#cupid gets mail

[leafatlaw]

comes out of hlvrai covered in blood I finished it....

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! RAH THATS SO COOL !!! How did you like ??

(Random screenshot I have on hand 4 you!!!)

[ilikemicrowaves]

are ian and ivan yaoi

HOW DID YOU GUESS THAT. CUPID ARE YOU SPYING ON ME DO YOU HAVE ACCESS TO MY NITES APPS.

[kalims]

I genuinely can't tell who this is because I swear this is one of the most standard design & pallette for a character but is this yuri 🤔😭😭

[hippolotamus]

Having you reblog my tease Tuesday and also comment being interested in both (especially Cupid) means SO much to me because I admire you as a writer. And so just. Hi. Thank you. I can’t wait to share more of Cupid!Buck. Okay I’m gonna run away and hide now.

Wait! Come back!!!!! Hi, hello, have a seat. *roots around the kitchen for a snack or coffee to offer* Both of those WIPs sound fantastic. Having the background on the Cupid one got me really invested. Like Buck (ever the people pleasing stubborn high achiever) would be so frustrated with that situation. Because Eddie’s heart has been broken and mishandled for years (decades if we’re being honest) so he is shut down and shattered and closed off. The only thing that managed to penetrate his walls is Christopher.

Anyway… so, yes i am very psyched for more!

Also, thank you for your kind words. I’m legit terrible at accepting compliments. Very excited to see more of your ideas in the fandom 💞🦛

[alarici]

USA 2024 election salt

don’t forget to vote don’t forget to vote don’t forget to vote don’t forget to vote don’t forget to vote don’t forget to vote don’t forget to vote don’t forget to vote don’t forget to vote don’t forget to vote don’t forget to vote don’t forget to vote don’t forget to vote don’t forget to vote HOW COULD I POSSIBLY FORGET I GET 5 CALLS A DAY 10 TEXTS 3 APPROACHES ON THE STREET don’t forget to vote don’t forget to vote don’t forget to vote don’t forget to vote don’t forget to vote don’t forget to vote don’t forget to vote don’t forget to vote

[novascharms]

teach please me — tutor!reader x soccer player!rafe

reader's life is meticulously planned, from high school to becoming president of the country—she knows exactly where she's headed and every step to get there. but her airtight plan hits a snag when the principal ropes her into tutoring rafe cameron, the school’s star soccer player, who’s failing algebra and at risk of being benched next season. the team needs him on the field, and reader needs the principal’s glowing recommendation to secure her spot at her dream school. balancing her ambitious goals with rafe’s chaotic charm might just throw her perfectly crafted plan off track.

word count — 2.3 chapter index — prev. chap. — next chap. masterlist

fourteen

friday, february 14th

valentine’s day always felt like one of the least captivating “special” days of the year to you.

first off, no one really seemed to know where it came from, beyond vague whispers about saints and martyrs.

second, the idea of dedicating just one day to showering your significant other with love seemed, well, silly. wasn’t every day supposed to feel like valentine’s day when you were in a relationship?

still, you couldn’t deny the history that was known about it was interesting. valentine’s day cards, for example, were centuries old. the tradition dated back to the 1700s, and by the mid-1800s, advances in printing technology made mass-produced cards a staple of the holiday. the earliest known valentine’s message, though, came even earlier—in 1415, charles, duke of orléans, penned a heartfelt poem to his wife while locked away in the tower of london. it was the whole reason why you chose this specific event for valentine's day.

this entire day felt like a nod to history and the wistful romance of charles and his wife. but for you, it didn't make this day less tiring. you’d already been through nearly fifteen classrooms, walking alongside the valentine’s day volunteers as they handed out letters to blushing teenagers. your feet ached from all the pacing, and the constant hum of chatter and giggles was grating. to top it off, you were missing your own classes for this.

the basket in your hands remained stubbornly full, each letter carefully sorted by class. “alright, next class is JL4,” one of the clipboard-wielding volunteers announced. your stomach dipped at the mention of the name—you recognized it immediately as rafe’s class. you let out a soft sigh, steeling yourself, and tried to plaster on the big, cheerful smile you’d been wearing all morning.

the three volunteers, all dressed as cupid, were practically bouncing on their heels as they prepared to enter the next room. they’d tried to convince you to wear the same ridiculous costume—a gaudy red-and-white getup complete with feathered wings—but you’d politely declined, compromising instead with a simple red sweater.

you knock lightly on the door, then ease it open after a beat. “hi, mr. winslow.” your smile is polished, the kind you’ve perfected over the course of this exhausting day. the teacher glances up, already looking amused as his eyes flick past you to the three cupids clustered just behind.

“hello, ms. y/l/n,” he greets, his grin wide and knowing. “how can my class and i assist you today?” it’s clear he already knows exactly why you’re here.

you give a light laugh, slipping into the well-rehearsed script you’ve been reciting all morning. “my cupids and i have some very important mail to deliver.” you step further into the room, maintaining that same bright expression as you gesture to your basket. “and this class happens to be our most popular yet—with a monumental," you pause for a moment to double take your notes, "fifty-six letters.”

the classroom erupts into laughter and chatter, and as you set the basket on the nearest desk, you can already feel the weight of rafe’s gaze. you spot him sitting next to pope, his chair tilted back slightly, that signature grin tugging at his lips.

“dahlia hendrix,” you call out, scanning the organized letters until you find her name. the blonde sitting by the window perks up, her cheeks already flushing. “cupid’s got three letters for you.” you hand the cards to the first cupid, who diligently adds the three accompanying lollipops.

your attention shifts as you fish out the next set. “topper thornton,” you announce, your voice overly sweet as you lock eyes with him. topper—the same guy who’d called you a bitch just last week—smirks, clearly unbothered. “cupid paid you a lovely visit with five letters.” ignoring the boisterous cheering from his group of friends, you pass the stack to another cupid.

your gaze lands on kiara, who’s already shaking her head, visibly unimpressed by the spectacle. “kiara carrera,” you say with a giggle you can’t quite suppress. “four letters for you.” as she begrudgingly takes the cards, you watch her swat away jj’s teasing hands, the corner of your mouth twitching with amusement.

you continue distributing the letters, each name met with varying levels of enthusiasm. “cupid’s got five for jj maybank.” you hand them off. “one for sienna jackson, four for pope heyward, and two for nixon blake .” the room grows louder with every delivery, envelopes being torn open, voices overlapping in excitement.

but there’s one more name to call.

you inhale softly, forcing a smile to hold your composure. “rafe cameron,” you say, your voice steady despite the way your stomach twists. his eyes are already on you, his brow raised in lazy curiosity as he slouches in his chair. “cupid’s got… thirty-eight—"

the room explodes. cheers, whistles, shouts—it’s pandemonium.

“goddamn, cameron!”

“playboyyy!”

“leave some for the rest of us!”

rafe doesn’t join in on the noise. his faint smile doesn’t falter, but he doesn’t look at anyone else either—just you.

you bite down on your tongue, hesitating as you hand off the stack to your waiting cupid. a part of you wants to hold onto them, to stop him from receiving all thirty-eight love letters.

your cupid even needs a separate bag just for the mountain of lollipops meant for him.

“uh, no thanks,” rafe says smoothly, declining the sweets with an effortless shrug. “you can hand those out to the class.” he doesn’t even glance at the towering pile of letters now sitting on his desk, but they feel like they’re mocking you anyway.

grabbing your basket, you turn back to mr. winslow and offer a polite smile, mouthing a quick “thank you.”

“happy valentine’s day, JL4,” you call out, your voice cheery despite the sinking weight in your chest. the class who are now all enjoying rafe's candy, respond in a chaotic chorus, and you’re already stepping out the door, closing it firmly behind you.

thirty-eight cards. thirty-eight. what kind of lunatic receives thirty-eight love letters from girls in the same school? it was absurd, incomprehensible. what was he even doing to these girls? brainwashing them? you could barely fathom the ridiculousness of it all. the thought of ripping every single card to shreds—one by one—flashed vividly in your mind.

“you cannot seriously be mad at me for getting letters from girls i don’t even know.” rafe’s voice carries an amused lilt as he follows you down the empty hallway, the echo of his steps light and unhurried.

“sure, i can,” you snap, pushing open the double doors with more force than necessary. “this is a free country, isn’t it?” your words are sharp, but your pace is sharper, your arm aching from lugging the stupid basket of valentine’s leftovers.

“what was i supposed to do, put out a memo to stop them? you think i orchestrated this?” he asks, his tone threaded with mock innocence as he keeps up with your brisk strides.

you don’t answer, too focused on navigating your way up to the attic. weaving through the maze of dusty boxes and forgotten decorations from past school events, you finally reach the valentine’s day shelf. you place the basket down carefully, feeling the relief in your sore arm but not in your simmering annoyance.

“i think it’s cute,” you say sweetly, the sarcasm practically dripping from your voice. “all those girls just adore you. we should read the letters together, make a night of it. how fun would that be?”

“i know you’re being sarcastic,” he laughs, leaning against a nearby stack of storage bins. “but honestly? it might be hilarious to see what they wrote.”

you roll your eyes, pulling the flower petals out of the basket and carefully pouring them back into their designated bowl. “right. i can already picture it. ‘oh, rafe, i can't stop thinking about your eyes, blue like the sky. let's go skinny dipping on the beach at last light, you can kiss me goodnight.'” your mocking tone grows more dramatic with each word, and you hear his laughter double over behind you.

before you can say more, his arms snake around your waist from behind, and you try to wriggle free, but his grip is firm. “i’ll throw them all out if that’s what you want,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear, his lips brushing the shell of it with maddening softness.

you shake your head stubbornly, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a real answer. “no,” you mutter, crossing your arms even as his hold on you tightens. “you should put them above your bed. make a shrine out of them.”

his lips find a familiar trail along your neck, pressing soft, deliberate kisses that make your resolve falter. “i think i kinda like when you’re jealous,” he murmurs, his voice low, sending a shiver down your spine.

you huff, keeping your eyes locked on the shelf in front of you, determined not to react. “who’s jealous?” you whisper, your voice small, defiant.

you feel him smile against your skin, the curve of it unmistakable, and you purse your lips, refusing to admit how easily he gets to you.

he presses you against him and suddenly, his gentle kisses turn into desperate nipping and soft sucking that flood your entire core with pleasure. you moan softly as his hands travel down, lower and lower until they're under your skirt and he's ripping your tights and panties down to your ankles.

"r-rafe.." you attempt to warn him, to stop him, to tell him this cannot happen in school but his name slips out like a breathless whisper and you can't get yourself to say no to this.

his hands are all over you and your body is suddenly pliant under his touch as he takes one of your tits in hand, "you look so beautiful right now." you can barely focus on his words when his fingers are inching closer and closer to your pussy, tentatively trailing along the walls of your thighs before finally rubbing your pearly clit with his thumb, your eyes flutter shut and you instinctively try to push your thighs shut.

"should take a couple of pictures of you and hang those right above my bed," he muses and you whimper, head tilting back to rest on his shoulder as he forces your thighs open. "you'd like that, huh? your pretty cunt on my wall?" his thumb tirelessly rubbed your clit, flicking the little nub till your eyes were tearing up and you were gasping for more.

“more?” he’s taunting, almost mocking you as his fingers trail along your sensitive slit before finding your clit again. “mm,” you whimper as you buck your hips into his hands.

his lips nip at your skin but you can barely process it, you try to stay in the present, try to focus on anything that can ground you but fail miserably, “my fingers? does my pretty girl want my fingers inside her?”

"mhm, y-yes.." you whimper, back arching into his chest and you cry out when his fingers slowly push into your soaking cunt. your walls constrict around him and you're in disbelief at how filling his fingers feel. "rafe! oh, god!" you grip his forearm as he drills his digits in and out of you, fingers curling and pushing deeper and deeper.

you’re writhing against him, trying to stay up right as his fingers clamor in you and his thumb rubs your clit until it’s all sore and swollen. “it’s so g-good.. s’ good..” you mumble lazily, tears streaming down your face and rafe is mouthing at your neck, fingers move at a relentless pace. “c’mon, sweetheart, cum for me.”

you feel that familiar earth-shattering sensation, a combination of low pressure and deep coiling. your hips jerk against your will and then you’re moaning, eyes closed as you squirt and gush all over rafe’s fingers. “that’s it..that’s it, pretty girl..” rafe mutters quietly as you pant in his arms. you can’t believe that just happened in a storage room on school grounds.

“try to stand still, okay?” he mutters into your ear before he’s letting you go and reaching into your bag that sat forgotten on the floor for a tissue. he cleaned you up gently before pulling your panties and tights over your tights and up again.

you hold onto to the shelf for a moment to not lose your balance before turning to look at him, lazy smile on your face. “another first?” he asks and you’re nodding slowly and leaning up to nuzzle your nose against his. he grins when you cup his cheeks, “i’ve only ever..done it myself and it has never felt quite like that. thank you.” you whisper and rafe pecks your lips, gently, lips brushing against yours. “anytime, baby.”

you wrap your arms around his neck slowly and he pulls you in, body against his as he kisses you again and again and again. “i want you,” you sigh against him when you feel his bulge poking you and he’s smiling against yours lips. “you just had me..” he murmurs. you shake your head, “no..” you whine softly, hands darting down to his bulge and gently running your fingers along it. “want you..” you repeat quietly.

you don’t know where this insatiable feeling is coming from, you don’t understand why you can’t get enough, can’t stop, don’t even want to stop. not even a little bit.

you’re slowly sinking to your knees but rafe stops you with a pained expression, hands on your arms, “you’re not going to give me a blowjob in a storage closet. that would take the cake as the most assholey shit i’ve ever pulled.”

“i want to make you feel good.” you complain softly and he pecks the pout on your lips. “soon, yeah? i promise.”

chapter index — prev. chap. — next chap.

taglist — @rafeysworldim19 @my-name-is-baby @pogueprincesa @fveapplestall @chalametlover444 @slutglimreqpers @uarmyhopeworldwide @junxe3 @bakuhoethotski @wintercrow @bigjuli444 @singlethreadofivy

let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist & interact with post to remain tagged <3

[wolfstarlibrarian]

As the Wolfstar Librarian I'm kind of shocked I haven't made this a list yet! And I just finished reading this cute book during the holidays so enjoy a late holiday rec!

Bookstore Wolfstar Fics

Collateral by fingerprintbruises The fic where Sirius flees from the paparazzi, Remus runs a bookstore, and Lily has great timing.

You've Got Love by @cruisinwritealong Remus connects with an enigmatic stranger online, runs an amazing bookstore, and has his life flipped upside down when a Potter Brothers Books megastore opens up just a few blocks away. To makes things even worse the owner of the megastore is charming, funny, and hot as hell. Based on the movie You've Got Mail

Wholly Civilised (orphaned account)

When Remus Lupin is mugged in an alley, the last thing he expects is to invite the mugger to his flat and offer him food and a job. But that's exactly what he does. What he learns about Sirius Black after that, turns his entire world upside down.

The Quiet War by CF_Casper "Let's use love like a knife try to cut through the surface Love can break through the ice when you're fighting a different kind of war” (Sirius and Lily are in a gang. James and Remus run a book shop. Everyone falls in love.)

The Certainty of You by uponavenueroad Sirius is a Hollywood actor who has not been entirely forthcoming about his identity to an undeniably charming, befuddled antique book seller from Notting Hill. The truth comes to a head the morning after a steamy one-night stand. A movie-star AU that’s loosely inspired by the classic romcom 'Notting Hill'.

A Likely Story (orphaned account Sirius Black is a famous Youtuber who can't help but keep coming back to the cozy bookstore, "A Likely Story". He quickly finds himself falling for the cute bookworm, Remus Lupin. This story won't be too long and is for all the softies that just need some fluff.

A Novel Idea by @haywirecompass Sirius writes horror, with the occasional help of his two best friends, who are raising a child and therefore worry him sometimes with the ideas they come up with. He loves reading just as much as he loves writing, so the new bookshop down the road seems like to perfect place to go to load his bookshelves to breaking point. Then he meets the owner, who is somehow adorable and hot at the same time, and everything goes a bit pear-shaped.

The Cafe Upstairs by @cottonpadenthusiast Remus Lupin can sum himself up in two words; book nerd. He can also sum up Sirius Black in three; hottest guy ever. Moreover, he can sum up the likelihood of a relationship between them in one; impossible.

Fine Motor Skills by @femme--de--lettres Sirius Black's car needs work—again. Meanwhile, Remus Lupin is amused to see his favorite customer back at his mechanic's shop.

the inconveniences in our favour by @magicbeings This is a story about a graffiti-covered wall, a boy unhealthily obsessed with it, and a man who really only wanted his dream of owning a peaceful bookshop not to be ruined by a stubborn artist. Sometimes, the most frustrating inconveniences turn out to really work in your favour.

A Very Bad, Terrible, No Good Day by @solar3cl1ip5e On the worst day of his life, Remus wakes up with a cold, without power, and no tissues. He also rear-ends the most attractive man he's ever seen.

Cupid Disarmed by Anonymous Remus Lupin has Veela blood, Sirius Black reads trite romance novels, and neither of them are quite sure what the fuck to do with their hands when they get to talking with one another.

You Burn Brighter than the Stars by The_wolf_the_rat_the_dog_and_the_stag Remus meets Sirius at the university bookstore where he works and falls instantly in love.

BOOK REC:

Looking for a book similar to these fics? With characters that are so lovable? Check out this book that features a queer bookstore owner and a romance novelist!

Look Up, Handsome by Jack Strange

[ecstxsyy]

XOXO. | VIKTOR ❦

Viktor just couldn’t help himself.

based on this ask.

18+ mdni!

viktor x fem!reader

warnings: m!masturbation, p in v, riding, oral (f&m!receiving), cum eating, switch!viktor, switch!reader, viktor is a whining mess for majority of this.

requests for v-day event are closed!!

cupid’s candy hearts masterlist

───── ⋆ ⋅ ꨄ︎ ⋅⋆ ─────

VIKTOR OFTEN found himself thinking of you with his hands down his pants, it wasn’t his brightest moment, but he truly couldn’t help it. You were the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. It also didn't help that your and Jayce’s faces were everywhere, Hextech took off tremendously once the three of you launched it, and though he was proud of what you all had created; he preferred to stay out of the limelight.

You and Jayce had just arrived back at the lab with a stack of photos that the two of you just got done having taken of you that needed to be signed and sent out. You let out a loud sigh once you let the stack thump onto the desk, your back was killing you from hauling them around.

It took you and Jayce hours to finish signing all the copies of the photos, your hands sore and achy from all of the writing. Once the two of you finished, you left your stacks on the desk to be mailed out tomorrow. You both waved Viktor goodbye and started to head back to your apartment.

Once Viktor was sure the two of you were gone, he made his way over to the photos to take a good look at them. He pulled the first copy off of the stack and studied over every detail of your body in the frame, you were standing slightly facing towards Jayce so your ass was in the frame just enough for him to get a good look at it in those slacks that fit you just right. He began to feel the blood rushing from his head to the growing erection in his trousers, it was humiliating how one picture could get him so riled up.

Viktor took the photo over to his work chair, pulling his trousers and undergarments down to his mid-thigh to let his cock spring free against his stomach. He got to work immediately, spitting in his palm to use as lube. His hand jerked his cock quickly, his whines and whimpers uncontrollable as he scanned over every part of your body and face over and over again.

Little did Viktor know, you’d forgotten your cloak and it happened to be quite chilly out. You huffed and turned on the balls of your feet, moving quickly to get your things so you could go home and sleep off the day. You reached the heavy doors of the lab and paused, muffled sounds coming from the inside.

You pressed your ear to the door trying to hear what the noise was coming from, the sound of your name made you even more curious. You slowly pushed open the door as quietly as you could, seeing the last thing you’d ever expect. Viktor’s hand was strangling his cock, loud whimpers of your name falling from his lips. The part that shocked you the most was the photo, he could deny saying your name all he wanted, but the photo in his hand was cold, hard proof.

A smirk rose to your lips as you slid through the crack in the door, you crept closer slowly and waited for him to whimper out your name again.

“Yes?” you responded to his call of your name, visibly startling him from his place in his chair. Viktor scrambled to cover himself, trying to get at least his undergarments on. You giggled at his feeble attempt, moving closer to him to stop his hands.

“I- I’m… It’s not what it looks like?” Viktor said as more of a question, trying to save himself from any more embarrassment than he was already feeling.

“It’s okay, don't stop just because of me,” you said, gesturing to his erection. “I know you want to cum.”

Viktor nodded, a desperate look on his face. He moved to uncover himself hesitantly, he’d never touched himself in front of anyone before and it made him feel shy.

“Will you help, please?” Viktor asked.

“Well, how can I say no when you asked so nicely,” you said, cupping the side of his face with your palm. Your other hand moved to wrap itself around his aching cock, stroking it slowly. Viktor's hips bucked, trying to gain any bit of friction. You moved your hand from his face to his hip to pin him in place to the chair beneath him, Viktor let out a small whine at this.

“Please,” the boy begged, desperate for some sort of release. You obliged and moved your hand faster, using your mouth to suck on his sensitive tip. This drew a strangled gasp from Viktor, his moans becoming more and more frequent the closer he got to cumming.

“Look at how much of a mess you are for me, you can barely even think straight,” you teased. Viktor’s cheeks flushed red, he couldn't even open his mouth to defend himself because he knew you were right.

You finally moved to take all of what you could of him into your mouth, gagging a few times before finding a steady rhythm. Your head bobbed up and down on him, his cries getting louder. The way your tongue circled his tip made him feel like his brain was turning to mush, the only thing on his mind being to chase his high.

“Please, please, please,” He begged, his orgasm getting closer with every flick of your tongue. Just as he was about to reach his peak, you pulled off of him with a pop, leaving his tip a soft purple color.

“Why did you do that?” Viktor practically cried, his eyes brimming with tears.

“Wouldn’t you rather cum inside of me?” You asked, standing to your feet to unbutton your slacks. Viktor's eyes went as wide as saucers, his head moving up and down before he could even think. You giggled and pulled off your pants and panties, baring yourself in front of him.

Viktor stared in awe, you looked better than he could have ever believed. You were beyond flattered at his reaction, no man had ever looked at you like this before. You silently moved to straddle Viktor’s lap, sliding yourself down into him slowly while you used your thumb to wipe away the tears in his eyes.

The two of you gasped in unison, the feeling was like no other. Viktor filled you so perfectly it was like the two of you had been made for each other, his cock filling you to the brim. You sat in place for a while, adjusting to his size before you started to bounce slowly in Viktor's lap.

Viktor’s moans were pathetic and you loved it, the way he sounded like he was going to fall apart at any second made you soaked. His hands found your hips and guided you, setting you to the perfect pace for the both of you.

The two of you moaned in sync, your fingers moving to rub your clit in quick circles. You watched Viktor’s face closely, the way his mouth fell open when you swiveled your hips and the way his eyebrows bunched together when he looked to watch where the two of you connected.

The sight of your pussy swallowing him completely made his orgasm hit him like a freight train, his warm cum spurting into you for what felt like minutes.

“You did so good baby, you came so much,” you coed in his ear, stroking over his soft hair. Tears fell over the edge of his amber eyes as he finished cumming, his legs trembling beneath yours.

“Let me help you finish,” Viktor said with a frown as you stood up, “you didn’t get to cum.” You laughed and kissed his cheek.

“That’s okay, you don’t have t-” Before you could finish, Viktor was dragging you over to the couch as quickly as he could. He set his hand firmly on your sternum and pushed you back, letting you fall onto the couch.

Once you were seated, Viktor kneeled to the ground to spread your legs. Before he started, you handed him a pillow for his leg. You knew kneeling on the hard marble floors would cause him some trouble.

The gesture made his heart flutter as he grabbed your legs and pinned them to your chest, he dove in immediately, licking and sucking at your sensitive clit. The sight of his pretty brown eyes looking up at you from between your thighs nearly made you cum on sight, his tongue lapping at you quickly.

The thought of him licking his cum out of you drove you insane, your hips grinding your needy cunt against his face. Your hand found the back of his head, pushing him further into your wetness. Viktor accepted it with grace, if he was going to suffocate between your thighs he would die a happy man.

Your orgasm began approaching, your back arching up off of the couch. Your moans got louder and louder the closer you got.

“Viktor,” you breathed out, your orgasm washing over you with an immense feeling of bliss. Small trembles ran through your thighs as Viktor continued to suck on your clit, his fingers joining the assault to fill your tight hole.

“Fuck, wait, wait,” you cried out, trying to pull your hips away.

“I’ve already waited long enough for this, I’m not going to squander this opportunity,” Viktor smirked, returning his tongue to its place on your clit while pinning your hips to the couch.

You were going to be here all night.

───── ⋆ ⋅ ꨄ︎ ⋅⋆ ─────

[the-californicationist]

Cali's Kinktober 2024: Day 05

Kinktober Masterlist rara avis - "the rare bird" John Price x f!reader Kinks > yandere, NC voyeurism, stalking, rough sex Full tags on AO3 - MDNI

When you move to your new home, you are totally swept off your feet by the amenities. There are so many beautiful, wooded trails and a gorgeous creek for you to explore in your own backyard. Your neighbor, an avid bird watcher, mostly keeps to himself. However, you start feeling like you’re the bird being watched.

If you don't like what's in the kink list, don't fucking click on this story. You're not invited. Block me, and then.... Get. Fucking. Lost.

You had picked this place because of the view. Your backyard overlooked the most gorgeous, fairytale-perfect creek that you’d ever seen. In the morning, ducks and their ducklings played in the shallow bends and curves of the whispering brook, and at night, frogs and fireflies sang and danced to serenade you to sleep. It was heaven. 

So, that’s why you practically lived in your backyard. You were always outside gardening or weeding, laying by the stream with a spicy book, or swinging gently in your hammock, letting your toes skim the cold water of your very own oasis. 

Your swimming had started as a summer habit. After you finished your sweaty chores, you loved stripping down to your bra and panties to cool off in the little creek. The deepest part only came to your belly button, so it was more like a sit rather than a swim, but you didn’t mind. In fact, if you remained still long enough, little finches would sneak along the bank, keeping an eye on you while they hunted for bugs and seeds in the muddy shoal. 

Autumn brought cardinals and bluebird that roosted in the low branches of your trees, and a very vocal whippoorwill, all competing for their own spot in this obvious paradise. 

You weren’t much of a bird watcher, but your neighbor was. 

Captain John Price was some sort of legend. He had served in the special forces, or still did serve, but that was all classified. Your other neighbors had let you in on his intense background, yet no one had anything but the highest praise for his classy manners and charming smile. And while he did flash a beaming grin to the Smiths and the Broussards across the wide lane, he looked at you with a different sort of smile. 

The way he looked at you made you melt like a popsicle on a hot day. 

You’d gotten closer to the captain over the last year or so that you’d lived here. He had come over one evening because your pipes had burst in the freeze, and he knew just how to fix it. Over the course of the season, he’d sit outside and you would make excuses to chat with him. Once he had your attention, he’d point out all the different types of birds that flitted between his trees and yours, helping you recognize their calls. He’d bring his binoculars with him some evenings while he sat to watch the avian traffic, and he even let you peer through the lenses to see a nest of baby chicks in your own backyard. 

Then, he’d had to go away for “work”, so he asked you to keep an eye on the mail for him. He was only supposed to be gone for six weeks, but six more weeks passed before he showed up with ten stitches over his eye and his arm in a sling asking for his key back. 

When he saw your face fall in reaction to his wounds, he chuckled, the corners of his eyes creasing at their seams as he told his lies,

“Clumsy, me. Fell down the bloody stairs at Heathrow. Dunno what hurts worse, my arm or my pride.”

The wink that he tacked on at the end of his quip was Cupid’s thick-shafted arrow, striking you right in your heart. You were in trouble. This man was some sort of secret agent contract killer, and yet you found yourself replacing old boyfriends’ faces with his when you made yourself come at night, imagining him spreading you open instead of whoever had been your flavor of the month back then. Price might be the most dangerous man on Earth, but goddamnit, you didn’t care.

Over the following summer, your dark fantasies continued. He started working on his own backyard, putting up birdhouses and sharing facts with you about some of the local species he was hoping to host when you passed each other coming and going. Each day that you got to see him was a true gift, even if you didn’t really care about birding in the least. 

One particular afternoon was especially fruitful. The captain was out there all day trimming trees, cutting brush, and hacking back old growth… shirtless. His muscles gleamed like a hirsute Adonis, snapping and rolling under his skin like a symphony of strength. The way his tanned flesh gleamed in the sun made him look like he was carved out of bronze. 

So, you thought, two could play at that game. 

You bought a white bikini online and lounged in it the first day it came in, rocking back and forth in your hammock, hoping that you could catch a glimpse of him watching you with that savage look in his eyes. When you spotted him glance over at you from his garden, you knew your plan had worked. He would peek over his shoulder as he raked or shoveled, almost imperceptibly, but you were watching him like a hawk and you noticed every little breath and movement he was making. 

As the afternoon wore on, especially when you needed to apply more sunscreen, he fed you juicier and juicer morsels of his lustful longing. He would stare, when he thought you weren’t looking, at the way your heavy tits strained the lycra of your triangle top, and when you bent over, his eyes would scrape and claw for every curve of your plump ass before righting himself again before you caught him scavenging. 

At one point, you pretended to fall asleep, letting your book fall limply out of your hand and onto the grass, making your mouth soft and slack, just to see what he would do. To your shock, he pulled out his phone and began to take pictures of you, quick and efficient, pocketing his device before he even looked at the results. His audacity was shocking. Your mind raced with all of the thoughts of what he might do with your images, of how he might touch himself thinking about you, hungering for you and your tender body. 

A few minutes passed, and he continued to try and work, but it was futile. John started to walk over to you, moving through your shared backyard and making a steady advance on your position. As he got closer and closer, you tried to control your breathing, reminding yourself to be dead asleep, forcing your mind not to obsess over his enormous muscle-bound body or the dark fur that covered his skin, becoming denser and curling as it trailed below his belly button, pointing you to where you wanted to focus. 

He stood a short distance away for a while, and he seemed to be locked in a silent battle with himself. The captain wanted to attack and retreat at the same time. All the while, you noticed him shaking his leg ever so slightly, bending the knee and widening his stance. But, his shifting wasn’t working, and to your absolute joy, he finally relented and had to use his hand to readjust his growing cock. He pulled the body of it up and over his left hip, lovingly squeezing the tip just a bit before letting it go. You marveled at his girth, praying that the outline in his pants was truly representative of the absolute monster he kept inside of them.

Your neighbor allowed himself to step forward. And again. Slowly, step by step, he closed the gap, his eyes never leaving your face, worrying that you would wake up to find him leering. Yet, he didn’t care enough to return to his side of the yard. 

Shame, it seemed, was not a deterrent for his thirst. 

When he was close enough to touch you, he knelt down, studying your face. Then, his eyes began to drink you in, gazing at your breasts as they hung slightly to the side, their round shapes being pulled by gravity into smooth teardrops of sensitive flesh. His hands fidgeted with the wooden handle of his rake he was holding, wanting to touch the silk of your skin and test its fineness. 

Then, he trailed his vision along the midline of your belly, chewing on the inside of his lip as he studied your thickness. When he looked down at the join of your legs, staring at your fat pussy hidden under the thin fabric of your suit, his whole body sighed. You watched his bones sag and reset themselves, his jaw working through its hinge once and then twice as if he was chewing on cold mastic. 

Just when you thought he would reach out to touch you, or maybe snap another picture, he bent down a little further and picked up your fallen book. As he crouched there beside you, he flipped a few pages back and forth until he seemed to find what he was looking for. A twitch of a smile pulled at his full mouth, and he laid the book back on the grass, open to the scene he wanted you to discover. 

His eyes gave you one last look, wistful almost, and then he returned to his yard. Now, you just had to wait for him to look away for long enough that you could pretend to wake up from your nap. Luckily, he ducked into his shed for a moment, taking out new tools to use, and while he was busy organizing his equipment, you roused yourself from your farce. 

You were soaking wet. You could feel the slide of your desire between your soft lips, and your mind was buzzing with adrenaline.  

As casually as you could, you reached over and grabbed your book, tossing your bookmark into the page he’d kept for you, forcing yourself to wait until you were in the safety of your own home to see what he had wanted to show you.

You got up from your hammock and stretched, gathering up your belongings and making a slow but deliberate trek back indoors. When you noticed him looking over, you turned to wave, giving him what you hoped was a typical, neighborly smile. He smiled back but didn’t return the gesture, resting his hands on the handle of a long spade, watching you as you sealed yourself back indoors. 

The moment you shut the door, you opened the book, desperate to read the scene he wanted you to see. It was a raunchy moment for the main characters with the hero burying his face between his paramour’s thighs, eating his fill of her. Just the thought of John Price wanting to perform this scene with you was enough to make you clench your knees together with lurid want. You let your hand slip over the top of your swimsuit bottoms, and you teased yourself to a quick, vicious orgasm right in the middle of your kitchen, sinking down to the floor in a wet, inglorious puddle.

The next few days passed without incident. You weren’t even sure if he was home. But, one afternoon, you were both getting the mail, and he was carrying in a long box. It was about half as tall as he was, and it didn’t look lightweight. 

“Wow,” you raised your voice a bit to get his attention, “You’ve got quite the package.”

You hadn’t initially intended for the innuendo, but you weren’t mad about it. You even gave him a knowing smile, acknowledging the line. He chuckled, the sound of it creating a churning feeling deep in your core, 

“Telescope. Your creek had a kingfisher in it last week, and I’m hoping to see him again.”

“Oh, cool,” you walked a little closer, making your conversation more intimate, pretending to be interested in birds for once in your life, “Is that a rare bird?” 

His warm purr turned to a suggestive growl, soft and trapped in his throat, and the fire in his eyes made your blood run hot, but he wasn’t excited about birds. He was excited about you. 

“Aye, the rarest,” he nodded, pointing up to his main bedroom’s balcony on the second level, “I think I’ve got a decent view from there. This thing comes with a camera attachment, so I’ll try to catch him for you.”

“That’s really awesome,” you grinned, noticing that his balcony also had a pretty damn good view of your own bedroom window, “I bet you’ll get some great shots. Can’t wait to see them.”

“You bet,” he grinned knowingly, dragging his huge package back inside. 

That night, you watched him setting it all up, spying on him from your own bedroom window. He was fixing the telescope on your creek, making sure the angle was just right. So, you decided to make it worth his while. 

In the purple dusk, you found yourself walking out into your backyard in nothing but a thin mesh cover-up. It was barely enough to be publicly decent, but as soon as it got wet, you knew it would show everything. It took all your power not to glance over your shoulder at him as you stepped into the creek, but you kept your cool. Face forward, sinking slowly into the water for a quick dip. 

You settled into the stream, kneeling on the soft rocks, playing in the babbling waters, pretending to relax after a long day. You started skimming for pretty stones, leaning forward to wet the top of your cover-up, feeling the fabric cling to your peaked nipples, knowing they would be very much on display through the tissue-thin mesh. 

Unable to stand it any longer, you dared to glance up at the balcony. There, sitting behind his brand new scope, was your hot neighbor, staring through the lens trained right on you. A rush of desire hit you like a drug, and you made yourself bravely gaze into the lens, peering through the dark glass, knowing he would see you looking. 

Then, when he didn’t react, you pushed the envelope. You dropped the pretty rock you had in your palm and scooped up a handful of water between your hands, holding them together like a bowl. Then, you poured it on your neck, letting the cool liquid soak the rest of your top, making your garment entirely transparent and sticking to your body like latex. 

Every moment that passed made you more brazen. You began to trace the outline of your collarbone, rubbing the side of your neck, pretending to massage away the stress. 

Your eyes kept glancing to his spot, looking at him as he stared at you. This time, when you looked back, his body illuminated by his outdoor light, you saw something magical. His hand was stuck down his black, athletic shorts, and he was slowly jerking his cock back and forth, pleasuring himself as he watched you moonbathe in your stream. 

Now, you locked eyes with the scope, and you turned your body towards him, making sure he knew that this show was for him. You moved your hands to your hanging breasts, circling them and pressing them together, holding them through the wet mesh. It felt so nice to squeeze them and feel the pleasure you were crafting, so you began to play with your nipples, plucking them and pinching the tips, being gentle and cruel, letting your eyes and mouth soften as you teased your own body.

You wondered if he was taking pictures or not. Maybe a video? You didn’t care. You wanted him to take them. You wanted him to take you, if he would have you. 

When he saw evidence of your want, he pulled his cock free from his shorts, and now he was very clearly jerking off, using his precome to shine his shaft to a wet gleam. You wished you could taste it. You wanted to study the fullness of his head, suckling on the drooling tip, and you wanted to trace the veins of his shaft like rivers on a map, blue and full of his warm blood. 

Just the thought of how his fat dick would feel inside of you was sending you over the edge. So, you sank one of your hands between your legs to relieve some tension, massaging your clit in frantic circles under the water. You must have gotten lost in your own ministrations, because when you snapped back to reality and focused on the balcony again, he was gone. 

At first, your heart sank, disappointed that he was finished with your display. Then, you heard the slam of a door and looked down into his backyard. There he was, a tight white tee shirt stretching over his broad shoulders, his cockhead trapped in the elastic of his shorts, the outline of it visible as he walked, barefoot, straight towards you. 

You stared at him in shock, not knowing what to do. He looked like he was in a rage. His brow was set in a determined line, and a frightened thrill writhed its way along your spine. Was he angry with you for being so indecent? For teasing him with your lewdness? 

He said nothing as he approached, and you thought he would stop at the bank of the creek, but he didn’t. He came splashing right through the water, making his way right over to the spot where you were kneeling, reaching out and grabbing you tightly around your shoulders, lifting you out of the water in a wet, chaotic mess.

You were pressed against his body, getting his clothes all wet, gasping from the shock of his aggression. You started to protest, trying to get your footing, but his mouth silenced your words. John pressed his lips to yours in a ferocious kiss, invading you with his long tongue, and sucking on your bottom lip hard enough for it to sting. 

He pulled away and began to bite and lick his way down your neck, stealing your breath and stumbling through the creek as he devoured you, marching you backwards, awkward and halting, all the way to the shallow near the bank. Then, just when you could feel the pebbles give way to the sand and mud of the shoal, you felt him shove you to the ground. You landed hard on your rump, gasping from the violence of it, trapped somewhere between terror and ecstasy. 

“John, I wa–”

He fell to his knees and kissed your words away again, tasting you over and over, committing your flavor to memory, fisting your hair to control the way you kissed him back, stealing you from yourself like a thief. 

You were being covered, inch by inch, with his heavy body, and he leaned over you, kissing and sucking and licking and biting whatever his mouth could reach. He moved to your nipple, suckling on you through the thin mesh of your cover-up, the warmth of his tongue a stark contrast to the chill of the wet fabric. He stayed there for as long as he wanted, groping and pinching your other breast as he sucked on you, making you whimper from the overstimulation. Then, he sat back on his heels, his knees still stuck in the shallow water of the creek, your bodies half-in and half-out of the span. 

He was peering down at you and panting. You were both breathing hard, your chests heaving, staring at each other like a predator with its prey, not knowing which one you were but dying to be the latter. 

John seemed like he was waiting for something, and when you saw his eyes move down your body to stare at your pussy, you knew what he wanted. So, very slowly, you opened yourself up to him, unfolding your legs from your center, blooming for him like a dew-soaked flower, ready to present your sticky nectar to him. The sigh of relief that rattled through his body made you want to come. 

He fell to his chest, clutching your hips in his huge, strong hands, lifting you to his mouth as he began to eat you from the inside. His tongue prodded and curled, searching for your favorite spots, finding them with a suspicious ease. Licking across your clit, his mouth created wet, pornographic noises, and he groaned as he ate, unable to hold back his expression of pleasure with every brain-breaking suck and lick. 

When you cried out from the immediate response your body sent slashing through your belly, he looked up from his work, but he didn’t stop. His eyes, pale blue and feral, caught yours and something inside of them forced you to stay on him, unable to look away, trapped like a rabbit in a snapping snare.

His steady, forceful suckling dragged you to an orgasm, making you tremble and wriggle against his jaws, your body sliding in the muddy bank of the stream. You felt him pull away, and you thought he was done, the spell broken by your keening completion. But, he stripped off his shirt and raked the band of his shorts under his enormous sack, presenting his engorged prick to you like a present. 

Looking down at you, his eyes hooded, the pupils blown, you knew he was waiting again. Waiting for you to let him in. You were already spread open for him like a wanton whore, barely clothed and filthy from the ground. So, you reached between your thighs to cradle the underside of his shaft, petting him gently, tugging him forward in invitation. 

His nonverbal viciousness was making you feel like you were under his spell, so you dared not speak lest it could be broken. Wordlessly, you pulled him toward your dripping hole, coaxing him in, letting him know he was more than welcome in your body’s sacral embrace. 

A deep, demonic moan fell from his lips as he let his heavy cockhead slot itself between your lips. You took your hand away, returning to your breasts, playing with yourself just as you had in his telescope, letting him see you bring yourself pleasure at your delicate peaks. 

Hungry, he thrust himself forward through your folds, slipping in your wetness, the weeping slit of his tip bullying your clit with every forward motion. Back and forth, he slid through you, slicking himself in your flesh, using himself like a toy in your sensitive petals. 

You couldn’t help but whine for him. It felt mind-numbingly delicious to be played with in this way, and his rocking undulations drove you to the point of madness. You began to hump his shaft like a naughty dog, eager for everything he was giving you and more. His cock was big enough to be a challenge, but you were up for it. You didn’t care if it hurt. You wanted to feel him invading you, claiming you like an animal out here in the stream. 

Finally, when John couldn’t wait any longer, he allowed his head to slip down and notch in the pliant sling of your quim, moaning just as desperately as you had been as he felt you swallow his tip inside of your hole.

“Nhgh,” he clenched his teeth as he pressed his hips forward, his hand grabbing your hip hard enough to bruise, holding you in place so you couldn’t escape him, as if you wanted to, “Bloody hell, you’re so wet for me.”

You cried out as he pried you open, his heavy shaft too thick for your unpracticed slit,

“John… it’s so big… oh, God…”  

His grimace morphed into a smile, and he slid himself out before pumping forward again, trying to fit his thick rod into your cunt,

“Thought you could just give me a fuckin’ show. Thought I’d just watch, that I’d let you get away with it.”

He shoved himself forward, forcing a shrill scream from your lips, laying himself over you and trapping you between his arms. As he began to thrust himself into you, dragging himself out and punching himself back in, you felt hot tears sting your eyes with their salt, overwhelmed by the blinding pleasure you were experiencing. 

“Fuckkkkk,” you watched as his eyes rolled back in his head as he cursed at the feeling of your body clenching around him, stuck in the feeding-bleeding cycle of your shared bliss, “Rub that pussy for me, love.”

You obeyed, following his eyes as he watched your fingers make their little ovals in the plushness of your flesh. He groaned, pleased, and set himself to his task. As he fucked you, he began in steady, pumping thrusts. You could have kept time with his momentum, shocked by his consistency. He never faltered, he never weakened; he simply fed himself to you, in and out, stuffing you full of his hard length and rubbing at your softest, deepest places. 

Between his steady sex and your familiar touch, you were falling over yourself in an embarrassingly short time, your pussy already primed for pleasure, horny beyond belief, tingling and eager to throb around his shaft in celebration. He bent to kiss you on your sensitive neck, sucking against your skin, mean enough to leave a mark, whispering a chaotic mess of messages to you as he was lost in the thrall of fucking you into the dirt,

“Feel you wantin’ to come, pretty bird. Sing for me, yeah? Let me hear you scream for me.”

This couldn’t be real. His filthy talk was pulling you deeper and deeper into your mounting orgasm, and you felt the line snap. Your body began to tense up, your muscles tight and shaking, and you could felt the rush of your come coating you both from the inside. You were feeling completely unbound, and you had to stop touching your clit. It was too much, but he wasn’t having it,

“Don’t stop. Don’t… C’mere.”

He shoved your hand away and took over for you, fucking you and rubbing you, refusing to let you escape from his efforts. His touch flung you back into an orgasmic whirlpool, making you dizzy, tricking you into thinking you had finally stopped coming and then proving you wrong. He was dragging them out of you, ragged and nasty, moaning from your screams and from the gripping, pulsating tightness of your pussy. 

“That’s it. Such a pretty song. Keep singin’ for me, love. Makes me wanna fuckin’ fill you up with my come.”

“I’m… John, please… Mmngh!” You fell apart, your orgasm turning you into a brainless little fucktoy for him, your body betraying you, defecting to his side, willing to listen to his every command. 

He took his hand away, and you sighed in relief until you realized he had new plans for you. He pulled away, sitting back and flipping you over with frightening ease, helping you to your knees before feeding himself back inside of you from behind. Your chest was pressed down into the mud, the cold ground stinging your swollen nipples, the smell of the wet dirt heady in your nose. 

“Pretty bird. Look at this fat fuckin’ arse,” he grunted, slapping you hard on your right cheek. 

“Angh!” You cried out. 

“Perfect,” he smiled, showing you his sharp teeth as you stared at him over your shoulder. 

He hunched himself over your body, humping his fat prick into you like a dog, grinding himself into your hole with wet, milking noises filling the night air as he fucked you in the dark. John was pumping himself hard enough in you that you thought you might bruise. You knew your pussy was helpless to his invasion, and it trembled with every thrust, trying its best to flood you with your own lubrication, doing everything it could to help you cope. 

Frantic, John wrapped his hand around the base of your neck, holding you beneath him, pressing his hips even closer so he could reach his crown to new depths. The angle forced you to arch your back and he rewarded you for it, rubbing his hand along your ribs before reaching under your cover-up to hold your breast in his palm, gripping you fiercely. 

“Holy hell, this tight little cunt’s gonna make me come, baby,” he purred into your ear, bending himself over you, increasing his pace and his power, watching the pleasure-packed tears roll down your cheeks, “You want it? You want my fuckin’ come? Want me to put it right here?”

You felt his hand reach around your leg so that he could press his fist against your womb, making your body feel every inch of him even tighter inside of you, allowing you to know exactly just how deep he was rutting into you. 

“Please, John… I need…” You tried to answer, but you were fuck-drunk and dumb. You were nothing more than his cocksleeve. You were made for him to pump his load into you. That was all you wanted. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else even existed. Your whole world fell away, replaced by your neighbor’s pounding rod. 

“Tha’s it, pretty bird,” he rolled his fist against your lower belly in deep, massaging circles, flinging you into a rolling orgasm, “The louder you scream, the harder I’ll fuckin’ come.”

His groaning turned into animalistic grunting, shouting, growling despair, and he sank himself down into you, flush with his girthy base, fully sheathed in your hot core. You could feel him filling you with his creamy orgasm, letting rope after rope shoot into your body, trapped inside by his thick root. 

John’s breath was hot against your cheek, and he kissed his way down your body as he pulled himself away. The long retreat of his shaft made you feel like your soul was being ripped from your chest, and the wet, gooey noise of his spend sliding out of you turning your heart inside out. You collapsed to the ground, not caring in the least about the mud, nor its cold, clinging, filth; you just breathed and trembled, used and spent. 

You thought he would leave you where he found you, his cruel love shaming him into fleeing such a scene of terrible waste. But, he didn’t. He shucked off his shorts and pulled your cover-up off of you, letting it slap down into the shoal. Then, he scooped you up in his arms and waded with you back into the creek, laying you in the running water, black with the night’s dark sky above you, cold against your sensitive flesh. 

You shivered, curling into him, and you felt his hands using the clear water to wash you clean. He was clearing the sand out of your hair and off of your skin, gently as he could, caring for you like a precious pet, baptizing you in his own praises. Telling you how good you were for him, how you were his pretty bird, how he would take care of everything. 

When he was done, he lifted you out of the stream and carried you to the yard, heading for his backdoor. He nudged it open and lifted you all the way up the stairs, single-minded on his mission. You were in and out of consciousness, too weak to protest, and when he finally lay you in his own bed, he wrapped you in a towel he pulled from his bathroom, using another to dry himself off as well. 

You groaned, trying to get up, but he lay himself on top of you, fidgeting with the covers under you were under him and the sheet, locked against his naked body.

“I should go… “ You whispered, trying to fight the sleep that was seeping into your mind. 

You felt the prod of his cock, hard once more, and you whined from the absurdity of your sore hole being asked to stretch again for him.

He pushed himself inside with little resistance this time, and started the process again, taking your primed body like you were made for it. Like it was your one, true purpose. 

“I can’t,” you whimpered, panting and curling against him, “Don’t make me come again.”

“Shh,” John said, kissing you quiet, “Hush, love. I’m not fuckin’ finished.”

 You couldn’t remember how many orgasms he had pulled from you, but when you woke the next morning, his arm wrapped tight around your breasts, you felt like you had transcended. You were on a whole new plane of existence, and although you were bruised, used, and soaking in his milky seed, you were well and truly satisfied. 

As your eyes adjusted to the light, you saw a picture of yourself come into view. You were on his nightstand, dressed in your white bikini, pretending to sleep with your book by your side. It was trapped beneath a pane of glass, gleaming in the dawn, surrounded by a proud frame. 

That’s weird, you thought. Framing it was a little odd. But, then, you saw the rest. All over his wall, the one that faced your bedroom, pictures of you covered the sheetrock like wallpaper. You stopped breathing. All you could see were pictures of you from every different angle and position. Some were of you getting dressed in your bedroom, and some were of you shopping at the store. Some were close portraits, and some were taken in places you didn’t even remember. They were everywhere, floor to ceiling, pasted very meticulously to the plaster. And you were in every one. 

You hadn’t realized he was awake yet, but you knew he had been watching you examine his gallery when his palm covered your mouth stopping you in the middle of your scream.

[cupiditas-and-ao3]

PLEASE tell me we will be seeing more of professor angelo

Oh 100% very soon 😘

I do still have his TA story in the works. Meantime! Feel free to ask any questions about him

[sris-skies]

FRIENDLY NEIGHBOUR- nicholas &team

the first time that he saw her, he dropped his mail. she was just carrying her groceries up the stairs to her apartment in a very casual outfit- a completely ordinary occasion, but there was just something about her that made him stop in his tracks, she was just so ethereal to him. nicholas watched her go into her apartment and felt his mouth go dry. since when was such a gorgeous woman living next door to him. he picked up his mail dazedly and walked into his own apartment, his dazed smile scaring the shit out of his roommate. “yo… dude, are you.. are you okay?” euijoo said hesitantly from his spot on the couch, watching nicholas all but float around their apartment. “I think i just saw a goddess” nicholas said dreamily, flopping onto the couch dramatically, his head falling into ej’s lap. “oh god not this shit again, get your delusional ass out of here” ej said, scrunching his nose and pushing nico’s head out of his lap as if repulsed by what his friend was saying. 

the second time that he saw her, it was two weeks later. she had wormed her way into his brain and stayed there for the entire time- to the point where his friends were sick of him, all of them groaning the minute nicholas opened his mouth to talk about the beautiful woman next door. this time that he saw her, nicholas was coming back home from the gym, begging internally that he didn't stink and end up grossing her out- oh god what if he smelled so bad that she decided to move out and he’d never see her ever again. in his flustered state, nicholas and the pretty woman next door made eye contact, which prompted the human embodiment of an angel to smile so sweetly at him, sending a rush through his body, his ears obviously flushing a bright red. “hey! did you just come from the gym?” she asked nicholas in a friendly manner. what. she.. she was talking to him?? him?? his mind ran blank at that realisation, only snapping out of his trance at the feeling of her gaze on his face. “uhm. oh! uh, yeah i did, sorry, do i smell bad?” he responded finally, cheering internally that he didn’t fumble the conversation with the gorgeous woman in front of him… that much at least. “no no! you don’t smell bad, i just thought that you were coming from the gym because of your clothes” the pretty and sweet woman said, reassuring him. god she was perfect. nicholas could feel cupid’s arrow shooting straight through his heart (again). he wasn’t even sure how the rest of the conversation went, but by the time he walked into his apartment, euijoo, maki and yuma took one look at his face and immediately groaned, ej holding his head in his hands, maki getting up off the couch as if to leave and yuma falling dramatically off the couch. was he really that bad? yes. yes, he was. 

the third, fourth and thirtieth time he saw and interacted with her went by in a similar fashion, the two speaking more with every interaction and nicholas- without fail- ranting about each and every one of their interactions to his friends at any available opportunity (forcibly removing decades off of their lives). it wasn’t even until three months after he’d first saw her that his little bubble was popped. there she was… the most beautiful, funny, perfect woman he’d ever met, going down the very same stairs he’d first seen her on, carrying… boxes? why the hell was she moving boxes labelled ‘glassware’- oh. oh that’s why. y/n was moving away. nicholas felt like his whole world was crashing and burning around him, his motivation for going outside of his apartment was leaving? 

y/n flashed him a quick sheepish smile as she carried the box down the stairs. “hey nico! sorry I’m taking up the space on the stairs” she laughed awkwardly. god he loved the way his name sounded falling from her lips. “oh! hi y/n! no, no that’s ok! do.. do you want some help carrying these boxes?” he responded instinctively, his soul’s need to be helpful and near to her, kicking back in. “really? oh my god, thank you so much- that’d be so helpful” y/n said, sounding so relieved, her eyes lighting up at the sound of his offer. shit she was so cute (and leaving him). not trusting his voice to not crack embarrassingly, nicholas just nodded his head, going up to climb the stairs in order to grab a box for her, his eyes widening slightly at the weight of the box as he picked it up. y/n soon joined him once more, picking up one of the bigger boxes with an ease that made his throat dry up. lord save him, she was strong too? god, this crush wasn’t going to go anywhere any time soon. 

nicholas helped y/n move her boxes silently, listening to her talk about her day and why she was moving (she’d found a better apartment for a cheaper price a few streets down from where they were now). his silence was mainly in part due to his eyes being glued to her form as she lifted and carried heavy boxes up and down their stairs, feeling so enamoured with her every second that passed, but also because he loved the way that words sounded when they rolled off of her tongue. somehow, they’d managed to bring the last two boxes down the stairs, just about to load them into the car. nicholas panicked, fuck. he didn’t have her number or even her instagram, how would he be able to keep talking with her- “would you like to go on a date with me?”- yeah, that’d do it. he opened his mouth to ask her the fateful question when he was interrupted with; “oh finally, I thought you’d never ask me out”. he blinked. he blinked again. what. oh fuck oh shit, he’d actually said that out loud and to her- oh god he was such a loser, no wonder she just… accepted it? “w-wait… you’d want to go on a date with me?” he asked, seeking confirmation that this was in fact actually happening. “well yeah, of course I would, i’ve been waiting for you to ask me for at least two weeks now” y/n laughed, shoving the last box into her trunk. “oh! oh uhm, yeah okay, erm well, i’ll pick you up on saturday at 6pm?” nicholas stammered his way through this- praying to every god out there that he didn’t fumble this heavenly opportunity. “sounds like a date, nico! see you then” y/n said, subtly flushing shyly, waving goodbye as she got into her car and drove off- leaving nicholas to stand like an idiot on the sidewalk outside their apartment complex. 

“yo! hey nico, whats up?” “i’m going on a date with y/n…” “this again? stop being so fucking delusional please it is physically paining me” “but I’m being serious!” “sure sure, we’ll just pick up some extra anti-psychosis meds on the next grocery run” “im not joking!!”

merry christmas y'all! uhm, i wrote this in the midst of moving house el oh el (hence the theme of this fic erm)

this was written as a present for @chiiyuuv as part of secret santa hehe (i was so locked in trying to finish this on time for you pookie- hope you enjoy it xx)

I did write this highly sleep deprived so I’m praying that it is actually a good piece of writing 🥰🥰🥰

[shirecorn]

Ornaments closing, The struggle! (and how much i appreciate everyone)

I will be making a post about the reindeer ornaments closing this week until they open again for the indiegogo in the summer. I make them in batches, so it won't be feasible to keep individual orders trickling in throughout the year.

If you know you want a set but can't buy one now, let me know and I will make sure I have a set made during the last batch, and I will hang onto it as long as you need me to.

https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLScqQudyvlzWw73HGWG77pJRYEFQyisOlaEoY9KnE8idXMPE9Q/viewform

If you can buy a set now, please do!

<https://www.etsy.com/listing/1821374250/reindeer-team-ornaments?>

The revenue will help me find a place to live, and prove to landlords that I have an income. There's also cheaper stuff on my shop like stickers and keychains, and custom commissions of your pet.

Check me out!

Once reindeer season is over, I will be getting to my backlog of commissions, including mermaid and MLP requests, so keep a look out for those.

Right now I'm sitting in a library working on the deluxe sets to hopefully mail them. I'm couchsurfing, so my drawing/work station is in a bit of a kerfuffle, to put it mildly.

If you have money but don't want anything back, you can check out my kofi to put some coins in the horse and make it go.

Ko-fi.com/shirecorn

If you have money and want exclusive behind the scenes look at my process, prospects, and secret projects, please join my discord! Having a consistent monthly income will do wonders for my stability, and might help me get housing.

Hopefully tumblr doesn't decide to delete all these looks like it has been doing to recent posts. If you are able to support me monetarily, thank you so much! If not, just give me comments and attention, as those are the real reason I bother posting my stuff anywhere. If I didn't have to worry about food and bills, I would subsist entirely on attention.

I really appreciate every comment and encouragement! I read e v e r y t h i n g and l adore my followers.

Happy new year!

[httpsghostie]

Soap def assisted in setting reader and ghost up. Hes out there laying match maker. Hes become tactical military Tinder/Grinder coordinator.

Conveniently you and ghost are paired up, there only one bed in the hotel.

Sorry y/n i cant go out w you guys today but ghost can giv u a ride ;). His schedule is free ;) ;) ;)

*purposefully trips and knocks over ghost so he falls onto of u ;))))))))))*

*accidentally knocks over water bucket and the conveniently has no back up shirt for u. BUT GHOST HAS AN EXTRA ;))))))*

Hey mates i got 2 tickets to a concert but Price is assigning me something so i cant go. It would be a shame IF YOU TWO DIDNT GO ;) (price didnt assign shit soap made that up)

He def roped price and gaz into helping him in his schemes😂

I don’t make the rules, Soap is a fucking cupid.

He’s literally going out of his way to make you and Ghost get along with each other and end up together. Doing God’s work on his behalf. Just because he knows his lieutenant has a massive crush on you.

And when I say he’s going out of his way, I’m talking about getting Price and Gaz to help him with it, because he won’t succeed on his task alone. Price is organizing the week’s schedule? Your break will definitely be at the same time as Ghost’s, and also the morning jog on the base.

Oh and you bet you’re getting your clothes all stealed from your wardrobe for when you come back to shower. You confront Soap about him going too far with his articulations but he just says he doesn’t know about what you’re talking — he’s trying his best not to laugh.

Poor Gaz doesn’t realize he’s not helping when he offers you a shirt and Soap stomps on his foot and clears his throat. It causes Ghost to offer you his clothes and you have no option but to accept — I’m talking even boxers that looked hella enormous on you.

You know what Soap’s doing, both of you do, you just don’t want to give him the satisfaction.

Would tell Price to ask Ghost some archives while he’s asking the same to you, causing you both to meet in between years of dusty racks, making you sneeze and laugh at how stupid you were.

He would also mix your mail. Ghost ordered some new knives? Oh no, you received them. And oh no, you had to go talk to him.

They can and will bet on how long you can keep standing while training with Ghost.

Arranged a cooking class both of you unknowingly signed up to, just because he believed Simon didn’t know how to cook properly and you would help him. You did, after all, seeing him in that cute little hat and the apron made your heart melt.

[dpr-stay]

Cupid | LH44

Lewis Hamilton x Reader

Warnings: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, reader is a press officer, don't think gender is stated specifically, implied sexual content, second chance romance, she is not edited, zhou guanyu does not crash, and there are swears.

WC: ~7.7k (kill me now)

I literally hate this, im so sorry. I haven't edited it because it's late but I hope it's not bad. I'll edit it tomorrow. also how is it so longgg, it was supposed to be 5k at best. (why have i written two fics about exes having dinner?)

Being Valtteri Bottas’ PR Agent was a wild ride. From being hired by him in his early days at Williams, to his successful years at Mercedes, and now at Alfa Romeo, you’d gotten to know the man through all stages of his career. You’d been there to field off questions about his declining performance at Mercedes and had been the first one to slam open the door and start yelling at him after the ‘cheated-on-his-wife’ rumours started floating around.

However, the paycheck was good and, when he wasn’t causing you to spend many nights in meetings about his public image, you didn’t mind the guy, happy to have to follow him around the world for most of the year.

The whole Formula One thing was also a bonus, you having been hooked on the sport after your Dad introduced it to you at an early age. You’d spent countless hours watching your dad watch the car’s speed by on his tv set, finally deciding to pay attention to the race after a few years. And boy, did you love it. 

You’d spent many an early birthday present forcing your parents to take you to the Grand Prix nearest to you, saving up for months to be able to afford the tickets and the travel. Something about the sport just intrigued pre-teen you, nothing to do with Michael Schumacher at all.

So, when the chance to be a F1 driver’s personal PR agent had landed on your advertisement agency’s desk, the place you had worked in the early days of your career, you had snatched it up quickly. The work started well before the start of the 2013 season, you having to meet the man himself and quickly getting adjusted to the many people you’d need to know to network for the guy. 

You’d also met Maldonado’s PR agent, one from the Williams team, who quickly brought up the ideas of doing interviews and press releases between the two drivers. You were swept into the world of the sport, beginning to get into the swing of things. 

Years passed, as did teammates, and Valtteri got signed to Mercedes alongside Lewis Hamilton. You didn’t know if your employment would carry over to Mercedes, but a team shirt and a letter letting you know about when Valtteri’s responsibilities started being mailed to your house confirmed it pretty quickly.

The atmosphere at Mercedes was more professional, though the team still treated each other as family. You’d often see engineers leaving together, going to go get drunk and celebrate Lewis’ common wins and Valtteri’s less common, but still happening, wins. 

You’d often spend hours at a time bargaining for spots for Valtteri in interviews and in PR related spots, and it worked. He was a well-known man, your job was practically done. The bosses were (finally) appeased, Valtteri was happy, and you could finally relax after years straight of stressing about social media and whatever the hell a vine was and if that was still relevant.

And then you’d gone and got yourself trapped in an elevator with Lewis Hamilton. 

Being a Mercedes employee, though only temporary, you’d met Lewis often during interviews and team meetings. However, you never really know a person until you spend five hours sitting opposite each other in a broken-down elevator, only being able to see each other by the light of your phone's flashlight, waiting for some sort of help as there was no signal.

Your conversation had started off hesitantly, you incredibly intimidated by the several-time world champion and him having a fleeting idea of who you were. The conversation had eventually fizzled out till the lift jolted, and a creaking sound echoed into the cavern of the contraption.

Your telling groan that you couldn’t hold back elicited a concerned “You alright?” from Lewis and then you eventually had to tell the professional F1 driver, who raced cars at over 200km/h every other weekend, about your fear of small spaces.

He hadn’t judged you for it, something which you thought was rather nice, and had even tried to adjust for you, moving to the very other side of the small box. Granted, your feet still touched, but you thought the sentiment was nice. 

He was more down to earth than you expected, you knew he wasn’t a prick but you weren’t expecting him to be… kind. Soon enough, after a few more questions about why you were afraid of small spaces and other questions, you both had spiraled into boundless conversation. 

You had talked about things you’d never talked about with someone, let alone a practical stranger, his soothing accent making it easier to open up to him. Things like the future and where it would take you, uncertainties about both your careers, even relationships, the type of conversations you only have trapped in a suspended metal box in the dark. 

Lewis was a fantastic person to talk to. He’d listen when he needed to and returned your conversation with equal energy, as though he actually wanted to be part of the conversation. For some reason he had decided to trust you and had talked freely to you, showing you a side that you doubted many people had seen.

Maybe it was the fact he couldn’t see your face or maybe you just gave off a trustworthy vibe. You didn’t know. All you knew was that, all of a sudden, you were one of Lewis Hamilton’s most trusted confidants. 

Even after someone had finally realised you were missing and exactly where you were, calling more firemen than necessary to bust open the lift though you supposed that’s what you were supposed to do when a ‘Sir’ was trapped in an elevator, Lewis had asked for your phone number and had continued to text you.

You’d met up a few times over the season, quickly becoming incredibly close friends who told each other everything. You’d had to deal with a few teases from Valtteri, who’d shut up when you reminded him who controlled the public’s opinion of him. 

During the off-season Lewis had invited you to come to his house for dinner. You’d went, it was lovely, and then you’d unknowingly experienced the moment of truth in your weird friendship/developing relationship. 

You’d been sitting at Lewis’s dinner table, eagerly chatting to the man about your family, leaning in closer and closer until the both of you were nearly leaning over the table. He’d cooked for you, an act you found incredibly sweet for the multi-millionaire who probably had ten private chefs on speed-dial, and you’d spent the evening wining and dining. 

You had both finished your main courses, talking about everything and anything when a loud bang had come from the upstairs of the man’s house. He glossed right over it, ignoring the loud sound. You had been about to comment on it but, at his nonchalance, you deigned not to. 

The conversation had continued, you both moving from his table to the couch he owned, which probably cost more than your salary earned you, when another loud sound, which sounded suspiciously like a bark, reverberated through his open-plan house. 

He sighed loudly at your questioning look, deciding that he couldn’t ignore it this time. He opened his mouth to speak but, before he could utter a syllable, the tapping of claws sounded against the stairs located, conveniently, in view of his living room. 

You looked up and there stood one of the largest Bulldogs you had ever seen. It was almost majestic, the way that he stood there on the steps, panting as though he’d just run a race. His brown coat was shining in the twilight glow, his muzzle a white colour in comparison to the rest of his body.

He took a few steps down the stairs, tripping on one before regaining his posture. You could only watch in wonder, mouth agape, as the beautiful beast padded down the steps and took a turn, approaching you head on.

The dog was a thing of beauty, his droopy face conveying no discernable emotion except from being tired. He slowly made his way to the couch, you doing nothing but watching as he trotted along the hardwood floors. You didn’t catch Lewis staring at you warily as you were only focused on the thing that younger you would’ve fought a clan of savage chipmunks in order to have.

The dog eventually made his way in front of you, plopping his behind down on the carpet and staring up at you questioningly. You didn’t know what emotion your face was conveying, you only knew it was very silent.

You cautiously reached a hand down to rub between his ears. After a second of your rubbing he made a gruff ‘woof’ sound and you couldn’t help it, an entranced whine releasing from your throat. Collapsing onto the floor beside the dog, you forgot about Lewis, focusing completely on the magnificent specimen of a dog. 

Roscoe, as you’d soon come to know via a fond Lewis, took to you as soon as you took to him. Within a minute the dog was letting you handle him as much as you’d like, rolling over on his back to let you get his stomach and vigorously licking your arm as you pet him. Praises spilled from your lips abound, making sure to let the bulldog know just how much of a good boy he was.

At a cough you turned from your spot on the floor to face Lewis, the radiant grin he had on his face making you feel as though you’d passed a test of sorts. Roscoe also turned to look at Lewis before turning back to you and huffing. 

He moved forward, stepping on your legs, trying to sit on you, before falling off the slope onto the carpet. You then picked him up and cuddled him, trying to keep eye-contact with Lewis as you did so. Lewis’ eyes had turned into half moons as he watched you love on his dog, his smile consuming his face.

“I’m glad he likes you, I don’t know what I would’ve done if he didn’t.” He admitted, placing his drink on a wooden table that stood beside the couch. He then slowly slid from the couch onto the floor beside you, leaning his body down till he was face-to-face with Roscoe and gave the dog a kiss.

“He’s got good taste.” You commented and Lewis released a laugh, glancing up at you.

“Me or the dog?” He asked after a second and you paused, overdramatically placing a finger on your chin and tilting your head as though you were thinking. You then shrugged and he laughed again, you not missing the incredibly familiar twinkle in his eye as he looked at you.

After that, you’d found that Lewis was a lot more eager to meet at his house. Roscoe, accompanied by the sheepish man, was bowling you over nearly every time the door was opened to you. Lewis had also made the trip to your house, though you doubted he’d seen a house as small as yours within the last ten years. He seemed to like it though, settling in quickly and even staying there when you were at work. The off-season had continued like that, casually building your relationship between his training and your many meetings with Alfa Romeo, trying to settle the discussions about your contract after Valtteri’s move.

You’d finally gotten somewhere just before the season started after having to plead to not be replaced by an inside hire, Valtteri backing you up and stating he wouldn’t race without you. Alfa Romeo had accepted and then you finally had the contract you’d wanted. 

You’d left the meeting, Valtteri in tow, before turning around and hugging the man for having your back before you both said goodbye and made your way home and to the gym respectively.

The uber ride you’d hired was peaceful, the man staring straight ahead as you looked out the window, your small apartment building coming into your view. You smiled as you saw it, thinking of the Lewis you’d left in bed that morning, having to pull yourself out before him to go to your meeting. 

The climb up the steps (the elevator didn’t work which Lewis hadn’t complained about when you’d explained it in embarrassment) had seemed to take forever no matter how fast you climbed. When you’d finally made it to your floor, you had to practically drag yourself across the hallway to your door, unlocking it with force after the lock had gotten stuck.

Immediately you could tell something was off, the place seemed colder than that morning and it didn;t have to do with the fact the thermostat had broken a few months ago. All the lights were off and there was no noise coming from within, a telltale sign that Lewis was somewhere within whether he was listening to music or talking to someone. 

That was ok, though, he might’ve been at a meeting like the one you’d had, though you doubted there would be less than 7 zero’s on his contract. But that’s the difference between a big team and Alfa Romeo, you work with what you get.

You looked to the side table, placing your keys in the bowl, noticing the absence of Lewis’ keys. But that made sense if he was at a training session or a meeting, so you continued into the apartment, losing components of your outerwear as you went. 

You’d lost your scarf and blazer as you’d made your way to your bedroom, prepared to change from your business outfit into one of Lewis’ many shirts when you opened your closet. A quick rummage and you couldn’t find any. Weird.

You checked again before moving to another part of your closet and noting the lack of his hoodies or jumpers, which was even weirder as you’d stolen a few of them last week. You turned and moved to your dresser, an old antique wooden piece you’d picked up from an op-shop a few years ago after seeing it and falling in love.

You’d opened your drawer specifically for pajamas and found everything you’d acquired through your time of living independently but Lewis’ shirts. Moving to the many drawers Lewis used specifically when he’d stay over, a small inkling of panic settled in your stomach however you ignored it and opened the drawer.

Nothing. There was nothing left in the drawer. You quickly opened all his other drawers, almost pulling them out of the dresser with the force you were applying. All of them were empty. This caused the inkling to grow to an uneasy pool. Maybe he’d taken them to wash them at his place?

You stepped back from the dressers, incredibly confused and vehemently denying the growing panic in you. You walked, not ran, into your bathroom. The lonely toothbrush sitting on the counter sent a strange feeling, almost like adrenaline, rushing through you. Opening the cupboards under the counter you noted the loss of his extra face wipes and the moisturizers he insisted on using. 

You ran to your kitchen, not seeing anything off, before slamming into the back of the couch in your open plan apartment in your haste to get into the living room. The action caused pain to ring through your shins but you barely registered it, the missing cd’s that normally sat on the table your tv was balancing on that he had insisted were better than Spotify the only thing you were focused on. 

A quick look down the hallway to the door of your apartment only furthered your dread, noticing details you hadn’t seen before. The missing stack of shoes that he normally toed-off at the door and the missing extra wallet he left on the side table in case someone broke in almost confirmed your fears.

But what really set in the fact that he’d packed up and left was the missing leash that normally hung from a hook you’d installed specifically on the back of your front door. The inscribed ‘Roscoe’ on the hook seemed almost mocking from your place on the couch, but you couldn’t really acknowledge it, the tears filling your eyes blurring your vision.

You stood up from the couch and stormed back into the bedroom, slamming the open drawers shut, not hearing the splintering of the vintage wood. You picked up your phone from your bed that you’d tossed earlier in your haste to become relaxed, and opened your messages.

He hadn’t sent anything to you explaining his leaving and when you went to send a text (‘??? Where are you’) the message that you’d been blocked popped up at the bottom of the screen. You could only stare at the screen for a second, the implications of what he’d done sending emotional shockwaves through you. 

You barked out a sardonic laugh, your hand flopping from its position in front of you to be held uselessly at your side, your phone slipping from your grasp onto the floor. The world went still for a moment before you lifted a hand to cover your vision, the tears slipping from your eyes wetting your hand.

You sat alone on your bed that had, not even 24 hours ago, contained what you had thought was your future. You couldn’t find it in yourself to be angry at this point, the grief for something that was evidently never meant to be controlling your thoughts. A long deep sigh left you before it was interrupted by a sob. And then another sob.

You ended up falling asleep alone that night, still dressed in the smart pants and white shirt you’d worn to your meeting. Your only lullaby was your sobbing, not the sound of his gentle humming, something which you kept reminding yourself of. 

Valtteri had commented that you’d seemed sad the next time he’d seen you but neither of you had addressed it past that, him knowing when to keep his mouth shut. He especially knew to shut up after the intense glare you had fixed him. 

The season had started again and, while you were prepared for your duties as a PR agent, Valtteri’s full calendar being proof enough for that, you weren’t sure you were prepared to see Lewis again. Especially after the news that he was already seeing someone else had come out a week before the first race.

You’d returned Valtteri’s knowing glance with as much strength as you could muster and promptly ignored his further pitying look, choosing to feel sorry for yourself at home that night. You’d also ignored his attempts to try to get you to talk to Tiffany, you liked the woman but you didn’t think you should burden her with your ridiculous, because that’s what it was looking back, delusions that you could’ve been something more than just a summer fling to Lewis Hamilton.

You’d successfully managed to avoid Lewis the whole first couple of races, eventually beginning to see fleeting glances of him throughout the paddock. Seeing him for the first time with his partner had hurt but, looking at her, you couldn’t exactly blame him.

She was gorgeous and, after you’d done a bit of searching, was exactly his previous type. She was wealthy and had a respectable job, someone worthy of being with him. You’d made sure to avoid him after that.

You kept on at work though, determined to be the best goddamn PR Agent Alfa Romeo had ever seen. And you were succeeding. Valtteri was getting brand deals and after more positive press around him and his dedication to the sport regardless of his company, you were finally able to relax. 

And by relaxing, you meant getting wasted at a bar. In fairness, last time you’d relaxed you’d ended up more broken hearted than you’d ever been, so releasing some steam at a bar had seemed an appropriate route.

And it was, being able to drink away your sorrows and spill your guts out to a bartender in a small rundown pub in the middle of Canada was the perfect way to unwind. You hadn’t told the whole story of course, you resented the guy for what he did to you but you didn’t want to tarnish his reputation, but it was nice to tell it to some random person who probably didn’t even understand the way you were switching between Swedish, English, and Finnish. 

You’d woken up the next morning with a heavy weight off your shoulders and a nice Canadian man in your hotel bed, sending him off with a promise to call before promptly adding his phone number to your phone. Valtteri could tell something had changed when you’d walked into his driver’s room the next day, prepared to tell him about his schedule. You greeted his questioning look with a smirk and he shook his head, a disbelieving look on his face.

You’d found that you hadn’t thought about Lewis the whole day, when you’d settled into your hotel bed the night after the race. A warm feeling had spread through you at that, the knowledge that the man no longer consumed your thoughts making you feel good inside.

The next race weekend you were ready to go, the British GP making you pumped. You weren’t so pumped when Valtteri DNF’ed and were mentally preparing answers for the Finn as the race continued, briefing him on every response you could think of in relation to the gearbox issue. Zhou Guanyu did well in his race though, so the garage was quite excited for him, even though Valtteri hadn’t finished.

When the interviews had rolled around after all of the celebrations, you were following Valtteri on the walk to his first interview, eventually stopping to the side of him as a mic was held in front of him and the cameras had started rolling. 

Typical questions such as if he was happy for his teammate and if he was happy with the car were asked, some weirder questions such as if he thought the car’s not-working had to do with some obscure political issue before eventually the interview was wrapped up and the Finn moved on to his next interview, you following him.

You could see other drivers beginning to arrive in the area, being interviewed before you quickly looked away, not wanting to see if he was close. You’d managed to avoid him thus far today, how hard could a few more hours be?

You’d thought that before you heard the faint but tell-tale bark of Roscoe and you had to force yourself not to turn around and run to the dog. Lewis had mentioned bringing the dog to his home race at some point while you were together, so you weren’t exactly surprised at Roscoe’s presence. 

Valtteri’s interview was continuing in the background of your mind as you thought over the nights you’d spent cuddled with Roscoe and Lewis. Did you miss him or Lewis more? Did Lewis even miss you?

Valtteri nudged you in the side, his eyes wide and you snapped back to reality, staring at the interviewer.

“Pardon?” You asked, politely trying to make it seem as though you just hadn’t heard them and were paying attention.

“I just asked if Valtteri preferred Mercedes or Alfa Romeo.” The interviewer filled in and you turned to Valtteri, a questioning look on your face. Surely he could handle that question? He vehemently shook his head. Alrighty then.

You brought out both your hands in front of you, prepared to gesture out an answer for Valtteri to say. But before you could a large force had pounded into your back, knocking you to the floor and landing on top of you. The weight was heavy but it was warm and… was it licking you? “Roscoe! Oh my god, I am so sorry!” A voice came from behind you.

Oh no.

While you had been mentally preparing an answer for Valtteri, Lewis had been walking around the media area, Roscoe in tow on a leash. The dog had been restless ever since he’d entered the pen, Lewis echoing that sentiment as he saw a brief glimpse of you. He wanted nothing more than to run to you but he couldn’t with media responsibilities weighing him down.

Eventually the interviewer’s fill of Roscoe was full and he was able to do a little bit of wandering around the area. Lewis had handed the leash of the now-agitated Roscoe to Angela as he went to go answer some more questions, the press incredibly curious about the dynamics of the car.

Angela, bless her soul, had tried her best to wrangle the dog, but his continuous pulling and barking was beginning to annoy some of the media. Seeing this, Angela had decided to just let the dog pull her away, Roscoe almost dragging her as he went. 

He had pulled her almost completely across the room before he got too violent and managed to rip the leash from her hands, leaving Angela stumbling in the dust as he began to run. Lewis had watched this happen, and continued to watch in horror as Roscoe ran up behind you.

One gigantic leap and you were pushed to the floor, the big bulldog nuzzling into your neck. The world seemed to almost go quiet before Angela ran over, trying to grab the collar of the rabid dog, asking if you were ok.

Lewis had started to move over, dismissing the reporter who he was talking to as he made his way to his dog and his ex-lover. He saw you roll over on the floor, a small sad smile on your face as the dog began slobbering over you. A few more steps and he was in front of you, scolding Roscoe and apologising as he effortlessly grabbed the dog’s collar and pulled him back.

You tried not to look in his eyes, knowing all your effort of trying to get over him would be null if you saw his face. You ignored the hand he extended, instead smoothing down your clothes as you sat on the floor, only pulling yourself up when he awkwardly lowered his hand, framing it as if you just didn’t see.

He knew though, he’d developed the unfortunate skill of reading you.

You didn’t look at him as you assured him you were fine and that he should continue with his interviews, only sparing a glance at Angela who looked at you with a regretful hint in her eyes. You didn’t want to think about that more than you had to, waving them off to more interviews. 

You turned around before you could see Lewis leave, thankfully not seeing the longing he had displayed over his face as he turned away, back to his interviews. 

Would you have been able to hold it together if you’d seen the look he’d shot you? No. Were you when you watched it back after the weekend? Also no.

You turned back to Valtteri, cracking a quick joke, before he got back to his interviews. You spent the rest of that day picking gravel out of your palms, trying to forget about the whole interaction. You wouldn’t let this break your progress, the handsome Canadian man in your contacts getting a ring that night as you tried to distract yourself.

After a few days of you cursing Roscoe for trying to see you while also feeling as though you should arrange some sort of custody agreement so you could see the beautiful beast, a notification had popped up on your phone. It was a recommended tweet, a news article about how Lewis had apparently split from his “new fling”. 

That sent you spiraling, questioning why on earth the algorithm had thought to show you this and wondering what you’d done wrong in your past life in order for this to be what was happening to you.

You’d only become more confused a day later, when Angela had sent you an email, saying that Lewis would like to meet up and apologise because of the media backlash. The thing was you’d seen no media backlash, people just finding the dog's enthusiasm funny. 

If there was any sort of trouble, you’d have seen it, it was your job after all, so you were left sitting on your couch, pondering what was the point of the meeting she was trying to set up.

You’d aired the email for a few days, wondering what you should do. You wanted to say yes, to talk to Lewis again and ask him what had happened, but you didn’t want to get hurt again. And you knew you’d be hurt when you saw him doing perfectly fine without you.

The fact that Angela was waiting for you to respond didn’t cross your mind till you received a text from an unknown number, politely asking you to respond. The older woman had waited till she knew you’d read the text, about five minutes, before sending a more desperate text. That had your eyebrows raising unwillingly, confused about why she had sent three “please”’s in one paragraph.

Regardless you fell victim to knowing how hard it was to try and manage a driver's personal and professional commitments and said yes. Only because you felt bad for Angela was what you kept telling yourself.

Eventually the day had come and you were dreading it, lying on your couch until the last second possible. The thought of canceling had popped through your head multiple times but it was too late now. The only way you could back out is if an emergency happened or you died on the way to the private restaurant Angela had insisted on booking, saying that even though the meeting was supposed to be platonic, it shouldn’t be aired to the public.

A deep sigh left you as you pulled yourself up and walked to your bedroom, dressing yourself in business clothes. You wanted to put effort in, but knowing that you’d definitely be embarrassed if you showed up glammed out and he showed up in a shirt and jeans, you decided against it. It was a business dinner anyway, simply to smooth over a wrong that had been committed against you. 

But it wasn’t a wrong, it was Roscoe pushing you over, which could hardly be considered a wrong and was more the dog testing the things he could get away with.

The real wrong was what Lewis had done to you. You hoped that you could get through the ordeal without talking about it, showing up and then posting a picture to Lewis’s instagram or something about how it was all good to appease the critics.

Except there were no critics, it was just Lewis wanting to have dinner with you. Or maybe it was just Angela trying to meddle. Maybe he was going to try to apologise for him ghosting you? You didn’t know if you would accept it.

You might’ve been able to accept it if he’d been honest from the start, telling you that he wouldn’t want you past the end of the break so you could quickly shut down the relationship before it started and move on with your life.

A thought that’d you always try to flush from your mind sprung to the front of it as you wondered. Maybe you were being too harsh. You’d never explicitly expressed what you were, maybe you had just been overthinking it the whole time you were together. Or rather, not together. 

But that would’ve been unfair to you anyways, you reassured yourself. Him letting you get a taste of his future before exempting you from it was a cruel thing to do to anyone.

A ring from your phone let you know that you should’ve been out the door at this point. You quickly cursed before grabbing your essentials and running to your entryway, pulling your shoes on, before grabbing your keys from the side table. 

After locking your door, you ran down the stairs to your apartment building and hailed a taxi. Luckily traffic wasn’t too bad, so you were able to arrive at the restaurant on time, quickly hurrying inside and getting led to your table.

You never had to worry about being late though, as Lewis wasn’t there when you got to the private booth. It was fine, he came from the other side of town so he’d probably only be a few minutes late.

It was about twenty minutes later you’d sighed and decided to ring Angela. Ironically, she didn’t pick up. You couldn’t help the bark of a laugh that left your throat, shaking your head at the sad reality of your situation.

Ghosted by two members of Mercedes. Maybe it was a good idea for Valtteri to move when he had, otherwise they may have just stopped picking up the phone. You gave him ten more minutes before trying Angela again. The same response. 

At this point you were sick of being made the fool of. Perhaps it was your fault for believing your dispute could be resolved, your fault for believing you were worth showing up for. You stood up with a pressure at the back of your eyes and began the walk from the private booth all the way at the back of the swanky restaurant to the exit.

Before you got even five meters from your table, the door to the restaurant slammed open. Everyone turned to stare at the heavily breathing world champion as he took a second to recoup himself. He didn’t let himself look at anyone in the restaurant as he straightened his suit and turned to the host, who looked a little shell shocked. A quick exchange later and the host stepped back from the little podium he was stood behind. 

You quickly scampered back to your seat, making it just in time and plastering an unimpressed look over your face. Looking back up, you could see Lewis scanning all the patrons of the premises before his eyes paused and locked onto you. 

The simple action of making eye-contact, a luxury which you had refused yourself during your bump with Roscoe, sent a lick of emotion down your spine. You couldn’t exactly read his face, you didn’t know what he was choosing to display or doing unwittingly after being played by him for months, but you believed he was relieved. 

When he arrived at the table he waved off the host with a small ‘thanks’ before sitting down in the seat opposite to you. It was silent for a few seconds, you both continuing eye contact. You were trying to find anything you could recognise in his eyes while he was just looking at you, at your face. 

“I’m sorry for being so late.” He spoke finally, a slight tilt growing at the corners of his lips. You didn’t respond and the awkwardness won him over after a few more seconds, something that was quite uncharacteristic of him. He coughed.

“The lift wouldn’t work, I’d left my keys, then no one would pull over. I tried to call you but my phone died, so I just ran trying to get here.” He said and averted his eyes, a mannerism you’d recognised as a nervous tick the couple of times you’d seen it. You didn’t know how to reply so you let your emotions take hold.

“Your call wouldn’t have gone through.” You said blankly and he looked back to you, before chuckling awkwardly. You didn’t find it funny.

“You would’ve had to unblock me first.” You needlessly elaborated, getting some sadistic enjoyment out of the way the man squirmed. He continued his awkward laughing, you joining in to laugh sardonically.

You didn’t know where this feeling, of needing him to a sliver of the uncomfortableness he’d caused you, had come from. The feeling you got from his discomfort wasn’t pleasure though, it felt empty as though it was pointless in the long run. You supposed it was, he wouldn’t remember you in a few years and your small petty actions wouldn’t even matter when he married the princess of some country. 

He cleared his throat, drawing your attention from your musings to his face.

“I wanted to apologise.” He stated bluntly and you raised an eyebrow. Yeah, no shit. He caught your expression and winced. 

“I should’ve had Roscoe on a tighter leash and not have given him to Angela. It was my fault-” You tuned him out as he continued, shaking your head in disbelief. Yeah sure, it was why the meeting had been arranged, but you’d genuinely thought he might’ve talked about the elephant in the room at some point. Maybe you were judging harshly though. Maybe after a few minutes he’d start talking about the model he’d piped the other day or the Albanian billionaire who wanted to be his sugar mommy.

You’d forgotten that he could read you like a book and had stopped when he realised you were no longer paying attention. He reached over the table to wave a hand in front of your eyes, an action that was very rude, and you reacted accordingly. You turned to face him, affronted, and he smiled at your expression before his face turned serious and he breathed a deep breath.

“I didn’t know if you’d want to talk about what had happened.” He said finally, staring down at the table, and you scoffed, crossing your arms in front of your buttons. You started to talk, the words leaving your mouth before you could properly think about them, hurt blurring your thoughts.

“Of course I would love to recount the time I came home and I found my place ransacked.” You said, the fakeness of your enthusiasm leaking into your words causing him to flinch.

“I’d love to talk about the messages I sent you before I realised I’d been blocked. Sure, let’s talk about how, not even two weeks after telling me you thought we’d have a future together, you’d completely left me, without a word of discussion.” You finally let out, almost strangling your throat closed so as to not let more of the hurt out. This was a work-related dinner after all and you didn’t want to draw more attention than Lewis already had.

His face had fallen, an incredibly unfamiliar look coating his face and you tried to stop yourself before you spoke, trying to tame the biting uncertainties in your head.

“Was it because I’d moved companies?” You questioned and he looked up. “Should I not have followed Valtteri?” Your question floated in the air and he shook his head, a sorrowful expression taking over his face.

“Then why?” You asked after a second and he paused, not responding. You, tired of his silence, thought about all the reasons you’d gone over in your head, and settled on the one that made the most sense to you. Looking back, it was probably the most unrealistic, but it made sense to the angry and sad mindset you had.

“Was it because I couldn’t afford everything?” His head snapped up, shock colouring his features. “I could’ve moved to a new apartment if it bothered you, having to stay over at my place. I knew you didn’t do a lot of things that break because I couldn’t pay, but you could’ve told me if you wanted to. I do have a savings account I could’ve dipped into.” You said quietly, looking down at the table, all the fight having been sapped from your body. 

You were tired. You didn’t know what the time difference was between you and Canada, but you were sure that you could set an alarm and wake up to spill your guts to the stranger, it was better than telling anyone you knew. 

Lewis called your name but you didn’t look up from the table, hoping to not see any form of confirmation in his eyes. He reached a hand over the table, this time to not be rude but to lift your chin up and look in your eyes. He contemplated for a second before speaking softly.

“I thought it was what you wanted.” He said and you reared back, completely shocked before he continued.

“You kept going to meetings with Alfa Romeo and I thought it was your subtle way of telling me to fuck off. You know, that you had more important things to worry about than a driver from your old company. We’d never talked about what we were and I just thought…” He paused for a second here, furrowing his eyebrows as he looked at the wall before looking back into your eyes.

“I thought I could bite the bullet, leave before you could tell me to go. And it worked in the end, you’ve been doing exceptionally well. I haven’t seen a bad story about Valtteri in months.” He said and withdrew his hand as he leaned back against the chair behind him.  You processed his words for a moment before he cleared his throat, drawing you back to look at him.

“I would never, by the way.” He disclosed quietly and you tilted your head. He continued. “I don’t mind if you have the money or not, for that break your apartment was the best place for me.” 

The use of the present tense threw you off for a second, leaving you to rearrange yourself in your seat and clear your throat as you thought of a response. You couldn’t, opening your mouth but no words coming out. He’d stunned you into silence. You finally found your voice after steeling yourself for a second. “W-what about umm… what was her name?” You asked, a stutter permeating your words. He just sighed, letting his head fall slack to stare at the table. 

“It was a mistake.” He said quietly, and guilt for the poor girl rushed through you. “I thought that after I’d let you go I should at least try to find something as a replacement.” He looked up at you.

“I couldn’t though, no one could match to you. But I couldn’t leave her without a reason.” 

He leaned further back in his seat, his voice terse as he spoke. “She gave me plenty of reason after I caught her in bed with her ex.” You winced at the tone of his voice and gave him a second to collect his thoughts. Even if he was trying to break it off, it’s never a good feeling to be cheated on. 

You spoke up after a second, trying to clear the silence between you and deciding he should know about your fling after you’d ended if this dinner was going to way you thought it was.

“I met a man in Canada.” You said hesitantly and you saw his shoulders drop.

“Oh.” He said quietly, before shaking himself out as if he was a cat and plastering a smile on his face. Lewis made eye-contact and asked you a question.

“What’s his name?” Fake-enthusiasm permeated his question, as though he was trying to hide his disappointment. 

You didn’t want to address that, though you knew you had to. Could you take him back? You didn’t know for sure if he would leave you again, which scared you. The whole idea of taking him back scared you, though the thought of more time with him that wasn’t spent trying to avoid looking his way made you hopeful. You tried not to feel that way, knowing that you shouldn’t base your happiness on the man.

But he had apologised and explained his reasoning. As much as you wanted to curse him out for not talking with you, it did make sense. Feelings of inadequacy were present in every person, no matter how remarkable they were.

Look at you, already being hypocritical over your own words. You’d said you didn’t know if you’d take him back, but now you were already planning it. Was that pathetic? You didn’t like to think it was, but maybe you were wrong, ignoring your dignity in favour of the man.

God, if only the world was more simple and less complicated. If only you hadn’t gotten locked in an elevator, if only Roscoe hadn’t been as adorable as he was, if only you’d said no to this dinner. If only you’d just talked about your feelings from the start instead, maybe this wouldn’t have happened.

Too late now though, you supposed, snapping back to the present and leveling eye-contact with Lewis. You contemplated your words, knowing they’d probably either be the start or the end of your time with him.

“I don’t remember.” You said finally, staring at Lewis’ face as a smile that he tried to contain spread over it.

“You don’t remember his name?” He asked, almost trying to confirm his words and you shook your head. He couldn’t control his smile, trying to mask it behind a cough. You only started to grin in response, looking into his eyes as they slowly turned back into half-moons.

A cleared-throat startled you both out of your bubble and you turned to the waiter, who looked as if he had just watched a soap opera play out in front of him. He awkwardly held out menus to the both of you and you quickly accepted them, apologising for making him stand awkwardly for so long.

When he’d left you both had looked at each other and exchanged smiles. The dinner had continued and it was as lovely as Lewis himself. That is to say, very lovely. 

After paying and making the walk to Lewis’ house, you both stumbled into Lewis’ abode, not able to keep your hands off of each other. However a large obstacle had stopped you from taking it further, namely the heavy weight of the british bulldog that decided to settle himself on top of you the second you’d walked through the door.

You could barely hear Lewis’s laughter over the sound of Roscoe licking the side of your face, you muffling your own laughter into the carpet. 

When you’d next seen Valtteri, he’d only taken one glance at your neck before shooting you a smirk, the knowing glance he had on his face making you roll your eyes as you pushed him to his interviews.

i got stuck halfway through but i just wanted it overrrr. Hopefully it's not too bad, let me know in the comments.

[the-kr8tor]

This is the fancier potioneer I know! Congrats for the 1 year lovie 💕

May I request some cardamom with elder berries in a heart shaped bottle (and a hint of baby's breath)? Hobie and fem!Reader going back a couple years at their daughter's school party that happens to have an elegant mail at display for the high-school sweethearts 🥹 feel free to decide who sents who a letter! I can just imagine Billie and Ramona going giggles watching their parents fall in love all over again!

Potion coming right up just for you!!! Thank you for requesting bleaky! 🩷

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 2.3k

Tags: use of Y/N sparsely, No specific physical description of the reader (Hobie is mentioned taller than her though), CW food mentions, Dad au, twin au, Billie and Ramona au, Dad! Hobie, Mom! Reader, older! Hobie, FLUFF!

Katy's 1 year celebration 🎉

Excited screams and the smell of cotton candy greets you as you enter the twins' high school. You still can't believe that they're already in their freshman year when it felt like it was just yesterday you were teaching them how to tie their own shoes. Now they know that and more. You're incredibly proud of them as you weave through the crowd, seeing their familiar silhouette in their booth. Students and teachers passing by, holding snacks and treats from the nearby food stalls. A few parents are scattered here and there, they're probably here for the same reason as you, to support their kids.

Your smile gets wider and wider as you see their pink and red booth that is covered in glitter and hundreds of hearts. Sure enough, when you get close to the line, Billie and Ramona look at you simultaneously. Their grins identical, both inheriting their dad's adorable dimples that you adore so much.

“Mum!” Billie screeches, wildly waving at you. She's clad in a full blown cupid outfit, dressed in your old, or how she puts it ‘vintage’ white with pink accents leather jacket. The wide legged hot pink pants that she begged you to buy for her fits her perfectly, she even sewed pink hearts all around it to emphasize that she is cupid, and cupid is her. “Skip the line!” Beckoning you over, she acts as if she's shooting her pink spray painted toy bow and arrow at you.

“Don't shoot at mum!” Mona scolds her sister like she had actually aimed a real weapon at you. Instead of her sister fully dressed for the part, Mona's outfit isn't as loud. She had burrowed Hobie's old cherry red leather jacket, still clad in hundreds of pins, and spikes around the shoulders. You had bought her a top at the same time you bought Billie her pants, it has hearts embroidered on it, all in rainbow colours, fluffy and in 3d. Her eyes are in the same sparkly eyeshadow that Billie has, dusted with vibrant pink and ruby.

You walk over to their table, it's littered with pink scented papers and envelopes. There's a basket of candied roses nestled under Billie's arm with a few letters tied around the stem. The entire booth is chaotic, both familiar and unfamiliar faces are helping out in their mail booth. Mona is in the front counter while Billie stands on the side, beckoning people over to their booth.

“You made it!” Billie happily envelopes you in a hug, gogo boots thumping on the ground. She smells oddly like your perfume.

“I couldn't miss it, Bee!” You pat her back to release you, yet she still clings to you like she's ten years old even though she has gotten way taller than you and her own sister. “What time is the big dance number?”

“At one pm, mum.” Mona says, busy and occupied as she tends to customers.

“Not even a hug, Mon?”

She looks up at you briefly, puckering her lips and making kissing noises. Teenagers. “Sorry, mum, I'll hug you in a minute once Thena comes back.”

“Who's Thena?” You ask the still clinging Billie. “Shouldn't you help your sister?” You glance towards the frantic Mona, but she's composed, getting the rhythm of everything. She takes the cash, gives them the stationary, and then points them towards a more befuddled spectacled boy who looks like he's about to collapse from pressure.

Billie takes one look at Mona and then back towards the boy, then to you. “Nah, they've got it.” You furrow your brows at your daughter. “Trust me, when Mon mon’s in the zone nothin’ can stop her. She's a well oiled machine who has kicked me in the shin twice when I tried to help.”

“You were not helpin’!” Mona adds, “we're filled with messages! Go start deliverin’, Billie!”

“Oop,” Billie chuckles, “Full first name, I think she's mad mad.” She whispers to you. “I'm waiting for dad, Ramona!” Teasing, her sister gives her the stink eye. Billie in reply sticks her tongue out, to which Mona shakes her head at. “Where's dad anyway? I wanna show him my bow and arrow!”

“Parking, he's having a tough time finding a spot.” You answer, picking a stray eyelash off her sparkly cheek. “He'll be here, don't worry. And he has the camera fully charged so he doesn't miss a second of your dance.”

Billie giggles, Mona smiles at the conversation. “It's not just us dancin’, mum, it's the whole school. There will be a lot of people.” Billie thanks you with another squeeze as she hasn't left your side.

“Still, he has every milestone recorded since your birth, he's not gonna stop now.”

“Billie, the bloody letters!” Mona interrupts, huffing at Billie's groan of protest. “Now!” She flicks her eyes at you, “please?” The butterflies in her hair look like they're actually flying when she moves her head.

“Only because you asked nicely!” Billie pouts, “I’ll be right back, mum! Tell dad I went around, okay?”

“I will, go, have fun delivering letters!” You wave her off.

“Oh it's my favourite! It has always been my dream to be a delivery woman!” You laugh at her antics. “Oh and Mon don't forget the thing!” She saunters off, running after a student who probably has a letter in her name.

“I won't!” Mona yells back.

“What thing, baby?” You walk beside her, patting her aching shoulders.

“A letter,” she grins mischievously at you, there's a glint in her eyes that you've seen in Hobie's eyes. Sliding a pink paper and a gel pen over to you, she raises her brows playfully. “It's on the house, mum, special courtesy of the best daughters in the world.”

“The best of the best.” You smile, trying incredibly hard not to peck her temple or you might end up embarrassing her. She also smells like your perfume. “But first, do you want help? I don't know who Thena is, but it looks like she's still not here.”

“Please.” Mona sighs in relief, “I'll give you a bundle of chocolate roses.” She scooches over, giving you space.

“No need, I still have a ton left from your dad.”

The line thins as you help Mona, and in between customers, you've written a letter full of love for Hobie. Thena, who you now know is a sophomore finally arrives with help. She lets Mona actually enjoy the event just as when Hobie arrives huffing with a frown. The crowd parts for him like he owns the school, it's his saunter, you always tell him. He's in his normal punk garb, to the detest of some parents but the students seem to love his style, including you who still falls head over heels at the same leather clad man.

“Hi, dad.” Mona, more tired, plops on her dad's side after squeezing the life out of you. Her cheek is pressed on his side as he rubs soothingly up and down her arm.

“I know ‘m like a broken record, but what did I miss?”

You open your mouth to reply, already magnetized to his other side, his arm around your waist as the three of you walk around the event. But Billie's voice suddenly pops out of nowhere.

“Mon mon bein’ a girl boss!” She collides into the three of you, Hobie chuckles, patting her head. She ducks away though, “don't mess up my hair, dad!”

“I wasn't.” Hobie meets your eyes. “And to think I used to do her bloody hair.” The twins walk ahead of you, whispering to each other.

“Teenagers, Hobie, we've got teenagers now.”

He makes a face, pulling you closer, watching his girls giggle amongst themselves. “I know, I think we need another one to balance them out.”

“With your back, old man?” You pinch his side, grinning at him. He doesn't miss the innuendo filled comment.

Hobie leans his face close, pierced lips grazing the shell of your ear. “Who you callin' old, huh? This old man can still lift a bloody plane.”

“Sure, sure, So you keep telling me.”

He blows hot air in your ear, chuckling lowly as you gasp. “You wanna bet?”

“Later, old man.” You wink and you're already walking beside his girls, arm in arm, teasing him with a simple look.

—

You sit on the bleachers, lap full of snacks, buttered popcorn, corndogs and a couple of blue coloured drinks that you cannot fathom the flavour of. The seat is high up, overlooking the entire field where all the students wait on the sides. You'd be scared of the height but you're used to it now because of Hobie's impromptu dates on skyscrapers. Hobie slides over next to you, sweat clinging on his brow, arms clutching more friend food than anyone could even consume in one go.

“Are you sure your heart can handle all that?” You tease again, and he looks at you tenderly, eyes shining in the afternoon sun, reflecting the school flags waving above. After all these years, you still can't get over the fact that he looks at you like that, like you're his whole world.

“‘m a growing boy, love.” You hand him the camera from your purse, “and maybe ‘m preparin’ for tonight.”

“Nothing happens tonight, Hobs if you eat that whole blooming onion on your own.”

“You want some then?” He shakes the packaging.

“Of course I do.” You playfully scoff, taking the treat from Hobie as he laughs.

You two eat your fill, leaving some for the girls after the show, knowing that they'll be starving by then. One after the other, students from different grades take turns showing their own choreographed dances. Thankfully it's the girls' turn after the one you're currently watching.

“What's in this?” He asks, shaking the half empty blue drink.

“You're almost done with it and now you're just asking?” You say with your mouth full of cotton candy.

“Well, do you know?”

“It's blueberry.” You shrug.

He takes a sip, smacking his lips together. “Nah, I don't think so, lovie. I think it's all chemicals.”

You chuckle, knowing his next words. “Don't—”

“I think it's radioactive.” He fakes a gasp.

You still laugh wholeheartedly after the umpteenth time of him using the same joke.

“You laugh at radioactive material?” He says, mock disappointment.

“Well, I sleep with one every night, so…” there's a twinkle in your eyes.

“Fuckin' cheeky.” He grabs the back of your head, pushing you closer to him. “Y’know the girls got that from you.”

“And what did they get from you?”

“Except for my charms and handsome dimples? My brain.”

“Ah yes, of course—” before you could smooch him, the same boy from Billie and Mona's booth suddenly appears, his tall lanky frame blocking the sun, red hair brighter than Hobie's boots.

“What can I do for you, mate?” Hobie asks, and the poor boy practically shakes where he's standing.

“Y/N Brown?” He asks, already handing you a pink letter from his basket full of perfumed stationery.

“Yep, that's me. Thanks.” You look at the letter with confusion. “Looks like I've got a secret admirer.”

“Who?” Hobie acts, “and is he an adult so I can fight for your hand?”

“Shut up.” You laugh, opening the letter gingerly. Reading the affectionate words carefully.

“Hobie Brown?” The red haired boy asks again, Hobie looks up at him. “Mr. Hobie Brown.”

“No Mr. Brown ‘ere, bruv. But I'll take it.” His smile eases the boy, but he still skedaddles out of the bleachers. “He looked like he was about to piss himself. Does he know the girls, love?” He looks back at you with tears in your eyes. “Love?”

“H-how dare you write this love letter so well.” You sniff, he smiles. “This is so good! I-I haven't heard you call me cherry in so long, Hobie. And now that y-you wrote it….”

“Deep breaths, love.” He wipes your tears with his thumb, and a few people look at you weirdly. He doesn't mind, he can fight.

“You’re an asshole, I love you so fucking much.” You suddenly hug him, arms around his neck, face pressed on his skin. “You’re so right, the girls got your charm.”

Hobie holds you, knuckles running along your back. “And they got the rest from you.”

You lean back, tears still clinging in your lashes. “Don't read mine, it doesn't compare to yours.”

He shakes his head, staring at his love. “Even if you wrote it in wingdings I'll still read it.”

“It might as well be.”

“Too late, already reading it.”

“What—?” You look over your shoulder, and sure enough, he's reading it behind your back. “Ass.”

He blinks, eyes glimmering, clearing his throat. “Well, that's—”

“Shit? Horrible? Almost twenty years together and I still can't form coherent words when it comes to you?”

“No, I mean the last one is accurate, but,” he inhales. “‘m glad you chose me, love, and ‘m glad you kissed me back even after I kicked and broke your uni's doors open.”

“I kissed you back because I always hated those doors.” You joke, he laughs as he cradles your face in his hands. Those hands you've loved no matter how rough it gets. “And I always wanted to do that.” Not a joke, a full confession like you've said to him all those years ago.

Hobie tucks in the letter inside his jacket, right above his heart and you place yours just like he did, mirroring his movement. He gently pecks your lips, it's done immediately but not without love, it's full of it, filling your heart.

“I owe you a proper kiss when we get home and without a thousand people watching.”

“Okay, looking forward to it.” You nod, holding his warm palms.

“And without our girls screaming with their mates.”

You blink as Hobie gently moves your head towards a handful of girls bouncing for joy and yelling ‘otp.’ Whatever that means. Billie shakes Mona by her shoulders, you don't have enhanced eyesight just like your family but you can definitely see their eyes filled with happy tears.

“So this is their plan.” You say while Hobie loops his arm around your shoulders, head placed next to yours. “They are cheeky.”

“They got that from you.”

[sirhamburrger]

CUPID'S MAIL DELIVERY SERVICE (for my moots, divider creds @cafekitsune)

got something you wanna say to a special someone this valentine's? well don't worry, i gotcha! it's very simple - all you have to do is just:

❧ write a letter to your f/o and put it in my letter box ❧ and i'll make sure you get a reply! ❧ basically, it's like one of those quotev quizzes where you write a letter to your fav and get one in return, y'know?

dos and don'ts:

❧ do decorate it however you want! ❧ do include your timezone so i can deliver the letter on time ❧ do send in your letters before the fifth of february in your timezone ❧ do write to characters from haikyuu, bllk, mha, jjk, or mashle! ❧ (unfortunately i won't be able to characterise them properly otherwise) ❧ do feel free to tell me what your relationship with them is like ❧ do specify if you’re comfortable with having your letter shown, or if you’d rather just receive their reply! ❧ don't write to more than one character! ❧ don't write anything nsfw! ❧ don't send your letter on anon!

© sirhamburrger