"This was your idea," you told him, playfully tugging on his arm while your tits bounced slightly. "You're the one who wanted to go in the water."

Bradley grunted softly and pretended that you were capable of pulling him where you wanted him to go. "I thought it was your idea," he teased, and you shot him a bland look over his aviators

"Come on, Daddy," you coaxed as your feet hit the water. You were grinning nonstop as you added, "If you're good, I'll show you my boobs when we get out there."

Bradley made sure his footing was solid, and you squealed when he picked you up and carried you into the water. "Roo! You're a maniac!"

The salty water splashed up around your body as you laughed, and soon Bradley was in waist-deep water with you clinging to the front of him. "You act like you don't know exactly what's going to get me going right now," he said, nipping at your lips. "Now show me the goods."

You kissed him hard and then whispered, "You have to work for it."

You wiggled free, and he chased you around in the water for a few minutes while you splashed him. Every time you glanced back over your shoulder to see where he was, your smile grew. Slowly he closed the distance, reaching for you under the water. When his hands found your hips, you let him pull you back until you were pressed against him. He could feel your quickening pulse when he kissed along your neck, and it matched his. Bradley spun you slowly in his arms so you were facing him, and he toyed with the ties on both sides of your bikini bottoms as your belly pushed against him.

With bright eyes, you looked up at him and bit your lip. Water droplets fell from his sunglasses where they were perched on the end of your nose and splashed against your tits. You glanced to your left and right, but there was nobody else in the water near the two of you. Saliva pooled on Bradley's tongue as his gaze followed your fingers to your bikini top, and you slowly pulled at the red triangles until he was staring longingly at your pert nipples as the salty water dripped onto your chest.

"That's more like it," he grunted, running his thumb along your wet skin and leaning down to kiss you there before you covered yourself up again. You always got his heart pumping harder, but right now, everything felt perfect. Your blood pressure seemed to be under control, and the baby was healthy. He was tired, but you were clearly having a great time.

The sky was growing darker now as the sun had set, and the purple and pink swirls mixed with blue giving everything a dreamy feel. You held onto him in the water, your head coming to rest against his shoulder so your lips brushed along his collarbone when you spoke.

"I love it here."

"In Loreto?" he asked, kissing your forehead. "We can always come back again when Rosie is older. The two of you can take a hot sauce class together."

You made a soft sound and said, "Yeah, I like it in Loreto, but I was talking about being snuggled up in your arms."

He felt soft inside as he whispered, "I love you." Then he closed his eyes, memorizing the feel of your pregnant body against his and the sound of your even breathing. 

Just when he didn't think the moment could possibly get any better, somehow it did. You kissed his chest and said, "I was thinking about middle names and trying to decide what sounds good with Rose." You paused and tipped your head back, so he opened his eyes, and you asked, "What about Carole?"

Rose Carole Bradshaw. The words swirled around in his mind, and he knew that was without a doubt his daughter's name. She would always get to carry a piece of the grandmother she would never get to meet. The grandmother who would have loved her beyond measure. 

It was hard to breathe as a happiness he'd never felt before filled his chest. All he could do was nod and whisper, "That's absolutely perfect."

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

Kink: unlocked. I can't wait to see Bradley in action after Rosie arrives. Just a few more chapters without the little Nugget! Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 13

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[dawnoftime22]

coming back home.

| T.S

Warnings: anticipatory/repetitive worrying, anxiety, mention of R not eating because of anxiety (but have eaten a meal a few hours before), R nibbling on lip and getting gently scolded by tay, heart stopping (soft and too cute) messages, and more focused on R until the end

Summary: Taylor had been away on tour, and today was the day she was coming back, but upon your waiting of her plane, you get worried.

Word Count: 3.7k

Category: fluff! hurt/comfort (if you squint)

A/N: we're gonna have to pretend Taylor doesn't have a private jet in this one, or that its a time before she ever had one...

| Started on 01/07/2024, 9:46 PM |

| Finished on 04/10/2024, 11:06 PM |

Main Masterlist | T.S Masterlist

"The worries, coming like a storm, but may they pass, in time."

|——————————— ⸆⸉ ———————————|

The car hummed as you unbuckled your seatbelt, checking that you had everything you needed before you went to get out to the parking lot. For the very moment, it was only you, and your phone keeping you company.

But today was the day. The day where Taylor was coming back home from her tour, after days of facetiming and watching her through videos and screens, you were finally going to see her again, to hold her and give her affection. The are you had driven to was the airport, your feet currently stepping upon the open parking lot of the airport ground.

The birds were chirping, and crows were flying back to their homes within a flock, the same as the people that was walking around, either with their friend or with their family.

You grab your phone from your pocket, opening up your direct messages to see if Taylor's texted you anything. There were no new messages, but you couldn't help but linger on the ones she had sent while you were at the house earlier, your heart swelling at the sight.

<- Back Tay<3 Facetime

Hey! I'm on the bridge, on the way to the plane. Gonna be in soon.

Hope you're taking care of yourself<3

Meet you when I arrive?

Hey love :] I'll be there to pick you up.

What time will the plane be down?

I think...in maybe about three hours or so...

Are the cats doing okay??

Why are you so far away from me? I miss you

too much to wait that long :(

Are the cats doing okay??

╭┈┈┈┈╯

Yes, they are, don't worry<3

Aw, I miss you too, sweetheart...

I'm gonna give you all the hugs and kisses and cuddles to make up for our time okay?

I LOOOOOVEEEE you!!! mwah!! ❤️❤️

Read at 4:56 PM

With a soft smile on your face, you enter the airport, looking up from your phone to see the crowds of people, filling the space. You took a deep breath, and slipped your phone back in your pocket.

You should have been used to it by now, you thought, but the amount of people that could surround you at any given moment was still a little frightening.

Of course, you weren't a celebrity who's used to being in public in such a way. You were only the lover of someone who's basically the figure of the music industry, but there was still the smallest risk for someone to recognize you, leading up to the mustering of a crowd. But you gave yourself all the encouragement you could, just for Taylor.

As you walk through, you kept yourself in small cover, wearing a cap tilted forward just slightly. Every person passing by or standing near was further making your anxiety levels heighten, but it wasn't all that bad once you remembered to put on your earphones. The music calmed down your heart, and distracted you from everything else, just a little.

The sound of the announcer echoes through the area, coming from the speakers propped up high in the airport. Your eyes traveled through the space, taking in how large it was.

There were some trinket shops, for the tourists that were visiting the very place you live in, while the other spots are for snacks and meals, but those didn't really gravitate your body towards them.

Once you catch sight of a bakery though, you didn't hesitate a single step to turn over to it, changing your path and taking the chance to grab a sweet treat for both you and Taylor.

As you opened the door and the bell lightly rang, you noticed that it wasn't packed at all. In fact, it was empty...a stark contrast to the amount of human bodies you were once surrounded by, just earlier.

The bakery was cozy, and the smell of freshly baked bread wafted all throughout the air of the space. You nearly had to pause when it filled your senses, the dim lighting luring you off to the glass casing too.

Inside, there were various snacks and small little meals perfect for traveling, although you were only in waiting for someone. Under a kind orange lighting, there were eggtarts, cookies, donuts, bagels, some pastries, and pies. Your stomach might've even protested, just a little at the sight, and you were grateful the owner was busy with his back to you, his hands putting a new batch of cookies in the oven.

It didn't take long for you to decide on what to get, knowing Taylor's favorites like they were yours. After a few seconds of just staring at the baked goods, not even trying to decide anymore, but now gathering your courage to talk, you look up to the man that had turned to look at you. Realizing his attention was on you, you take out your earphones to rest in your hand.

"Anything you'd like?" He asks, his question open, rather than a direct ask. He had a mustache and a kind face with a smile, his hat tilted off to the side. You couldn't resist the small smile on your own lips, along with a nod.

You pointed to the treats you wanted, mentioning their names too in case he couldn't figure out which one your finger went to.

He opened the glass door and happily took them out, delicately putting each of them into small clear bags and containers, that then go into a bigger, plastic bag with the bakery's logo on it.

It wasn't a rush hour, nor were you rushing yourself. The both of you were relaxed as he loads them gently, and you were patient as you watched, leaning your arm against the counter.

Once he had finished, he places your bought food in front of you, making sure they were all taken in. He counted each type into the cash register screen, the numbers going up until he gestures to the card scanner. You, of course, brought out your card, and did the usual procedure, holding it to the scanner. It was read, and the payment easily goes through.

After you stored your card back, you grab the plastic bag, careful not to jostle it as you turn around. The owner returns back to his work in the meanwhile, glad he could make another customer happy, along with himself.

Walking through the airport was a pain to your legs, with it being a large building that then had another large building connected to it. You had even resorted to going onto the long flat escalators that were spread around the place, taking breaks while still moving, but when you realized it was way too slow, you went back to making your legs work.

Finally, you reached the nearest waiting area to where Taylor's gate would be, the big windows at the side showing a view of the runway.

There weren't a lot of taken seats, the place being a more calm and breathable area. But still, you took the corner that was closest to the large window, not wanting to be too out in the open space.

The chair creaked just slightly when you sat on it, a sign of its old age and successful long stay in the airport. But surprisingly, it was in good shape despite it, and the leather was clean.

Crinkles came from your plastic bag next, being placed on the seat beside you, and you only hoped no one would steal it when you weren't looking.

You grab out a sausage bun from out the bag, a reasonable choice for the way your stomach made sound earlier. The bread was a little oily when you had to grab it out with your hand, considering it was being stubborn with fumbling its way out the clear plastic, but you simply made it dissolve into your skin by rubbing your fingers together.

The first bite was a delicacy to your taste buds. There was no doubt you'll return to that bakery whenever you'll need to come back to this airport, it easily getting your approval.

You enjoy your small meal, needing to put it down for a moment to put your earphones back on, muffling off the world around you and filling your ears with music instead, once more.

Of course, it was your girlfriend's songs playing on your phone. 'Holy Ground (Taylor's Version)' sounding out, continuing the Red album from where you had left it, off from the car.

You took a deep breath in, then softly released it, preparing yourself to do a deep dive with the music, and for the hours of waiting you'd need to do. To be honest, you were even a little more anxious of the waiting, than the people around you, your eyes warily wandering for your surroundings, before your gaze returns to the window.

Planes arrived and departed, and you watched, staying quiet in your corner. The minutes pass by. The time ticks off each hour, the clock somewhere on the airport wall showing how long its been.

You were almost sure someone was manipulating it to be going slower than it should. But the longer it goes, the more anxious you got.

Your eyes watch a plane arrive, your breath held in your throat as you saw that it was the same airline company that Taylor was on, but it wasn't going to her gate.

The held breath you had releases as a sigh, and you lean back in your seat, tilting your head to see the bag of baked goods beside you. You only hoped the food wasn't going too cold. But, in the gentle attack of the airport AC, there wasn't much you could do.

Your eyes start to roam a little more, tearing them away from the window you've been stuck on, wanting to catch a glimpse of Taylor's plane, touching down to be home to you.

The occupance of seats in your area wasn't changing much, and you couldn't tell if the airport was getting more crowded or growing empty. Maybe neither.

Instead of listening to the music, you were starting to space out, feeling the beat of your heart against your chest, and your teeth had sank into your lips, wondering what was happening on her end. She said she'd arrive in three hours and it had been four. But of course she was coming, why wouldn't she? Had her plane run late? Did she miss it and forgot to tell you in the midst of her busy work? No, of course not.

You check your phone, your hand feeling the leather material of your chair as you do. There wasn't any new messages from her, and it didn't take much for your leg to start moving from the worrying.

It wasn't until you look back up from your phone that you finally notice the big screen at the end of the airport, showing every flight's info; their times and their travels all written down.

Your breath got caught at the realization, and quickly, your eyes searched for Taylor's flight, passing by the other ones that were meaningless to you.

You saw it. Just a glimpse, but damn the screen changing for the other flights just as you do. You wait a little. Then, you saw, thankfully, not a red line on hers, but a yellow one, the large capitalized words beside it showing; 'DELAYED ARRIVAL'.

Your eyebrows furrowed. Taylor had gone on the plane before it could be delayed, considering she texted you that she was already on the bridge, so what could have possibly happened?

A sigh left your lips, and you shifted in your seat, your mind's noise only getting stronger for her in the passing time.

Outside, it was a pretty sunset, the blue skies fading off to an orange, chasing yellows in between. You couldn't help but think if Taylor was looking at the same view, and if hers were prettier in the plane.

Maybe she was worrying about you too, especially with the nighttime coming into play, but all you had was the window to look to in hope. After a few more moments, you try messaging her, your heart hoping that maybe it'll get a message out of her, somehow.

Hey, you're late, what happened??

sent at 6:23 PM

But upon the bright skies disappearing into a dark night, the hope was shrinking small, and the orange lights that came from the aiport vehicles outside with the marshallers were reflecting off the window.

I'm worried, tay

get home safe, please

sent at 6:24 PM

You texted her again, your lower lip bitten deeply by your teeth, and you were sure Taylor would notice the marks and battering of your lips when she's back with you.

In the gray clouds that covered up the stars, if there were any to be seen with the amount of lights there were at the airport-- the wind was starting to build outside, causing the workers to hold onto the vehicles and bags they had.

When a lightning flashes and it sounded out before you could even count out how long it'd be until the noise came, you flinched, your heartrate growing quicker at the sudden surprise.

It was clear. A strong storm was oncoming, and now you were at the edge of your seat, holding onto yourself. Your stomach was getting emptier from the amount of time thats gone by, but you didn't even feel like getting anything into your system in the suspense, and even looking at the bag, you were sure you'd be sick from anxiety.

You kept staring. Hoping. Even if you had done the same thing all those hours ago, maybe this time it'll work, that you'll finally see the plane Taylor was on.

And for once there was something through the dark clouds. Of course, lots of plane were passing and coming already, but it was slowly stopping at the storm, and your eyes transfixed on the blinking light you saw.

It was green and red, and it blinked again, and again, until you saw a plane finally pass by through the clouds, having the markings of Taylor's, but you were still waiting, and waiting.

You had to even put your music to a pause, needing to put your focus all upon it, along with steadying your breaths.

The plane had touched down, and it was soon going down the empty runway, the grass, tall as it was, being blown back by both the wind of the airplane and the weather.

The slowness of it almost frustrated you. But you kept watching, your eyes flickering from the plane to the screen until the giant screen blinked, and the line turned green on Taylor's flight, showing 'ARRIVED', in assurance for you. The plane had slowly stopped too, being guided to its parking spot.

Oh. You were relieved. So, so relieved, you felt at the near edge of collapsing. The breath you let out felt like the longest one you held, and you blinked your eyes to get yourself together.

She had better been in that plane. You pick up the plastic bag with the food, gathered your things, and stored your earphones, standing up without another second wasted.

Your feet was swift with your shoes on the ground, going to where the exit of the security area would be, and you searched, desperately, after every person that walks through the doorway. The plane didn't even have all that many people onboard, but each one that left felt like one too many to you.

You shifted on your feet, peeked, and had to move to the side so people could walk through the airport without trouble, but only until you saw a speckle of the familiar blonde hair you would usually see at home.

It wasn't much, but it was something, and you had to wait for her to turn fully before you could see if it truly was Taylor or not. When she did, slowly, god, your heart pumped with excitement. It was almost like seeing her for the first time again. There she was. In front of you.

"Tay!!!" you called her, waving at her, and her once tired eyes widened, her face brightening as she goes to run to you, opening her arms out.

"HI!!" She said, her volume much stronger than it should be, but she didn't care, eagerly wrapping her arms around you once she was completely close to you.

"Hi!! Oh, baby, what happened, where were you??" you ask, your second question perhaps not making sense in the slightest, but you've been too worried and is filled up with too much happiness to even think.

"Oh, god, I was so worried you wouldn't be here!! My plane got caught up in a storm and the lines were all dead so I couldn't text you, and--" She rambles, her hands tightening around you before you realize she was far too worried herself.

"Shhh...baby, baby...its okay, I'm just happy you're safe," you whisper, nuzzling into the side of her head and leaving a kiss there, the both of you swaying slightly.

"I missed you. I've missed you so much," she murmurs, leaving kisses herself, and her adrenaline of seeing you was wearing off as she relished in your warm hug.

"I love you. And I've missed you too..." You whisper, sighing softly, trying to hold back the prickling tiniest bits of tears that were trying to form.

"I love you too. Oh, you have no idea how much I've missed you..." she continues, nuzzling into your neck and mumbling about it, clutching onto you as if you'd disappear.

You giggle softly, feeling her squeezes and kisses, returning it all yourself, especially because you were holding onto her for dear life, too.

"I'm here now...I'm here," you whisper softly and soothingly, rubbing your hand up and down her back. You only thanked everything in the world that the people were actually lessening, at least from her plane's arrival, and they were tired themselves too, unable to even focus on the reunion the two of you had. But you were sure there was more to come for this plane's next departure.

You look around before leaning back, just inches away. "Lets get out of here before more people gather up, sweetheart," you say, returning your gaze to her with all your softness.

She nods. "Yeah...its been too long of a day, I can't even-- think to deal with that right now..." She whispers, pulling away from you with emotion in her eyes and a small sniffle from her nose. You smile softly, your hand sliding up to gently wipe her tears off of her cheek.

"Time to go home, hm?" You said quietly, letting her lean against your side as you turned around to walk, helping to take her backpack and luggage with you while your other arm kept itself around her.

She nods, her arms wrapped around your waist. Of course, her bodyguards were around, keeping an eye on your surroundings and the both of you, but you didn't mind them, grateful they were there in fact, as you walked out to the car together

The car ride home was full of her hand reaching over to intertwine with yours, and she would be leaning against your shoulder if not for the centre console getting in her way.

She was also sleepy. Oh, so sleepy, your heart ached at the sight. You'd bring your hand to her shoulder whenever there was a red light, soothingly rubbing her in reassurance, while also helping her tense muscles.

When you arrived to your home, she was already about asleep, her head tilted slightly in the passenger seat, and the seatbelt keeping her safe.

You turned off the engine, but then looked to her, your teeth sinking into your lower lips. She looked so pretty, even in just the streetlight. And adorable. Every feature of her face, you traced with your eyes, but you snap out of it with the fading feeling of the car's cool air.

You almost didn't have the heart to wake her up, but you knew you definitely weren't going to make it to the bedroom holding her up.

So, with a hesitating hand, you reach over and gently put it on her shoulder. "Tay..." you whisper, starting at a very low volume at first.

But nothing came from her, not even a stir. She was too deep in her sleep, and that made you even more reluctant.

After a few more seconds paired with the encouragement of the heat that was starting to seep into the car with the engine off, you very gently shook her shoulder. "Tay...baby, wake up..." you whisper softly, trying one more time.

Finally, she did stir, a small groan sounding from her as her eyes barely opened, but she only put her hand atop yours and whined, clearly not wanting to wake up.

"Baby, we're home...come on, I'll help you walk, hm?" you offer, giving a gentle squeeze to her shoulder. The only response you got was a small huff, and a smile rose on your lips. She was always the cutest when she was sleepy, and your heart always melted at it.

You get out the car, rounding off to her side to open the door. She was awake, but with a sleepy pout as she slumped in her seat. A soft breath passed by your mouth, and you unbuckle her seatbelt, smiling softly at how she wasn't budging until you gave her a kiss and helped her up.

The path to the front door was paved safely through slow steps and a fumbling of your keys, and you somehow arrived to the edge of your shared bed after locking off the front door of the house.

Taylor had lazily fallen into the warm, cozy, familiar bed, mumbling some incoherent things under her breath that you'd guess are words that meant she missed the soft mattress and sheets she always slept in.

You let her get comfortable, but not before the two of you change that you finally join her in bed, crawling up to lay comfortably beside her, your arm wrapping around to her back to pull her closer.

She lets out a soft, content sigh, cuddling you close, too. Her eyes were already closed, but she wasn't asleep again just yet, and your mind was roaming too much back to the airport.

Not wanting to disturb her, but also wanting to talk about it, you decide to keep your voice hushed. "So...your plane was traveling through a storm?" you whisper, your free hand shifting slightly to go closer to hers.

"Mhm...'m sorry I worried you...the plane already went in the air and there was no line..." she whispers sleepily, feeling the brush of your fingers, so she intertwines your free hands.

Your eyes soften and your body relaxes at her slower explanation than her worried rambling from earlier. "...Baby, don't be sorry. It wasn't your fault you didn't know there was a storm, and neither did the employees," you murmur, brushing a stray strand of her hair to the back of her ear.

She smiles softly, and snuggles up closer to you, nuzzling into your chest. It didn't take long for her to end up leaving a kiss on your collarbone, then your cheek, and then finally trailing off inches away from your lips, but she pauses, seeing the small bitten skin of your lips.

A soft sigh escapes her, but the worry in her eyes were a tell that she wasn't mad or anything, only concerned for you. Her thumb goes to gently caress your lip before she leans in, kissing it slowly to make it better.

You easily melted into it, finding the reassurance in the softness of it all. "I'm happy you're safe..." You pull up the covers, wanting to keep you both a little more warm.

She moves herself a little, but leans back into you. "I'll always come back home to you..." she then takes a breath, continuing. "but you need to stop hurting your pretty lips, baby..." the blonde whispers, and you gaze down at her in sweetness.

"I can't help it...I'm sorry," you add on quietly. She could feel your heart beating, lulling her to sleep, but she knows the worries going in your mind, so she nuzzles into you again.

"It's okay...I'm right here beside you, so, shh...just go to sleep, baby..." she whispers, assuring you with a soft squeeze of her embrace, and leaving a kiss to your neck, wanting you to feel comforted before going to sleep yourself.

"I love you..." you murmur, your eyes falling heavily, and you could feel her hand gently slipping under your shirt, soothingly caressing your skin with her thumb.

"Mmn...love you, too," she whispers, just before the two of you fell deep into your snuggled up slumber.

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

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[chronosdawn]

Attached - Alpha!Wriothesley x Beta!Reader

a/b/o AU, GN!Reader

A/N: I got the idea for this while working on another, longer a/b/o fic so instead of working on that like I was supposed to, I wrote this OTL

Word count: 1.3k

Content warnings: a/b/o dynamics, mild sexual content and themes (minors please DNI)

Not many got the chance to know the Duke of the Fortress of Meropide well. Certainly, almost everyone in Fontaine knew of him, and as the Fortress’s administrator, many people had some sort of contact with him, be they convicts of the Fortress or proprietors of businesses hoping to gain a foothold there.

But among those, very few got to actually know the Duke beyond his title and position, and when you’d first met him, you’d had no reason to think you’d be any different. Sure, you had been invited there by him personally, which was rare, but made sense once you’d learned he was looking to procure resources for some project that was being worked on in the Fortress—something you had a lot of experience doing for members of the Fontaine Research Institute.

Over the course of several meetings—and more than a couple of pots of tea—a tentative friendship had formed between you. One that had turned into something quite different when you’d accidentally stumbled into his office while he was in a rut.

And that, was how you’d come to end up in your current situation—seated in Wriothesley’s lap with your overnight bag discarded by the door to his room. You hadn’t expected this to become a regular occurrence when you’d first offered him your assistance, but for some reason the stubborn fool had refused to seek out an omega to spend his ruts with, even if you both knew that was what he actually needed.

He nosed against the back of your neck before going in with a gentle nip of his teeth, dangerously close to where your small beta scent gland lay.

“Careful,” you warned, “you know our agreement, nothing that can’t be taken back. I don’t want to be the reason your future omega ends up developing some sort of complex.”

Wriothesley stilled briefly before grazing his teeth over your nape once more. “What would you do if I did?”

“What do you mean?” You tried to turn around to look at his face, but the muscular arms around your waist kept you locked in place, pressed tightly against the firm planes of his chest.

“What would you do if I decided to put a claiming bite on you? Right now, you’re not in any position to stop me.”

“You wouldn’t,” you said with absolute certainty, even as he nipped at you again, harder this time.

“What makes you so sure?” His rut had come on enough that even you could smell the pheromones he was pumping out into the air, a rich leathery musk with notes of clary sage.

“I know you, you just wouldn’t.”

“You sound pretty convinced of that.”  He went quiet for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was barely audible as he muttered into your skin. “Do you even know what I was originally sentenced here for?”

“I do.” He’d never told you himself but you remembered reading about his trial in the newspaper your father had left out on your dining room table. “But that’s neither here nor there. You’re not the sort of person who’d force a yourself on someone, and I can’t imagine you ever being disloyal to your mate. Even if for some strange reason you seem reluctant to go out and find them.”

He let out a chuckle but there was no real humour in it. “You know, sometimes I wish you thought a little less highly of me.”

“If I didn’t think so highly of you, I wouldn’t be here, you know that.”

“Yeah, I do.” He went back to worrying at your neck, his mouth over your scent gland. Instead of biting down, however, he sucked at the skin in a way that was certain to leave its own sort of claiming mark, but one that would fade within a week. 

“You don’t seem to be in any hurry,” you noted, as he took his time littering your nape with hickeys, despite the growing hardness you could feel pressing against your ass.

“How long can you stay?” His hands began to wander slowly over your body, the heat of his palms burning through your clothes.

“A couple of days.” You let out a sigh, allowing yourself to enjoy the feeling of his touch while you could. “I’ve got a trip to Liyue scheduled to check on some ore shipments and it’s too late to rearrange it. Sorry I can’t be here for the whole thing; I should be able to help you through the worst of it though.”

“And when will you be back?”

“I’m not sure. Some of the merchants we’re dealing with are really dragging their feet for some reason. I should be back before your next one, although whether that’s really a good thing or not, I don’t know. Might have been a good incentive for you to actually seek out a more permanent arrangement.”

“I really wish you’d stop bringing that up.” One of his hands slipped underneath your shirt, sliding beneath your undergarments so he could give your nipple a firm squeeze. “What’s so wrong with this?”

You let out an undignified squeak and chastised him with a light slap to the thigh. “I know I sound like some nagging old aunt, but I just want you to find someone who makes you happy. Truly happy, not just sex.”

“And if I said you make me happy?”

“I can’t, not in the way deserve,” you said a little sadly, before putting the thought out of your mind altogether. It was best not to think about what ifs that could never be, it would only lead to hurt. “Now, what do you say we get a move on, before you get so wound up you tear straight through my clothes. Again.”

Wriothesley loosened his hold enough for you to turn around in his lap, fingers moving to undo the buttons of your shirt as he watched with rapt attention.

“With the way you’re so fond of telling me off, anyone would think you’re the alpha in this relationship.” He made no move to touch you, simply observing as you shed your garments one by one. You weren’t entirely sure how he was managing it, you could see the flush on his cheeks, feel the tension in his body—a piece of elastic a hair’s breadth from snapping. Still, if any alpha would have the self-control to hold themselves back during a rut, it would be him.

“Come on mister, it’s not fair to make me do all the work.” You moved to start helping him out of his waistcoat, his jacket having already been shed before you’d even entered the room.

“Alright boss,” he replied with obvious sarcasm, a smirk curling at his lips. With no warning, you were suddenly lifted and flung onto the bed, Wriothesley following you quickly after, caging you in with his body and leaving no hope of escape. “If you’re that eager, you don’t have to wait for me to go into a rut, you know, you can come here anytime. I’ve asked the staff at the front desk to let me know as soon as they see you.”

“It’s a tempting offer.” You helped him out of his waistcoat as he pulled off his tie and tossed it somewhere in the room. “But I’d hate to be the reason for a decline in the efficiency of management of the Fortress.”

“Always an answer for everything.” You didn’t get a chance to retort before his mouth was covering yours, hot and hungry as he ground his hips against your thigh. It would seem his control had finally failed him, as when you kissed back, he let out a satisfied growl from the back of his throat, fingers digging into your flesh as he tugged you into the position he wanted.

You simply let him, tangling your fingers in his hair as you braced yourself for what was sure to be a long and tiring—if enjoyable—affair.

[silence-burns]

The Death of Me //part 2

Fandom: Aquaman

Summary: (very small spoilers for the movie) Finding Orm on your doorstep was not something you expected. Having him move in was even worse. But the effect he still had on every part of your life would be the death of you.

Even though you learned early on the world was an unjust and cruel place, it still managed to surprise you occasionally. The last bits of hope clung to your cloudy mind, snatched away from you once you pried your eyes open to see your nightmare incarnate sitting by the kitchen table.

The fever knocked you out for a few blissful hours; earlier events fading into a half-remembered dream. But there was no denying the truth once you noticed the suspiciously clean counters and sudden lack of accumulated trash laying around. And, worst of all, your new roommate.

Or caregiver. Or pain in the ass. Or man that made your heart twitch in a way signaling either a crush or a heart attack. Who cared about semantics?

Orm Marius, former Ocean Master and currently just some guy, sat in the middle of the kitchen, making his way through a book. The seaside house was home to many books, although you doubted the original owner ever had the time to browse through them.

A small mercy had been granted to you and Orm didn't notice you had woken up. You couldn't help but observe him. Even though he was no stranger to you, and quite recently you'd helped break him out of prison and even somehow saved the world together, you still felt mesmerized by the way he moved and looked.

Even now, the dying evening light entering through the window painted the room in deep shadows, and softened the planes of Orm's face. He had positioned himself close to the window to read in the dimming light. It allowed you to see the softened curve of his shoulders and the way he tilted his head, studying the book just as carefully as you studied him.

“Glad to see you're doing better,” Orm said, without moving.

You jumped a little, making your injuries flare up in a wave of pain. A startled whine escaped your lips when your body reminded you how sore it actually was.

Orm put the book down and stepped over to the couch. Before you managed to say anything, he pressed his hand to your forehead. Whatever words rose in your throat, scattered.

“You're still burning,” Orm muttered with concern and furrowed brows. “Are you sure your medicine is working?”

“...it just needs some time.”

Your voice came out weaker than you expected. You felt fuzzy, and the room around you was definitely moving a little.

Orm was not convinced, and disappeared from your line of sight for a while.

Your fever was probably on the rise again, which was to be expected. For the past few days you'd been in and out of it, drowning in sweat and fighting off the urge to scratch underneath your bandages.

You kicked off the thin blanket, hoping Orm wouldn't touch you again. You were dreadfully aware of how wet Orm's hand must've come off and of the old sweat stench surrounding you. In your defense, you didn't expect any visitors, so for the past few days you focused on passively surviving rather than dragging your corpse to the shower once a day.

You heard Orm's steps before he entered your vision. “Man, just leave me alone. I'm seriously fine on my own—”

A wet towel slapped onto your face, splashing cold water around. What a simple, yet effective way of both shutting you up and providing relief. You'd be impressed if it didn't piss you off so much.

You dragged it off your eyes and came face to face with Orm, suddenly crouching way too close to your liking. He looked at you intensely and then raised an eyebrow.

“If you want me gone, then you should be perfectly capable of throwing me out. You didn't have any trouble last time we sparred.”

“That would be so rude of me. It would crush your ego.”

“As if you ever bothered being polite.”

“I am the nicest person that has ever graced this Earth.”

“You look like a corpse on its way to the afterlife. Unless your state improves, I'm not leaving. The only choice you have is finally dying or getting better and kicking me out. And since I'd rather see the outcome of option number two, I think we have to start with these bandages.”

“They’re in place.”

“The wounds need to be cleaned and dressed again. I can smell that from back here.”

With a hiss through clenched teeth, you dragged yourself into a sitting position, as far away from Orm as was possible on the couch.

“...look who's impolite now.”

Orm moved closer to you with a darkened expression. It made you shiver and put one bare foot on his chest in the only defense you could muster. He wrapped his fingers around your ankle, but didn't move any closer.

“It's not about politeness or pride,” he explained slowly, not taking his eyes off you. “I want you to feel better, regardless of what it takes.”

The way your cheeks heated had very little to do with the fever. In a kinder world, Orm wouldn't have noticed it.

But in this one, he was too observant to miss something like that. His lips curled in the faintest of smiles just as his hand moved further up your leg, slowly dragging his fingers over your scorching skin. Your heart was in your throat and wanted out.

You slapped the wet towel onto his arm and freed your leg.

“Such profound words for someone so annoying.”

“Whatever gets you moving. These wounds really do need cleaning, and I will not back down from that one.”

“I can do it myself.”

“If you could, you would've done it days ago—when it was actually due. That's enough waiting, take them off.”

You thought back to how far your injuries went under your shirt. It provided you with a surprisingly effective burst of motivation to heave yourself off the couch and onto semi-steady legs.

You wobbled off in the general direction of the bathroom, wishing for your torment to finally end.

“Please do avoid any further injuries,” Orm called after you, watching your unsteady search for clean clothes and a towel. There was painful stiffness to your joints, but you were extremely motivated to overcome it.

“I promise to graciously call for your aid right before I break my neck on these marvelous tiles.”

There was not much dignity left in you, but you did your best to protect it by switching the bathroom lock rather than slamming the door.

You could've sworn you heard Orm chuckle.

[batboyblog]

Less than 60 days out from the election, how do you think we’re doing, considering the recent debate and Taylor Swift unleashing the Swifties?

I'll start this by saying we're with-in the margin of effort, if either side really puts their backs into it, and pushes and shows up, volunteers in big numbers and turns out voters it could go either way.

So having said that, I feel good, right now the national polls are close, but all show Harris ahead. The swing state polls likewise are close but mostly show tied or leaning to Harris. On top of which Senate Democrats (and the candidate for Governor in NC) are running far ahead of her in polling, I hope thats a sign that late undecideds will break Democrat, they often do break toward the incumbent.

On the debate, I'm often skeptical that debates shift things. That said I think anyone watching would say that debate is pretty unique in the history of Presidential debates. The media has been working very hard to uh "sane wash" Trump and what he says. That debate was an unfiltered view of Trump. I'm frankly shocked he brought up the pet eating, the right has been meming about it but I thought he'd only say some dogwhistle to it not just straight up say some of the most racist shit imaginable on live TV. The bar for Trump was very low and he still failed totally to meet it. Likewise Harris had a high bar and met it, she was claim, she was professional, she came across as ready and smart while also serving as the audience surrogate to let us all know "yeah this is as crazy as you think it is"

just briefly here the attack on Haitian Americans is crazy, and racist, and the whole "the immigrants are eating dogs" goes back 100+ years, I've read people accusing NYC Jews in the early 1900s of kidnapping and eating neighborhood cats and dogs. But also its politically crazy too since Florida where Trump and Republican Senator Rick Scott have both been slipping in the polls as America's largest ethnic Haitian community, just over 500,000 or roughly 2% of the state, so great plan to call them pet stealing and eating monsters just before an election.

The other factor is the Laura Loomer. If anyone doesn't know who she is click that link and enjoy, but basically she's a white nationalist and Islamophobe (that's according to her) and the person extreme far right Republicans point to as proof that they're not "that bad" any ways, Loomer seems to have been with Trump, on his plane the day of the debate and every day since, and Republicans are wigging out

MTG, and any number of Trump super supporters are sounding off about how much they don't like this, and the internet is "joking" that Trump and Loomer are sleeping together. Together with his unhinged debate being connected with one of the worst people in American politics might cause serious problems. In any case a campaign of just alt-right memes is not gonna win most Americans.

On TSwift, I mean the data I've seen showed a really big jump in people exploring registering to vote after her message which is good. I'm again skeptical about how much of an impact she'll have? celebrities in general don't have that big of an impact, basically 90% of famous people are Democrats/liberal, but their fans don't always go along, don't get me wrong I'm happy she endorsed I just am unsure how big an impact it'll end up having.

So to repeat what I said at the top, we're in the margin of effort, if everyone who doesn't want Trump volunteers and puts in the work Harris will win, so

VOLUNTEER

[3rdsleeper]

r/s fics rec list!

(simplified by highly specific tropes)

remus does not want sirius paying his rent and sirius is having a normal one

inflations, invitations and flirtations by mblematic

summary: The Li-Lo at Lupin's. In which plenty of people crash on Remus' air mattress after Hogwarts, and Sirius isn't jealous at all. complete - 9k

practical oddities by lurikko

summary: Regulus needs a place to stay, Remus needs to get over Sirius. It’s August 1979 and things are getting out of hands. complete - 47k (ok this one technically they do live together, but its not necessarily remus' first choice iykyk please read it)

how remus got his groove back by RealityShowJunkie

summary: Remus Lupin becomes king of the cockroaches, Fabian Prewett writes a book, Gilderoy Lockhart is a catfish, and Sirius Black realizes he's a fucking idiot. complete - 42k

the son and heir of nothing in particular by aeridionis

summary: Remus is nineteen and tired, now. And he knows that if he and Sirius were ever going to become anything—if Sirius loved Remus the way Remus loves, and will probably always love, him—it already would’ve happened. complete - 23k

frog and toad aren't friends anymore by swordfishtrombones

summary: “Some people just aren’t good flatmates. I wasn’t trying to say I liked Adrian and Mary better than you, or whatever you’re thinking.” Sirius runs a hand through his hair and squints at the streetlight, twisting his mouth like Remus is truly hopeless. “It hurt,” says Sirius, “my feelings.” complete - 10k

an episode of skam (in the sense that remus is avoidant dismissive /j /j)

the lord of desperate longing by reyghost

summary: Sirius has a lot of feelings, Remus has his own issues too, and James is a very good best friend complete - 13k

and only felt good while moving by aeridionis

summary: The summer before university, Sirius falls in love and throws a punch and then he makes a friend. complete - 17k

SHAME by wiltedtddaisy (taotu)

summary: Sirius has some figuring-things-out to do. He’s not sure if Remus helps or makes things worse. complete - 82k

angle of doubt by mblematic

summary: The Map had been going missing. Or—not missing, exactly. Sirius always knew where it was; Remus had been spiriting it away. Which, it should be said, was fine. Really. complete - 9k

a bird at your door by moongnome

summary: Of pub quizzes, old films, Chinese takeaways, broken arms, and impassioned discussions of literature: Remus is confusing, and Sirius is just trying to figure him out. complete - 31k

if you're the bassist, and i'm the lead singer, then who’s flying this plane?

the cadence of part-time poets by motswolo

summary: After losing his mother at age eleven, Remus has spent the better part of the last four years bouncing from school to school or else running around London and pretending as though he wasn't the kind of well-bred boy his father brought him up to be. Now, with his chances all run out, Remus is sent to Hawkings Independent School as a last-ditch effort to clean up his act. There he meets the very people who will set up the rest of his life, and is forced to confront the pieces of himself he'd long thought had been lost. complete - 979k

dress up in you by MsKingBean89

summary: Sirius attends a charity rock gig organised by his best friend's girlfriend, and the tall, quiet bassist catches his eye... complete - 88k (ok sirius is not in a band in this one but please just go with it)

sirius black & the six by BellaBabe

summary: Remus shrugged. “Not much for the spotlight.” “Right,” Sirius drawled. “I bet you’re also not much for the rock ‘n roll perks.” Remus tensed, sparing Sirius a scathing glance. “I’m sober now.” Sirius quirked a brow in disbelief. complete - 79k

saturday nights and sunday mornings by SoupyGeorge

summary: A story about music and family, the price of fame and finding love somewhere completely unexpected. (its an arctic monkeys au) complete - 121k

sirius black learns the meaning of true love. remus lupin does too but in a much more put together and chill way

a series of sketches done in black ink by musntgetmy

summary: Sirius had always imagined the aftermath of falling in love would mean lightness, and an escape from all the horrors of his childhood. But the past never leaves, and even love can't stop bad memories from resurfacing. complete - 57k

dissonance by renaissance

summary: Remus searches for solace in all the likely places, but somehow he keeps coming back to Sirius Black. Featuring sad acoustic indie, spearmint gum, and irresponsible usage of social media. complete - 4k

the time when you were mine by renaissance

summary: the walk from Grimmauld Place to Parliament Hill is just under an hour, but it's easier going at four in the morning complete - 9k

as red as hearts and autumn by Rosie_Rues

summary: it's the autumn of sixth year, theres a flu epidemic at Hogwarts, and the Blacks want their heir back. complete - 43k

[rqbossman]

Hello Mr Bossman! (and possibly anyone else who reads this)

Its an honour to be here, I have a few questions. First i appologise for the long paragraph, you may dismiss it for the questions at the bottom. For context, i am here after finishing TMA and being up to date with TMAP, i then went over and listened to RQG, and have just finished listening to Epilogue 3 and might i just say, good sir I am grateful for your podcasts. I am currently just a few months away from my final exams of High School, and as someone who even just 1 year ago was very lost, struggling with school and being just overwhelmed. TMA isnt exactly comforting, but the characters and plot managed to serve as a good form of escapism while sorting myself out. I found my self engaging more in creative things that i had originally put aside in favour of maths and science (which i hated but thought i needed to do). I started drawing again, even if just fanart. and i found things going well. By finding podcasts, story telling and these communities have helped me in my own understanding of what i want in life. I got an ADHD diagnosis earlier this year, and almost directly after started RQG and as my first hyperfixation (that i was aware of as an hyperfixation) gosh dang it hit hard. (in a good way). Ive been able to do so much more creative writing and drawings, and got re-involved with a small dnd group with some friends who i played one game with almost 4 years ago now. So overall, inspirational sounds cringe, but it was. Im doing my best with the upcoming exams, but trying to get in to Medicine is not my only prority, and the fact ive been re-introduced to my first love (Literature and story telling), im planning to go do an Arts degree and i know i wouldnt have been able to confidently make this decision, or even have survived this long in the school system without the work you and your coworkers do. Now the sap is out of the way, Question time! (if you could answer even just one of these questions it would be so cool)(they go in order of RQ relevant to random stuff)(dont feel pressured to answer all/any. i know i wrote alot): 1. what would you say is the best way to draft out a long-form story. (with "Erasing the Line" as an example) Did you start at the end, with the links to the overarching plot.

2. When working with the players (in a form of TTRPG), what did you do to make sure you didnt miss relevant timing of plot points/ avoid creating spoilers while still giving enough detail?

3. What are good places to start with making a job out of storytelling/voice acting/audio etc. In the case of RQ, how is this a job and where do i sign up please! /j (what i mean is, how is best way/how did you find all the people involved and was there a common path that you were all on before getting to where you are now?) 4. Do you have recommendations for Terry Pratchett Books, i may be an literary-leaning student, but it seems i have never actually properly read any of his books. so where is best place to start?/What did you read first?

5. Similar authors or similar inspirations? Did you have a favourite podcast you listen to in your free time that you havnt had a hand in producing/directing/working on. 6. Favourite song/album/artist. And more specifically, what you like listening to in background when doing either writing or (for ttrpg) character research/game planing. 7. Since the olympics are on at the moment, what has been your favourite sport to watch, if you have been watching at all. Thank you for your time :)

Thankyou for all the kind words. Knowing our work is helping people really keeps our engines fired up. Let's see if I can't answer your questions: 1. I "sandbox" which is where I just shove everything I can think of into an unorganised bullet point list. Characters, setting, plot, all of it in one big mess. Then I decide what type of story you want to tell, copy and paste to a new document and then start to organise the thoughts (with the sandbox on standby if new stuff comes in I don't know what to do with). I think of it like scultping, you cut away bits and reshape until something comes out the other end that is story shaped. Only then do I attempt to build the sandcastle and put something coherant together like a synopsis or scratch draft etc.

2. Very tricky. I did a complete review and update of all notes after each recording session and don't forget the audio eas edited. I made lots of gaffs that you never heard as audience.

3. I contacted anyone I could convince to take part and just proved I was serious by overworking. I don't reccomend that route. Unfortunately it really is "who" you know. That doesn't mean chase established professionals as much as it means you need to get out there and associate with other up-and-comers who match your vibe. For me the route was long and windy and not a particularly good example. 4. I normally recommend people do not read his books in publication order. Don't get me wrong, its wonderful watching his craft grow from one title to the next but I would recommend new readers tip their toe into his later works to see if they like where he ended up before committing the time. I often recommend 'Monstrous Regiment' as people's first one. My favourite though is 'Thief of Time.'

5. I don't get much time to listen to podcasts in the last couple of years. I used to listen to a lot of non fiction. 'Stuff you Should Know' and that ilk. I also read a fair amount of classic YA fiction to unwind (Windinsger trilogy, Bartimeous, stuff like that.) 6. Paul Simon's Graceland but when working I assemble a playlist for each seperate project that is tonally appropriate. If I really need to focus I listen to Classical Minimalism. Or the Old School Runescape soundtrack. I'm allowed to be ecclectic. 7. I am actually in an incredibly busy work crunch at the moment so haven't seen any of it!

[goodfish-bowl]

A Unicorn Hair Rope

Danny Phantom x Gravity Falls Crossover

Part 1 (Read for this to make sense)

Masterpost

DP Crossover Angst Week Day 7 - Captured by the characters of a different media

Summary: Dipper and Ford give chase, intent to take Danny down before he can hurt anyone else.

Warnings: near panic attack, it/its pronouns used for Danny by Ford

Notes: I've decided the story takes place between the GF episodes “The Last Mabelcorn” and “Dipper and Mabel vs. The Future”, so Bill is a known and acknowledged mutual threat, but not yet able to start Weirdmageddon.

Word Count: 3109

AO3 link

Grunkle Ford was on a warpath, and Dipper was helpless to stop it. The mad dash from the gas station to back to the Mystery Shack was enough to leave him breathless for several minutes, and gave Ford enough time to devolve into a frenzy of preparation and catastrophizing. Dipper could barely keep up with Ford’s ramblings, the very little of it that made sense to him at least. There was too little that made sense, and his Grunkle was not giving him any sort of explanation or at least letting him mentally catch up. 

“Grunkle Ford!” Dipper shouted, finally both catching his breath, and Ford’s attention. “Explain what’s going on!”

Ford paused for a minute, before taking in a deep breath, as if he hadn’t been breathing, before leveling a tense, worried glance at Dipper, before returning to work at a much more controlled pace. 

“That boy, or well, what’s possessing him, is dangerous beyond belief,” Ford started, sinking into one of the chairs scattered about his lab. 

“There are many beings across many different dimensions, but there are some that exist between dimensions. Spirits, ghosts, even gods. But they can’t exist on the physical planes very long, due to the amount of energy they need. If this one has been here for months, then something is very wrong. I honestly doubt there’s much left of the boy it’s been using as a vessel. We need to find it, and exorcise it before it can cause more damage.”

Dipper blinked owlishly, processing for a second before it hit him, “You want to exorcise a god?” 

“I doubt it’s actually a god, more likely a spirit of some sort, or simply a powerful ghost. Either way, the same methods will work no matter what it is. Though I fear it’s too late for the boy, he’s as good as dead,” Ford explained while answering nothing. 

“What?!” It was Dipper’s turn to panic. 

“They’re not meant for this plane, they need a host of some sort to stay for any extended period. No wonder that boy looked ill enough to be confused for a vampire. But with the way their blood has been mixed, there’s no separating them now. Best get it in its current vessel, while it’s weakening.”

“If… If there’s no separating them, then why do we have to go after him?” Dipper asked. 

The… spirit guy hadn’t done anything. Dipper already felt horrible about the entire situation. There were plenty of magical creatures already living in Gravity Falls, he didn’t see why they had to go after this one in particular. 

Ford gave Dipper a look that was likely intended to be sympathetic. “After this vessel fails, it will go after another, it has to. Even if it ‘doesn’t do anything’, that doesn’t mean it’s harmless. It’s already taken at least one life, best not let it get another,” Ford paused, taking out the machete, scraping the multi-colored blood into a vial, and into one of the many machines on his workbench, before discarding the machete into a corner. 

“There’s no guarantee of this, but there is a non-zero chance that this spirit is working with Cipher. We can’t take any chances that he could get his hands on the rift.” 

Dipper frowned, unable to picture Danny, worn and looking more exhausted than Dipper did after two all-nighters, working with someone like Bill Cipher. But he knew how manipulative Bill could be, the chance was non-zero. Danny looked like he’d do it for a decent sleep. 

“Fine… I… I don’t like this. But, fine,” Dipper gave in. 

The machine beeped, and Ford connected a different, handheld device to it. 

“But… how are we even supposed to catch something like that?” Dipper asked. 

Ford gave a confident smile, pulling the handheld device off the other after it gave a small ‘beep’, showing it off. “This device will allow us to track it based on its unique energy signature,” Ford explained. “From there, trapping it shouldn’t be too difficult, especially since we have some leftover unicorn hair from Mabel.”

 Dipper swallowed the uncomfortable feeling in the back of his throat, before putting on a nervous, tense smile. 

“I guess we’ve got a ghost to catch, then.”

Danny Fenton had not expected to encounter ghost hunters in nowhere, Oregon. In fact, he had run as far as he practically could to and from any and all locations that could potentially have ghost hunters. Gravity Falls, as odd as it was, was supposed to be safe. It was only be coincidence that it had just enough ambient ectoplasm in the air to keep him going. The veil was worn thin here. 

Gravity Falls was supposed to be safe, and it had been, Danny supposed, for all of 2 months. He had only managed to get the nightshift at the only gas station in town because no one else had wanted it, too scared of whatever metaphorically haunted the night. Sure, the gnomes were weird but they were paying customers, and he had to occasionally chase Old Mac Mcgucket out from under the dumpster, but this was the closest to normalcy Danny had experienced since getting chased from Amity Park. Gravity Falls was just weird enough that Danny was able to fly under the radar. 

There were also the kids. Mabel and her gang of girls who dragged her twin brother around. Then the group of teens (who were not always paying customers, unlike the gnomes, but Danny was not a snitch), but he didn’t have any problems. At least not until the brother had decided he was a vampire charming his sister. He had thought the kid had been joking, and Danny had laughed him off, claiming girls were just ‘like that’ sometimes. (Danny did not want to think about Paulina’s Phantom Phan Club and their treatment of him anytime soon). The kid was apparently serious enough to find someone who believed him, and Danny’s cover was blown clear out of the water. 

The silver was expected, the machete and the solid iron cross were not. Danny didn’t know he reacted to solid iron until it burned him, and that old man tried to lop his head off. He was lucky that the camera’s in the store were dummies, otherwise Danny wouldn’t be surprised if the GIW made a grand appearance. No one other than the kid and the old man had seen him use his powers. He hadn’t expected them to actually be competent vampire hunters. 

Danny had fled back to the old hunting shack he’d been staying in. No one had been there in years before Danny had decided to haunt the place, so he’d figured it would be safe enough. He clutched at the cut on the side of his neck, forcing whatever energy he could spare towards healing it with gritted teeth. That old man had tried to kill him, full and in earnest. 

After two months of being a normal human being, Danny had forgotten just how much a look like that hurt him. But at least it was from a stranger this time (even if he was vaguely familiar). It was worse when it had been someone he knew. It was worse when he knew they intended to draw out his suffering for the crime of his existence. The old man was practically merciful in that regard. But merciful or not in comparison, he had still tried to kill Danny. He probably couldn’t go back to work then. 

Danny started the process of packing, fitting the few belongings, some newer than others into his backpack when the hairs along his neck raised. It was nothing compared to his ghost sense, but Danny knew better than to ignore any sense of danger he could. He dropped his things and clicked off the battery powered camping light he used to light the space. He locked the door and closed the curtains in the same second, hunkering down, pushing his hearing as hard as he could to hear whatever was approaching the cabin, fingers crossed it was just the multi headed-bear again. 

There were voices, very quiet, and Danny couldn’t pick up what they were saying from so far away, but there were two of them, one old and the other young. Danny hunched even deeper into the corner cabin, as far from the windows as he could. It was likely the same pair from the store. Danny didn’t think they could find him this quickly. It had been, what, maybe a few hours at most? They must’ve found a way to track him. Images of all of his parent’s ghost tracking devices came to mind. He hoped, with all he had, that they hadn’t gotten one from his parents. Either way, he would have to run, run far and fast as he could to get out range of the tracker, and mark another location off as uninhabitable. 

Danny gathered what energy he had to spare, letting it buzz just underneath his skin, and finished tossing the absolute necessities into his bag before transforming and launching himself into the air. 

Danny collided hard with what he had almost assumed was the wall of the cabin. He blinked the spots and stars out of his vision, feeling a tingling, pins-and-needles sensation burn over his skin. He was still about half a foot from the wall, he hadn’t run into it. Danny slowly reached out to touch the wall, and was met with a shimmering barrier several inches from the wall, sending pins and needles at contact. He pushed against it, sending more sparks over his skin, until the sensation became painful and repulsed him away. 

Danny painted against the threadbare carpet, more panic building under his skin, joining the burning of his ectoplasm. Danny traced the barrier, hoping for a hole. It curved around the single room of the cabin in a lopsided circle, leaving only the path the door free from obstruction. That wasn’t an option. Danny watched the barrier cautiously. It wasn’t ectoplasmic in nature, he would’ve had a much stronger reaction to running into it if it was but… it moved, shocking him in the process, pulling in tighter, still leaving the door as the only exit. 

Danny cursed a vile string of words across a smattering of languages, living and dead. They weren’t going to give him a choice, they intended to drag him out, slowly tightening their noose of a barrier until he was forced outside. Danny hissed at the invisible barrier, before taking a steadying breath, and becoming human again to try his typical escape tactic. It wasn’t one of his parents' barriers, he should be able to get out like- it zapped him again. Danny couldn’t get out. He was going to die here. 

Danny screamed, desperation, frustration, and fear spilling from him all at once.

Dipper’s knee’s almost buckled at the sound of whatever was screeching inside. The whole cabin shook with the force and power behind it, shattering the remaining glass in the windows. Dipper did his very best to swallow his fear, looking towards Grunkle Ford for reassurance. 

Ford had something between a grimace and a grin on his face. “Looks like we made it mad.” 

Ford continued pulling in the end of the rope that he had Dipper run around the cabin. He had said it was some kind of unicorn-hair laced rope, completely slipping through anything non-magical, and only snagging the supernatural. It also made a decent portable, if makeshift barrier as well. He had hammered the end of it, tied up in a slip knot in the end, slowly pulling the rope in. Dipper stayed carefully behind Ford as the barrier closed in. 

Dipper jumped when the door to the cabin creaked open, but nothing seemed to be there. Ford just continued to pull the rope in, eyes not leaving the space just above the rope. 

Ford dropped the rope standing further back from their oblong barrier, which now had less than two yards of diameter inside. 

“We can wait here all night, you’re not going anywhere. Might as well show yourself,” Ford growled. 

A figure flickered into visibility, vaguely reminding Dipper the ghosts haunting the only convenience store, and the ones from Pacifica’s party. It was Danny from the convenience store, looking several times more exhausted than he had earlier that night, with burns up and down his arms. His eyes blazed that same bright green that Dipper had only managed a glimpse of in the store. He was curled into himself, glaring at the rope, sharp teeth bared. His eyes seemed to linger on their tracker, glazing over Dipper, before settling venomously on Ford. Something in Dipper’s mind couldn’t seem to connect the earlier shriek to the person… to the spirit in front of him. 

“Well?” Danny rasped out. “You’ve managed to drag me out. What now?”

“Release the boy you’re possessing, spirit,” Ford demanded. 

Dipper held his breath as something in Danny’s expression shifted, mouth closing into a frown. 

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?!” 

Danny did not break eye contact with Ford, and Dipper was grateful to be ignored. 

“I’m not possessing anybody. This is my own body.”

“If that was true, then you would’ve dissipated a long time ago, spirit. Your kind can’t stay on this plane very long,” Ford argued. 

Danny huffed. “Know something about ghosts, don’t you? Normally you’re right, but not in this case. I’m as physical as you are. This has been my body since the day I was born.”

Dipper glazed up at Ford, finding his brows knit together. “That’s impossible. You’d either have to be possessing your own corpse or-”

“Of not fully dead. Bingo,” Danny confirmed blandly. 

“That’s impossible,” Ford denied. 

“Impossible things happen sometimes.”  

Dipper was actually able to see the resignation on Danny’s face, and his own guilt resurfaced. Ford was beginning to look conflicted too. He had wanted to end the ghost because he was a threat, and could possibly leave people hurt. 

“That depends, spirit.”

Danny’s gaze actually landed on Dipper, recognition filling the other’s gaze before drifting away. 

“Depends on what?” 

“First, what are your intentions here in Gravity Falls?”

“Nothing, really,” Danny seemed to respond earnestly. “I don’t want any trouble, just to lay low for a bit.”

Ford’s eyes narrowed. “What reason could a spirit have to stay low?”

Danny looked away. “Are you familiar with the GIW?”

The name caught in Dipper’s ears, completely unfamiliar. 

“They’re government goons. A bunch of idiots chasing things far above their understanding.” Apparently not unfamiliar to Grunkle Ford. 

“And what do you think they would do to someone like me, who they believe is completely non-sentient, nothing more than an echo of consciousness over energy?” Danny asked back. 

Something about how Danny described spirits and ghosts didn’t sit right with Dipper. A good collection of the monsters were sentient, and Dipper couldn’t imagine how people could see someone like Danny and claim he wasn’t. 

“Running from the government,” Ford huffed. “A lackluster reason. Fine,” Ford practically spat the admission. “Then secondly, how are you possibly getting enough energy to stay here? Your kind need massive amounts of energy, just to stay physical.”

Danny crossed his arms. “Eating food. You know, like a person. Other than that, the veil is thin here. There’s enough ambient energy that I’m doing just fine.”

‘The veil is thin here’? Dipper wondered if it was due to the portal. From the look on Ford’s face, probably. 

“You haven’t been feeding off of anyone?”

Danny just look straight up confused this time. “No, I thought we already cleared the ‘vampire’ charges?”

Ford looked a bit miffed at that response, and Dipper was beginning to let relief fill him. Danny really wasn’t hurting anyone but…

“Lastly, are you working with, for, or alongside the dimensional being known as Bill Cipher?”

Dipper could see genuine confusion on Danny’s face, more so than the ‘feeding’ question. “No… no. I have no idea who that is.”

“None at all?” Ford pushed. 

“None,” Danny confirmed, crossing his arms. 

Things fell silent then, Danny staring at them, while Ford seemed to try and fit things together. 

“So, what are you going to do now? Still going to take my head off with your machete?” Danny asked. 

“Machetes don’t work on spirits,” Ford retorted back. 

“Okay… your point?”

Dipper suddenly had an idea, probably not a good one, but, “Hey Grunkle Ford?” Dipper tugged on Ford’s sleeve to get his attention. 

“What if we enlist Danny’s help against Bill… or something like that? Some kind of, um… agreement so he can’t hurt anyone, but we could also use his help? Aren’t spirits really strong?” Dipper whispered. 

Ford frowned, leaning down towards Dipper so Danny couldn't hear, “It's… not a terrible idea. He would be bound by it under the right circumstances, but those things are tricky.”

“We would have to make one with as few holes as possible. Even then… Danny doesn’t seem the type to try and twist the deal. Mabel and I have interacted with in him plenty of times before, and he always seemed… kinda nice. Wendy and the older teens like him too. I just…” Dipper trailed off. 

Ford sighed. “If we’re doing this, then we’re doing it right. He can’t do anything from inside the circle, and I’m not letting him out without some assurance. He’s definitely a threat, but you’re onto something to get him to help us against Cipher…” 

Ford leveled a hard, stern look at Dipper. “This is your idea, so you’ll have to take responsibility for it, got it Dipper? We have no idea how strong this particular spirit is, so your deal has to be airtight. Can I leave that to you?”

Dipper gave a resolute nod. “Yes, Grunkle Ford.”

“Then I’m going to get the necessary items out of the car. Work out your deal.” 

Dipper nodded, and watched as Ford shot a glance behind himself, leaving Dipper alone with Danny. 

“Is the old man going to get a non-machete weapon to take off my head with?” Danny joked without an inch of humor. 

“Oh…uh…no. I… I don’t think so,” Dipper hesitantly answered.

“Okay,” Danny seemed just as uncertain as Dipper felt.  

Dipper took a deep breath, solidifying his will for this. He could do this. He had delt with more terrifying things this summer already. 

“Danny,” Dipper started, fully gaining the spirit’s attention, who seemed shocked at his own name being spoken, like he hadn’t expected to be addressed by name at all. 

“I want to make a deal with you.”

[yrluvjane]

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒈𝒐𝒍𝒅

[old money] James x fem!reader

《 Summary - After a coincidental encounter, James takes interest in one of his employees. 》

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭

Who didn't know the Potters, especially when they owned everything. From banks, houses, and yachts to mansions, planes, and private islands. The family was known for its wealth and power. Almost ten generations have come since their fortune was assigned and now they’ve reached the point in being one of the richest and influential families in Europe. 

And it wasn’t every day James Potter, the only living heir, walked into a diner where he would only be served greasy fries and pizza. His perfectly tailored designer clothes made him stick out like a sore thumb no matter where he sat.

Sat on a table at the far end of the room, with a relaxing book in his hands and a steaming cup of black coffee on the table; James Potter’s eyes wandered from word to word and line to line, finding peace in between the letters. His eyes would raise temporarily every time the hanging door bells jingled to check if his company had arrived.

Despite the loud noise of chatter, the diner was mostly empty, only six tables were taken. The sudden and loud laughs of a group of women disrupted his reading, and James involuntarily swung his head towards them, confusion and curiosity swirling in his eyes. 

There, by the booths, sat a group of five girls all cheering loudly for their friend. James guessed that the woman they were cheering for was engaged, his eyes slightly squinted at the lady as she displayed her hand on the table for everyone to see.

It's not long before he realizes he’s not the only one looking at them; an elderly couple next to him, smiled fondly at the ladies and laughed together after a few short-whispered words. 

“Mr. Potter,” He blinked, refocusing his attention on the voice. He raised his head and found himself facing a young man in a wrinkled suit and skewed slim tie who was staring at him with a disturbingly wide smile. “An honor to have you here, truly.”

 “Thank you.” James responded blankly hoping to return to his book as quickly as possible without attracting unwanted attention from other diners, but it seemed as though the man did not comprehend James’ annoyance and instead decided to invite himself at James’ table. 

“My name is also James,”

The Potter one sent the man a tight-lipped smile. “I own this place, it’s actually my dad’s but I managed to sway him into giving it to me. So, yeah.” At that, the man had finally stopped talking and stared at James as though he was expecting the man to hand him an award and at James awkwardly silent response, the man threw his head back and laughed loudly. 

James narrowed his gaze at the man from behind his glasses and levelled him with a silent look of judgement. Though James did not speak any words his eyes expressed his feelings towards the man perfectly. And this time the man was able to clearly make out James' unpleasant impression of him.  "Not a man of many words, got it.”

“I’ll leave you to it then!” The other James said hesitantly, “If you need anything, and I mean anything I am right here!” The manager stood up and winked at him as he left.  

James sighed tiredly as the man’s voice faded and had finally vanished from his view. It was not that James was rude, it was the fact he did not appreciate people trying to sway him while he was having one of his very rare moments of peace.

His life has always been open to the public, from press conferences and social events to having people stalk him to his home. And though James would have seemed rude he didn’t think the twenty-something year old boy would have anything to say that was worth listening to.

James would rather have this limited time to hear his own thinking without having everyone train their eyes on him and bug him with their opinions of his every thought.

And not a few minutes later, the door swung open once more, ringing the bells and allowing a cold breeze to flow in. James’ eyes followed the jingles as he raised his cup of coffee to his lips and when his eyes trained on the silhouette he was met with a surprising feeling of familiarity. 

His hold on his book loosened, and he gently put the cup back on the saucer. He leaned back on his chair and narrowed his eyes at the woman, trying to make out where he could’ve seen her. By the style and quality of her clothes, he doubted they had worked together. And even if she wore something less normal, there weren’t many acquaintances he knew that would step into anything like this diner.

He let his eyes follow the lady’s figure all the way to the celebrating group of women, all of whom started beckoning her over once they saw her. The closer she was to them the clearer she became. Under the small restaurant’s soft yellow glow, he could finally notice her blue jumper and black trousers. She waved to her friends and walked to them, a black coat hanging from her arm.

Once she took a seat, she scanned the place; freezing once she laid eyes on him. Her eyes widened, blinking owlishly, staring at him with parted lips. She recognized him, yet he still couldn't make sense of who she was. A reporter? An ex? Maybe an assistant? An employee? His mind raced with possibilities and theories trying to guess or at least sense where he’d met her.

As time passes at the speed of a turtle, he can feel the young woman’s gaze at him from afar. Every few minutes or so she turns to him as though she’s expecting something to happen; he doesn’t dare look back but he does catch her eye once. He turns to his side, slightly annoyed and faces her, staring unashamedly. 

Her face of curiosity morphs into one of embarrassment, and James finds himself breaking their little contest when the door swings back open again and his friend walks in, waving at James from across the room. He shoots the girl one last look but this time, it’s her back that’s facing him.

A week later, James is sitting on a lounge chair by the pool, hoping to get some work done. The sun shone brightly above him, and despite there being cool winds breezing by, James’ clothes still stuck to his skin through a layer of sweat.

“Mr. Potter,” Anders, the Potter's head butler, calls. James faces him, scrunching his face against the sun's rays and smiles.

“Yes, Anders?” 

“I have Miss Page on the phone.” He states with a sympathetic smile, handing him the black land phone. James sighed, getting up and taking the phone, he sighs one more time, this time at his assistant’s name on the small screen. “Margret?”

“James! I called six times!” She exclaims, and he can hear the distracting background noises of ringing phones, chattering and pointy heels undoubtedly belonging to the woman on the phone. ”My phone isn’t with me.” James says after shuffling some papers and looking for it. “Why? Why would you not have your phone around you at all times? I mean, what if an emergency happens? Do I have to wait for Anders to pick up the phone after four rings?” 

“Marge? I’m kind of busy here, too.” He says into the phone, stretching his legs by pacing around the large pool. The sun shines on the water so brightly that James has to have on his sunglasses just to not be blinded by the reflecting sparkles of light.

“Well you should thank me. I had the meeting on Tuesday postponed to Thursday, just like you asked. Then, I have Patrick bothering me about Jackson Mills. Things are heavy James, especially now with election season so close.”

“I’ll call Jackson today—”

“Great!” She cuts him off before he can even finish his sentence.

James chuckles softly as she moves on to the next thing on her list. Margret was a wonder truly, but don't be fooled she was direct and pointed as her heels.

“You have dinner at 6:30 on Wednesday with Delilah’s parents,” and for the next few moments the line is silent, “I can always tell them you got into a car crash, if you’d like?” She suggests, her voice much clearer now as the background noises fade out. “No, no, my parents have been pestering me about this for weeks, I might as well get it over with. Marge, the report for the new expansion project is on my desk, have Carter send them to me, please.”

There's a sound of shuffling papers before Margaret's voice appears once more, "It will be with you in 30 minutes."

As she continues, James looks down at his shoes in weariness, sighing, before raising his head up once more; movements by the bushes catch his eyes. He walks over to the end at the end of the pool, where he suspects the gardeners are working, his brows furrowing as he gets closer. 

And when he finally reaches the fence, his lips parted in amusement and chuckles at the scene in front of him. 

“James?”

“Sorry, Marge, you were saying,” James says, barely listening. His arms are leaned over the black fence that separates the pool from the gardens. There, on the ground, sat the woman from the restaurant. Her uniform was all muddy and stained with dirt and grass, her hair was pushed up in a messy up-do that was somehow being held up with a fork. 

James laughs.

“Marge, I’ll call you later.” He says, cutting her off as he ends the call and stares at the woman. At the sound of his amusement, the young lady faced him with a perplexed expression. “Mr. Potter,” She addresses, eyes wide and strands of hair falling over her face. She huffs and fails to push them back with her arm. ”I’m so sorry for bothering you.” She said, “I can leave if you’d like. I’m done anyway.”

“No, no, there’s no need to leave.” He states, his eyes focus on her uniform, a question forming in his head. “May just ask, why are you working in the gardens if you're supposed to be working in the kitchens?” He asked, and he watched her squint her eyes and shade her view with with her arm. 

“Tony, the usual gardener, his daughter, got in an accident. And since I’m done with my work, l told him I could take over while he went to see her in the hospital. I do hope you don’t mind.”

“No, no. But why not just call another one of the gardeners?”

“I…didn’t think of that.” She said, biting her lips and narrowing her eyes. “Mmmh,” James hummed, “So what is it you're doing exactly?”

“Oh I’m just potting these!” She said, pointing towards a bush of pinkish flowers. “Looks great.” He commented blankly.

“Think so? I’ve never done this before.” She pointed, getting on the ground once more.

“In the end of the day it’s them being judged, not your…limited knowledge in gardening.” He said and studied the woman as she laughed. “Oh you should see the Gardenia’s they've put by the gates! They’re gorgeous!”

“Do you like Gardenia’s?” He asks and takes off his shades as the clouds begin to cage the sun. He runs his fingers through his hair, pushing back loose curls. “They are very pretty.” She notes, and James foresees the incoming 'but'.

“– But not enough to be your favorite?” He finishes and she looks at him and shakes her head smiling. “I can’t pick at all. They’re all so beautiful.”

“You seem to know a lot about flowers but so little of gardening?”

“When I was younger, my neighbor gave me a flower book. It had the names of the flowers and when they bloomed, and where they bloomed. That's all it said. ” She shares, "I didn't really have much to do as a child, so I took on reading. I enjoyed it for a while."

James squinted his eyes at her. Curiosity blooming in his chest. Taking a step back from the fence, he pointed towards his pool with his thumb. "What would you put here?" He asked.

"I'm sorry?" She asked, confused.

"The pool seems kind of bland, doesn't it? It's all plain and boring. We can do better."

"Oh," she asks and stands back up to look onto his side of the fence. James took the opportunity to clearly look at the woman as she dusted her knees and skirt of grass. She was pretty, that was quite clear. But it didn’t make that much of a difference to James; after all he’s had his share of beautiful women every now and then. 

She walked forward and leaned on the fence, the smell of jasmine reaching his nose. It was a lot more welcoming and relaxing than the smell of chlorine the pool gave off.

His studied her face, her focused eyes, her bitten lips, and even the small hairs failing to be held up. "....You could go for the classics and pick some roses?"

He arched a brow at her, and she pursed her lips in response before facing the pool once more. "Angel's Trumpet?"

"Aren't they poisonous to the touch?" He asked, leaning back on the fence and giving her his most charming smile. "Right, I forgot about that." She mutters, biting the inside of her cheek, James smiles at her embarrassed expression.

She shifts from one foot to the other. James catches her fidgeting fingers and instantly feels bad for making her uncomfortable. He stands up straight as a frown takes on his face. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have put this on you. It's not your job,"

"Oh no, it's fine, really. I... Oh! What about Daylilies?" She asked. James looked at her in thought, "What flower would be on all your top favorites lists?" She tilted her head in thought, her arms falling to lean on the fence as she fixed her gaze on the pool. 

"Jasmine's." She stated as she looked at him. Suddenly aware of how their elbows are touching and how small the space between them is, James's smile turned to a light smirk.

It seemed that she noticed cause soon enough she coughed and took a step back, apologizing. "It's fine." James replied. His eyes wandered over her figure one last time before putting a hand out. "James."

She stared at his hand as though she believed it might bite her. She looked at him, then his hand, and took a step forward, pushing her hand out and introducing herself. “An honor.”

“The honor is all mine.” James says, holding her hand in care as he raised it to his lips and placed a gentle kiss on her knuckles. He watched her face break into a smile before she bit the inside of her cheek and faced James with a raised brow. James only smiled in return.

He wasn’t sure why but this woman had definitely caught his attention. “I should probably get going.” She said and leaned down to grab the leftover equipment and gave a hesitant wave.

“Good Bye” James said, waving back and watched as she disappeared behind the greenery of the gardens.

The next day you woke up with a striking headache and the usual urge to fall right back into bed. It took at least 10 minutes to finally convince the rest of your body that it would be for the best to get up.

And you eventually did, after having a nice warm shower to soothe your back and warm you against the coldness of your bathroom, you dressed in your everyday clothes and quickly made your way to the local farmer’s market, in hopes of getting there early.

The most distinctive smell was that of Olive oil, it filled the air and the closer you got the easier it was to make out the strong scent of spices. It was 9:15, the farmers were set up and there was a respectful amount of families and people buying fresh groceries. It didn’t take long for you to grab your things, as you’ve been coming here for years you were practically a usual so most of your orders were pre-ordered and all you had to do is pick them up.

By 10 you were outside the large black gates to the estate, a golf car awaited your arrival as to drive to the main doors, you never really understood why there was around a mile from the gates to the Manor. “Thanks, Robert!” You said, grabbing the bags and running up the steps to the front doors of the service enterance. Anders swung the door open just as you reached the last step.

“Morning, Anders.” You greeted me with a smile.

“Good Morning, Miss —” He was cut off with four men entering the large foyer. You trailed your eyes over their uniform, a dirt-stained grey jumpsuit with a green flower logo on their chest. ‘Gardens?’ You mouthed at the older man, he nodded back. “Yes, Mr. Fretman, if you will follow me, please.”

You snickered at Anders' tone of exasperation as he guided the men out. You managed to side-stepped all the priceless furniture that was in your way to the kitchens and it was no easy task. It was more like an obstacle course, especially with your sense of sight being blocked off by overly filled brown paper bags. 

Potter Estate was the definition of over the top. 

The Manor consisted of 16 guestrooms, 24 bathrooms, 2 kitchens, an indoor pool, an indoor sauna and jacuzzi, a music room, 2 library’s, the theatre room, a sewing room, 4 offices, a wine cellar and an attic, with lord knows what in it. 

The outside was even grander, there was the stables, the shooting range, the lake yards of grass and fancy gardens, the greenhouse (Which no one really sat in except Mrs. Potter whenever she visited), the outdoor pool, the garage and lastly the old stable house (Which, according to Anders, was turned into a "bat cave" by Mr. Potter Sr. for his son and his friends when they were younger.)

You made your way to the end of the west wing, pushing the large oak door open with your feet and sliding in. The evident silence came as a surprise, you would’ve expected to hear shouting, yelling, arguing, the sounds of slamming cupboards and chopping knives, something. But it was completely silent.

You placed the paper bags on the large kitchen island, which was three times the size of your bed and began sorting the fruits, vegetables and cheeses into the fridge and anything else in a cupboard. Once done, you threw the brown bags into a trash bin before washing your hands.

Your mind wandered away, wondering what might have happened to the rest of the crew. You huffed and wondered if you should look for them or not. Maybe they all got sick? But they were all fine yesterday. They were called somewhere else? Anders would have told you to join them. You took a look around and pushed your hair back with a headband and slipped on a hair net. You took one hesitant look around hoping someone would walk in but after a long and silent minute of you leaning on the marble table, gazing at the overly decorated door, you turned your gaze away from the entrance.

You shuffled from one cupboard, pulling all sorts of ingredients; flour, egg, sugar, vanilla , everything you needed to make a batch of cinnamon buns. And in a few moments you had already begun the first step, humming as you kneaded the dough, gently folding it between your hands and letting it rest for a while after you had declared it ready. You moved to preset the oven and a small red bulb lit up as you twisted the knob, signaling it was on.  

You yawned and your vision blurred as your eyes teared up from sleepiness, you really needed to get a better sleep schedule. Brushing the tears away with your arms, you pushed yourself up, putting aside your weariness and walked back to your cooking station.

It was almost half an hour later, when the doors to the kitchen swung open and you smiled up at Anders as he walked over to you. You were practically done, he had walked in on you smearing the icing on the buns. “They’re fresh out of the oven! Try one!” You offered, cutting him a piece and plating it. “Here, you can top it with whatever you like.” You pointed towards the spread of different sauces and toppings on the table.

“Thank you very much, Miss L/n. And I do appreciate this but sadly I did not come here by my own means.” He says with a soft smile and you unconsciously wipe your hand on a cloth before facing the man with confusion. “Has something happened? Is that why everyone is absent? Does it have something to do with Tony’s daughter? Is she—”

“No, no, no. Mr. Willfard’s daughter is being treated for a broken arm and bruised sides, it’s been confirmed that she will make a full recovery.” He says and you smile gratefully, the worry inside of you lessening, still there but much more eased.

“And about the others, they were given a day off by Mr Potter.” He says and you freeze on the spot. “Oh.”

“Yes, ‘oh.’  and since we are on the topic. Mr. Potter has sent me to inform you that he is expecting you by the pool.” 

Your eyes widened and so did your mouth, silent movements of your lips were targeted at Anders out of shock. “Mr. Potter, Mr. Potter? As in James Potter?”

“Are you acquainted with any other ‘James Potter’s?”

“No.” You answered hastily as you your mind racked to why he would want to speak with you and at the top of your head, and like a blaring siren, yesterday’s events shone. “Was he happy when he asked you to call me? Did he ask it in a ‘I just want to talk’ way  or more of a ‘I’m going to fire you’ tone.” You asked and you instantly felt smaller under the blank and unimpressed expression Anders gave you.

“If you will follow me – What are you doing?” Anders asks, his brows furrowing and lips frowning. “Plating these! They must be served warm or else they’re not as delicious.” You whisper, rushing around just as quick the thoughts in your head.

He sighs and leans his hands on the table, watching as you took your time to gently pick each roll and delicately place them on a large plate.

Once you're done you move the dirty trays to the sink and wonder if you could buy yourself some time as you scrubbed the pans and dishes.

“Leave those and follow me. I’ll assign someone to do them later.” Anders says and you can’t help but butt in, “But everyone took the day off! Except me.” You mutter the last part in a harsh whisper and sigh, accepting defeat. You grabbed one of the pastry-filled tray and angrily hand it to the butler before grabbing the others. 

It almost feels like forever as you followed Anders, your fingers were nervously tapping the silver platter. You took deep breaths and purposely slowed your pace. Anders didn’t even bother to look at you as he led you. You looked around you trying to make out where he’s taking you too. It came as a surprise when you had passed James' office but now you were completely out of the Manor.

“Anders, where are we going?” You asked, Anders didn’t turn to you but did slow down. “To the pool grounds.”

He was going to fire you. You admitted mentally. Should've kept your mouth shut! It is a known, unspoken rule that you should never share your opinions with rich people.

You should treat them like kids, don’t talk to them, don’t get in their squabbles and don’t tell them the truth cause it will make them pissed and emotional and then you will be forced to deal with their tantrums.

However you completely ignored that rule yesterday, when you shared your opinions with Potter of all people. Before you even reach the pool, you hear loud noises and shouts coming from its direction. One very distinctive voice was that of James Potter.

“Miss L/n.” Anders addressed and motioned for you to step ahead of him. You sighed and masked your face before climbing the short stair in quick steps.

The first person you were met with was James. He stood towering over a large group of men that were scattered across the pool yard. James’ is dressed in similar attire to yesterday’s clothing and you almost smile back when he turns to you with a grin. “Mr. Potter.” You greet with a strained tone, placing the tray of buns on a nearby table with harsh clack. 

“Oh, how lovely. Anders, please pass them to the workers, will you? And please call me James. How’ve you been?” He asks, still smiling and you're not so sure of what to make of the man. 

Anders agrees in his usual formal tone and you watch him with the corner of your eye as he picks up your tray and walks down over to the working men.

“I’m fine?” You reply hesitantly and thankfully he doesn’t notice your questioning tone.

“Well I’m glad. I’m sorry to strip you of your day off, I assure you, you can have tomorrow for yourself.”

Your brows furrowed as you stared at the man, you're quite confused and to add to it you almost feel ridiculous while speaking to him with his sunglasses on. “Take off the shades.” You order in a blank tone and you see James’ posture change as he takes a step back and pulls the accessory off. Before he can get the chance to speak, you cut in, “Are you going to fire me?” You ask, the smile completely wiped off your face. You narrow your eyes at the man and watch as he speaks to you in genuine surprise. “Why would I fire you?”

“Then why am I here?” You asked, your confidence slipping. “I’m not here to fire you,” he laughs, “I just wanted to show you this,” He explains motioning towards the pool. “...I’ve seen the pool before.” You say, this time your confusion is clearly plastered on your face. “I mean this.” He says and he guides to the side of the pool, where three men are potting some Jasmine’s. “You picked Jasmine’s?”

“You said it was one of your favorites, right?” He asked, and you faced him with a look of surprise. “You picked Jasmine’s cause they were one of my favorites?” The older man blushed and he faced you with wide eyes, “No! Yes, but not directly, I just picked them because I guessed they’d have to have been really nice flowers if they were on your favorites list.”

“Okay.” You said, still confused but you sighed and brushed it all away. James watched your face soften as you took a step closer to them. “They are beautiful, aren’t they?” You ask, your eyes trained on the small, delicate, white petals of the flower. “Yeah…and they smell nice too.” You laugh, turning to face him as you lightly throw your head back. “Yeah, that too.” You agree watching a soft smile adorn his face.

“Here,” James says as he walks over behind a table, you watch lean down to grab something and your lips part in awe as he walks over to you with a pot of Jasmine’s. “Mr. Potter, I–” You’re in shock and happiness. They’re is a small sickening feeling in your stomach and you do your best to try and avoid it.

“A thank you,” He says. “And as I said earlier, it’s just James.”

《 NEXT PART 》

Tagging: @sssstarstruck @cloudroomblog @ietss

[idle-daydreams]

Your writing is so beautiful, may i request fyodor with a reader who knows a lot ? She knows almost everything in the world and can talk about it for hours , from science to spirituality but the thing is she is a little bit naive and easy to be fooled .

P/s : i don't know if you still take requests so feel free to ignore this 🥲

[A.N.: Here you go! I hope you like it. Also, obligatory apologies for being late]

This is also kind of in honour of Fyodor in the new chapter :)

Tw: Mild yandere, mild controlling (this is actually pretty mild considering its about Fyodor of all people)

“You know, I sometimes wonder if there are beings other than regular humans amongst us,” you said.

Fyodor smiled. “And what has brought that question forth, my little dove?” he asked, sitting beside you on the bed.

You’d been living with him for a while now, in a secluded little house on the outskirts of Yokohama. While you’d initially been hesitant about moving in with him, you’d lost your apartment in a fire, and finding a new place had been surprisingly hard. You worked remotely, so commuting time wasn’t a problem, and the rent was cheaper than living closer to the city centre, so it had made sense economically.

And Fyodor was the gentlest man you’d ever met in your life, so it wasn’t like he could hurt you.

“I don’t know,” you said, kicking your heels as you leaned back against the headboard. “Or rather, I do, but - I was reading this book ‘Flatland’, about a two-dimensional person who lives in a 2D world, who’s visited by a being from the third dimension. It got me thinking: what if there are fourth-dimensional people walking amongst us right now?”

“A fourth dimensional being?” Fyodor shrugged. “I assume they would look quite odd, for one.”

“That’s the whole thing,” you said excitedly, “you wouldn’t be able to tell. To us, the 4D person would look just like a regular person. They’d only just phase in and out of our plane of existence.”

“Like a sphere growing larger and smaller in space.”

“Exactly!” You sat up excitedly. “Have you read the book too?”

“I have not. You simply explain things so well.”

Your smile faltered a bit at the teasing note in his voice. “You’re making fun of me,” you said. “I know I didn’t explain it that well.”

“I will admit I have come across some of those ideas before.” Fyodor patted your hand before brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear. “After all, it is known that some people out there have supernatural abilities, that are different from regular humans.”

“Oh yeah, the Ability users. Yeah, I’ve heard of them too. Never seen one in real life, though.”

Fyodor’s lips twitched. “They are very rare,” he said. “Though it is impossible to tell their true number.”

“I wonder if they are from some other dimension.” You tapped your chin. “I’ve seen some of them on social media, and they look quite ordinary. But their powers are said to be extraordinary. Some of them can even bend the laws of physics.”

“A perversion of the natural laws of this world.” Fyodor cocked his head to the side, and added in a curiously soft tone: “What would you do, [Y/N], if you met one?”

“Me?” You laughed. “Well, I don’t know, I’d try to get to know them, try to understand what they’re like. They haven’t pin-pointed the cause of their abilities; the prevailing theory is that it is some kind of genetic mutation, though some scientists say that its due to environmental factors that affect them in the womb.”

“Would you be afraid of them?”

“Afraid?” You pursed your lips thoughtfully. “I don’t know. Maybe? I suppose it depends on the kind of person they are. I mean, at the heart of it they are people, aren’t they? They’re capable of good and evil just like the rest of us.”

To your surprise, Fyodor chuckled. “You are truly kind,” he said, reaching out to caress your cheek. “You have a beautiful heart.”

You reddened, touching his hand softly. His hands were cold - he was always cold, thanks to his anaemia - but for the slightest moment a tingle passed through your fingertips, like the static of socks on a carpet. You flinched but Fyodor tightened his grip, pulling you closer.

“Yes, a very beautiful heart,” he repeated. “But it does worry me. You should be afraid of them, [Y/N]; you should be afraid of them indeed.”

“Why?” you said, wishing he wouldn’t hold onto you so tightly. “Have you ever met one?”

“Would you need to meet a wild animal to be afraid of one? Would you wish to experience being robbed before you consider it a bad experience?”

“No, but-” You bit your lip. He had a good point. Fyodor always made good points, common sense ideas that you usually didn’t think of. It would have been annoying, but he never made you feel bad about it. Not too bad, anyway.

As if reading your thoughts, Fyodor ran his fingers through your hair. “It is all right, my dove,” he said. “It is not as though they are pounding down your door. But it is something to think of, yes? Danger exists everywhere, but more so in this world that we live in now.”

“I guess.” You pouted. “You know, you always see the cynical side of everything. It’s not very nice.”

“Oh, I am not nice. You are the nice one, while I am the jaded one. It is why we are so suited to each other.” He sat up, straightening his clothes, a sign that he was leaving. For some odd reason, your heart tightened in your chest at his innocuous actions, even though you knew he was only going downstairs to his office.

“Do you have a lot of work today?” you asked. “I was hoping we go out for lunch, and then get some groceries and-”

“No. We won’t be going anywhere today.”

“Oh,” you said. “Then I’ll just go alone.”

“No. I do not like to be alone in the house.” He turned to you with that soft, sad smile that was so characteristic of him. “You know that too, don’t you, my dove?”

And before you could argue the point, he planted a soft kiss atop your head and exited the room, leaving you alone. You frowned - you couldn’t put a finger on it, but you didn’t like it when he behaved that way - but dismissed the thought. After all, Fyodor was a good boyfriend in every other way. He was neat, responsible and far more intelligent than most men. So what if he was a little emotionally distant?

After all, you figured, it’s not like he’s got me trapped here. I can leave anytime I want.

[awfulwriter123]

Second Mom Part 2 (Rhea Ripley x Reader One-Shot)

Hey Everyone! ik its been... *checks calendar* awhile since my last upload, I'm not gonna lie to you, i have a VERY hard time trying to translate my ideas to these works. But I REALLY wanted to get back into it so why not start small? Happy Reading and a good morning/night/afternoon to all! Part 1 for anyone who's interested!!

Warnings: None, Just fluff, Also D/n is daughters name

Okay, You were nervous....Nope, Scratch that. You were scared. I mean you only flew half way across the world to Australia. Not just for Rhea's probably biggest show ever performing Infront of her family and people. But also because you were also here to introduce your now Four year old daughter d/n to her family. No pressure.

Rhea of course, was able to sense your nerves as you guys were on the plane ride over. D/n comfortably asleep with her head leaned on her shoulder. She looked over towards you to see you picking at your nails, a nervous habit you had. "Hey?" She whispered towards you has to not disturb the child sleeping on her shoulder.

You turned your head towards her to see the gentle smile on her face, that smile just slightly calming your nerves. "Hey" You whispered back with a slight smile of your own as she grabbed your hand in her own and squeezed reassuringly.

"They are gonna love her, Don't worry." She said as she leaned over slightly to place a kiss on the top of your head, gaining a huge smile out of you in the process. "I know they will, I just can't help but feel nervous you know?" You said as you looked towards your feet in nervousness.

You felt a finger under your chin causing you to lift your head. You had little time to react has you felt a pair of lips on yours for a split second before that feeling was gone. "It'll be alright, Trust me please?" She practically whispered against your lips. You nodded with a soft smile on your face before pecking her lips for quick kiss again.

You leaned back into your seat and closed your eyes and took a deep breath. 'It's gonna be a lonnnnnngggg couple of days' You thought to yourself as you slowly drifted into a nice nap before the inevitable.

~ Time Skip ~

"Hehe, I feel so tall up here!" D/n said/giggled from atop of Rhea's shoulders, You couldn't help but smile at the sight. "Tell me, What do you see up there koala?" Rhea asked while using her favorite nickname for your daughter.

"Ummmmm.... OH! I see Uncle Priest and Dom! HEY GUYS!!" She basically shouted while waving ethuastically. Dom and Priest both looked up from whatever they were looking at on Dom's phone to laugh at the sight and wave back.

"D/n, Inside voice please." You said softly next to Rhea while looking up at your daughter. "Sorry Momma." She said softly leaning on Rhea's head and closing here eyes, still a bit tired. You couldn't help but chuckle and shake your head at the sight and say. "Like mother like daughter." Rhea looked at you out of the corner of her eye. "What was that honey?" "Nothing." You said cheekily.

You guys walked a bit further before you asked. "Where did your sister say she was picking us up at?" "Should be right over he- oh I see her." You turned your head slightly to see a woman who looks just like Rhea but with blonde hair lookign around. "HEY! SIS!" Rhea shouts while waving a hand.

You see her eyes snap in your direction before a big smile comes across her face as you guys walk up to her. You gently reach up to take d/n off of Rhea's shoulders so she can greet her sister properly. D/n of course whines at not being so high up anymore.

"Hey sis, how you been?" Rhea's sister asks as she gives her big hug, Rhea instantly giving her one of her own. "I've been great, How abou you, mom and dad?" She asks while pulling back to look at her sister. "They've been great, looking forward to seeing you and meeting the Mrs." She said while looking torwards you with d/n in your arms with a smile.

You smile back and reach a free hand out. "Nice to meet you, I'm Y/n." She shakes your hand enthusiastically. "Oh I know, Rhea never shuts up about you." She laughs while pulling her hand away only for Rhea to push her shoulder playfully. "Oh piss off you-" "Language!" You quickly reprimand Rhea nudging your head towards d/n.

"Sorry love." She quickly apologized before coming over to put her arm around you and kiss the top of d/n's head. Her sister coming over to introduce herself to d/n who was currently trying to hide by burying her head in your shoulder. "Hi sweetie, It's nice to meet you." She said softly to her, d/n looking at her for a split second before hiding back into your shoulder.

"Sorry she's a bit shy around new people." You said to her before she gave you a big smile. "It's alright, that's understandable." She said before hearing a quiet voice. "So your Mommy's sister?" D/n asks while giving her a big puppy eyed look. "Yep, sure am kiddo." She said with a soft smile on her face. "So that make you my aunt?" D/n looks towards you as to make her logic checks out, which you couldn't help but laugh at.

"Yes honey, she's your aunt." D/n gets a big smile on her face and a glint in her eye as she quietly asks to be put down. As soon as you put her down she immediately runs over to Rhea's sister and hugs her legs tightly. "Hi auntie." She says as she looks up at her to which she immediately gets picked up into her aunts arms. "Good to meet you too possum."

You lean into Rhea at the sight as all your worries seem to wash away just like that. "Hope she'll be like that around your parent's." You say quietly as you look up towards Rhea who is still looking at her sister with her daughter in her arms with a look of pure happiness. "Oh she will." She said confidently before kissing your temple as you guys walk out towards her sisters car. You now know, you were worrying for no reason.

[ghostsvacuumcleaner]

Okay, so I just read Salvatore and like, I've had this thought in my head for a while now. Kinda hoping for smut? I was thinking of a fan fiction of Leon's birthday. He comes home from the office, most of the lights in the house/apartment are out. There's candles and a birthday cake for him. And since his last name is Kennedy, like JFK, The reader is naked but does what Marilyn Monroe did for JFK'S birthday and sing him happy birthday!

Okay so this request was really fun to write! You just gave me the most plausible excuse to write some more porn, which honestly it's my favorite thing to do. Thank you for the trust and for this amazing idea and request; and I hope you enjoy it ♥

Happy b-day, Agent Kennedy |3.4k

ao3 | masterlist ✦ Pairing: Leon S. Kennedy x f! reader ✦ Summary: Its Leon's birthday. He thought you went out for a business trip, when actually, you have a little surprise for him at home. ✦ TW: NSFW MINORS DNI, explicit, f!reader, little to none f! physical appearence descriptions, smut, very much porn, soft dom leon, p in v, unprotected, lots of dirty talk, very pornographic, bit of fluff in the end

Leon was staring at his computer screen with little to no concentration at this point. He had spent the entire day trying to form connections between two clues he received on someone that the government had been sure was working for Umbrella. He sighed in frustration and let his body fall behind in the big chair; squeezed his eyes, he was tired.

So tired, the clock hit 8pm and he was still far from home. So tired he apparently forgot a very essential fact: his very own birthday. 

Realization fell over him when he unblocked his phone screen and checked the last text you’ve sent that day - a big red heart, after a cute “Happy birthday, bae! I’m sorry for not being there with u. Will compensate. x”. He closed his eyes, mindly damning himself for his workaholic behavior, how could he forget about his own birthday? “Must have lost my fucking mind, it’s drinking day.” He muttered to himself, before getting up and starting to pack up.

As much as he wanted you there with him, he was comprehensive to the fact that it wasn’t your choice not to be: you received an emergency call from work that same day earlier, and needed to pick up the first available plane to Seattle. Leon felt like a needy dog: always near you, always with his hands all over you – always checking you out. He didn’t want to look even more desperate about you and grumble about something out of your control, he understood better than anyone that work came first and foremost in situations like that.

He couldn’t help but feel frustrated to know that you wouldn’t be waiting for him when he got home; a box of beer for each, classic rock playing and you – dancing with you. Eating you. His expectations were put down, he would get drunk alone, listen to his songs alone, and probably find some relief in those polaroids of yours he affectionately kept to himself.

He gathered the documents and papers on the case and put it together in his backpack, turned off the lights and went out; let a deep sigh while going to the elevator towards the parking lot to pick up his car and go home.

━ ⟡ ━

Leon held two boxes of beer along with a bag with a few snacks and a tiny cupcake. He gave a little wave to a neighbor with a small, gentle smile on his face as he fit the key into the door lock and spinned it; to his surprise, the door was already open. His eyebrows instinctively frowned, he felt a cold feeling rising through his spine, he got worried. When working with what he worked with, caution became part of your daily routine; he held the bag in one hand and opened the door slowly, his adrenaline running through his veins, he was ready for anything.

There was a tiny source of light lighting up the spacious and cozy apartment living room; the light trembled through the shadows on the walls; candles. They were everywhere, some white, others red. An intoxicating, delicious smell floated through the air – your smell. Your perfume seemed to be deep-rooted everywhere. There was a small homemade cake on the center table, twenty-nine little candles lit up on top of it. 

The agent's alert state disappeared almost instantly, immediate relief swelling his lungs and releasing the most delightful breath of his life, and he couldn't contain the little mischievous smile that formed in the corner of his lips. He took a few steps forward to reach one of the chairs and leave the bags he carried on it, and intended to find you right after. 

Before he could even do anything, at the moment his figure gave a generous space between himself and the door, it shut itself behind him; Leon felt a shiver crawling through his spine, his stomach contracted slightly feeling your soft, naughty hands caressing his belly, raising his shirt up just above his navel, just enough so you could touch his skin under it with ease.

Your arms wrapped him, and your body clung to his back. His mind became white, slave to the sensations that you caused him; he could know by the perfect shape of your breasts against his back, and your spiked and delicious nipples, that you were naked. He felt a scratch coming down through his belly, the heat beginning to appear and burning his skin after every touch; your sharp nails scratched the skin of his chest slowly, those hypnotic movements of yours made him feel the blood flowing through his veins increasingly stronger, warmer, needier.

“Happy birthday to you…” You started to sing, your soft low voice tickled against his ear. You had to stand on the tip of your feet to reach him; one of your hands rose through his chest to his neck, causing him to drop his head back. You left a slow kiss followed by a roaring laugh down against his ear. “Happy birthday, Agent Kennedy... Happy birthday, to you,” you finished, the intonation of your voice seemed to move with every screw inside his head. 

“Full of surprises aren’t you, babe?” He asked in a rough, low voice, seeming like he could hardly control the excitement that at that point was already apparent in his voice. 

Leon closed his eyes with a smile on his face, he licked his lips slowly, already able to feel the resistance of his pants straining against his hardened cock starting to bother him. 

“Only for you. A special birthday deserves a special gift, hm?”

You smiled against his skin as you traced gentle, slow kisses against his jaw, his neck, left a bite there. Your hand squeezed slightly around his neck, your nails briefly crawling onto the skin with some traces of a recently shaved beard. Leon let out a low purr, the desire and tension almost unbearable to him at that point; his hand abruptly grabbed onto your wrist, and held firmly as he turned around himself.

In a matter of seconds, you felt him pulling you closer, his other hand grabbed your waist with desire as he attacked you with a ferocious kiss. You repaid in the same intensity, your arm wrapped around his neck, your hand grabbing the outstanding blonde threads that got messy with the intensity of the movement in your embrace, your body burned - his hand digging your hip, your ass - he tightened his grip heavily, as if he stated - your body was his.

“Want to drive me crazy, don’t you?” He muttered against your skin as he intensified his wet, messy kisses against your jaw and neck. His arm contracted in pure force when he raised you with one hand, causing you to wrap your legs around him in an intimate hug; you sighed in pleasure. That side of his belonged to you, and only you. No one else could provoke him that way, make him that horny and needy with only a touch, only a plead. That one Leon you had taking you, ravishing you right now was the death of you; when he held you tight, squeezed you with so much will, marked your skin with his bare hands.

“I like when you get wild, babe don’t blame me...” you hummed, trying to contain your heavy breath and the panting noises that came out of your mouth. “It’s your fault, I’m such a whore for you.” you smiled mischievous, biting your lip.

One of his hands still held you against him, the other moved to your neck as he moved into the combined kitchen next to the living room room; as his hands climbed over your body around the curve of your hips, he pressed you hard against the kitchen bench. Your back hit the cold surface and his body projected against yours, his weight immobilized you and you couldn’t hold back a soft moan when you started feeling the bulge on his pants pressing against the core between your legs.

“How am I supposed to not think about you all of the time when you’re like this…” he muttered, pressing his restrained cock against you once again. “Grab it.” he ordered, and you did it. Your hand squeezed into his rock hard cock through the thick fabric of his pants, starting to do slow and soft movements; he bite his lip and let out a growl in yearning.

Leon lowered himself, his mouth skillfully descended through your neck leaving a wet trace through your skin, his hand tightened around one of your breasts as if it were his favorite toy; you purred when he increased his grip strength, and breathe out deeply when he let go, the man’s lip suckling one of your nipples, his tongue slowly rolling into your most sensitive skin.

“No, you look at me.” He commanded, and one of his hands abruptly held your face by your jaw and forced you to lock your eyes onto his. He glared at you, lust overflowing from his look. Leon seeked to see your reactions, mindly recording them in his thoughts; to eat you alive, ravish you. One of his hands stimulated your nipple, the other squeezed raw your breast giving his mouth enough space to consume it. “Good...” he praised, as his kisses descended through your stomach, belly, fuck.

“L-Leon... Ah, fuck...” you purred, your body melting in pleasure against his mouth.

You were indecently trying to control your breath, but his slow movements seemed to destroy any part of you that was capable of self-control. Your hips instinctively moved against the volume in his pants, but Leon didn’t seem determined to finish you off quickly. He wanted to take his time with you. 

He pushed your body backwards against the bench, raising your legs around his shoulders; his head found space between your thighs, one of his hands palmed your stomach, pressing it down against the bench while the other tightened against one of your thighs. His tongue parted your folds in a smooth, almost insensitive movement. You felt your breath catching on your throat.

“You wanted that? You seem needy, darling.” he teased, the hand that caressed your thigh being replaced by now a finger movement, his index and middle finger parting your folds steadily leaving your clit even more exposed to him. “So wet this little cunt, aw...” he whispered, suckling you slowly. His body trembled and you frowned in pleasure with his tongue twirling around your clit as he traced slow kisses and slow suckles and velvety kisses against your core, your juices flowing through your thighs mixed with the spittle he was leaving there.

You growled in response, a submissive purr, a proof of your desperate need for him — more, of him. His hand against your belly intensified your sensations and made you squirm under him, your body started to slowly and autonomically move against his, your hip pushing yourself in a thrust against his mouth; you felt your conscience drop further every time he’d moan against you, like he was eating the most delicious meal he ever had in his lifetime.

“You close, aren’t ya?” he muttered with a naughty smile, why did he had to know you so well.

You lied. You were ashamed of how quick you felt you’d come. Tried to push him away from you, vain efforts - he ignored your hand and your push, and started to only push you harder towards your climax. He couldn’t hold his own needs by seeing you squirm ever so willingly onto his hands, that at this point, couldn’t help themselves but to work on his belt in record timing. He unbuckled it, unzipped his combat pants with ease just enough so he could pull down his boxers. His cock bobbled out in a very deserved relief, gleaming wet in desire.

Grabbing tight onto his length, Leon finally started pumping himself in slow, hard movements - masturbating himself to the obscene picture of you spreading your legs wide to him right now; everything about it was enticing to him: your wet cunt, your teary eyes while you were seeming so dumb, trying to hold back your orgasm, take off his control of you. You could hear the low and slicky sound of his movements while he was eating your pussy off with pleasure.

“Stop being foolish, my dummy baby… come for me.” he asked, with a pleading expression. “On my tongue, c’mon…”

“Leon, babe no- s-stop I’m- I can’t hold it longer…” you warned, and you were right - your eyebrows frowned in a painful, pleasured expression; your body started moving against your will stopping you from even trying to get away from his tongue. Your orgasm got you slowly, not on a surprise - like a very slow flowing sensation down your lower belly. You felt your body stopping for once, your feets squeezing themselves while Leon felt the little trembling pulses of your clit against his mouth.

“Delicious,” he whispered, licking off his lips and tasting every little piece of your slick he could possibly have. “You’re delicious.”

Another slow lick of his between your folds made you spasm a bit, you cursed under your breath before he smirked and left your pussy to rest coming up to you, kissing your body along the way, stomach, collar, mouth. He got rid of his shirt in record timing - you could feel his wet cock against your thighs, and so he pulled you out the bench and backed off slightly. The sudden void between your bodies made you whimper in need, but when you interrupted your kiss looking forward to complaining, the image of his got to you like a punch on your lower belly just again.

Shirtless; his pants open only enough so his cock was there, hanging ever so hard, twitching in need, reddened by the desire - pulsating, his arm contracted by the movements he was doing, pumping his length while staring you, drinking you in, licking off your slick from his own lips. 

He took you again, roughly putting you on your back and you couldn’t help but to mischievously smile, a naughty look on your face while your hands palmed the bench surface. His gaze was locked on your small figure under him; like a little bitch of his. A good, little bitch he had all to himself. 

“See how you get me… Fuck, can’t even hold myself, make me look like a teenager all again.” he hummed, feeling your wetness with a hand that palmed your cunt entirely, making you space out your legs. You could feel his tip against your folds now, tracing a path between them - it made you burn, tremble. “You want it? Yeah?” he asked, torturing you, finding it very amusing how your voice would get thinner and thinner, needier and needier.

“Yes, please.” you pleaded, biting your lip already so wet the sole contact of his cock with your core was making a nasty noise.

Leon wanted to make you beg some more; he wanted to, you knew it. He wanted to see you asking, pleading for more so helplessly, but he, himself couldn’t hold back any longer, he craved you. He took a handful of your hair and pulled it to him, making you arch your back just enough for your head to almost touch his chest; you were so drenched you needed no stretching, no preparations and he so knew it when he slowly fit his length onto your cunt. Your walls tightened to the feeling of his cock, the thickness making you let out a little cry in pleasure; he bent his head back, little drops of sweat forming on his head from how hard he was holding himself from not ravishing you restlessly for once.

He purred, and you felt that tip of his poke your insides the moment he fit the whole length; he stood, giving you a couple seconds to get used to this new filling of your empty space. God, how you wish you were filled all of the fucking time.

He kissed your neck, and breath heavy against your ear, none of you being able of forming complete senseful phrases at the moment; his hand was digging onto your waist, his body towering over yours, his weight pressing you even further against the counter you held so tightly into. 

“I want to die like this” he muttered, against your ear. “Inside this tight little cunt of yours”, he took a bite to your ear and before you could formulate a response, he thrust.

You purred even louder, your breath heavy, your mind going empty for a few seconds as he started to pump into you harder, those slow hard movements, your walls clenching hard against him while he was thrusting his hips so hard you felt like you could break anytime.

“Don’t stop-” was all you could say, your voice got caught stuck in your throat, your nails were digging tightly onto the counter wood; you were on your tiptoes so he could reach your entrance, your feets started looking for space as he bent you even further, stepping on top of his. 

He let go of your hair for a moment and pushed you down the counter, his hand pressing your head against the surface. The movements were wild, filled with passion, with fire, lust, chemistry - your sex was the best, you knew it, he knew it. He could barely hold himself together, he turned feral in a matter of seconds. The grunts of his need, your moans of pleasure alltogether. 

“You gonna kill me-” he grunted. “That’s it… That’s it, babe.” his voice was almost mute, you knew he was trying to hold back just as much as you. 

Your legs started to tremble from the effort, from your heavy breathing and from the pleasure that started taking over you once again; 

“Leon-” you moaned just again along with some incoherent sounds, and bite your lower lip, you could barely move yourself right now, he was toying you like a doll, making you his the way he fucking wanted it. He grunted out loud, you felt his hand reach up to your pussy through you body and stimulating over your sensitive and hurting clit - all hopes you had of holding yourself were vain at that moment, you lost the game; couldn’t hold any longer.

Your body squirmed and you let your head fall behind, a long and loud painful moan came out of your mouth, the pain mixed with the pure pleasure, your second orgasm of that day - it was almost too overwhelming for you. 

Leon’s stomach contracted, his muscles showed up, the veins on his arms were jumping from the efforts, sweat dripping off his forehead, his discharge was like a shockwave against his entire body; he shivered, almost unable of holding himself back the moment he pulled out and gave himself only a few pumps, enough so a big load of his cum hit your buttcheek, slowly dripping from your thigh while he tried to hold his breath steady; his head was now against your back and you could feel his breath catching your skin from time to time, while you tried to gain off conscience again.

You closed your eyes, tired and completely satisfied. He kissed your back ever so gently now, his arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you together standing again, letting your body rest against the counter in some support; after fixing his pants back in place.

“Thank you.” he muttered, digging his face against the curve of your neck, hugging you into a tight and passionate embrace. You smiled a little against his skin. “you tricked me just fine.” he raised his eyebrows.

“I know, right?” you laughed off a little, looking at him - his eyes, then low at his lips before stealing a little kiss. “You brought beer, right? I baked a cake. I’m not sure if it’s edible but it does smell nice.” you raised an eyebrow and he couldn’t hold off a little laugh to your commentary.

“Yeah, I did.” he sighed, not wanting to do anything else but hugging you in that embrace for at least some other hours, or perhaps for the entire night if you’d let him. “I love you.” he muttered, giving you a long affectionate kiss on the cheek; you couldn’t hold back a genuine, little smile.

“In italian.” you asked in a purr, your eyes with a solicit gleam. He brushed your hair with his fingers, before giving in.

“Ti amo.” he smiled, to which you answered a truly loving “I love you too, agent.” 

[downthe-f4ndom-rabbith0le]

The Way Back Home (Spencer Reid x Reader) - Prologue

The Way Back Home (Spencer Reid x Reader) - The Prologue Word Count: 4001 Reader Insert: she/her pronouns Warnings: major angst, major fluff, mentions of murder, crime scenes, near-death experiences, slow-burnish romance, death, canon violence, rape, swearing, guns, knives, prostitution, canon cuteness of the team. Spoilers: Maeve's death, mentions of previous cases or canon events from seasons 1-10.

Spencer and you have an unspoken connection with one another. Nothing has ever happened between you two, especially since everything went down with Maeve, but your love has grown and overcome and is now clear as day to everyone. However, just when Spencer builds up enough courage to ask you out officially, you're requested on an undercover mission that halts your budding relationship in its tracks.

Months go by without a word from you until bodies of prostitutes start showing up in New York and the BAU is brought in to help. Spencer and you finally reunite as both your cases collide, but your lives and your love are both on the line now.

Will you and Spencer be able to find the way back home this time?

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Epilogue

~~~

You released a tired, relieved sigh as you and the rest of the team exited the elevator and walked back into the bullpen. You'd just landed back after a week in Utah chasing a serial killer who turned out to be a mormon. He killed in the name of burning out the false children of God from humanity - literally. The Unsub managed to burn six innocent people alive before they apprehended him.

'I cannot wait to go home for a hot bath and a good glass of scotch,' Rossi said, rubbing at the kink in his neck from the sleep home on the plane.

'Ditto,' Alex said. 'James is home for the weekend, and he has promised me some home made pie that I am very much looking forward to.'

You smiled as you reached your desk, the echo of the others adding to the conversation of what they were looking forward to when they got home warming the usually busy room as they passed you. A sense of comfort and relief washed over you as you placed your go-bag on your desk. Hearing all your friends' voices back in the office after a mission was never a guarantee, so you relished every time you heard them, regardless of the conversation.

You looked up when a figure entered your peripheral vision, and that comfort and warm feeling spread further through you when you saw who it was.

'What about you, Y/N?' Spencer said by way of greeting, a soft smile gracing his own tired features. 'What is waiting for you at home on this fine Friday evening?'

You paused to think about it for a second, a content smile tugging at your lips at the thought. 'Well, unless I've been robbed in the last few days, I will be enjoying a nice glass of moscato while I order pasta from the restaurant below my apartment, and snuggle in with my book that I've spent literally months trying to finish,' you said dreamily, the thought of good food and good wine and a good book sounding almost too good to be true. But Garcia had informed the team before landing that no new cases had been submitted and so you had the weekend to yourselves.

'That all?' he asked, amusement dancing on his lips.

You chuckled, shaking your head. 'I know. First Friday night home in DC in a while and I am choosing to stay at home instead. The utter shame of it all.'

You both laughed, and it pleased you to see his amber eyes light up after the long week you'd had.

'I didn't mean that as a bad thing,' Spencer said, brushing a stray curl from out of his eyes. Even though it was the shortest length it'd ever been, some rogue curls still managed to dangle out of confinement every once in a while. 'What book are you reading?'

'Don't laugh at me, but... The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.'

Spencer's brow furrowed curiously. 'Why would I laugh? I love Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's work.'

You shrugged, casually leaning against your desk as you crossed your arms. 'I know, it just seems a little silly that a federal agent is reading some old detective stories.'

'Actually, Doyle was one of the forefathers of detective fiction, as he brought in the concept that the science of deduction isn't just physical evidence but psychological observations. He created a space where all the sciences we know today can help in solving crime, and actually paved the way for more psychological avenues to be taken more seriously in academia and law enforcement. If you think about it, without Sherlock, you and I may not have our jobs as profilers right now.' Spencer paused when he realised he was rambling, and despite your soft, encouraging smile, he saw the tired blankness in your eyes.

Spencer licked his lips before speaking again. 'What I'm trying to say is... I don't think it's silly at all.'

You nodded your thanks although you knew you didn't need to. 'So what about you?', you asked in return. 'What will entertain Dr. Spencer Reid on this "fine Friday evening"?'

His words repeated back to him kept the smile on his face, more importantly the life in his eyes. But he began to fiddle with the strap of his satchel bag, and you couldn't help but notice he slightly swayed. Like he was nervous or something. It was cute.

He was cute.

You forced the rising heat in your cheeks to stay underneath the surface to not give away your embarrassment or your inner thoughts. Thoughts you'd been having since the day you'd met him six years ago. Thoughts that you'd suppressed so as to not interfere with your work, and then later so it wouldn't ruin your hard-built friendship.

When he told you about Maeve, you'd had mixed feelings. Of course, you'd been ecstatic for him that he'd found someone he could be himself with, and even more so when he disclosed to you that no one else knew about her - just you. But you couldn't deny the twinge of sadness that pulled at your heart knowing that that someone he could be himself with wasn't you.

But you hadn't hesitated, hadn't faltered when he'd needed a shoulder to cry on when Maeve was killed. Once he decided to open up and accept help, you were first in line to help keep the young doctor afloat in his sea of grief and loss.

It's been over a year since Maeve's death now, and while she would always remain important in his heart, he had, for the most part, moved on, slowly getting back to be his usual, quirky, logical self.

The past year and a bit has only brought you two closer together, and as much as you have tried to hide how amazing that makes you feel, you've had plenty of conversations with Penelope and others on the team about finally asking the boy wonder out. It's not like you didn't want to, but if Maeve was his type of girl, you just weren't sure you were what Spencer was looking for in a romantic partner. Besides, you were happy with your friendship.

It was by far the most precious relationship you had aside from your family - why ruin it?

You quickly realised you'd both been silent for a while, Spencer still not having answered your question yet. 'Spence?' you prompted gently.

The cute doctor managed to grasp his satchel strap fiercely and ground himself back in the present. 'R-Right. I too have a book at home. The one you got me for my birthday, actually.'

'Oh yes!' The Shining Girls by Lauren Beukes. You'd been hooked from the first line, and by the time you finished, all you could think about was how much you thought Spencer would enjoy it. So you instantly wrapped up your own personal copy and waited for Spencer's birthday to roll around. You never told him it was yours, you just hoped he didn't notice the slight bend in the spine or minuscule tears in some pages from you flipping them too quickly. 'I've been meaning to ask you if you enjoyed it or not. I just assumed you'd read it already.'

'We've just been so busy with cases lately. I haven't had time to even consider picking it up.'

You rolled your eyes. 'Come on, we both know you could've finished that book on one of our plane rides.'

He shrugged, eyes dipping for a moment before landing back on you. 'I know. I guess... I just wanted to give it the time and attention it deserved,' he settled on, and the honesty in both his words and his eyes threatened to steal your breath.

A silence that rested between comfortable and awkward settled upon you two. This had happened many times in recent weeks although you weren't quite sure why. Regardless of your hidden feelings and the tragedy of Maeve, neither of you lost your comfortability with one another.

'So... we've both got book dates tonight,' you said in an attempt to break the silence. The rest of the team was still chatting just a little away from them, but it felt like it was just the two of you sometimes when you talked.

'Well, actually, maybe...' Spencer started, and his fingers were twitching again. 'I was wondering if maybe you'd want t-to bring your book over and... join me, tonight.'

The request wasn't an unusual one. In fact, you'd conducted your own mini book club between the two of you on plenty of occasions. Mainly because you both found out you were the kind of people that liked your personal time and space, but didn't like the thought of being completely alone. This wasn't new, but it warmed your heart all the same at the gesture.

'That sounds great, Spence!' you said heartily. 'Give me half an hour and I'll be around at yours-'

'Actually,' Spencer interrupted, 'I was thinking we could grab some dinner together first. You know, like at a restaurant or some place you can sit in at.'

'...Like a date?' you asked softly, breathlessly. The words just kind of slipped from you before you even contemplated how they would affect Spencer. It just felt natural and right.

Your heart pounded like a jackhammer between your ribs, but you were more concerned at what expression Spencer would pull in the next five seconds.

To your relief, he smiled that small little smile of his that spoke volumes of his insecurity but also of his genuine intentions. 'Yeah. I guess it is like a date,' he finally replied.

Oh my goodness. He was nervous. His words were rushed and higher-pitched in tone. but you still managed to understand him, as well as what dinner implied.

A half-smile pulled at your lips. 'Dr. Spencer Reid,' you began softly, half-scared, half-excited to speak the words you'd been holding back for so long. 'Are you asking me out on a date right now?'

At your words, his anxiety seemed to disappear, as he stopped fidgeting with the satchel strap and took a daring step closer to you. 'I guess I am.'

You couldn't stop it now, the smile of pure joy you'd been holding back from splitting your face open. After years of suffering silently, of repressing the truth, it was all worth it for that one question.

'So what do you say, SSA Y/N L/N,' he quipped cheekily. 'Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?'

The answer was right there in the tip of your tongue, almost spewing from you, when your name was called out across the bullpen for all to hear.

The globe of silence and serenity that had built around Spencer and yourself suddenly shattered as you both, alongside the rest of the team, turned to Hotch standing in his office doorway. But while you all looked at him, his hard gaze was honed in on you.

'L/N,' he called again, having your attention now. 'Can I see you in my office, please?'

You looked between him and Spencer, unsure who to answer first. In the end, you were still technically on the clock so you nodded at your boss and said, 'Sure, I'll be in there shortly.'

'This can't wait, I'm sorry.'

It was the seriousness and discomfort in his voice that caused you to throw aside your personal agenda, giving Spencer an apologetic look before quickly making your way through the bullpen, up the stairs and into his office. You tried not to look at your team too much as you did, but you felt their gazes on the back of your head nevertheless.

They were just as confused as you were, then.

'Close the door,' Hotch instructed gently, to which you obliged. He pointed to the seat on the other side of his desk. 'Have a seat.'

'Everything okay, Hotch?' you asked, taking a seat in the chair. 'Oh no. Did I make an error in one of my reports again?'

'No, nothing like that,' he reassured you, which didn't help your already built up worry. For a moment, it was just you two sitting in his office in silence; you waited for him to explain his mysterious actions, while he seemed to struggle to find the right words.

He never struggled to find the right words.

You leaned forward in your seat, worry furrowing your brow. 'Hotch. What's wrong?'

'Nothing is wrong, so to say,' he insisted, but his frown remained. 'I've just been in contact with your old unit chief from Organised Crime. They believe there is an underground operation being conducted by gang leaders in Manhattan that involves the transporting, selling and purchasing of girls and women in the prostitute industry.'

'Okay,' you drawled out, more confused than ever. 'What has this got to do with us?'

'It doesn't,' Hotch answered immediately. 'Just you. Your old unit chief wants you back to go undercover in the case.'

'What?' You stood up from your seat instead of shouting, but goodness it took all your strength not to. 'Why do they need me? They have a whole squadron of agents to choose from.'

'They want a profiler to help them find out who these people are first, then go undercover and become part of the operation's inner circle and report back to them,' Hotch explained, although his tone displayed his displeasure in saying so. 'Y/N, you have more experience in undercover missions than anyone else on this team, even before you joined us as a profiler.'

You knew his words to be true, but the reality of it all was an ever-growing weight on your chest. 'What they are asking, Hotch, could take weeks, months even. Those kind of people will not trust so easily,' you tried reasoning with him.

You couldn't help but look through the blinds to your team still standing and talking outside in the bullpen. To Spencer, who had joined the team since you had left, but just looked at the window as if he could find out what was going on behind the glass and blinds if he looked long enough. It broke your heart to think you wouldn't see him for months, maybe even years.

Because that was the thing with undercover missions. Once you assumed the life of someone else, your old life became non-existent. That meant no contact with anyone outside of the case as a safety precaution.

That meant no talking to Spencer, or anyone in the BAU, until the case ended. Or unless you were killed, in which case you wouldn't be able to do a lot of talking anyways.

You turned back around at the sound of Hotch standing from his seat and coming around the desk to speak directly in front of you, no walls to hide behind. 'You know I wouldn't be asking if I hadn't tried to change their mind first. But even I can't argue that you are the best agent for the job.'

You nodded your understanding even if you hated to admit he was right. 'I guess it's not one of those jobs that I can decline, is it?'

Hotch shook his head regrettably. 'Head Chief requested for you personally. You've already been taken off the roster here at the BAU so you're not disturbed by other cases.'

Hearing that was just rubbing salt in the wound, and you hated the burning feeling of tears rising at the back of your eyes. You were already gone from here, like a ghost that didn't realise she was one to begin with.

Hotch's hand rested heavy on your shoulder as he comforted you. 'We can discuss your return to work when your mission is over. You will always have a place with us, Y/N.'

You attempted a smile, but it was strained as you tried to force back tears. You wiped at the strays that dribbled down your cheeks, pulling yourself back together before speaking again. 'All right. How long do I have before I am expected in the Big Apple?'

'There's someone waiting for you at your apartment already. They'll take you to their headquarters when you're done packing tonight.'

You sucked in air as you felt your whole world tilt unstably. Tonight. You had to leave tonight. Again, you found yourself seeking out Spencer through the half-closed blinds.

'So what do you say, SSA Y/N L/N? Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?'

You bit your lip as you blinked your tears away, trying but failing to ignore the cry of your heart as its strings were pulled harshly. 'Tonight?' you asked in the hope you'd misheard.

But no such hope existed, unfortunately.

'Yes,' Hotch said, that one word the final nail in the coffin of your impending suffering. 'I'm sorry. This goes without saying, but don't mention any of this to the team as you leave. Only myself and Section Chief Cruz will know where you are and the details of your mission.'

You huffed out a joyless laugh. 'Hiding truths from a team of profilers is like playing poker with a mirror attached to your face,' you said, and you didn't bother to hide your displeasure and sadness when you did. 'They're going to ask questions, and they will find out the truth eventually.'

'Let me worry about that,' Hotch said gently, letting go of you and leaving a cold mark where his hand once was. 'You've got bags to pack.'

'Right.' You sucked in a few deep breaths before making your way to the door. tears burned at your eyes again but you couldn't let the team see you like this. You couldn't let Spencer see you like this.

Because you had a job to do. And you always finished a job.

Before you could open the door handle, however, Hotch stopped you once more. 'Y/N.'

You looked at him, forcing an expression of blankness and indifference. 'Yes, sir?'

He must've seen your inner struggle, as he offered one of those genuine smiles of his that were oh so rare. 'We'll see you when you get back,' he said.

It wasn't a promise or a done deal, but it was the most hope you could ask for right now. So you smiled your thanks, nodded your goodbye, and opened the door back into the bullpen.

Immediately, all eyes set upon you and the room grew quiet. Your first instinct was to cry, then to run, then to blurt everything out because you hated keeping secrets. But you remembered what had just been said, and you whipped a bright smile onto your face to hide your despair.

'Don't you guys have homes to go to?' you asked cheerily, walking down the stairs as casually as possibly. You would've bee-lined for your bag, but if you moved too quickly they would suspect something. 'I recall hot baths and scotch were awaiting most of us, are they not?'

Thankfully Rossi took the bait, and picked up his go-bag in a huge huff. 'The lady is right. I spend enough time with you people as is, I am not wasting anymore not drinking and soaking.'

'Soaking in what? The bath or scotch?' JJ asked, also picking up her go-bag to make her way back to the elevator.

The group devolved into laughs and other jests, and you breathed a sigh of relief as you picked up your go-bag and followed them. Before you could though, a gentle call of your name halted you in your tracks, out of both politeness and frozen fear.

'Hey,' Spencer started, looking between you and Hotch's office. 'What was all that about?'

'Oh, uh, nothing super important,' you said, scrambled as you words were. 'Just a paperwork issue. Again.'

He broke out in smile that set your heart aflutter despite your inner turmoil. 'You know, you really shouldn't do paperwork on the plane when you're tired if you're just going to make a mistake. You're better off leaving it to the morning when your brain and body has rested enough to comprehend what the paperwork is asking of you.'

'Well sorry if I don't want to do a mountain of paperwork when I come back into the office,' you countered, grateful for the playful distraction as you made it over to the elevator. The others were just piling in when Spencer halted you again.

'So...' he dragged out, eyes flickering between you and teh floor nervously, '...what do you say?'

'To what?' you asked.

'To dinner. You didn't have time to give me an answer before.'

Shit. Your voice failed you now as you grasped at words - any words - to tell him. Your heart screamed yes, but there was someone waiting for you back home. A home you wouldn't be visiting for who knows how long.

Capitalising on your gaping mouth, you forced out a yawn and feigned covering it up out of embarrassment. 'Oh my goodness, sorry about that. Um, actually, now that you mention it, I am pretty beat. I'm just... going to go home and sleep it off if that's all right.'

It pained you to see his smile drop at your words, to see the hope leave his beautiful eyes at your rejection. And you knew you shouldn't say anything or make promises you couldn't keep, but you couldn't just leave him with no hope.

'Maybe next week sometime,' you offered, hoping your smile could bring some of that light back. 'You know, you've never tried the Italian Restaurant under my apartment before. We could go there. On me.'

Instinctively, you reached for his hand, relishing in the warmth it held and brought into you. To your relief, he didn't pull away. Instead, you got your smile back, and a little light returned to his eyes. You were kind of glad you wouldn't be around when the light left him completely.

'Okay,' he said softly, surprising you with a gentle squeeze of your hand in his. 'It's a date.'

'Yeah,' you replied, trying and failing to push aside the fluttering sensation his words gave your heart. You were only prolonging not only your pain, but his.

Selfish. So selfish.

'Come on, you two,' Derek called out from the elevator. 'I can't hold these doors open forever. Savannah will kill me if I miss our dinner reservations.'

You both quickly made it in to the elevator before Derek let them close on you, and then you were caught up in the chaos that was your team. You weren't sure how you got onto the topic of what scotch goes best with what foods, but you didn't care. It made you happy to know they never let the weight of a dark case get in the way of living their own lives to them fullest.

You all reached the car park and before you could make a run for your car, Spencer called out to you. 'See you Monday, Y/N!'

You turned back around to face not only him, but Derek, JJ, Penelope, Alex, and David as they all slowly went for their cars too.

You caught yourself staring at them, taking their happy faces in one last time before you left them behind. Hotch said you'd always have a place with the BAU, but you weren't sure how long this mission would take. And if you'd be replaced by then.

You forced a smile onto your face and waved them farewell. 'Yeah, see you then.'

You hated the bitter taste the lie brought to your mouth, but you managed to keep it together long enough that you got in your car and drove out of the car park without any more issues. That's when the tears came.

You wouldn't be there next Monday, and were not getting that date with Spencer next week.

It hurt you more to think that you may not get that date at all.