#she spent a few hours in her outside pen

[kedreeva]

Bug, being very Fierce today

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

prompt: 1800s price/reader…. reader flees to his town where Price is the sheriff after a murder in her previous town only to be mistaken for the mail order bride that Price just sent for ….and he’s not interested in hearing any of her excuses when she tells him that he’s got the wrong girl (part 3) part 1, part 2

-

“Neglecting your husband already?” he asks when you pull away from the arm curling around your waist. It’d migrated there from your back during the walk away from the courthouse. 

“You know I’m not—I’m not some horse that you can just…break in,” you seethe, glaring up at Price. Your arms are crossed tight over your chest, putting the slightest boundary between you and him. It’s more of a mental boundary than anything, a self-soothing gesture; you know it hardly even registers to him because the man still looks down at you with that unimpressed expression, like dealing with a particularly vexing child. 

“I hadn’t noticed,” he says dryly, looking you up and down. It’s a scorching, hungry look and it makes you shift from foot to foot. 

The two of you stand outside the front door of his house, the front door still shut tight. You put up a fuss on the walk from town as the reality of your situation finally sunk in, squirming in his hold until he threatened to just load you over his shoulder and carry you off. His tone leaves little for you to doubt. Nothing about him brooks skepticism; until the end of time, you’ll look at John Price and think, this is a man of action. This is a man that will move heaven and earth. 

You clam up after that, lips pursed shut though turned down at the corners. 

It’s a bigger house than you might’ve expected for a single man, but perhaps it was built with a wife and children in mind. The thought makes you swallow. A wooden two-story thing with a porch out front and an adjacent stable for his two horses with a pen around back. Speckled Appaloosas that look up at the sound of his boots and keys, attentive for all of a few seconds before losing interest. 

You know without asking that Price must have built this house with his own two hands. It’s not shoddy by any means, but his house has that indefinable quality that some places have. Organic. Homegrown, almost. It’s hard to put up against the houses of your youth, but then again, you grew up in the cramped quarters of the city, apartments thick with the scent of sewage on bad days and dust on the good. The two are hardly comparable. It’s even harder to put up against the estates that you’ve spent the better part of the last few years cleaning and learning inside out, but at least his house doesn’t make your stomach turn at the sight. 

There’s a moment when you first turn to him where you wonder if he’ll look for approval in your face, some sign to set him at ease, but when you meet his gaze, it’s steady and impenetrable. Quietly self-assured. It’s incongruent with the machismo you were raised around, the constant need to impress or transcend. It puts you on edge. It makes you almost feel like baring your teeth.

Your comment had come from seeing the horses and the house and the porch with the two rocking chairs, your hackles raising every step closer. Price built his house big enough for children because he anticipated a baby in his future. Children he’d have with his wife, which, though a fuzzy memory as far as memories go, you quietly stepped into the role of not half an hour ago. 

You’ve thought about it before. Motherhood; marriage, domestic living, settling down with a man to start a family. The reality of your life has always made it seem like a problem for the future. Years chipping away like flakes of faded paint off the walls of your bedroom, still living with your aunt and uncle well into adulthood, trying desperately to scrimp and save and stay afloat. Disappointing but not surprising that you’d never been considered the marriable sort, not with scrubbing other people's toilets for a living. 

And now look at you, ring on your finger and whisked home to be bedded. A shiver roles down your spine at the thought and you scowl at Price instead of sinking into the strange thrill. 

When he wraps a hand around your wrist to pull you towards him (his fingers easily overlapping; another thrill), you snap.

“That is quite enough with all the touching!” 

His eyes narrow. “I’ll have more than my hands on you by the end of the night.”

A more proper woman would gasp. You barely hold yours back. 

You know in the back of your mind that you’ve already lost any semblance of an upper hand in this situation. It has long spiraled out of your control. His ring sits on your finger all nice and pretty, and though you signed your marriage license under a different name—your own rather than the name of his actual intended—that Price hadn’t even bothered confirming, you are, for all intents and purposes, his to touch as he pleases. 

“I’m—” your eyes dart around, the urge to bolt a sharp and sudden compulsion lodged in your chest, “—I know I said yes, but I—there’s always the possibility of an a-annulment if we don’t…if…”

You flinch, startled, when he pulls you into his chest only to cup your face again. He has big hands with callused fingers, rough against your skin. Up close, you can see the way his beard is cropped closer than his mustache and mutton chops. It gives him a grim air, almost somber until you catch his eyes staring down at you with an affection that feels unearned, meant for someone else. 

“Deep breaths, darling, there’s nothing to fret about just yet. You’ll work yourself into a state like this,” he murmurs, dropping his head to sip a kiss from your lips again. 

You’ve been in a state since the moment you walked into the sheriff’s office and laid eyes on this man. Turned around and knocked sideways, like you’ve walked into a storybook without noticing. If only it hadn’t all been so sudden, you might’ve been able to approach the situation with a clearer head. You might’ve been able to think up some other way out of it beyond giving Price a fake name and waiting anxiously for your true identity to be painstakingly drawn out over the course of a week. 

“Don’t know why you keep working yourself up,” Price says softly, then slots your lips together for another tender kiss. “Figured you might be a little skittish, but…’m gonna be such a good husband for you, honey. Not gonna want for nothing.”

His slow kisses drag out longer than back in the courthouse, languorous and decadent. As if he has all the time in the world now. In a way, he does, now that he’s helped collect your belongings from the inn and brought you home. When you think of pulling away, the hand wrapped around your wrist lets go and slides to your back, pulling you flush against his chest. Your breasts flatten against his chest, pulse skittering like mad when you feel the hardest of his chest against yours and the muscle holding you in place. 

You can’t help the whimper that escapes your lips when the hand on your cheek slides to the nape of your neck and grips, holding you in place. The kiss deepens, the heat on your cheeks feeling palpably hot, vision swimming until your eyes have no choice but to flutter shut. Your suitcase sits forgotten somewhere in the dirt, toppled over onto its side. You pant low, hot breaths into his mouth when he breaks the kiss, letting his lips just hover over yours.

“There we go, darlin’,” Price mumbles against your mouth, sliding the hand on your low back down to grip the plump flesh of your ass through your dress, lips twitching when you make a broken, affronted sound. “Isn’ that better? Not thinkin’ so hard?”

You can’t think at all, in truth. When he kisses you again, your thoughts evaporate up into the clouds, the tongue licking into your mouth dispelling any ideas or notions you might’ve had. It disappears into the heat and lust and the fingers digging into your backside, groping at the flesh there without shame or compunction. You go with him when he clutches you closer, gasping again into his mouth when you feel something hard press against your low belly. He grunts when you twitch against it. 

“John—John—” you gasp, pulling your mouth away and whimpering when he chases after you, letting him steal another wet, slick kiss before your trembling hands clutch at the fabric of his shirt. “Enough—it’s not—it’s not proper—”

“No prying eyes around here,” he grunts. “‘Sides, who’s going to tell a man he can’t kiss his own wife?”

Trembling all the harder at his words, you dig your nails into his shirt sleeves and hope you pinch the skin underneath. All twisted up inside. The ring on your finger glimmers when it catches the light, brighter even than the sun this close to your face. When Price feels your nails dig into his arms, he groans, fingers pressing harder into your bottom and making you squeak. All the pent up lust finally trickling out of him and into you. 

“C’mon, honey, let’s get you inside.” He finally lets you go after giving your bottom lip one last wet suck, pulling it into his mouth while his half-lidded eyes stare into yours. It’s somehow more intimate than kissing. 

You’re still reeling when he turns around to pick your suitcase off the ground, certain that your knees will give way and send you tumbling as well. Every point of contact on your body sizzles, aches. You watch from outside of yourself as he turns back to you, suitcase in his hand now, eyes still dark and fixed on you. Hungry. Your eyes widen when they flit down to find a thick bulge at the crotch of his pants. 

Like a cold bucket of water has been dumped over your head, you hiss and back up three steps when he takes a step towards you. “Oh no, you don’t take one step closer! I won’t have anything to do with—with that!”

You must look like some feral barn cat, back all puffed up, teeth bared to the man trying to coax you towards him. Price must see it too because he grins, amused. “Still spittin’ mad, huh? Felt those claws in me before, darlin’…gonna love feeling them with nothing between us.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Price doesn’t bother clearing anything up, but you intuit it the second he takes another step in your direction, whirling around and sprinting towards the house. It feels counterproductive to seek shelter in the man’s house, but dusty plains stretch out in every direction apart from back into town, where you know not a soul will lift a finger to help you. His house is the only shelter you’re going to get.

You hurry up the porch stairs, tearing open the door before glancing over your shoulder to find Price not far behind. He advances on you at a walking pace, but each stride of his long legs matches two of yours, making you shriek and scurry up the staircase. You dart for the first open door you see, slamming it shut behind you and leaning your whole weight against it. Glancing down, you perk up at the sight of a lock on the door before flipping it.

It’s not long before the sound of boots clomping up the staircase meets your ears, headed straight in your direction. You shake when you hear him pause right outside the door, then startle when he tries the knob. 

“You gonna let me in, darling?” Price asks, grin in his voice. Even raps his knuckle against the door for good measure.

“No,” you snap. 

“Not even for your things? Got your suitcase right here.” You hear him set it down, a little clunk against the wood floor. 

“I can manage like this. I’ve slept in my dress before.”

He pauses. “Have you?”

You tilt your chin up proudly despite the door blocking his view. “Yes, and I don’t mind doing it again. You can just stay on the other side of that door until you…until you put that thing away.”

“Can’t do much about that thing, darling; it’s sort of grown on me over the years anyway,” Price chuckles. “Well, not much I can do with it behind this door. I’ll go tend the horses ‘till suppertime comes ‘round and then come back to tend to you.”

“Licentious…reprobate,” you hiss through the door. 

He laughs, the sound deep in his throat. Your stomach flips. 

The stairs creak under the weight of his boots as he descends back downstairs. You wait until you hear the front door open and shut behind him, until the house is completely quiet save for the blood pumping in your ears before you hastily unlock the door and dart a hand out just to pull your suitcase in. You shut and lock the door as soon as it passes the threshold. 

It takes a while to settle your nerves and for the trembling to subside. In the meantime, you sit on your bottom at the foot of the door, with your back still pressed firmly to the wood, and take stock. There’s a bed in the room, one you hadn’t noticed in your mad scramble to lock yourself in. A bigger bed than the one you’d slept on back at the inn, but just as sparse, with gray flannel sheets and a blue quilt folded and draped over the end of the bed. 

The rest of the furniture in the room—two end tables, a chest of drawers, a desk, and two chairs situated in the corner of the room—appears so consistent in its design that you have to wonder if Price made them by hand as well. Hardly a reason to question it. You think to yourself that you’ll have to ask him how he finds the time only to quickly shake that thought away. Can’t be getting too chummy, certainly not if you don’t expect to be around in a month’s time. Hopefully less than that. 

You chew on your lip at the thought of fleeing in the night.

It trickles into your thoughts while you open your suitcase on the bed and riffle around for your nightwear. Price will likely keep you under lock and key for at least the first week of your marriage, giving you little opportunity to take off any time soon. If only you’d held your tongue and played the demure bride, he might’ve had some cause to trust you. Certainly not now, after your most recent display. 

Your own stupid fault, as usual. It’s not the first time your temper has gotten the better of you. You’ve faced worse consequences for it. 

Outside the window on the far end of the room, a horse whinnies. You pause, remembering that Price hadn’t gone very far. When you glance out curiously, you see him letting the horses into the pen, giving one a good rub down the bridge of its nose. The horses seem to melt under his touch. 

It’s strange watching him from far away. From a distance, it’s hard to reconcile him with the man that bent you over his desk not an hour ago and tanned your bottom. You cringe at the memory. It’s not that Price doesn’t seem like a man that would take his wife over his knee if he saw fit to do so, but you still can’t imagine yourself as that woman. When you think about it, it feels like a play, something you saw happen to someone else. Not you wailing and squirming like a cat in heat. 

As if feeling your stare, he glances up at the window and winks when he catches your eye. With a squeak, you leap away from the window, scurrying back over to the bed. 

A couple hours pass in restless contemplation, practically biting your nails to the quick. Eyeing the windowsill like you still might go over there just to check on what Price is up to outside. You hear him come back into the house once or twice, tensing up at the sound of his boots, only to be left vaguely disappointed when you hear him leave and the screen door slam shut behind him. 

You spend so long holed up in the bedroom that you miss lunch entirely. Below you, you hear Price puttering around downstairs in the kitchen—the sound of a knife chopping vegetables and then the sizzle of meat on a pan. The hunger pangs nearly make you break, but you’ve gone without food before. 

Your heart skips a beat when you hear him ascend the staircase again and place something just outside of your door. He doesn’t try coaxing you out this time, just heads back down the stairs and out the front door. Again, you ignore the pang of disappointment; ignore the urge to open the door and holler down the stairs for him to stay gone. 

He leaves anyway. 

Curiosity needles at you though, so you open the door up a crack when you’re sure you’re alone. There’s a plate at the foot of the door with vegetables and meat, slightly cooled but still fresh, the plate still warm. He must’ve known you wouldn’t try coming downstairs and fixed you up a plate. 

You eat in silence at the desk, bad mood ripening. Angry at yourself and everyone else. Even John. Especially John. The audacity of fixing you up a plate, of thinking of you in the first place. Irritated enough to stand boldly by the window this time, hand clutched in the curtain, tracking the movement of his shoulders and hips when he moves with the horses and fetches water from the well. You lose sight of him a couple times as he finishes up the day’s chores around the house, but the flutter in your belly always settles when he comes back into view. 

It’s easy to let yourself admire him from afar, somehow less humiliating without his eyes on you. He’s a solid man, body carved into its shape from the rough labor that’s part and parcel of living out on the frontier. A wide back tapering down to lean, narrow hips and thick, muscled thighs hewn from lifting and pulling and all manner of physical work. You bite your lip when you remember what it felt like to cling to that back and dig your nails into his arms. 

You give your head a shake. It’s dangerous to let a thought like that latch on. 

In the few hours between lunch and sunset, you occupy yourself by reading one of the books stowed away in your suitcase. Then get bored and refold your clothes. The horses bray when they’re taken into the stables for the evening. The crickets out in the bushes in the yard chirp as the sun sets pink in the far distance. It’s quieter out here in the plains than back in the city, you think, something you haven’t yet had the time to appreciate. 

When Price comes in for the night, you’re firm in your resolve to keep the door shut. If lunch at the door was just an attempt to butter you up, he has another thing coming. In a house this big, there’s likely a guest room or somewhere else to sleep—a sofa or a sleeping bag tucked away under the stairs. He’ll just have to make do while you take the bedroom. There’ll be no sharing a bed with the man that grabbed your backside like a piece of meat. 

He doesn’t come up the stairs right away. Like before, you hear him rustle up supper, spatula scraping against a pan and knife coming down on a chopping block again and again. Not enough time has passed since lunch for you to feel more than peckish. You’re thankful for that when you hear him sit down to eat. 

The knock at the door startles you. You hadn’t heard him come up the stairs. “Ready to talk now?”

You stare balefully at the door. “No.”

“We have to figure this out sometime, darling.”

“No, we don’t.”

“I’m sorry if I gave you a fright earlier, but, honey, that’s how husbands kiss their wives. Nothing improper about it.”

“I’m not frightened, I’m just not—we don’t need to do any of that,” you huff, embarrassed all over again. “You’ve hardly given me any time to even think. I didn’t know you from Adam this morning and now we’re married.”

Price sighs, the sound muffled through the door. “What am I going to do with you, honey?” It’s said to himself, a fond exasperation that puts you on edge all over again. He has no right to be amused with you, no right to be delighted and charmed by your ire. 

“Well, you can sleep somewhere else for the time being. I’d prefer the bed to myself.”

He lets out a low, dark laugh. “There’s not a chance in hell that I’m sleeping anywhere but with my wife from this point on. You oughta come to terms with that quick.”

“Well then, you can sleep out there because I’m not unlocking the door!”

He lets out a mean sound, almost mocking. “Yeah, ‘bout time I addressed that, huh?”

His words make you frown until you hear a floorboard creak as Price does something on the other side of the door. Then the doorknob jiggles. Horrified, you watch as the door unlocks and the knob turns, your husband’s body filling out the door frame. You’d forgotten how well he could fill one out. He almost has to duck to come inside, mused hair from working outside all day brushing against the top of the frame. 

“Always put a key on the top of the door, just in case,” he explains, pinching the little silver key between his thumb and forefinger before shutting the door. Your heart jumps when he locks it behind him. “Ready to talk now, honey?”

[miyukisu]

Talk Like That .ᐟ

❤︎ | Who would have thought that your quiet and stoic boss had such a dirty side to him? (2.7 wc) ╰ feat. hiromi higuruma (jjk) x afab! reader

kinktober entry no. 3 | kinktober masterlist

tags - degradation, office sex, semi-public sex, hiromi is very mean, paralegal! reader, spanking, punishment, p in v, blowjob, pussy eating, doggy, protected sex

minors do not interact

H I R O M I H I G U R U M A

You passed by those bold letters plastered across the matted glass of his office almost everyday. After all, your office was a little bit down the hall from his.

Everyone in the firm knew who Hiromi Higuruma was. For one, he was perhaps the most talented man working there. But also because he was the finest man you have ever laid your eyes upon.

Hiromi always came to work looking sleek and prepared for the day. You would never catch him dead with tousled hair or his suit disheveled.

In fact, people slowly became jealous of his secretary. She spent all hours of her working day right in front of his office, relaying calls to him, and accompanying him in several errands.

It was ridiculous. His secretary probably had grandchildren at her age. But you understood why anyone would be jealous.

Part of you wanted to spend time with the stoic and brooding man too. But it was tough. Too fucking tough.

He wasn't the type to engage in pleasantries or make himself available for too long at office events. You've been working at the firm for so long, yet you barely knew anything about him outside of his achievements. It was almost impossible, you thought.

That was until you, as a paralegal, were requested by him.

────────────

All those years of hard work finally paid off now that the biggest shot at the firm took notice of you. It was your chance to prove yourself at work and to Hiromi. Of course, it was a primary goal to impress him.

The case was demanding, a high-profile one at that as well. It was no surprise that you had to spend many sleepless nights at the office. But you weren't alone—Hiromi was often left to work late hours too.

Sometimes you'd drop off a file or two and discuss a bit. Ordinary stuff, all things considered. However, tonight was different; tensions were high.

You had made a mistake earlier today. You missed a detail and the client had to know about it. There was a whole scene in the office that afternoon. Hiromi had to clean up after your mess. None of it was his fault and he had to embarrass himself for the sake of some paralegal he probably only learned the existence of recently.

Usually, you'd be ecstatic to catch a glimpse of him so late at night. But right now, he was the last person you wanted to see. Hiromi didn't show it, but he was definitely angry.

────────────

You knocked slowly against the open glass door of his office. You were sure it was just the two of you in the building at this hour. At least, if he decides to reprimand you for your shitty performance—no one would have to hear a thing.

Hiromi didn't bother looking up; he knew who it was. He simply nodded in acknowledgement and you let yourself in.

"Here are the files you were asking for earlier," you say as you hand it over to him. Hiromi uses the pen in his hand to point to an empty space of his desk.

It takes you a few seconds too late to understand, but you place the documents neatly before taking a step back. He continued skimming over the document he was currently holding, a bored expression painted on his face.

"Learned your lesson yet?" he asked flatly.

You were hoping not to go over this again, but it was inevitable. "Yes, sir... I'm terribly sorry for what happened earlier. It won't happen again."

"Words... always just words, but it never gets reflected in your performance," he retorts. Hiromi sets down the document in his hand before grabbing the papers that you brought. Still—he hasn't spared you a single glance.

Despite the impartial look on his face, you could tell that he wasn't exactly happy at the moment. You nervously awaited for a comment or critique from him about your work as he proceeded to go over it quickly.

"Are you sure I won't find another mistake in here?"

"Y-yes, sir. I'm certain."

He hummed lowly. "Then I better not see one. You know what'll happen if I do."

Right. You were going to be removed from the case and some other paralegal would take your place. Then, Hiromi would never ever look your way. That fact in particular made you the most anxious you've been thus far.

You watched as his weary eyes scrutinized your work. The black orbs darting quickly from one side to another, his lips still pressed into a thin line.

If you had hoped he would dismiss you without another scolding... oh, you were dead wrong.

Hiromi's eyes squinted at a particular line before dropping the documents on his desk and running his large hand over his face. You felt the blood drain from your face and your heart drop to your stomach. This wasn't good...

He finally looked at you, but with that kind of expression—you'd rather that he not looked at you at all. His dark eyes bore into your skull. No words were spoken yet, but you knew the thoughts running rampant in that head of his.

None of them were good.

"You were certain you made no mistakes—yes?"

"I'm sorry," was all you could mutter. What else was there to say? Nothing would soothe his wrath.

He slammed an open palm against his desk. "What the hell do you do all day in this office? Hm?"

Hiromi stands up, not letting you reply. "Come here," he commands. You had never heard me speak or had seen him look this way. But the stress and frustration at work—coupled with his personal affairs—simmered within him. He was only a man; he too had his limits.

You sheepishly shuffled closer to his desk, head hung low.

"Look at me."

And you do.

Your eyes meet and it stirs an emotion in you that you can't quite put a finger on. He leans in, his smell permeating your nostrils and down to your core. Hiromi smelled good, of course, that much was to be expected.

"Tell me—what the hell do you do all day in this office?"

"I don't know what..."

"You don't know what that means? Can't even answer a simple question?"

He grabs your jaw slowly, applying just enough force to make your lips pucker. "Do you know how humiliated I was earlier because of your mistake?"

You mutter another apology, albeit a bit muffled. Hiromi scoffed in response. "Is that all you can do? Say sorry for every stupid mistake that you make?"

"I'm starting to think all you do here is prance around in your tight clothes, batting your eyelashes at anyone who'd look at you. You like their attention, don't you?"

Hiromi lets go of your face, giving you a chance to speak. "I don't... I don't want their attention... I don't do the things you just said... I..."

"I only want your attention."

His taut expression seemingly softened, though traces of anger were still evident. You added, "Maybe I was trying too hard because I wanted to impress you and in the process I kept messing up more because... because..."

You were a stuttering mess; you weren't even sure why the hell you were telling all of this to him. It was pathetic and unprofessional. But it hardly mattered in an odd situation like this.

"You wanted to impress me?" he asked.

Everyone did; everyone wanted to look good in the eyes of the Hiromi Higuruma. You were no exception to that.

"Yes, sir..."

He takes a step back from his desk, sitting back down on his leather swivel chair. "Come over here," he says as his finger makes a come hither gesture.

You gulped down hard before going around his desk, standing right in front of him. Hiromi still had a bored expression plastered on his face. "On your knees."

Your eyes widened ever so slightly. There was no mistaking his words. He was actually asking you to—

"O-okay," you replied shakily. You dropped down to your knees, but before you could get any closer, he leaned down and grabbed you by the hair; your messy bun became messier. He only did so—not to hurt you—but to make you look at him and to make sure you'd hear him loud and clear.

"You really want to make it up to me?" he asked lowly and you nod.

His fingers slowly detangle from your locks as he leans back in his chair. "You know what to do then. I'm sure you've been waiting to do something like this."

You'd be a fucking liar if you said you haven't dreamt of doing something filthy like this with the hottest man in the office. It only made it better that you were actually doing it inside his office.

You crawled closer to him until your head was between his thighs. It thrilled you straight to your core. Your fingers lightly traced the seam of his trousers before pulling his zipper down. After undoing the button, you slowly tugged the pants and boxers that were in the way. Your mouth almost watered at the sight of his cock—though it was only half hard.

Seeing how it was now—it made you wet thinking about it at its biggest. It was overwhelming now it was actually in your hand. Warmth radiated from it as you brought your face closer.

"You look famished. Fantasized about this before haven't you?"

In response, you simply kissed his tip—earning a hiss from him. You spat on it, letting the glob of saliva trickle down his length before your hand spread it all over. In one go, you took as much as you could in your mouth.

His girth made your eyes water. He relaxed in his chair as if he found peace in your warm mouth, a soft groan slipping from his chapped lips. You made sure to go at an excruciatingly slow pace, not wanting to overwhelm yourself. This might just be your last chance to impress him; you weren't about to fuck it up.

"Guess there is something you can do properly hm?"

A familiar set of fingers tangle in your strands again, slowly guiding your head. "Sucking it so enthusiastically—maybe paralegal work isn't your calling."

All the dirty talk went straight to your sopping cunt, making you moan around his length. He hisses again, "Fuck... you're enjoying this way too much."

He pulls your head away from your cock, taking the time to admire the fucked out expression on your face. Saliva dribbled down your chin as your half-lidded eyes stared back at him.

"Don't wanna cum in your mouth. Stand up," he orders again.

He stands up along with you. Before you could even gain your footing, he had bent you over on his desk—knocking over the stuff that littered the surface.

A gasp escapes you as he roughly pushes your black pencil skirt, bunching it up at your waist. He marveled at your stocking-clad ass. A harsh slap surprised you.

"O-ouch..."

He leans against you, his chest pressing into your back. Hiromi's hand snaked to your front, lightly gripping your neck. You could feel his minty breath against your neck as his nose jabbed your cheek. "That's for the first fuck up."

Then, another slap. "That's for your fuck up now."

Another slap. "And that's just for my own pleasure."

He pulled away, the abrupt absence of his warmth making you feel restless. Your senses were flooded by a plethora of things that you didn't notice how he knelt down in front of your heat. Hiromi wasted no time and ripped the barrier that was your black stockings.

"Fucking slut. You should see how drenched you are right now."

He presses a kiss over your clothed cunt, his nose poking at your hole. You let out a breathless groan, finally nearing some much needed stimulation.

His finger hooks into the gusset before pulling it out of the way. He found it pitiful how you clenched over nothing. He'd give you something to clamp on soon anyway.

Hiromi dove right in, lapping at your folds. He took his sweet time, much like you did with him. His tongue teased the length of your slit first before thrusting it into your neglected hole.

A desperate moan echoed through his office as you squirmed. But Hiromi held you by your ass, making sure you would stay still for him. He went faster and faster, not allowing you to adjust. And in no time, he had you cumming on his tongue.

God, it was unfair that an attractive and talented man like him had to be good at sex too.

The last bit of strength that held you up had disappeared, leaving you slumped over his desk. He reached for his drawer, looking for a condom. As much as he wanted to fuck you raw—let you know reaaaal well the consequences of your actions—Hiromi was still a rational man.

He'd have his fun, safely.

Hiromi wasn't in much of a hurry as he idly rolled the rubber down his cock. Besides, time was probably going slower for you right now. Who would've thought just a little bit of pussy eating would get you undone so quickly?

Pathetic. But Hiromi secretly liked it.

He lazily rubbed himself as he lined his cock against your dripping entrance. There wasn't a chance of him going slow now. Hiromi plunged his entire length into your cunt. Your soft moans came out in unison as the lawyer threw his head back a bit.

It had been a while since he let off some steam... and maybe the first time he had a cute little paralegal bent over his desk.

"Finally got what you wanted? Tell me how much you wanted this."

"Wanted this so much," you blabbered. You could hear yourself and even you were surprised by how shameless you were. Hell, if dick as good as this was going in and out of you—maybe it's not that surprising that he could coax out even the most deprived thoughts in your head.

"Fucking slut. You wore this pretty skirt for me, didn't you?"

"Y-yes. I did."

"Fuck right you did," he says. Hiromi takes your arms and crosses them behind you, grabbing it so he can slam harder into you. His grip was bruising, but the pain was easily overlooked by how good he was making you feel down there.

"Maybe I should keep you on this case—not as paralegal, but as my stress reliever. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

His question was only meant by a strangled moan, but it sufficed. The way you eagerly took him in was more than enough to let him know. "Such a perfect slut," he whispered under his breath.

The relentless snap of his hips had you clenching down and he was definitely feeling it with the way he would suck in through his teeth. He knew you were close and so was he.

"Fuck," he drawled out. "Pussy so good... making me cum too quickly for my liking."

Hiromi let go of your arms, letting them fall to your sides. Instead, he grabbed on to your hips, pulling you into his. The lewd squelching sounds along with your moans were certainly heard from beyond his glass office.

"Sir... I'm so close... shit."

He took that as a sign to keep up his maddening pace. Your orgasm came crashing and white spots flooded your vision. If it weren't for him holding up your hips, you would've been completely slouched on the wooden desk.

"Fuck... take it all," he says before his thrust become sloppy. Eventually, he released into the rubber. Hiromi rode out the last few seconds of his climax before slipping out of you. As he took his hands off your flesh, his hand prints were left as a souvenir.

He took the rubber off his sensitive length, tying it up and chucking it into the trash bin. Hiromi sat back down, exhausted, while you were still bent over his desk. Perhaps it'll be a while before you'd gain your strength again.

Until then, he'll admire your pretty pink pussy.

©miyukisu do not repost/reupload/translate any of my works on other platforms

╰ author's note 100% of my knowledge on law comes from Suits so don't come for me

[dlscenarios]

How I Long For Our Trysts

Anthony Bridgerton x f!Reader SMUT

I finished reading The Viscount Who Loved Me & i'm already missing this fictional man like he's my husband that went off to war.

Also ofc the title is a Taylor Swift reference. What else is new?

Cw: AFAB Reader + a few brief mentions of Reader being a lady, Bridgerton-typical society talk, Reader & Anthony are pretty handsy, No foreplay, Unprotected sex + Creampie

You were going to be the death of him.

Anthony Bridgerton always knew he was going to die young, but he'd always thought it would be a similar death to his father's — sudden and perhaps by the stinger of a measly bee — yet the agonizing wait for you to appear in the doorway of his study might do him in first.

His mother had invited what felt like hundreds of singles in the ton for another one of her house parties at Aubrey Hall. The woman was relentless in her task of marrying off her children, although she seemed to focus more on Anthony than his brothers. To the viscount's dismay (he was ashamed to admit his simultaneous delight), you were one of the invited guests. Anthony's mother had no idea that you and her eldest son had already become well acquainted with each other, having met earlier in the season.

You had a distaste for society and its strict rules, something that both intrigued and infuriated Anthony. You conducted yourself in a way that haunted his very being. Had you been a smidge less cynical, you would fit Anthony's idea of a perfect viscountess exactly.

Since your first meeting, the viscount would see you everywhere. At the shops, the park, every ball, there was even a time Anthony could have sworn you were in his bed beside him only to find out it was just an all-too-real dream. In hopes of getting you out of his head, he began pursuing you. Not in hopes of marriage, Anthony had carefully planned out every minute you shared together to avoid such a thing, but in hopes of turning his dream into a reality. And it worked. It worked far better than Anthony thought it would. Every moment he spent getting lost in your body felt better than it had with any of the women he had slept with before. He craved you more than he had ever craved anything in his entire life. While your moments together were fleeting, he made every minute count and seared the memory into his brain. 

Now that you were under the same roof as him, he could barely hold himself back. His siblings had coerced you to join their game of Pall Mall earlier in the evening and each time your ball and his sat near each other, it took every ounce of Anthony's strength not to pull you to the side and kiss you senseless. After the game, he stepped closer to your side, inconspicuously whispering into your ear to meet him in his study at midnight. If everyone else in the house was asleep, he could have you all to himself for hours. As long as the two of you ended up in your respective bedchambers by dawn, no one would be any wiser.

While waiting for the clock to strike twelve, Anthony tried to keep himself busy by going over a few papers, but eventually the dry scratching of his quill and the flickering light of the candle beside him began to make his head spin. Tossing the pen to the side and rubbing his face with his hands, the door finally creaked open. Leaning back in his chair, a smirk grew on Anthony's face at the sight of you shutting the door behind you.

"Took you long enough." he quipped, gazing at you with tired eyes. You returned his smile and approached the desk.

"It is better to be safe rather than sorry, my lord. I did not want to risk someone catching me outside of my chambers like this~" Your hand began to fiddle with the hastily-tied knot on your robe. With a light tug, the robe was untied and fluttered open to reveal that you donned only a chemise under it.

Anthony sucked in a breath, dark eyes trailing over your figure. Yes, he had seen you in less before, but you looked too damned stunning in everything you wore, no matter how many layers it consisted of. Even at the social events both of your families "coincidentally" attended, he could not tear his eyes away from you.

You stepped closer to his side, his hand wasting no time in settling on your hip. He was looking at you like how a puppy eyed its beloved owner. You kept that analogy to yourself, knowing full well that he would rid it the moment he became aware of it, but it was perhaps the most beautiful look he had ever worn. Your opposing hand came up to graze his cheek before your fingertips peaked into his hair. Anthony's eyes fluttered shut, leaning into your hand and turning to press a soft kiss to your palm.

"Always so eager." you said, smiling down at your lover. You caught the faintest, briefest smile on his lips before he kissed your palm once more with a deep hum.

"You cannot blame me." Anthony's voice was low and filled with passion as he replied, "Not when I have the prettiest lover in all of Great Britain," he paused to squeeze your hip, his fingers digging into the fabric of your chemise, "Right at my fingertips."

"Aw..." you teased, leaning down to meet his lips. Anthony lets out a low moan into the kiss as his hand slides from your hip to around your waist, guiding you down to straddle him in his chair. Your warmth was the comforting sort, the image of you in his lap serving as a reminder that Anthony had you. You were his, sitting so prettily above him, and deep down, while it hurt his pride to admit such, Anthony knew he was yours.

In the glow of the fireplace, the two of you held each other close, hands exploring previously conquered patches of skin. You had tugged his vest open as one of his hands slid under your chemise to grab your ass. His lips had left yours to trail hot kisses along your neck. Your breathy pants fanned against his ear while he suckled your clavicle, wishing so desperately that he could leave a mark. Anthony knew he couldn't. You were out in society, someone the viscount had sworn to never rope into his rakish encounters. The last thing he wanted to do was ruin your reputation and find himself at the receiving end of your relative's pistol.

Anthony let out a low growl, pushing away the niggling reminder that he had compromised you. What a hypocrite he was. Had one of his sisters been in your position, he would have ripped their lover to shreds, but something about you felt different. A warm and welcoming feeling that Anthony had never experienced before. A feeling that was suffocating him as he lifted his head to peck your jaw before guiding you into another kiss.

You yanked at his shirt, ripping the top buttons out of their holes. Anthony groaned as your hand trailed down his clothed chest, grazing over his stomach and inching closer to his waistband. His lips leave yours, pressing a feather-light kiss to your cheek before his own hand slips down to meet yours, expertly unbuttoning his trousers.

Anthony Bridgerton was never a patient man, something you had known since your first night together. He was never selfish — in fact, he was quite a generous lover, always checking to make sure he wasn't moving too fast — he merely found it difficult to hold back at times. You were a drug. Perhaps the only thing that could make him completely drunk, aside from the occasional brandy. As he freed himself from the confines of his pants, he gazed up, his dark eyes shining with a lustful glint as they met yours.

You shifted above him and pulled up the skirt of your chemise enough for him to line up with your entrance. His free hand rested on your hip before slowly guiding you down to take him in. With a groan, he squeezed your ass as you situate yourself in his lap. His hands slid up to your hips, urging them to roll toward his.

Anthony held you close, enough for him to lean forward and mouth at your clothed chest. You always felt like heaven, so hot and tight. You made him feel alive. Anthony groaned against your chest as his fingers dug into your skin, mirroring the new grip you had on his shoulders. Your soft moans against his ear spurred him to help quicken your grinding, guiding you along the length of his cock.

Before you had met the viscount, you had known of his rakish ways from Whistledown's column. The woman had never been wrong so you had no reason to disbelieve her reports on Anthony's past conquests. Opera singers, actresses, several women in London's brothels, he had allegedly bed them all. He was the biggest rake in all of Britain, yet as he held you tight and fucked into you as if he loved you, you couldn't bring yourself to regret meeting him. It could have been your inexperience in these sorts of encounters, but you could have sworn the Anthony Bridgerton you saw during these nights was a better man than the one Whistledown knew. He was always so attentive and skilled and beautiful and...

You contracted around him, ripping a gruff moan from your lover's lips, his gaze focused on your connection as he controlled the movement of your hips. His short nails bit through the thin cotton of your chemise, his own hips thrusting up to meet yours.

"Fuck..." Anthony groaned almost too quiet for you to hear. He always found it hard to last longer than you, yet another difference between you and his past lovers. He was already close and, judging by the way your moans took on a higher pitch, you were not far behind. One of his hands left your hip to slip under the bunched front of your dress, thumbing your clit in the exact way he knew you liked.

You squeaked out a moan, your grip on the back of his shirt hardening. "Anthony...Oh god, Anthony..." you repeated his name like a prayer.

Suddenly, your orgasm hit, stilling your hips and moaning into his shoulder. Like he always did, Anthony coaxed you through your release, continuing his ministrations and pressing soft kisses to the side of your head. Once your moans subsided, the hand on your clit left to rest on your back. You kept your face buried in his shoulder as he panted into your ear, his own sounds growing closer together as he chased his release.

You lifted your head enough for Anthony to steal your lips again. With another groan, he thrusted up into you one last time before his come began to fill you. He held you tightly against him as he deepened the kiss.

You moaned and weaved your hand into his hair. You didn't want the kiss to end. The moment it did meant your time with Anthony was coming to an end. You would have to return to your bedchamber alone, knowing the man you had accidentally started falling for was under the same roof.

Meanwhile, Anthony had no plans of letting you go once leaving your lips to catch his breath. He glanced to the nearby clock. It was only one in the morning, plenty of time to keep you locked in the study with him. He should be free to have you until six, when the maids would begin wrapping their wake-up calls on the residents’ doors. After only a few gulps of air, Anthony's lips were back on yours, keen on having you in every position he's dreamed you in.

Anthony Bridgerton never planned on catching feelings. Hell, his entire plan for the season was to find a wife he wouldn't fall for, yet as he admired you in the euphoric state he had put you in, he was starting to think his plan had failed.

[keelt9]

Paper 1

Masterlist

The first time Max saw her, she was sitting with her legs crossed in front of an old clockmaker's workshop writing in red paper as the snow kept falling slowly all over the small town. 

Max’s family had the tradition of going to Benasque, in Spain, every Christmas and New Year, keeping far away from the busy world of racing and enjoying some time with family.

“What are you doing?” Max approaches the girl who didn’t bother to lift her eyes from her paper as she writes like her lifes depends on it.

“Writing.” Max bluffs rolling his eyes, but he insisted.

“Kinda obvious, what are you writing?” He tilted his head trying to read whatever she’s writing. 

This time the girl with a red beanie lifted her face, rubbing her hands trying to get rid of the cold. “A Christmas wish.”

“For?” Max couldn't avoided, she had something that triggered his curiosity. 

“For?!” Like Max just asked the most terrorist question, the girl sits properly and points to the big Santa Claus in front of the clockmaker's workshop, next to a red mailbox. “Kind of obvious too.” 

“Really?” Max looked at her like he was observing the most outrageous person. “He’s n…”

The girl stood flooding his paper and got his pen on her big red cape. “Are you a Grinch or something like that?”

Max laughs purely following the girl who carefully walked waiting for the cars stopped to cross the street. “It’s an old clockmaker's workshop with an old mailbox, what makes you think that could even work?”

The girl opened the mailbox where, to his surprise, had a considerable amount of papers and letters, the girl looked at him with a self-sufficient smile.

“You’re kind of sourpuss for having what 6 year olds, maybe 7?” Max opened his mouth in total disbelief, who the hell was this girl.

“6 and half.” The girl nods, walking back to the bench unconsciously making space for him to sit.

Max sat next to her. “Now what?” 

The girl laid back her head with a smile but didn’t look at him. “Well, I like to sit here and watch, from time to time you find interesting people who actually believe in Christmas magic.”

“I don’t say I don’t believe, it’s just I have my reserves.” Max stretches his neck and relaxes his body. “Let’s see if you have the right.”

For 4 hours they waited outside as they were covered in white and their faces turned red, spoke about every little thing like they were friends of life, and one more time the mysterious girl confirmed her theory. They saw little kids walking along their parents, teenagers who observed side to side of the street fearing someone could catch them doing something wrong, adults that simply stood longer like if closing the mailbox means as prayer and old people that after came across the street and gave them a small candy or coins for they bought something nice for these holidays.

When the few sunlights started to disappear, the girl stood and waved her hand to the other side of the street. 

“Well, Mr. Grinch, it's been a pleasure, I have a lot of fun.” Max felt overwhelmed but happy. “Thanks for joining me.” 

The girl extended her hand which Max gladly accepted and shook. “Oh my God! You’re freezing, you forgot your gloves or something?”

Max didn't forget them, it’s part of his training, resist the cold temperatures, hoping in a few years all these things bring thousands of joys for him and his family.

His lack of response made the little girl narrow her eyes but let it pass. “Put it on the fire as soon as you get home.”

Max chuckled. “Thanks, little elf.” He pointed to his beanie and her red black boots. 

The girl laughs purely nodding her head. “Same time tomorrow?”

“Count me in.” Max walks away but he notices he doesn’t have a name. “What's your name?!” He screamed as the girl kept walking backwards.

“I’ll tell you later!” 

As the years passed, that’s how Max spent every last two weeks of December, before parting ways the 2nd of January, walking around the small town, eating candies and spending hours in front of an old clockmaker's workshop; loving the company of a little girl with a red beanie and black boots. 

Their name never comes and honestly they never needed it. 

The year Max finally joined Red Bull he could barely wait for Christmas holidays to begin, he had big news to share.

But Christmas wasn't nice all the time, that year knowing he could turn in the main driver of Red Bull, his father strictly denied him to move far away from Milton Keynes, he must be there.

Max obedient waited at least for the 23rd of December hopping his father could change his mind, still he hasn't, so in a last attempted he asked to his sister Victoria, that please, at least she went there before New Years Eve searched in front of the old clockmaker's workshop for a girl with a red beanie and black boots, and told her he would go next year.

“Max, how would I know I found the right girl?” Victoria asked as they said goodbye in the airport.

Max shook his head and hugged his sister. “Please, just tell her to wait a little bit.”

The pleading eyes of his brother was all Victoria needed to agree and looked at the Christmas girl.

Unfortunately she didn’t get her goal, her mother and her flight connection delay a couple of hours by the time they arrived to Benasque, it was the first hour of the 4rd of January, even when Victoria went to the old clockmaker's workshop the owner told her the girl came like every year and go, last night.

“A little defeated, she waited for his little friend.” The owner said taking the red mailbox of the entrance. 

Victoria left her number in case the girl came but the owner was cleared, like the snow, she and her family only came that three weeks every year.

The next year Max started to make his own powerful path, fearing he could miss an important moment, he started to write all the special moments in a red notebook, he didn't want to miss any little detail for sharing with his little elf. 

The next year with a victory between his hands, and the support of his mother Max went to Benasque,  just maybe his elf could be already there. 

Until the day before Christmas she didn’t appear in any of the places they used to go. 

The old man came outside of the clockmaker's workshop with a cup of hot chocolate and gave it to him. “It’s weird for me too.”

Max took a sip seeing the marshmallow floating. “She came like always?” 

The old man smiles and nods softly like he could picture the scene of last year, a teenager girl coming in the last hours of Christmas eve with a folded blue paper for leaving in the mailbox.

“She waited a little bit longer that night.” Max felt his heart squeeze. “She waited for a last minute Christmas miracle.”

Max saw the mailbox and took a piece of paper from his notebook, leaving the cup next to him. “Do you have a plan in mind, young boy?”

Max smiled, writing as fast as he could. “Helping the big guy with a miracle.”

Max didn’t notice but the old man has a proud smile and the certainty that this bound is for life. 

With a folded piece of paper Max crossed the street, opened the mailbox and put his wish and understood why the adults years ago closed the lid carefully, fearing that their wish would not come true.

His first championship came and the little elf didn’t, like every year he waited for hours every day as he kept writing in his second notebook, but she didn’t come, and every Christmas Eve he left his same wish on the mailbox.

When his third Championship came he walked the street covered in snow with a backpack, now with 4 notebooks in it. 

However this time, the old man reached him before he even got to see the bench. 

“She’s here!” The old man's face is bright beside the cold wind. 

Max opened his eyes ready to run but he was stopped. “Wait boy. I heard from the woman at the bookstore that she was already here but she hasn’t come…”

“Thanks.” Max didn’t let him finish; he grabbed his arm before running to the bookstore three blocks away.

The woman repeated the same words, she was there, bought a book and left, without saying another word.

Max's blood froze but he had to ask. “Did she look sick?”

“Oh no, she is beautiful and healthy as always, the red cape is switched for a navy blue coat but stunning as always.” The woman smiles remembering how the small girl turned into this beautiful woman. 

“Did she have a ri…” The woman smiles tenderly at Max and grabs his frozen hand.

“Any man or ring with her, boy, she just seems anxious.” Max breaths out feeling his chest doesn’t hurt.

He tried to think where she could be but for years, they spent all their holidays around the town, she could be anywhere.

Following his ritual he took a piece of paper from his notebook with his wish and left it in the mailbox, just this time in the next morning, in the mailbox a blue piece of paper appeared.

“Take it.” The old man said take it out and give it to him. “Maybe it’s your miracle.”

Max with shaking hands and holding carefully, he unfolded the paper.

<Merry Chrisymas Mr. Freeze hands!>

She was there, she definitely was there.

“Are you nuts?!” Daniel said almost choking with his dinner.

Max has a plan in mind, using all his resources for having his wish come true.

“It’s just a few words in the air.” Max rest importance cleaning the corner of his mouth. “Besides it’s on the SIM, isn’t  harmful.”

Daniel rolls his eyes. “Harmful? No, but come on Max! Everything you said in a blink will be on X, instagram, facebook, and other platforms.”

“Exactly! More diffusion, more reach.” Daniel shakes his head knowing trying to change his friend's mind, even if it is useless.

“You already talked with your team? Redline team.” Max didn’t answer, just kept eating. “MAX!”

Max laughs. “I’m planning to do it tonight!”

His team agreed with the strong belief that Max won't get it, not because they didn't want it, just because he's trying to find an old friend with any name and just barely any information that could be used to find someone.

“Ok Max, your turn.” Crane mentioned preparing the next race.

Max feels nervous, he giggles before speaking. “I would love to get some help from all of you.”

The chat immediately went crazy saying they would be glad to help.

“I lost contact with an old friend, so I was hoping you can help me to find that person one more time.” The chat lights on asking for the name or country. “Well, keeping things private I’m only going to tell you, I’m helping Santa Claus just this year.”

Max reads the comment that it’s like finding a fish in the ocean, impossible. “We used to spend Christmas together, in front of an old clockmaker's workshop.” That’s useful information, Crane laughs reading the comment. “So, can you please tell; little elf, I’m giving a hand to the big guy with red costume.”

The moment quickly goes viral, all the people are moved by the fact a triple world wide champion lost an old friend and he’s trying to find it for Christmas. It's so tender.

What wasn't tender was how the season is going, the first races all point to another brilliant season for the team until it isn’t.

Max constant researcher is paused everytime, and by the middle of the year the only useful information he gets is that the team is using this research to make more people know about it. 

But Barcelona took him by surprise.

With another win Max is fully focused on celebrating until before leaving the paddock one of the girls in charge of liaison, runs to get him before he goes.

“MAX!” The girl looks like she's seeing a ghost, pale and with wide open eyes. “You must see this.”

She gives him what a plain sight looks like and an old photo, he takes it as they keep walking until the car.

Finally inside he takes his time, or that's what he planned to do until he notices he doesn't have to, he recognises the girl in the photo.

Standing in front of a big Christmas tree as another girl hugs her looking at the camera, the other girl older and taller, wearing a white cape and black boots is laughing; his little elf is standing there with that beautiful smile, her red cape, black boots and rosy cheeks.

“Where is she?” Max asks, grabbing the seat ready to open the door and go wherever she tells him she is.

“That’s the problem.” She moves her head indicating they're ready to go. “I don’t think she’s here.”

“What?” Max looks through the window in panic as the car keeps moving. 

The girl gives him a piece of paper, as a number on it. “The girl who gave me the photo is the older one, she said the girl in red is her little sister but…” Max notices the hesitation on his teammate.

“But…” The girl turns around to see him in the back seat, as she narrows her eyes, Max is going crazy every second.

“Well, she isn’t that confident you’re looking for her sister at the right moment.” Max didn’t mean to explode, however it’s hard to control his emotions. 

“What the fuck?!” He takes his cap rubbing his face in his hands. “Sorry, sorry, I just… What else did she tell you?”

“Call her, both of you need to talk.” 

Max's mind surrounds for endless questions. Where is she? Did she know he’s looking for her? How is she? Why isn't it the right moment? What the hell has to do her sister in all this? 

Arriving at his hotel room before going to celebrate he dialed the number, concreting a meeting tomorrow in the morning at his hotel. 

“This isn’t true!” Daniel screams so Max could hear him among all the noise. “Come on Max! You’re not that foolish to believe this.”

“It’s the only coherent clue I had!” Max takes a sip of his drink.

“Or maybe it’s the sign for you to give up.” Max looks at him with cold eyes. “It’s been 6 months Max, let’s be real we’re not in a movie.”

Lando finds them on the table. “Are you planning to stay here so I can bring you a cup of tea or have fun?”

Next morning Max wakes up earlier than usual, his mind full and confused with Daniel words and the photo in his hands, when the hour they meet approaches he walks more than 10 times to the door and back to his bed. 

Slowly he remembers when she turned 10 years old, and arrived before him. By the time he got to the bench she had in her lap a cheesecake.

“What is this?” Max pointed as she smiled, taking out a candle making space between them to put the cake. 

“It’s my birthday, well… it was, but I’m making my own wish come true.” She carefully put the candle in the middle of it.

“Weirdo.” Max smiles at the ways she is so excited. “Wishes don't tell unless you don’t want to make it real.”

“Reason why I’m making it real, duh.” The girl lights the candle carefully as crosses her hands, closing her eyes. 

Max immediately starts to sing a happy birthday song softly observing how her smile grows bigger, when it ends the girl blows her candle.

“Now, what was your wish?” Max asked, grabbing the spoon the girl gave him. 

“Spending my birthday with my best friend.” Max froze in the moment a spoon stuck on the small cheesecake and a girl eating like she just said the most casual thing of the world.

Max smiles softly seeing the photo one more time, fuck everybody, he’s follow his little elf steps, making his own wish true.

[hazzashouse]

The Space Between Us (Harry Styles series)

Hi! Welcome to my new series The Space Between Us! This is a Harry Styles x OC fanfiction, where Harry plays himself—a global superstar—and the story explores his reunion with Sophie Pearson, his childhood best friend (and maybe more…). Expect moments filled with angst, tension, and heartwarming memories as they navigate the challenges of reconnection.

CHAPTER TWO: HERE

Triggers: None - this chapter is light :)

Pairing: Harry Styles x Sophie Pearson

Word Count: 3,112 Words

Enjoy the first chapter, and let me know what you think!

Chapter One: A Familiar Face

“Sophie! Where’s the seating chart?”

Her brother’s voice boomed from the dining room, sending a ripple of urgency through the already chaotic house. Sophie Pearson was halfway up the stairs, one hand clutching a clipboard and the other holding a pen precariously between her teeth.

“It’s on the table, next to the candles!” she yelled back, spinning around to double-check her mental checklist.

The house was a hive of activity. Family members, caterers, and a few overenthusiastic friends buzzed around, each consumed by their own tasks. The faint hum of a vacuum cleaner fought against the soundtrack of wedding prep chaos: doors slamming, hurried footsteps, and someone playing music too loudly in the kitchen.

Sophie reached the landing and poked her head into the guest room, where the bride’s dress hung like a masterpiece in a gallery. Everything seemed fine here. She exhaled a small breath of relief and moved on.

Downstairs, her brother Anthony appeared in the foyer, adjusting his tie.

“You’re too calm for someone getting married in three hours,” Sophie teased, her tone sharp but fond.

“Someone in this family has to be,” Anthony shot back, grinning. “Besides, I have you to keep everything on track.”

“That’s right,” she muttered, flipping through her clipboard.

————————

A Stroll Down Memory Lane

As Sophie rushed from room to room, the house seemed to breathe with memories. Every corner held whispers of the past—of childhood laughter, whispered secrets, and endless summers spent with the boy who used to be her best friend.

Harry Styles.

Her chest tightened at the thought of him. Their lives had once been so intertwined it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. Their mothers had been inseparable, which meant Sophie and Harry had been inseparable too. Sleepovers turned into late-night talks, and holidays together became their little tradition.

But that was a lifetime ago. Before The X Factor. Before the world knew his name.

Sophie tried to shove the thought aside, but it lingered like a shadow. She could still remember the last time she had seen him.

It had been an unusually cold night. They stood at the edge of their favorite park, the one where they’d shared so many childhood adventures.

“You don’t have time for me anymore,” she had said, her voice breaking as she hugged herself against the chill.

“That’s not true,” Harry had insisted, his eyes wide with something like guilt.

“Then prove it,” she’d snapped, hating herself for how desperate she sounded. “Because I’m not just some fan waiting for your attention, Harry. I’m supposed to be your friend.”

“I’ll always come back for you,” he’d said, his voice soft but resolute. But even then, they both knew the promise was an impossible one.

————————

“Sophie!”

Her cousin Lizzie’s voice snapped her back to the present. “The florist needs to know where to put the centerpieces!”

Sophie blinked and nodded, forcing a smile. “Tell them to arrange them on the dining table for now. I’ll figure it out.”

The clock was ticking. The bride would be arriving in less than an hour, and Sophie was determined to make sure everything was perfect for her brother’s big day. She adjusted her clipboard, smoothing down her blouse as she made her way back downstairs.

Outside, the January air was crisp and cold. Guests began arriving, filling the house with a mix of excitement and chatter. Sophie was so focused on coordinating the details that she didn’t notice the sleek black car pulling into the driveway.

She was checking on the catering setup when the front door creaked open. Out of the corner of her eye, Sophie caught a glimpse of movement.

“Finally, the photographer,” she muttered, brushing a stray lock of hair out of her face.

She turned to greet them, her lips already forming a polite smile. But the words died on her tongue.

It wasn’t the photographer.

It was Harry.

He stood in the doorway, framed by the soft winter sunlight. He looked older but still impossibly familiar—like a piece of her past brought to life. His suit was impeccably tailored, and his green eyes sparkled with a mix of nervousness and amusement.

“Hi, Sophie,” he said, his voice warm and tinged with something she couldn’t quite place.

Her clipboard slipped from her hands, clattering to the floor.

For a moment, the chaos of the wedding melted away. All she could see was him—the boy she had grown up with, the man who had become a stranger.

Her vision swam.

“Sophie?”

Harry’s voice was the last thing she heard before the world went black.

As Sophie sank into unconsciousness, her mind conjured an old memory—their last conversation before he left for good.

“You’re leaving again?” she had asked, her voice trembling with frustration.

“I have to,” Harry had said, running a hand through his curls. “This is my dream, Soph. You of all people should understand that.”

“I do,” she’d whispered. “But it feels like you’re choosing your dream over me.”

He’d reached for her then, his hand brushing against hers, but she’d stepped back.

“Good luck, Harry,” she had said, forcing a smile through her tears. “I hope it’s everything you want.”

And then she had turned and walked away.

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CHAPTER TWO: HERE

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[milliesfishes]

⋆౨ৎThe Final Act⋆౨ৎ

[fem reader] contains: copious amounts of angst, death, graphic description of blood pairing: billy the kid x fem reader author’s note: guys...what if I quit writing and delete my blog this hurt so bad Pinterest Board Spotify Playlist

You lived in everything.

Billy saw your essence tangled in wildflowers, swimming amongst the glitter of the sun reflecting off the surface of water. All that was good in the world, everything that brought forth a smile was rooted in you, he was convinced.

The one object of his affections, the recipient of his love, you were an angel of the highest order. In Billy's life, he'd never expected a woman to find it in her to love a man like him, let alone one as kindhearted as you. Open armed, endlessly forgiving. At the start of this, he had resolved to humble himself before you, to give you what little he had. It would never be enough, he knew. Not for a woman so beautiful she turned heads, so lovely that people were drawn to her like a hummingbird to a wildflower.

Holding you was paradise, kissing you was a strange kind of rush that he'd never get used to. To love someone so purely hadn't been in the cards for him. No, his hand had been repeatedly unlucky, robbing him of any pleasure life had to offer. But the universe had been holding out on him for now he had the best thing in it.

Billy's guilt nearly ruined the whole thing. He knew he was a whole lot less than you deserved, knew he was on borrowed time with you. Sometimes he wondered if the act of having you was a buildup, some new kind of cruel torture where he'd get to taste bliss only for it to be ripped away. With the law on his tail at every turn, he feared the life he'd built would be ripped away at the seams.

Every night when he crawled into bed, weary from the day's work, uttering quiet apologies for making it back so late, you would roll over and burrow into his chest. No words exchanged; they didn't have to be. He'd press grateful kisses to your head and you'd smile sleepily with your eyes closed.

This was heaven. This was a haven. Life with you felt like a dream. He couldn't have imagined it in his wildest fantasies, not in the years he'd spent galloping aimlessly along the prairie with no end in sight. Until he'd stumbled upon an eternal sunbeam bound up in the skin of a beautiful woman.

Now, in the sacred hours of the morning, when waking was laced with dreams, Billy traced the contours of your face with a single finger. Newborn sunlight was seeping through the cracks of the thin curtains, outlining your halo in delicate lines. He held you carefully, as if with one wrong move you'd crack under his hands and disappear into dust.

Your eyelashes fluttered and lifted as the first breath of waking drew from your lips. He watched, transfixed by your every detail, as you began to stir, turning sleepily on your side to snuggle deeper into his arms. It was a routine, one that would never take its place on the shelf of the mundane. He treasured it. Safety, one of the few things in the world he possessed that was adequate to give to you.

Lifting his hand to your hair, he ran two fingers over where it met your forehead like the tide to the sand: tracing the expanse and tucking a strand behind your ear. Billy loved your hair, fingered it like strands of spun gold, twisted it around his fingers in leisurely moments. He leaned down, lips meeting your temple as a quiet good morning.

Outside, the birds were chattering, speaking amongst themselves about the course of the day. The earth was coming alive as you were, as if it had waited for sleep to lift its heavy head from your shoulder.

"Mm," you hummed, nudging your head against his chest. Billy rubbed a hand up your back, where your sleep shirt had ridden up- one of his shirts. He drew hearts into your skin, his fingers the pen.

"Sleepy?" he murmured, using one hand to pull the blanket up over you without letting go. You were always tossing and turning in the night, no matter how sound you slept. It wasn't an uncommon sight for the sheets to be tangled around your legs come morning.

Nodding hazily, you rested one hand flat on his chest. Your left hand, perfect and smooth, only void of one thing: his ring. Billy had it hidden in a special place, waiting for the absolute perfect moment to ask the most important question he ever would. Maybe it was silly, maybe it was old-fashioned, but he wanted it to be special. His mama hadn't raised a gentleman for nothing.

For now he resolved to hold you tight, relishing the angel in his arms. The needs of the day were creeping close, and he didn't want to lose a single second he could be with you. Life gave and it took away-for every task he did reluctantly, he received another day with you.

When it was finally time to relent and drag himself out of bed, he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, squeezing you one last time and rising. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Billy drearily donned his work clothes, buttoning his shirt and pulling each suspender up over a shoulder. He sat at the edge of the bed to tug his boots on one by one.

From where he was sitting, Billy rolled over onto his stomach, crawling back to you without letting his boots touch the bed. Positioned half on top of you, he folded his arms, pressing gentle kisses to your cheeks. "You'll be okay, hm?"

"I'll be okay," you promised, one hand dragging up to his hair, fingers combing through it. Your smile was still lined with exhaustion, and his own lips turned up at the sight.

"Sleepy girl," he muttered, eliciting a breathy laugh from you. Billy leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Rest your eyes a little longer. I'll be back in a couple hours, mkay?"

"Mkay," you echoed, and he smiled, thumbing the side of your face once before crawling off the bed and getting to his feet.

With one final lingering look at the pretty girl nestled all cozy in his bed, Billy plucked his hat from the hook on the wall and crammed it on his head, opening and shutting the door gently. His boots clunked a comforting rhythm on the wooden floor, and already he was looking forward to coming back home.

The windows were broken.

That was the first thing Billy noticed when he returned. Gaping holes in the glass, the clear substance scattered across the surrounding grass.

His foot nearly caught in the stirrup as he struggled to get down, paling when he noticed the door was ajar, swinging lazily from previous motion.

In an instant, he was scurrying up the steps, only one thing on his mind. You were still home...he'd left his girl all alone... Flinging the door open, he shouted your name hurriedly, eyes blown wide open as he searched for you. You weren't in the kitchen, nor the bedroom, though the sheets were messy, bed still unmade from this morning. From the paradise he'd separated himself from.

The house was empty, that much was clear. Void of any sign of you. It was both relieving and terrifying. A raw, biting feeling gnawed at his gut. Something's not right. Had you gone for a walk in the nearby forest as you often did, narrowly avoiding the break in? Or had you heard the commotion and managed to escape? He found himself praying, a pleading in his heart to whatever higher power was kind enough to listen. Please let her be okay. Please let her be safe.

Billy tossed his hat aside and rested a hand against the doorframe, any previous energy sapped from him like syrup from a maple tree. His heart pounded an echoing beat into his ribcage, mind overwrought with worries. Where were you?

His prayers began to change. I'll leave her behind so she's safe forever if that's what it takes. All this time he'd thought his presence was protecting you, but if it wasn't he would disappear without a backwards glance, no matter how much it would pain him and you to do so. Maybe you would be better off, without the ever present threats hanging over your heads.

He had been careless to show you off the way he did, to put a target on your back like that. Yet another reason you didn't deserve him. You were a treasure of the highest value, one that shouldn't be kept locked away. It was an impossible situation that he nearly brought himself to tears over. Where was a solution where he could love you and have you and keep you safe at the same time?

Billy wandered over to the kitchen window, despondent and fraught with anxiety. He lifted his eyes wearily to the garden, before something he spotted made his body freeze.

Time went motionless, the seconds seeming to tick backwards and forwards all at once. Billy could have sworn he felt his heart stop for just a moment as the realization carved him open from the inside, bones on display, vulnerable to the attack of emotion beating at them like hail.

His body reacted before he did, feet carrying him out of the house, down the porch steps and into the garden, where your broken body lay like a fallen bird in your beloved patch of flowers, the ones you'd planted early spring. They had begun to wilt at the end of the summer, and now they were your deathbed.

Blood spilt from the gaping wound in your chest, spattering the surrounding petals with crimson. Your white dress, the one you'd always giggled about marrying him in someday, was ruined by the sticky substance, like your heart was bleeding out.

In an instant he was kneeling before you, sliding his arms under your body and lowering himself to you, resting sideways in the flowers like he had this morning in bed. Your eyes were wide open, breathing no more than a whisper, but still there. Achingly, you choked, "Billy...Billy..."

Every portion of his body was drawn taut, the pure shock of the sight before him rendering him useless for anything except holding you. He stroked your hair, trying to soothe you despite the circumstances wearing away at time. "Baby..."

Now you were practically choking on air, brows drawn together, lips parted as you trembled, reaching for him. "I don't wanna die...Billy..."

He could feel tears stinging at his eyes, but held back for your sake, calling on every slight of resistance he possessed. "It's okay, sweet girl," he breathed, bringing you up to his chest with no more than a whimper from you. "Shh, I've got you. You're not alone. I'm here 'n I ain't leavin' you ever again."

"I'm sorry," you managed, chest trembling as tears soaked your cheeks. "I don't wanna...leave you...alone..."

He bowed his head, burying his nose in your hair, body rocking back and forth to soothe you. The last thing Billy wanted was for your final moments to be in distress. Not when the way in which you had lived had so clearly been the opposite. "Shh, sweet girl. You just rest. You were so tired before-" Tears pricked the back of his eyes and he cut himself off, swallowing thickly. Unable to keep the emotion from his voice, he continued. "Everything's okay, my love. I've got you."

Even his love had to be tainted by violence, from beginning to end. Billy smoothed your hair, dried your tears with his fingers, did anything to distract himself from the fact that he'd have to love you longer than he had you. He slid his hand under your jaw, all the while cradling you against him, ignoring your blood seeping through his clothes. Though his chest was heaving and his voice was broken, he found a melody on his tongue, the only thing he could think of to comfort you now.

"As Kathleen fair beyond compare, asleep upon a bank I spied." Tears seeped into each word as he tried to carry the tune. "All upon tiptoe I sought her side, and kissed her down in the daisies." Your breathing grew steadier, and he tried to smile for you, assure you in some way. "But up she starts and on me darts, the shafts of scorn from lip and eye."

Sometimes when you had trouble falling asleep, he'd gather you in his arms and hum quietly, relaxing your body and slipping you into your dreams. This song had been your favorite of the folk tunes in his repertoire, the ones his mother taught him.

Indeed now, it was working its magic, and you looked up at him, your lips turning up just slightly, tears like crystal pearls sliding down your cheeks like rain on a windowpane. He continued to rock you back and forth, grasping you tight as life drained from you quickly as your blood had. "Then in a storm goes sweeping by, and leaves me alone with the daisies."

Your body grew heavy, eyes hazy in a way that made him want to beg, plead, scream at the sky for some kind of answer. You were all he had in the world, his purpose, his love. Desperately, he grasped at you, leaning his forehead down to press a single kiss to your lips. It was the last kiss that mattered. But he hadn't thought it would come so soon.

Now the tears on your cheeks were not only your own. His salt mingled with yours, and he reached his thumb up to brush them away, finishing the song in a cracked whisper.

"But when next day I chanced that way, there Kathleen blushed in all her charms, with sighs she sank into my arms, and we told our love to the daisies."

Billy didn't open his eyes, but the moment you took your final breath he felt it. For a moment he pretended you were only sleeping, that his singing had done the trick and eased you into a dream from which you would wake in the morning. You would snuggle into his side like you always did, ask him for five more minutes before he left. And he would give it to you, never deprive you of anything ever again. "My girl," he breathed raggedly. "Please-"

If you were smiling at him, heart beating steadfastly under his hand when he opened his eyes, he'd give up the gun forever and marry you and relocate somewhere secret and never go another day without showing you how absolutely you consumed him. He'd do all the things he should have done before, everything he'd been putting off. He'd forget about the bastards who'd ended your life simply because you loved him and just be grateful you were still here.

But when he finally lifted his lids, yours were shut, already deep into an eternal rest from which he could never wake you. Not even with his softest kisses, his gentlest of touches. Billy didn't know that he would ever be able to accept what would never be. He would never get to slide his ring on your finger, never see your belly round with his child. He would never see the first strands of grey in your hair or hear your laugh or see your smile directed at him like sunshine in this life.

Still, he grasped at you, held you tightly to his chest, supporting your head when it lulled backward limply. Still, he rocked you back and forth, comforting you when you were long gone. His girl, his baby, his love and light. Right now he clung to every memory in fear that he would lose it. Billy knew how the aftermath of death went. He knew someday he would forget how you smelled, what your voice sounded like, how it felt to hold you. Even though he'd spend whatever time he had left missing it.

There was nothing stopping him from digging your grave and flinging himself in it beside you, no outside force preventing him from finding who'd killed you and begging them to take him too. Your last words: I don't wanna leave you alone.

At that, his tears began to fall, pouring torrentially down his cheeks and silencing any logic. Destiny was cruel, mistaking you for star-crossed when you were meant to be written in the stars. Billy wept into your hair, hoping your spirit wasn't watching. The crush of emotion cracked his being open and let forth everything he'd tried to keep underneath. His strength was fraying, its heart silenced.

You made a mistake, he wanted to shout. You were never supposed to take her. Suddenly the rest of his life stretched out before him like a woeful march, highlighting everything he would have to do without you. What was a soul without its mate, a lover without his love? Loss consumed him like a wildfire, flames licking at his chin. He let himself burn.

Your body was growing icy, and he squeezed you tight to him, rubbing his arms over your body. You hated being cold. His darling sweetheart would cuddle up to him no matter the weather if you felt so much as a goosebump. Billy sheathed you into him, passing you his body heat fruitlessly.

He had to let go. The thought probed Billy unwillingly, and he shook his head, feeling like a child. He didn't want to. He didn't want to dig you a crude grave and lay your broken body down, letting the earth hold you instead of him. He didn't want to say goodbye. He didn't want to wash his hands and body of your blood and burn the clothes it had stained. It felt like tossing aside a piece of you, when there were scarcely any left. Soon, the only thing remaining would be memory.

Billy set that dreadful idea adrift, letting it float out to sea. The waves would lap at it and bring it back to the shores of his mind eventually, but for now it was far away. He breathed in a shuddering way, lips finding your temple and pressing there.

"I've got you, sweetheart," he breathed, caressing your stiffening body. At the very least, he was glad you hadn't been alone. "Just rest."

No longer in an ocean, it drifted around him like coyotes circling a lonely traveler, baring its teeth and poising to strike, launching itself at him and consuming all that he held dear. He squeezed his eyes shut, having hoped shoving it down would erase its fruition. But it bloomed in his broken soul like the flowers you'd died atop.

The final act of love is letting go.

[mashup-writing]

Power Naps; Donna Beneviento (Resident Lover)

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Requested? ❌

"Mananatili, sa iyong tabi mag damag."

"To stay, by your side for as long as can be."

Summary: Visiting your girlfriend, Professor!Donna in her office only to find her fast asleep. You try to wake her up, but she turns the tables and has you falling asleep with her on the sofa. It can't be comfortable, but with her trench coat draped over your shoulders you can't find it in yourself to fight the sleepiness off.

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: None

Resident Lover Masterlist

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A sigh leaves your lips as you spare another glance at your watch. You've spent the ast fifteen minutes knocking at the door to Donna's office in intervals but each attempt is greeted with silence. You're never impatient when it comes to your girlfriend, but right now your feet are starting to ache from how you've spent the past fifteen minutes standing outside the door and almost your whole day running around campus to help finalize your club's upcoming event.

You decide to knock once more, giving it another five minutes before you finally knock for the last time and open the door without an invitation- Letting yourself in before immediately shutting the door behind you.

The sight of Donna's office never fails to stop you in your tracks, you haven't been in here a lot but it's stark contrast to how the interior of her house looks like never ceases to surprise you. The walls are bland, and the shelves are empty except for a few volumes of botanical and toxicology texts. A singular file drawer stands behind her seat and the desk is barren except for the tests she's grading, a desk lamp, and a pen holder with a total of three pens in them.

It's said that the way an interior of a personal space is designed can tell you a lot about a person.

You take a moment to wonder why your girlfriend has her walls up so high whenever she's on campus.

You squint for a moment in the dim lighting, and it hits you that maybe your girlfriend wasn't giving you permission to enter her office simply because she wasn't currently in it. You wonder where she could be, you're sure that she's definitely done with her lectures at this hour- And she hasn't gone home yet because she had after all promised that she would drive you back to your dorm today once you were done with your respective responsibilities.

Your questioning thoughts don't cease until after you've looked to your side to find Donna laying on he back on her office sofa, her coat draped over her front- The iconic black trench coat, treated as a makeshift blanket. The sight almost makes you smile, but you take note of how Donna's using the arm rest as a pillow and you frown instead. That's gotta hurt.

You walk over to her side, kneeling on the carpeted floor before you gently brush her bangs away to place a gentle kiss on her forehead and on her scar separately.

"Mahal, wake up. It's almost 7 PM."

Donna's always been a light sleeper, so all it took was a gentle shake to her shoulder for her to start stirring in her slumber. She takes a deep breath before turning her head to face you, a gentle smile taking hold of her lips once her eyes adjust to the dimness of the room and she spots you by her side.

"Hello, Tesoro."

Donna takes your hand in hers and wastes no time in placing a kiss to the back of it. You feel her soft smile slowly shift into a grin when you chuckle at her actions.

"It's time to go home Donna, that couch can't be comfortable at all."

You move your hand to gently rest on her cheek, using your thumb to stroke skin in a gentle sweeping motion. Donna hums, her chest rises with a deep intake of air and her eyes flutter closed again.

"You are correct Tesoro. However, I believe I know of an immediate solution to this issue."

You're unable to get a word out before Donna moves quickly in a flash of black and grey, the next thing you know is that you're lying down on Donna and you're being readjusted so that the two of you can comfortably fit on the couch. A laugh escapes you as your girlfriend peppers your temple and your forehead in kisses.

Struggling against her grip was futile. So you choose to shift until you're comfortable before eventually calming down and just basking in how right it feels to be held in the Botanist's arms.

"We'll regret this when we wake up, I swear-"

Donna laughs without showing her teeth, eyes still remaining closed as if snatching you from the floor and onto the couch with her took no effort at all. She only shushes you before she stats to trace patterns on your back.

"Mia cara flore, that? Is a problem for future us. Right now I simply wish to share the silence and the serenity with you by my immediate side."

She places a lingering kiss to your lips, and you concede to her arguement with a contented hum before pulling away from her and settling down once again. You could never find it in your heart to deny Donna anything she asks for after all.

"A problem for future us. Agreed."

Donna adjusts her coat to cover your frame, the coat now acting as a blanket for the both of you to the best that it can as the ticking of the clock on her office wall lulls you both to sleep eventually.

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Translations:

Mahal - Literally translates to "Love" formally it is a word for the emotion, but it is also used as a pet name for a significant other.

Mia cara flore - My darling flower

[1000plants]

You Don’t Know Pt 2

Steve Rogers x reader (GN)

Summary: Steve Rogers and his pretentious “know it all” attitude is getting on your last nerves. Neither of you know what to do about it. Maybe this nice little therapy session with our favorite therapist would help! 

Warnings- mentions diets and body image (no body description given, but comments on food are VERY briefly made.) The whole chapter is a therapy session, a brief flashback (blood, weapons, etc) 

Word count- ~4k

Authors Note- This has a little bit of backstory to it 👀👀 mostly me using my real therapy sessions as a twinge of inspo <3 I promise Steve will become more likable in the next few chapters, and we will also become a bit more bearable lmao. Still, enjoy xoxo

Chapter 2/?

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

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The door to Dr. Raynor's office swung open, hard. The oak wood door smacked the wall loudly, bouncing back towards you with a dull thud. But your anger was faster than the door you were adjacently pissed at. You stormed into the room, the doctor wasn't even phased by your intense entrance. Your flare for the dramatic was always on show right before a session. Though, usually it was a brooding look, angry huff, and stomping feet. 

Red hot agitation was rare.

"made it." Was all you grumbled out, teeth aching from how firmly you were gritting them. You loudly sighed through your flared nostrils as you flopped onto the couch. Your body language was closed off, lying on your back with the heels of your palms pressing against your eyes. One leg bent up on the couch, the other hanging off and touching the floor. In your ideal world, you would've vented to Bucky or maybe JARVIS, not go to her. Neither of them really criticized you much for being pissed off with Steve.

Dr. Raynor just glanced over the top of her glasses, a single brow raised in your direction. She was used to your outbursts by now. She was just casually holding her notebook and pen, it seemed that she had been aimlessly drawing spirals on it before you stormed in. You were, admittedly, a bit surprised she was even expecting you to show up.

“So you decided to come today.” Dr. Raynor sat back in her chair, a small amused smile on her face. She let her hands relax, the notebook and her pen sat gently on her lap as she tilted her head toward you.

“And only 10 minutes late,” she added, pressing her lips together to avoid a bigger smile. She was clearly trying to hold back a laugh. Why exactly? You weren't exactly sure. She always acted as if there was a little secret between the two of you when obviously there wasn't.

"Rogers," was all you sharply replied with. You tried to seem disinterested, feeling slightly self-conscious about your obvious anger. Distracting yourself by looking out the window was always a good idea… even if there wasn't anything interesting outside.

Mh, Well…. Maybe the little joke was that you only ever complained about him… it wasn't even a funny joke.

You had spent a lot of time in therapy talking about your, oddly consistent, feud with Steve. The two of you just couldn't seem to get along. You swore up and down Steve was just a hardass who couldn't stand you. He’d make small jabs about your form on missions, every little mistake or slip-up, and even comment on your workout routines and diets. Which, considering Tony ate junk food every other meal, and you mainly stuck to the clean SHIELD Agent diet… the comments felt a lot more personal rather than constructive.

"He's still a dickwad," You added, removing your hands from your eyes and staring at the ceiling.

Hey, at least being ten minutes late meant you only had to be here for 50 minutes instead of a full hour. Not like you would've stayed full-time, anyway. You always had a plan in place to get out early. Whether that is a fake emergency call from Fury, a text from Bruce, or even an alert from JARVIS saying something was wrong at the tower.

You. Never. Stayed.

Dr. Raynor huffed a short laugh, picking up her notebook and pen from where they sat on her lap. She flipped to a new page, clean from her previous scribbling.

“You say that every week.” She responded with a small, amused smile. The sound of her pen softly writing against the paper was cue enough that she was noting your entrance and word usage. Admittedly, it was funny to think that she was writing dickwad in her professional therapy notes.

“I think you need to come up with new names for Steve. Dickwad is getting stale.” She hummed as if your conversation was normal. To give the doctor some credit, she was damn good at making you feel like you weren't an Avenger. Sometimes it was annoying, you'd feel like a child getting scolded… but most of the time you just felt a little more… normal. 

"He's.... uhhh," you sigh, wracking your brain for another insult. One that would be devastating, brutal, downright evil to call Steve… 

"old."

Dr. Raynor looked up from her notebook, a tickled smile on her face. “Very creative.” She replied, deadpan. She set down her pen, crossing her legs. “I’m assuming he was the one who caused a disruption in your usual routine this morning?”

Dr. Raynor has been keeping a close eye on your day-to-day functions over the past few months. Waking up at the relative same time every day. Breakfast, quick shower, brush teeth, workout, real shower, lunch, side work, dinner, hang out with some of the team, bed. That was the bare bones of your day, give or take a few things, you lived a fairly simple life. Save for, of course, the days you had missions, more intense workout sessions, or even a day off from being a hero. The only time a disruption became a problem was when that disruption was 6’2”, blonde-haired, and blue-eyed…

"He just can't be, just so... what's the word," you sigh, your anger more of just frustration and slight tiredness from the sparring session. You ran your tongue over your teeth, stopping yourself from gritting them more and giving yourself a bigger headache. Your hands had been laced over your stomach, but they were now picking at the other's nails.

"He just has to be so self-righteous all the time. He can't let anyone else... be better." you clarify, finding the right words. He hadn't let you bask in your moment of beating him at sparring, and that was picking in the back of your mind.

Dr. Raynor nodded in understanding, making a quick note in her notebook. “Is it fair to say that’s because of his leadership position?” She asked.

“Steve is very…. Particular about his role on the Avengers and taking charge. Does that make you feel like you’re being pushed aside?”

"I guess." you dryly admit. You hated when Dr. Raynor hit the nail on the head. Because of Steve, you were still being treated like a SHIELD agent that was war fodder… not like the impressive new Avenger you actually were.

"He still calls me "rookie" and "newbie" all the time, and I've been an Avenger for months and I've worked with SHIELD for years!" you grumbled. You crossed your arms over your chest, shutting your eyes and debating if the couch you were lying on was comfortable or not. 

Dr. Raynor continued to watch you with interest, still silently taking notes. Her pen on paper was a nice little change from the monotonous sound of the air conditioning in the room, “Sounds like Steve is still treating you like an inferior.” She mused. “How does that make you feel?”

The doctor knew that Steve’s stubbornness and tendency to boss you around wasn’t necessarily his fault-- soldier brain, she called it. She did wonder if there was something else to the tension between the two of you, though. She had mentioned it briefly, once, but you had just loudly laughed then left the room with a loud declaration that you needed a drink. It has been a Tuesday… 9 am. You were drunk by 10 that day.

"How do you think it makes me feel?" you sarcastically ask, opening your eyes to look at Dr. Raynor with an unimpressed glance. It was more of a glare, in all honesty. The woman was talking like it was a mystery how being treated like dirt might make a person feel.

You sigh and sit up on the couch, elbows on your knees as you move to plant your feet on the ground. You thought it was a nice way to keep yourself grounded, Dr. Raynor said it was a weak attempt to look intimidating. You rubbed your eyes and glanced out the window with a small exhale from your nose. The sky was slightly gray, it was early spring but there were still a decent amount of rain showers throughout the day.

The doctor clicked her pen as you looked out the window, a habit Dr. Raynor would point out what you did when you were trying to avoid the topic at hand.

“I think it makes you feel like a child.” Dr. Raynor responded bluntly. “Like he’s talking down to you, and treating you like you’re below him.”

You give her a small nod, lips tugged down in a small yeah, that's about right, expression.

“Have you ever told Steve how you feel?” Raynor questions. Her voice was mostly expressionless, though remained soft with a slight firmness laced in it.

You snort, shaking your head slightly. Your teeth play with your lower lip as you continue to look out at the New York skyline. It was an ugly view, but it beat the intense stare of a shrink.

"I tried once, but... I dunno, it didn't work." you shrug, acquiescing on your lack of engagement.

In all honesty, it was a half-assed attempt. You had brought it up mid-mission while you and Steve were getting shot at. But, in all fairness, you technically did try!

-------

The sound of the bullets hitting the soft dirt was oddly not scary. It was a lot more scary when the small grenade blew up the rotting tree just a few meters away. The blast threw you off balance just enough to send you rolling to your left. Landing on your already injured arm. 

Your eyes squeezed shut as pain rippled through your body, a bullet had already grazed your right arm, and now your left was definitely bruised along with the cut on your forearm that was now bleeding. The mud that had smattered on your face caused the scrapes and cuts to burn.

Then, out of nowhere, a loud voice snarls in your ear, “You've got to be more careful, rookie!” Steve said, roughly grabbing your forearm and pulling you from the ground.

The HYDRA base you had been sent to was a lot more guarded than Tony had thought It’d be. What was assumed to be 10 soldiers ended up being over 100. And they were a lot more than you had been prepared to deal with

“I-- Hey!” You yelp, face flushed red as the supersoldier manhandles you easily. You could take care of yourself, you didn’t need Captain Asshat to be covering you. 

And- Hey, wait? Natasha was your partner for this mission… Why was Steve here?!

“I can handle myself, Steve,” You huffed into the comms, immediately getting yourself back on your feet as you continued your rush back to the Quinjet. Sam had retrieved the data from the base you had needed, and since your little team of four was vastly outnumbered, y’all decided to just get back to the base ASAP. 

You forced your legs to carry you through the soft grass as you ran in pace with Steve. A small accomplishment you felt incredibly proud of.

“Sure you can,” Steve chuckles dryly, not even sparing you a look as you weaved through the wild plants, “That's why you almost got blown to pieces, yeah?”

“I tripped for a moment,” You counter, neither of you slowing down as the Quinjet came to view. Both of you rushing to just get into the damn thing.

“That moment could've cost you your life,” Steve reminds you, face stern as his feet pound at the metal of the ramp. He grumbles and yanks his helmet off, his face was dirty and sweat-clad from the mission.

Your retort of being an Avenger, just the same as him, was cut short by his finger being jabbed into your face and a stern glare. His light blue eyes never seemed more dangerous than when they stared icy daggers at you.

“You need to watch yourself. This isn't some SHIELD playground anymore. This is the real shit.”

-------

Dr. Raynor once again noted your distractions when talking about Steve.

The woman leaned back in her chair, a contemplative look on her face. “Why haven’t you tried again?”

“It’s important for you to be able to speak your mind, and let others know how you feel and see things.” The woman explained. “It’s how people fix issues and move forward.”

"Every time I bring it up, bring anything up to him... he compares me to Bucky or Natasha or Bruce. I can't just, ugh, be myself." you found the words slipping out faster than you could bottle them up.

"I need to be more stealthy like Natasha, more intuitive like Wanda... more open during therapy like Bucky," you said the last part mostly under your breath.

Your gaze fell to the floor, leg bouncing slightly. You bit the tip of your tongue, regretting letting the last part slip out.

Dr. Raynor was silently filling her notebook the whole time, letting you say whatever came to mind. You were starting to understand why Bucky saw the notebook as a more passive-aggressive statement rather than something helpful. You also partially wondered what she was writing.

She was probably drawing, you thought. Little houses, cats… disproportionate flowers...

“And you think Bucky is more open?” She questioned, a knowing smile on her face. You were snapped away from your thoughts of doodles by how quickly she picked up on your mumbled statement.

"According to Steve, he is." you shrug, nodding along to further give weight to your statement. You tilted your head towards the doctor, meeting her gaze for a moment and holding it.

Bucky had been going to therapy longer than you, so it made sense if he was further along than you were in terms of openness. You had seen two sides of Bucky, one side that liked cooking and helping you do art... and the other side that had horrid nightmares.

Bucky was the only other person who understood your nightmares on a truly personal level.

It was easy to see how you would feel inferior to Bucky—he’d been in therapy longer and had Steve’s favor and trust. He was also a war vet just like Steve, and the two men were close. And, being Bucky's friend always left you feeling second best when it came to who his best friend was… 

It just seemed like Steve never had the same patience with you as he did with Bucky.

Dr. Raynor hummed in thought, putting the tip of her pen to her chin. “And how do you feel about Bucky?”

"He's fine, I guess." you vaguely say, you had never really announced it, defined your relationship, "We're friends... that's probably what you'd call it."

You had plenty of friends. The other Avengers were all close with you, a few buddies from your SHIELD days, and a few civilian friends. Though, those were very few. Being involved in top government duties and now being a hero didn't let you keep around friendships with people who could get kidnapped

Dr. Raynor studied you carefully as you spoke about your friendships. It was rare for you to open up in a session—most days you were closed off and uncooperative, which meant the two of you were making notable progress -- slow progress.

But today was… different. You were being strangely open with Dr. Raynor about your thoughts. “That’s it? He’s fine?” She asked, a hint of disbelief in her voice.

“It seems like Bucky’s a good friend to you. Is there anything more to your relationship?” She continued to question. You had mentioned once how he understood your night terrors, though that was quite literally all you had said.

Normally Dr. Raynor wouldn’t dig so deep, but you were letting her get inside your head and ask questions. She couldn’t pass up the opportunity to possibly know a little more. Plus, it was clear the last thing you wanted to talk about was Steve, so Bucky was the safe second option.

You were quiet for a long time, letting Dr. Raynor feared she had pushed too hard.

You ran your tongue over your teeth, doing basically every nervous tic a person could do: bouncing your leg, rubbing your nose, looking around, etc., all to make the doctor squirm.

"He's the only one who understands the nightmares," you finally say. Dr. Raynor knew all about your nightmares. They were brutal, to say the least. Consistently as bad as the worst of Bucky's nightmares.

Dr. Raynor’s expression softened in understanding. Bucky was your anchor when it came to the nightmares—he was the only one that actually understood them. At least, on the team.

As a therapist, she knew the importance of finding comfort in others. Especially for people with PTSD. In fact, she had encouraged Bucky to also confide a little in you as well. It helped him to talk to more than just Steve about his more intense emotions.

“Do you feel like Bucky understands your nightmares more than Steve?” Raynor asked.

You just wordlessly nod. Not like you had told Steve about them. Though, thinking about it, he most definitely knew a bit more than he was letting on. The man knew the ins and outs of the whole team.

"Ive never told Stve about them,” You admit with a sigh, “But, he was so quick to get Bucky on the field and all that shit," you reluctantly say, "he's treating me like a baby. Like I can't handle myself."

It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing that Steve was protective over you. The whole team was very protective over Bucky and his triggers. But you weren’t Bucky, and you weren’t an ex-brainwashed assassin. You just… merely got startled by very specific noises. Unlike Bucky, there wasn't a fear of you becoming a Winter Soldier… you just kinda cried.

“Steve’s always been overprotective of anyone in his team,” Dr. Raynor explained. “He’s like a hawk—he keeps an eagle eye on you all.” She watched you to see how you reacted to that statement.

"And he needs to fuckin' back off," you huff, crossing your arms and leaning back against the couch.

You were closing yourself off again, getting frustrated and slightly overwhelmed from it all. Dr. Raynor could probably get one last solid question out of you before the session would come to an end.

Raynor jotted down a quick note before looking back up at you, choosing her words carefully before she spoke.

“I have one last question for you before our session is up.” She announced, setting down her notebook.

You were surprised that it had already been over 45 minutes. You glanced at the clock then back to the therapist. Part of you was a little peeved you hadn't even noticed the silent notification of a faux JARVIS alert.

"Yeah, fine... what is it?" you sigh out, leaning your elbows against your knees. You were itchin' to get out of here now that you realized you had possibly been gettin’ a little too friendly with the doctor.

You were already imagining what you’d make for lunch, do some laundry, maybe bake a bit… There were a few pinterest recipes that had been callin’ your name.

Raynor knew you had a… complicated relationship with Steve, that much was insanely obvious. One that often teetered the line between workplace acquaintances and…. Something more.

Dr. Raynor was a professional, but she was also observant. And there was something between you and Steve.

“Do you ever feel frustrated with Steve because you like him?”

A look of confusion and disbelief slowly appeared on your face, your eyes widening slightly. It felt like you just suddenly got slapped with a brick.

Dr. Raynor’s expression never changed as she continued to stare at you, as you processed the question, and tried to formulate a response.

“It isn’t uncommon, you know.” She spoke after a moment. “To be more…” She looked for the right word. “… frustrated with someone you like.”

It wasn’t a secret that Steve was one of the most attractive men on the team. He was tall, muscular, handsome, and not to mention the leader of the Avengers thing, the whole hero thing.

So there was no doubt in Dr. Raynor’s mind that you felt an attraction to him, at least a physical one. If the doctor would speak bluntly, she'd tell you that your frustration with the Captain was bordering on sexual, and not one-sided.

You scoffed, oh, you were definitely on the defensive now, "Are you saying I'm horny and that's why I fight with Steve?" you practically laugh in disbelief, shaking your head no as you stand up. You weren't even going to entertain the thought. 

"You've lost your mind," you say under your breath, grabbing your bag by the door. You sling it over your shoulder, the earlier frustration of letting yourself be so vulnerable was coming back. You were so stupid, why the hell would you say any of that?!

Dr. Raynor didn’t react much to your comment, only letting a small smirk play on her lips.

The woman wasn’t necessarily trying to make the implication that you were horny for Steve. That was just the usual response she got from her patients when she brought up attraction to others. And, typically the only people who used that wording were the ones who actually felt it.

“I’m not saying anything,” She responded calmly as she got up from her chair. “I’m asking. There’s a difference.”

"Oh, you're asking," you drawl with an eye roll.

"No. No, I am not horny for Steven Grant Rogers." you firmly state, your expression stern as you look back at Dr. Raynor. With brows drawn in, and jaw tensed, your next words came out like a smooth venom.

"The man couldn't make me any less horny if he tried."

Dr. Raynor had to bite back a laugh at that statement, a sly smile appearing on her face. “I’m not sure about that.”

The woman didn’t want to come right out and state the fact that you were attracted to Steve, and probably more so than you thought. And that could be the reason for your dislike and frustration towards him.

“Are you trying to convince me, or yourself?”

"I'm not convincing anyone. I'm just stating the truth," you scoff, running your tongue over your lip.

"Look, do I have homework or something? Or can I just leave now and see you next week?" you quickly ask, your hand already on the door handle. You came into this session mad at Steve, and were leaving the session mad at Steve… Woo, therapy was really workin’ out for you, huh?

“You know I don’t give you ‘homework’.” Dr. Raynor responded in an unconvincing tone, watching as you opened the door. You fought back a painful eye roll, almost wanting to snip back, yeah, and I don't want to punch Steve. 

She was getting under your skin, and she knew it.

Instead, you settled for just yanking the door open, almost as violently as you had entered. You were quick to take a few steps out of the room.

As she watched you start to walk out of the office, the doctor spoke up once more, a smirk on her face. “Oh, and do say ‘hi’ to Steve for me!”

You didn't even look back at the doctor, just flipping her off over your shoulder.

You didn't like that session

Not one bit.

Though, unbeknownst to you, Dr. Raynor had accomplished what she set out to do—get under your skin and get you thinking.

In all reality, she figured you had more than just a physical reaction towards Steve. There was no way, she believed, that you and him purely fought because of fieldwork or Avenger duties. It just didn't fit the MO of either of you. Now, if only you would at least somewhat acknowledge it to your end… But you were just too stubborn and closed off to admit anything.

Raynor could ask you if the sky was blue, and you'd tell her it was any color but.

Though, and this went for just about anyone who had to work with superheroes, she liked a challenge.

[haikyu-mp4]

September

word count; 948 – f!reader

Autumn came suddenly, shaking everyone out of summer and sunshine and tucking them into warm coats, scarves and schoolwork. Hardworking students already started making their way to the library to work on whatever subjects they had that semester. Hirugami Sachiro was one of those students and had taken a seat by a table in front of a tall window looking out on the yellowing leaves of a tree. He was what you would call an excellent student, dedicating a lot of his time to school and sometimes even enjoying it.

On this particular day, however, he had a problem with concentrating. Another student sat by the same table, which wouldn’t usually be an issue, but the problem was that this person kept shaking the table by bouncing her leg and harshly erasing half of the things she wrote down. Hirugami didn't have to be a genius to understand your struggle. You looked like the classic stressed student who usually wouldn’t be in there before November. Hirugami has a kind soul, and a soft smile took over his face thinking that at least you were trying. "Tough subject or difficult chapter?" he asked, putting down his pen.

You looked up, startled. Hirugami noted your pretty features before his gaze fell on your notebook. He could barely make out the words. Feeling your cheeks heat up, you subconsciously pressed the back of your cold hand to one of them before chuckling half-heartedly down at the messy notes. "Both, unfortunately," you answered. 

Hirugami moved his bag and scooted his books down the table to sit across from you. "I mean this with the best intentions, but do you need any help? I'm Hirugami," he introduced himself and held out his hand over the table. His calm expression and kind eyes somehow made a few of your worries feel smaller. You almost felt breathless looking at him, but being in no place to turn away help, you shook his hand with a grateful smile.

"Y/n," you said back before letting go of his hand to look over your useless notes again. Teeth chewing on a small piece of skin on your lip, you weren’t quite sure what to say. "I just never know where to start," you admitted, sighing apologetically. He gestured for you to hand over the course book, and you watched as his eyes scanned the first pages almost expertly. The fact of the matter is, you’re not stupid, just prone to getting overwhelmed.

After a minute or two, Hirugami leaned across the table and held up the book so you could read where he pointed. "You can start by reading through one paragraph at a time, then write down in your notebook everything you remember between each. After doing that for about two pages-”

He took a break to look up at you and you quickly nodded to show that you were listening. “Yeah?”

"You can grab a highlighter or something and go over to make sure that you've included all the difficult or important terms. If some are missing, that's no problem. You just have to rewrite, and then you'll hopefully remember it better anyway," Hirugami said, ending the monologue by taking a large breath and looking up expectantly. You were amazed by how he spoke so confidently and perfectly explained every detail.

"It's worth a try. Thanks, Hirugami!" you exclaimed gratefully. The way you said his name and looked so genuinely hopeful made butterflies flutter in his stomach.

"It's no problem, honestly. I'll be here if you need anything. Even a break." His voice went up in tone with the last part. With a warm smile in return before getting to work, you quickly decided that this Hirugami might be onto something.

You and Hirugami spent the rest of the evening in the library, whisper-talking every five minutes about someone doing something annoying or interesting topics in your course books. Eventually, the horizon swallowed the sun and the world turned dark outside the large window.

After several hours of productive studying, you could finally close your books for the day, yawning while Hirugami stretched his back. Looking around, you realised you were almost the only students left in the library.

"Hey, y/n?" Hirugami felt his stomach do flips when you rested your gaze on him. "Maybe we should get some food?" he asked, his voice not quite as confident as when he explained school-related topics. Your lips pursed together in a sympathetic look, and his heart suddenly plummeted.

"Sorry, Hiru. I have to go home now, it's late." Hirugami scratched the back of his head and awkwardly looked away.

"It's fine-" he was about to excuse himself, prepared to probably never talk to you again.

"How about tomorrow?" you asked him casually. He looked up again in surprise and you grinned hopefully.  "We can meet for lunch!"

"It's a date." Hirugami quickly realised his mistake and stuttered a correction. "I-I mean not- not a date. Lunch." You chuckled at the cute man, how could you not? "When?" Nice save, Hirugami told himself, not believing it for one second.

"Noon?"

"Noon is perfect. Perhaps at this one place on the corner by the park?" Hirugami felt his heart beating so quickly that he wondered if you could see it. You were both rolling on the balls of your feet, clutching your books to your chests like a couple of teenagers.

"It's a date," you said and walked away after winking at him confidently, a stupid grin on your face when he couldn't see it anymore. Hirugami’s mouth fell open when he realised what you said, looking after you until you were out the door. A date.

The Schoolyear Series ║ masterlist

taglist: @cottonlemonade

[kedreeva]

on the topic of peafowl play, would/do peafowl enjoy those pet puzzle toys? would they have the patience or interest to complete 1 outside of food motivation? i don't know why but i always imagine peafowl as the brilliant but lazy types and i wonder if that headcanon of mine has any plausibility lol

I gave my peafowl one of those chicken treat puzzles (this one) which they are supposed to peck/scratch at and roll around, which drops scratch grain slowly on the ground and gives them something to do until it is empty. It's basically two yellow bowls bungee-corded together by a single cord on the inside, anchored at that little black nub. You fill one half, and then "seal" it as a ball- but it's not clipped together or anything, just bungee tension holds it together.

I set it down for Aris for the first time, and rolled it so she could see it had scratch in it that would fall out. She pecked it once, examined it for roughly 10 seconds, and then grabbed it by the little black nub, and shook the hell out of it, bursting it open and flinging scratch all over the pen. She dropped it and everyone went about their business eating the scratch.

I taught Eris how to press buttons to "speak" to me; she had a few treat buttons, a food button, a water button, and some Word word buttons like "want" and "Eris" and "yes" and "no." She used them to argue with me and make fun of me for forgetting to put water in her wet food one day.

I gave Bug toilet paper rolls with holes cut in them, stuffed with paper towels and superworms. She learned to pull the paper towel out almost immediately. She gets a bowl of fresh foods when she goes into her pen in the mornings, and it started with me walking in and coaxing or carrying her in. Now she goes and waits on the perch where I put the bowl. I give anything leftover she didn't eat to the barn crew, so when I go to collect her in the evening, Polaris and Opal are usually waiting on the table where I put the bowl.

I bring Artemis indoors to do paintings with her, and she knows the order is indoors->bath->dry off->painting+treats, so if I bring her in, and she gets a bath, and I wait too long in the drying off, she will start scolding me until we start painting.

If I let the birds out of their pens, they get free range time while I'm outside. When I call "hup hup!" loudly and repeatedly, they all start walking back to the coops. Many of them know up commands. Artemis and Bug have both learned to put their trains up if I ask (and that's a no-treat trick, they just do it). Beep knew "ask nicely" when she wanted something (which is what led to me training Eris with the buttons), so she would scrape her beak on me if she wanted something. Beep also played with a lot of different toys.

I guess the point is that they are pretty smart birds, given a chance and good circumstances. They can be incredibly stupid, too, but the majority of them are pretty smart most of the time. But they don't have a lot of patience for things that are not either immediately rewarding or that they choose to focus on. Beep once spent an hour trying to get the button off my jeans, but if you offer Bug a mouse and move it away before she can get it, she'll usually just stop caring. If you give a treat to one bird, they might snub it, but they'll kill a man for it if someone else gets it and acts like it's good.

So COULD they become interested in a pet puzzle and possibly solve one? Maybe? It really just depends on what's in it for them, and/or how interested someone else is, and/or if they think it's their idea. They don't really have a lot of grabbing strength in their beaks, so that factors in, too. They do NOT like to peck hard things.

They DO like to destroy stuff though. If you could make an edible tissue box, they would absolutely lose their shit about it. Every peafowl I've ever owned LOVES tearing tissues out of a tissue box and ripping tissues to shreds to try to eat. Don't know what that's about. Leftover raptor instincts to disembowel things, I guess.

[sturniololuv08]

On The Fifth Day Of Nickmas....

Day 5 of Juno's 12 Days Of Nickmas (posting late!)

Nick had just fallen asleep a few hours before being woken up to start their early day. He spent most of the night thinking about his situation with Jared. He was grumpy and tired. During the three-hour drive to the airport, he couldn't get comfortable enough to try and take a nap. Then, TSA was hell to get through because it was one week before Christmas. Everyone was starting to travel out while they were just trying to get back home. Nick wished they could have Christmas with his parents on the actual day, but they knew it would be less of a headache to do it early. Once they were on the plane seated Nick got comfy and was hoping to try and take a nap. The way the flights worked out meant as soon as they landed he had to go straight to the warehouse to start prepping for the campaign. Jared was sitting next to Matt on this flight.

"Are you coming with us to the ware house?" Matt started conversation.

"I don't know. I assumed not since its business and all." Jared was honest.

"You should come." Matt smiled and rested his head back to get comfy.

"If Nick is fine with it, sure." Jared was fine letting Nick be the deciding factor. It was his campaign, and he was in charge. The rest of the plane ride, Jared sneaked a glance at Nick's profile from a few rows behind. He noticed his jaw was a little sharper than usual. He couldn't help but smile every time he peeked over at his best friend. Once the routine travel experience was over, they found themselves outside at the warehouse.

"I'll see you later." Jared smiled.

"Wait, you aren't coming?" Nick asked, shocked.

"Can I?" Jared further explained his confusion. "I know it's like business stuff. I didn't know if friends were allowed to come."

"Yeah, come on." Nick took his bag from him and walked inside the warehouse's double door. Jared followed him in. Chris and Matt stayed behind in the cab to take the ride home.

"Doesn't look like how I remember it." Jared walked doing a 360 turn.

"Well, yeah. We have to change things for new posts, themes, and also for our solo projects."

"Speaking of, does Matt even have one?" Jared chuckled.

"At this point, probably not." Nick dropped their bags on the floor.

"Nick, are you here?" Someone's voice yelled from up the stairs.

"Yeah." Nick jolted up the stairs. Jared noted how exhausted he indeed looked. "Coming?" He looked down and gave a weakened smile.

"Yeah." Jared followed him up the steps. Once he broke the floor level with his head he saw how tiring their job really could be. There were people moving props around, a few people with a rack of clothes discussing outfit ideas, a lady with a clipboard pointing and directing, and a group of men and women who were getting directed.

"Thank god you are here." She stopped talking to everyone else to focus solely on Nick. "You first outfit change is ready for you. I figured we'd get you dressed and then do the models first. Then you." A fake Christmas tree passed us. "Where are the lights?" She yelled at the men carrying it.

"They haven't arrived yet." One shrugged.

"What?" She seethed and looked at her clipboard.

"Laura, breathe. It'll be fine. It already looked amazing in here." Nick put a hand on her shoulder, and she took a few breaths.

"Who is this?" Her tunnel vision widened, and she saw Jared.

"This is my friend -"

"Jared." She finished cocking her head to the side. "You auditioned for the Pool Club Pack." She bit her pen.

"Yeah, horrible audition but -"

"But I liked it. I liked your aura." She smiled and put out a hand. "I'm Laura, the boy's manager." Jared shook it lightly.

"Thank you."

"Anyways. Nick, outfit." She directed. Nick grabbed Jared's hand, knowing he wouldn't know where to go or what to do without Nick taking charge. Nick was handed some clothes and Jared followed him to the bathroom.

"Do I -"

"Sure." Nick held the door open. He knew Jared would feel too uncomfortable sitting out there with strangers. Jared crammed in the tiny bathroom with him. Nick took off his shirt and Jared saw all of his tattoos. He had seen them before but in this proximity they held a richer black hue than usual. "Can you hold this?" Nick handed Jared his old clothes. He was down to his boxers and socks. Jared nodded, feeling a lump in his throat. Being this close to Nick, with him mainly being exposed, made him feel warm. Nick finished dressing quickly, and when he opened the door, Jared felt the cold air spill into the room, filling his lungs. He licked his lips and tried to forget what Nick's tattooed body looked like in front of him.

"Perfect." Laura's voice boomed loud enough to clear Jared's thoughts. Nick was in a pretty pink polo and some khaki shorts now.

"What do I do?" Jared whispered.

"Just watch." Nick winked, and Jared immediately felt embarrassed. He couldn't help but think Nick had caught him staring in the bathroom.

"This is the candy cane flavor," Laura announced to everyone. "Think spicy and fun." A couple of people laughed. Some cheery Christmas music started up, and Nick walked over to be with the models. He started talking and laughing, all of which looked forced and exhausted. Jared liked the way he looked in pink, but the khakis were a miss. Jared found himself looking through the racks of clothes. He found some white jeans, draped them over his arm, and kept looking. He walked over to a wall with shoes lined up and found some brown loafers. He nodded and carried it back to where he was supposed to be stuck. He noticed Nick was eating and displaying the candy cane cookies he had baked with his family in Chicago. Jared's mouth dropped open a little bit at the surprise.

"What's this?" Nick asked, walking over. Jared looked down at the clothes he was caught holding.

"I don't think the khakis are right. So I just looked around and found this and -"

"Sweet. Thanks." Nick grabbed it without asking any questions and went to the bathroom without Jared. He emerged and looked breathtaking.

"What is this? This isn't the second outfit they -"

"It is now." Nick looked down at himself and back up to Laura.

"Okay." She didn't fight him. He flashed Jared a smile and followed her to a corner with a white backdrop. Jared sighed, realizing his mistake.

"He is going to blend in too much." The photographer said. Jared wanted to fix his mistake, so Nick was in trouble or embarrassed for taking his friend's style idea. His eyes darted all around the room until his eyes settled on a bright red throw blanket. He walked over and grabbed it fast. He approached the three, discussing the outfit issue confidently.

"Try this, Nick?" He handed it to him.

"Jared, this is great." Nick laid the blanket out and sat on it. He pulled out his new unreleased candy cane-flavored lip balm and looked at Laura and the photographer expectantly.

"Okay." The cameraman started taking shots of Nick posing with minimal directions.

"Nice work, Jared." Laura stood back by him as they watched Nick smile and laugh. "He seems more comfortable," she noted. Nick came over after the shots were done.

"Can I do a few with Jared?" Nick puppy dog-eyed Laura.

"No. No. I look so bad." Jared humbly refused.

"Sure." Laura saw all of Nick's exhaustion turn into enthusiasm. Nick grabbed Jared and rushed them over to the clothes.

"You are going to do so good." Nick started looking for something to fit Jared.

"Nick, I'm literally the worst. It's why I didn't get chosen before."

"You have modeling experience, right?" Nick looked at his worried friend.

"So I lied on my application." Jared owned up to his flaw.

"You did what?" Nick busted up laughing.

"I really wanted the gig." He flushed red, exposing himself.

"Okay, well, this is really easy. This isn't like Matt's Prada gigs." Nick rolled his eyes and handed Jared a makeshift outfit based on the color scheme of the next shoot. Jared went and changed, noting that the clothes weren't a perfect fit but unnoticeable.

"We'll have you over here. And Jared can do this." Laura planned to involve Jared. "I know it's not my job to get in your personal lives too much, but as your manager, I do want to say one thing." Laura took her chance to speak to Nick alone.

"Yeah?" Nick braced himself for the lecture that wouldn't mean anything since they were just best friends.

"There is a difference between just friends and best friends, Nick. Just friends don't look at each other the way you look at him. And best friends never stay just friends." She smiled. Before Nick could give his usual speech to her too, Jared emerged. "Wonderful. Remember, just be yourself."

"I'm nervous," Jared whispered to Nick so only he could hear.

"Come here." Nick wrapped an arm around Jared's waist and pulled him in close. Nick's action was meant to make him feel safer, but it only made him feel flustered more. Nick handed Jared his product to model with, and the flashes started popping off. Jared felt a sensation similar to sleeping; he only moved and went with the flow with no control over his body. "Try this." Nick started to apply the balm to Jared's plush lips. Nick looked deeply into the green eyes he never cared for before. This time, he saw the twinkling staring daringly back at him. Jared started pressing the tube to Nick's lips and watched as the pressure slowly pulled his bottom lip to the right. Jared licked his bottom lip slightly from the unexpected tingly sensation the candy cane flavor had to it. His eyes never left Nick's.

"I think we got everything," the photographer announced. The boys both looked around, trying to see who saw their shared moment. The only person Nick caught a glimpse of was Laura, who smirked knowingly.

"You only did one flavor?" Jared leaned against the prop counter.

"We only planned marketing for the candy cane one so far. I'm sure by tomorrow, I'll have an email to go over plans for the gingerbread and hot cocoa flavors." Nick fully applied the test tube to his lips. "Besides, I'm tired. I've spent the last five days traveling. I'd like just to go home and relax with Matt and Chris." Jared wasn't sure if he was just sharing or if that was a subtle hint to wanting some space from him specifically.

"I appreciate you letting me come to your family's Christmas, and thank you for coming along to mine." Jared and Nick grabbed their travel bags.

"You know you are welcome at any time, and I'm glad you invited me. Those candy cane cookies were amazing," Nick gushed.

"I saw they might have made a special appearance in some photos." Nick paused for a second.

"I hope that was okay?" He looked nervous. "I just wanted something to make it not look so staged and fake." They waited for the Lyft.

"Totally fine. I thought it was cute." Jared smiled down at Nick to show him he was being genuine.

"Do you want to hang out tomorrow?" Nick looked up at him. The car pulled up to take him home.

"I can't. I have some work stuff I need to do before Christmas." Jared didn't want to decline, but he knew that since they were back in LA, he needed to try to focus on a few other things.

"That's fine, just text me." Nick got into his car and closed the door. As the car drove off, all he could do was think. He wondered if Jared was thinking as much about that moment in the car as he was? He wanted to know what he was thinking about that moment, but most importantly, he wanted to know what was Jared thinking of him.

Taglist: @trevorsgodmother @strnilolover @chrissbug333 @kirby0strombolli @abbilmao @ksturnz

@thenickgirl for reminding me to post though 🫡🫠🫶🥰

[andypantsx3]

Deceiving the Duke | 3 | Todoroki Shouto

pairing: Todoroki Shouto x Female Reader

length: 3.1k of 30k words | 3rd of 9 chapters

summary: When Camie Utsushimi elopes on the eve of her society debut, scandal threatens to destroy the family’s prospects. It’s up to you, a maid, to impersonate Camie throughout the Season, long enough that her elder sister can make a match. The only trouble? Lord Shouto Todoroki is also intent on making a match—and that match, quite impossibly, appears to involve you.

tags/warnings: romance, regency au, class differences, hidden identity/identity porn, aged up characters, eventual smut

Things were quiet the following week.

You successfully attended two other balls with no mishaps like your first, and an afternoon tea with some lady or another. You were careful to duck out of sight any time you caught a flash of red or white hair, and you stuck close to Caroline except for when she was whisked onto the dancefloor by some interested gentleman.

You seemed to draw little notice, except for a few younger sons of minor families. You eagerly waved your dance card full of made-up names at them when they approached, feigning regret. If any of them noticed you did not stand up with anyone after that, however, they were too polite to say so.

You spent the rest of your time outside of events agonizingly refitting all of Camie’s new dresses, astounded by the sheer number, going to bed every evening with your fingers numb and your eyes burning. Caroline kept up your dance lessons and tried valiantly to appoint you with some conversational tips that would keep you from exposing yourself as the servant you were, which you dutifully memorized.

You also wrote to Camie, addressing the letter to her eventual home at Lord Yoarashi’s estate. His staff would hopefully know where to forward it to. You told her of the harebrained scheme you had gotten yourself into, the horrifying run-in with Lord Shouto Todoroki, and your absolute certainty that this had all been a mistake.

A week and a half into said harebrained scheme, Lady Cathleen Bate hosted a ball at the assembly rooms. You wiggled into a cream-colored gown you’d prioritized fixing because the wispy material was so easy to work with—but you were quite regretting it now. It was awfully sheer, enough that you kept returning to Camie’s looking glass, nervous that your underpinnings might be fully visible through the fabric.

You tried to call as little attention to your bare decolletage as possible with a borrowed set of Caroline’s tiniest paste jewel set, but felt like every judgmental eye in the assembly rooms would flicker your way regardless. You hoped the relatively low profile you’d cultivated thus far would spare you.

When you arrived, you quickly filled your dance card with a suite of made up names once more, snickering to yourself as you penned in former king Yaoyorozu’s name and a slew of stupid things like Lord Scotchwaffles and Mr. Placeholder.

There was a small commotion as you made your way to the Utsushimis’ usual camp out along the fringes of the dance floor, watching across the room as a young lady in an elaborate headdress suddenly swooned onto the gentleman next to her.

You started when you realized the gentleman in question was none other than Lord Shouto Todoroki–and he looked bemused to suddenly have an armful of unresponsive woman. His face went carefully blank and he held her out from him, the way one did a baby that had soiled itself. You had to bite a laugh off into your glove. He really looked like nothing would make him happier than just dropping her.

Two mismatched eyes suddenly darted up, catching yours. Your laughter seized in your throat, turning into sputtering coughs, and you ducked behind Mrs. Utsushimi for cover.

You kept yourself hidden behind her silhouette as best you could for the next few hours, with the occasional break to fetch lemonade. Caroline was on and off the dance floor, and you thought you recognized one of her partners as a gentleman from last time–a Mr. Yosetsu Awase, untitled but kind and reliable, according to town gossip.

Fumbling around behind Mrs. Utsushimi, you accidentally bumped elbows with a pair of gentlewomen halfway through the ball. You murmured an apology, but they waved you off cheerfully, and leaned in to introduce themselves instead.

One of them was short and voluptuously curvy, with fawn brown hair and rosy cheeks–Miss Ochako Uraraka, whose family, like Camie’s, was untitled but landed, occupying the lower rungs of the peerage. The other woman had long green tresses that complimented her spring green gown, and wore them bound up at the back of her head, with big dark eyes fringed with long lashes–the Viscountess Tsuyu Asui.

“You’re Camie Utsushimi,” Miss Uraraka said, her voice high and sweet. “I saw you at the Monomas’, running for some lemonade.”

You choked, and fluttered your fan uselessly for a moment. “I—well, yes. It’s all rather a lot, isn’t it? The season?”

Lady Asui nodded vigorously. “Horrible, really. Like we’re at market.”

You laughed. You had to agree. Even knowing you’d be able to retire this scheme at the end of the season, this brief period had felt much like you were a fruit put out on a seller’s stand, to be inspected and purchased at a shopper’s whim. In this thing, the nobility were so much less fortunate than you were.

“Are there really no gentlemen you fancy?” you asked curiously, and Miss Uraraka blushed a furious shade of pink.

“No,” she squeaked out, a transparent yes even to someone who’d only just met her.

“She does but she’ll never admit it,” Lady Asui told you, smiling. “He’s not in attendance this season, at any rate, but she still comes hoping to hear news of him from his friends.”

“Who?” you asked.

Lady Asui cast a fond look at Miss Uraraka. “I’ll not say, but if you want to figure it out yourself, a chat with Lord Tenya or Lord Shouto would be most enlightening.”

You froze up at the mention of Lord Shouto again, eyes quickly darting about to make sure he hadn’t spotted you again. The last thing you needed was for him to accidentally spill the details of your conversation—and how improperly you’d spoken to a man who was possibly the future prince-consort of the empire, if rumors about his interest in Princess Yaoyorozu were to be believed.

Lord Tenya Iida, you remembered from the strategic dissections Mrs. Utsushimi and Caroline had done last season, was a baron, extensively landed, and a very respectable match for any young lady of good breeding. Like Lord Shouto, he was someone you would not want to be seen with, if you cared to minimize the fallout once your scheme had been exposed.

“It shall remain a mystery,” you said decisively.

Miss Uraraka looked surprised. “You don’t intend to meet either?”

You shook your head. “I’d prefer to wait, um, several more seasons before setting sights on a gentleman.”

Lady Asui tapped her chin with her fan. “Lord Shouto is sure to make a match this season or next—he’s got his pick, if he wants it. I take it you’ve heard about his courting Princess Yaoyorozu?”

Your skin prickled with the mention of him again, the memory of his eyes picking over you in the dark replaying itself in the back of your mind. “I have, yes. Perhaps that’s the wisdom in my choice–I’d hate to covet something of the princess’s.”

Miss Uraraka laughed, high and pretty. “This whole empire is hers–I wish you luck.”

You smiled. “I’ll set my sights on something smaller she’ll miss less, then.” Like a pile of money and a comfortable position at Camie’s new estate.

Lady Asui made a small noise in her throat, and you turned to look at her curiously. “That rather large something is headed this way,” she said, looking interested.

Your heartbeat spiked. Surely Lord Shouto wasn’t coming over to talk to you–to reprimand you for pelting him with apricot cakes, was he? He’d so far kept his distance, and you’d thought he meant to forget the whole thing. Regardless, you searched out a gap in the throng of people lining the dance floor, identifying your quickest escape route.

“I find I am suddenly parched,” you announced, snapping your fan shut. “A delight to make your acquaintances.” You made to dart for safety, but a deep voice stopped you.

“You must allow me,” someone intoned from behind you, and all your blood stopped in your veins. Slowly, you turned, finding Lord Shouto himself standing in front of you, immaculately outfitted in a dark coat and waistcoat, a silk neckcloth tied at his throat. He was even more handsome in direct candlelight, his features so careful and symmetrical, those mismatched eyes pinned directly to yours.

“I—you—um, Your Grace,” you said, frantically digging up the modes of address Caroline had gone over with you. You dropped a curtsey, heart pounding. “You’ll have to excuse me—I, the lemonade—”

A tiny smile prodded at the corner of his mouth, and you followed his gaze as it dropped to a glass of lemonade clutched in his fingers, which he pressed towards you.

“I recall you are fond of it,” he said, and your panic fully seized you. Miss Uraraka and Lady Asui’s attentions fixed on you with sharpened interest.

“I–-thank you,” you said miserably, accepting the proffered drink. You pressed it to your mouth to save you from having to supply any other conversation. You thought his eyes followed it to your mouth, and you wondered if there was some aspect of social etiquette you’d just violated for him to watch you so.

“I had hoped you might accompany me for a dance,” Lord Shouto said in that mind-numbingly low tone.

The lemonade hit the back of your throat wrong. You hurriedly flapped your dance card at him, feigning apology. “I’m afraid I’m terribly overcommitted,” you choked out quickly.

Those eyes darted up to yours curiously again, and he rather unexpectedly reached forward to grasp your dance card, reading it over with some interest.

“‘Lord Scotchwaffles’, ‘Mr. Placeholder’,” he echoed, the hint of a smirk pulling at his full mouth. “I cannot say I am acquainted with either.” He paused. “It looks like your next dance is reserved for King Yaoyorozu himself.”

Your insides shriveled up. “I—”

“Unfortunate that he will be unable to make it, bedridden as he’s been for the past decade,” Lord Shouto said. “I will be happy to stand up with you instead.”

Ice crept up your veins, stiffening your limbs. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck!

What was he plotting? Why go to the trouble of asking you for a dance if he was put out with the way you’d acted at the Monomas’? Was this some ploy designed to embarrass Camie and her family?

“I’ll hold your lemonade for you,” Miss Uraraka said, incredibly unhelpfully. Dainty fingers pulled the glass out of your hand, and Lord Shouto seized the moment, taking your hand and tugging you out onto the dancefloor just as the players readied themselves for a new song.

Your heart hammered in your mouth as you arranged yourself against him. His shoulder was horribly strong under your hand, his grip on you gentle but firm. You looked up into his face to find him watching you impassively.

You dimly recognized the music as it began, frantically dredging your brain for the steps Caroline had drilled into you. Thankfully you were able to slip into step along Lord Shouto, following his lead effectively, if not smoothly.

“You’ll have to forgive me,” you told him, for something to say. “This is my first dance–I’m relatively unpracticed.”

His fingers flexed where they held you, and he looked rather—smug?–-to note it.

“So long as it is better than your Ancient Greek,” he said, “I believe you will do well.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, your ears heating. “Well if that’s the case, I’m a comparative expert.”

A hint of a smile touched his mouth, and he spun you, catching your waist back in his hand in a way that sent a shiver skittering up your spine. “You are well-outfitted for prospect stealing, then.”

You scowled up at him, catching a little indent at the corner of his mouth, like he was teasing you.

“My objective is not thievery,” you sniffed. “For the purposes of this season I am simply observing, like a naturalist.”

“And what have you observed?” he asked as he spun you into him again. He was so close you could feel rather than hear the end of his question.

“That there is nothing natural about it,” you said, catching a glimpse of a couple frowning mother-daughter pairs at the end of the dance floor. It made you want to curl into Lord Shouto–to hide from their calculating gaze–but of course he was the whole reason they were glaring.

You decided to take the opportunity to remind him there were better dance partners available, whatever his purpose for calling you out here. “And that I’m rather underqualified. Did you know my Latin is just as bad as my Greek?”

“Your interests must lie elsewhere, then,” Lord Shouto said, gazing down at you curiously. “What are your hobbies?”

How to tell a nobleman that you had almost none? Servitude did not leave much time for hobbies, except for when Camie had insisted to her mother she had absolutely ruined a gown and would need to borrow you for hours–only to surprise you with a tray full of snacks, a few lurid novels, and hours of gossip. You could also play a mean game of cards, but of course it would be improper to tell a gentleman that.

“They’re secret,” you told him.

A white eyebrow went up. “Hurling apricot cakes at unsuspecting gentlemen, perhaps?” he asked.

You sniffed and purposefully trod on his foot. “Only when they surprise me in dark rooms.”

“I believe you surprised me,” Lord Shouto said. “I’d thought you meant to spring a trap closed on me.”

You look up at him, perplexed—then flushed furiously when it dawned on you. No wonder he’d asked whether he was free to go! “You thought I’d meant to trap you in an indecency scandal when I’d never even met you?”

Lord Shouto blinked slowly. “It would have been a bold debut.”

You shook your head furiously. “Rest assured, I have no designs on marriage at this time. Even if I wanted–” You cut yourself off, horrified that you’d almost just let slip your predicament, to the most powerful of persons you meant to fool.

Lord Shouto looked curious and bent his head towards you. “Even if you wanted—?”

You shook your head, and a small frown marred the beauty of his perfect mouth. “I’m talking nonsense.”

“I like nonsense,” he said earnestly—his tone surprising you.

You were thankfully saved from having to respond by the song ending, forcing the two of you into genuflections across from one another. You quickly backed up, as if to leave the dancefloor, but Lord Shouto’s hand snapped out, catching your wrist.

“Perhaps you might tell me about it over another dance?” He asked, his tone low, almost intimate.

Your stomach churned. A horrible little part of you wanted to–had liked how strong he felt under your hands, how sure his hands were around your waist, how upsettingly beautiful his face was up close. But you would not say more. And Caroline had informed you just this afternoon that an invitation to share more than one dance indicated some interest.

You doubted Lord Shouto had any real interest in you–but you could ill afford to draw more attention to the Utsushimi family than you already had.

“I am afraid I am spoken for—” you started, and Lord Shouto’s mouth hitched at the corner.

“I don’t see Lord Scotchwaffles at present,” he said, stepping closer to you.

It brought his horribly beautiful face that much close to yours, and you panicked, searching for a solution.

A memory of Lord Shouto earlier this evening flashed past your eyes–the swooning maiden, whom he’d looked like he wanted to drop. You could see his blank, uncomfortable expression, the way he’d held her away from him in fairly overt distaste. It was clear he did not much appreciate the dramatic machinations of eager young ladies.

Well, you could afford a bruised tailbone in pursuit of your escape. Here went nothing.

You quickly fluttered your hand in front of you, clutching your side like you were winded. You let out a noise like a wounded animal gasping for breath. You caught Lord Shouto’s eyes widening before you pitched sideways, closing your eyes and bracing for impact.

But the impact never came–-instead you collided with something firm, but much softer than the hardwood. Your stomach jolted as you were suddenly shifted and two strong arms went under you, pulling you close to a warm, hard chest.

“Miss Utsushimi,” Lord Shouto’s deep voice resounded in your ear, sounding concerned. Your heart rate doubled, realizing he’d picked you up, and the swaying motion meant he was carrying you somewhere.

Seven hells, you’d not meant for him to catch you!

“Miss Utsushimi, are you well?” Lord Shouto’s voice came again, and you were gently deposited upright, onto something cushiony–a chair. Two warm hands roamed over you, and you peeked an eye open to catch sight of Lord Shouto’s attentive gaze on you. His hand came up to take your chin, tilting your face to his.

An entire conservatory of butterflies erupted in your stomach at the gentle touch. Those mismatched eyes roved over you with worry–and something shrewder, almost like intrigue.

“Are you well?” he asked again, as over his shoulder you could see a crowd beginning to form–Lady Asui and Miss Uraraka, Caroline and Mrs. Utsushimi.

“I–yes–the dance must have winded me,” you said, quickly supplying an excuse. “I’m alright. But I’m afraid I should not dance any more.”

Lord Shouto watched you for a moment longer, before something that was most definitely a knowing little smile touched the corner of his mouth. “Of course,” he said, a strange hitch like amusement in his voice.

You startled, disliking his unexpectedly warm reaction. The point had been to scare him off, not entertain him!

But then Mrs. Utsushimi was carving a path through the crowd with Caroline at her side. Caroline looked worried, but Mrs. Utsushimi could not have looked more put out with you had she tried, though she rallied a valiant cry of, “Camie! Are you alright? We’ll take you home at once.”

“Yes, yes, I’m quite alright,” you said again, quickly sitting up, which brought you in even closer proximity to Lord Shouto, who hadn’t moved.

And it was then, in that moment, with Lord Shouto leaning over you with his eyes glittering, that you thought you were perhaps not alright. With butterflies tickling your stomach, and all your nerves alight under his touch—you realized you were, in fact, the opposite of alright.

You were in trouble.

Horrible, terrible trouble—in the shape of one handsome duke, who was perhaps shaping up to be much more shrewd than you had expected.

[jerzwriter]

Thank you, Nonny, for this three-word ask. As someone who grew up in New York City and cities in New Jersey, the moment I saw your Trystan x Carolina prompt, I knew exactly what I wanted to do! I hope you enjoy this!

Book: Crimes of Passion Pairing: Trystan Thorne (M) x Carolina Rose (F!MC) Rating: Teen Words: 602, plus 2 text messages Summary: There's a blackout in New York City, and Trystan runs into some issues attempting to get home to Carolina.

A/N: This was just what I was looking for when I asked for 3 word asks! Just some light fun! Thanks so much for this, Nonny! Participating in @julychallenge Pink: Playfulness, Love, Fun Black: Seduction, Attraction,

Carolina lay atop her bed in her darkened room, with sweat dripping down her neck. It was only four PM, but the shades were drawn to keep the sun out as much as she could. She did her best to remain motionless—anything to help with the brutal heat. Heatwaves were never fun, but in New York City during a power outage? They were hell. She had been in the office when the lights flickered out, and Mafalda picked up her phone.

“Yep! Con Ed confirmed it, it's a blackout!”

“Ah, fuck,” Carolina groaned, tossing her pen across the desk. “Just what we need!”

“Yeah, well, with the heat as bad as it’s been, it was bound to happen sooner or later. At least it's still light out. Why don’t you head home? We can’t do anything here, and I’d prefer you were off the streets before dark.”

Carolina quickly took her up on the offer; she knew the chaos backouts could bring to the city and would be happy to avoid it. She text Trystan to fill him in.

Nearly an hour had passed, and despite her discomfort, she couldn't wait for Trystan to arrive. Suffering in this heat was not fun, but somehow, suffering together didn’t seem as bad.

A commotion on the street below caught her attention, and she jumped out of bed to see what was taking place. She peered out the window to find children laughing and running around a fire hydrant they had opened, spraying water everywhere. She smiled as she remembered the summers from childhood that she spent the same way. Her father would open the hydrant and then tell the children:

¡No les digas a los bomberos que un policía hizo esto! (Don't tell the firefighters a cop did this!)

Her phone beeped again, pulling her from her memories.

Carolina couldn’t help but laugh,  imagining Trystan impeccably dressed, now drenched from head to toe. When he knocked at her door, she rushed over to let him in. There he stood, water dripping from his normally well-coiffed hair, his designer clothes clinging to his frame. Carolina bit her lip to stifle a giggle, but when Trystan broke out laughing, she happily joined in.

“Well, this isn't quite how I envisioned my arrival,” he said, stepping inside.

Carolina shook her head, a grin spreading across her face. “You look ridiculous.”

He took her hands, pulling her close to him despite his dampened state.

“Ridiculous or not, I’m here. And so glad to be with you.”

She leaned into him, relishing the coolness of his wet clothes against her burning skin.

“I missed you too.”

Trystan looked around the darkened room. “So, back to our original discussion... what can we do without power?"

“I have a few ideas," she winked. "But first, let’s get you out of those clothes.”

“Wonderful!” He smiled, batting his eyelashes. “It sounds like we have the same idea!”

“No air conditioning, remember!”

“Lina,” he begged, gently trailing his tongue over her lips. “You’re not going to let a little thing like that get in our way, are you?”

“Of course not,” she smirked, taking his hand and leading him to the bathroom. “That’s why God created showers!”

“Shower sex!” He exclaimed. “I like it! Can we have another power outage tomorrow?”

Carolina pushed his back against the tile wall, her lips overtaking his as she turned the water on them – clothes on and all.

“That can be arranged,” she cooed.

For the remainder of the afternoon, the heat outside was nothing compared to the heat in Carolina's apartment.

@choicesficwriterscreations

Tagging others separately.

[ageofevermore]

MIDNIGHTS

SUMMARY — just after midnight, when the world fades away, it’s just you and natasha that remain. or, in other words, you can hear it in the silence, you can feel it on the way home, you can see it with the lights out. you are in love.

WARNINGS — mentions of canon aou events, mentions of wanda basically being your child, tooth rooting fluff that should be illegal. the main thing is just nats memories of the red room but it’s very brief

Her lips are softest in the space just after midnight, after the day has exhausted her muscles and softened her walls, and all that remains is the truest reflection of the woman you love. Her skin shimmers in the orange hue of your bedroom, almost like she’s straight out of twilight and hiding something supernatural from the world. Beads of water drip down her back, creating a patch of wetness on the t-shirt she’s clad in. She’ll change again before she buries herself in the covers beside you, but for now, reminisce of her shower are visible on her body. She doesn’t leave physical evidence of life on her person for others to see. Never a stain on her top from a mishap in the kitchen, or a tear in the seam of a t-shirt that got snagged by the washing machine you’ve been meaning to replace. Outside of this space, outside of you, she is entirely picture perfect. You hate to say you’re keen on keeping this part of her to yourself, the human part, the gentle part. The world has hurt her and done her wrong so many times, and yet she still lets you see the vulnerability that isn’t quite faded as much as she likes to preach.

You’ve been in bed for a few hours, nuzzled into the headboard with the heavy covers over your thighs, reading yet another book that Wanda recommended. Your fingers trace the raised mark on the back cover. Months ago, you’d bought the redheaded witch her own embosser, and she’d happily sat with you for hours as she talked about her favorites and her least favorites, and stamped every single one with pride she tried to hide and push down. Although the young Avenger never complained, she was like your Natasha in a way, and having something of her very own after having to share and scour for scrapes for so long was the very least of what she was entitled too. You’d give her the world if she let you, but she was still new to this, new to freedom, and just like Natasha, she needed time to adapt. She had recommended a romance book weeks ago, left it outside of your bedroom door with a dainty ribbon tied around it and a new fountain pen for you to scribble notes in the margins with, but with reports to complete and clinical trials to run, you were only getting around to it now, and you clung to every word you read wishing you had gotten to do this sooner. To have this time to yourself to be just, Y/N.

The light flickered on in your closet, dismantling the orange glow of your reading lamp. The change in brightness burnt for seconds that felt like minutes, but you adjusted before Natasha even had the time to speak an apology into the space. These moments between you both were quiet, but thick. You’d crossed paths after she defected, and had spent the last how ever many years curating a relationship that didn’t need spoken words to survive. When she moved one way you moved the other, it was just in the way you loved each other. You could read her as easily as you read the book in your hands, and it was a privilege you recognized and didn’t take for granted. The first few months of Natasha being at Shield were rough. She was sharp on her corners and transparent in her own body, and one too many times she had snapped on you for trying to help, but you did wear her down eventually. It wasn’t your looks that did that either, although Natasha claimed on many drunken nights that you were the spitting image of an angel on earth, but rather your patience and your repetition in guiding her to trust her gut and the feelings she was taught were weakness. The anger she’d thought she’d felt in the pit of her belly for months when in your presence, had turned out to be fear. Fear of loving you, of letting herself be human, of becoming more than just an assassin or a follower. You would never take for granted where you are now, because just thinking about how things had started provoked a sickness to gather in the back of your throat. You didn’t hate very many things, too soft-hearted and genuine to believe that people could be inherently bad, but god did you hate what had happened to her and the people who had a hand in breaking her down. But, you used that hatred to fill her with love, to show her a side of people she didn’t think actually existed outside of fairy tales.

The closet light switched off after a few silent minutes, and when Natasha re-emerged, she was fully dry and dressed in your old college t-shirt and boxers that you had ordered for her a few nights before. Still, she didn’t like to buy things for herself, no doubt a deeply embedded trauma response and conflicting feelings of whether she deserved the full human experience, but you had no problem supporting her needs, until you got her through it. You had no doubts that one day, she’d buy a new pack of boxers for herself when she needed them, or even something entirely ‘useless’ like house slippers or a plant pot. Something just for her to enjoy because she deserved that. It would be little steps to you, but monumental leaps to her, and you eagerly awaited those days.

The bed sank with her weight as she climbed in, shuffling impossibly close and resting her head on your midsection. Her hair was still damp, and would leave a patch of moisture on your top when she inevitably rolled away to a comfortable sleeping position, but you didn’t mind. You craved feelings of her left on your body, knowing she had been there and she was yours and she was safe. She smelt of your body wash, a sign that hers had run out, and your heart warmed. You’d share everything with her for the rest of your life if you could.

“Wanda recommend another book?” She yawned, sleep heavy in her voice. Her arm that wasn't pinned to your side wrapped around your middle, and cold fingers snuck beneath your shirt and traced patterns into your skin. You hummed, taking one hand off the paperback book in favor of running your fingers through her hair. “She’s read all the ones in her library by now.”

The first thing Wanda had ever owned was the complete set of Harry Potter, a gift from you after her first week in the compound. Losing a family member wasn’t easy, losing your brother and moving in with strangers you fought against was even harder. She needed a distraction, and books had always been your preferred method. Something so intoxicating about falling into a world that wasn’t anything like yours, and letting any problems or stress fade away into background noise for a few hours. Wanda had loved Harry Potter, especially seeing as she had her own magic, and for a few weeks she’d cheekily repeat spells she’d read and twist scarlet wiggly-woos around in the air. Seeing how easily she relaxed when she was talking about a reality outside of the one she was stuck in was the only encouragement you needed to buy her more. Natasha suggested a few books too, though she’d asked you not to tell Wanda that. Her walls were high around the newbie, but there was no lack of love and understanding. To Wanda, trading books was your own little thing, but Natasha’s fingerprints were pressed into the spine of the hobby endearingly.

“Last I heard she ordered a new one was a few weeks ago, so she’s definitely finished it by now. We should get her more, Steve said she’s been excelling in training when I saw him last.” In the first few months of adjusting, encouragement was essentially gold, and showering Wanda in it felt like something you were meant to do. Natasha’s lips twitched, and she turned her nose into your side and nuzzled you sweetly.

“We don’t need a reason to get her new books, but I’m sure she’d appreciate a reminder that she’s doing well.” She taunted easily, loving the way that you cared for Wanda like she was your own. Admittedly, she had been apprehensive about the witch in the first few days of her being at the compound, rightfully so after being hurdled into memories of the red room and all the red in her ledger she was trying to wipe out, but you’d never harbored any negative feelings. You’d always just seen the broken little girl beneath a sharp exterior desperate to curate her own path and do good. The two of you weren’t sure if you’d ever expand your family, entirely content with it just being the two of you for right now, but Natasha would be a liar if she said it didn’t make her heart feel like liquid seeing how much you cared about the teenager.

“When are you going to tell her that yourself?” You questioned, deciding that you’d pick up the reading another time, and setting the book on your nightstand in favor of providing your girlfriend with your full attention. You hadn’t seen much of her in recent days, no thanks to her mission debriefs and training sessions as well as your own hectic schedule that just seemed to keep getting busier. “She looks up to you, Nat.”

Battling with the words she wanted to say, and trying to understand the feelings she’d not given much thought, there was an easy beat of silence before Natasha answered. “I know she saw some of what I did that night. Of the red room I mean. When we assessed her capabilities, it was something she mentioned briefly; that she could go into people's minds with them. I’m not– or I wasn’t somebody to look up to then. I see how much she clings to what I tell her, and… I want it to be right. I don’t want to say something half-assed when it means so much. To both of us. I see so much of myself in her from when I defected. What Clint said when he brought me in, it was perfect. She deserves the same.”

“When you’re ready, and you’ve figured out how to say it, it’s going to mean so much to her. I see a lot of her in your, not just from when you defected, but you’ve both got these iron walls built up. I think it would do both of you some good if you let each other in. She’s a sweet kid, Nat, and you don’t give yourself enough credit for how much impact your words have, anything you say will be perfect.” A lingering kiss was pressed into the crown of her head, and the arm around your middle tightened impossibly before it relaxed and she rolled away completely.

Voice thick with emotion she didn’t have the energy to confront, a gentle hint of Russian painted her words like it did most nights. Midnights were your favorite. Midnights were the only time when she let herself be the bruised Russian she hid away in the darkness and nothing more. “Can we lay down now? I just want to hold you and not think about how I have to train with Clint tomorrow morning.”

A breathy laugh shook your ribcage, “I’ll have to stop by at some point. Hopefully he doesn’t end up in a headlock again. Laura wasn’t too happy about that last time.”

Natasha grumbled lowly, pulling you down on the bed and into her arms just after you turned the reading lamp off, intending on wasting no more time than what had already slipped by. The hours the both of you were able to sleep were decreasing the longer you sat talking. “He shouldn’t have shot me with his stupid suction cup arrow then.”

“You had a red mark on your chest for hours.” You remembered fondly, pressing the tip of your nose into her. The curve in the bridge of your nose fits perfectly in hers, like a puzzle with only two pieces. Her lips puckered to peck yours before they relaxed, just resting easily against yours, and the remnants of her favorite chapstick was smooth between you. “It’ll be my turn to yell at him if he marks you up again. I should be the only one doing that.”

Despite her amusement, sleep was beginning to pull Natasha away from you. “Less talking, more sleeping.” She demanded, words only getting thicker with hints of russian as she let herself go and truly escaped everything that she’d done in the day.

“Goodnight, Natalia.” You pecked her lips with a purpose before you shuffled around and twisted so your back was flush against her chest, melting into her arms as they wrapped around you protectively. Over a decade out of the red room and she was still terrified of somebody taking you away from her in her most vulnerable moments, but it wasn’t something you’d ever complain about, feeling safe in her strong grip.

“Goodnight, дорогой.”

And within seconds, the both of you were asleep.

[chimivx]

ghosting ↠ txt

now playing ↠ "slut!" • taylor swift

He left you with letters. Envelopes that took you five years to finally read, acknowledge. They take you back through your past, forcing you to make moves not only for yourself, but for your family, for your children… His children.

part one of six ~ masterlist

word count ↠ 2573 warnings ↠ (same for all parts) 18+. mentions of drugs, alcohol, smoking. swearing. explicit sexual content. these people have kids, there’s family talk, pregnancy talk. absent dad, messy family ties. stepsib shit, stepcest. infidelity. if any of these things bother you, please keep scrolling. if i missed anything PLEASE let me know!! a/n ↠ the beginning of the end... <3 this has been a wild ride. I love these people. thank you for the support. xo if you're new, please click the masterlist to read about all thats happened to these people before you start here... trust me. <3 posted ↠ 6/6/24 ~ 9:06 p.m. est

 ~ may 2015 ~

Soft rumpled blankets beneath you, a plethora of colors warming your half bare body as you rested against the mismatched pillows thrown along the headboard, some having toppled onto the floor just over an hour ago, you waited. Hair ruffled, a mess courtesy of the boy in the kitchen, you didn’t bother to fix it while you twirled your fingers together, judging your chipped pastel blue polish in the light leaking in from the hallway. 

His room was half the size of the one in your house, not that you’ve seen it recently, you’ve been waking up between the sheets underneath you for the last few weeks. The bed was perfectly placed in the center, big enough to take up most of the space, each end table fitting satisfyingly beside it. A closet was tucked into the wall across from you, just right of the door that creaks when it's moved. 

It was truly the sweetest home. A story high, built in the seventies, the outside was half mint green siding and red brick, the front door stuck on the side of the brick hidden from the street. A single window on the front, one that looked into the kitchen, was a total change from the home you grew up in. Everything was close together, all the furniture, all the clutter. It was lived in. It was homey. And with all the time you spent there, the hominess grew.

There was a living area beside the kitchen, a step or so down to the couches that came from his mothers basement, cozy brown ones she was holding onto until he moved. A wooden coffee table from his best friend's older sister, once covered by his textbooks and notes that now shared the surface space with cases of your favorite movies from home and magazines you scribbled in. 

A piece of you lingering behind when you’d leave. 

Everything would be the way you left it when you came back. The extra pair of shoes kicked off by the front door, the shuffled magazines on the tables with the pen still saving the page you left off on, a sweatshirt slung over a kitchen chair, hair ties on his bedroom floor, a tube of mascara behind the faucet in his bathroom. Preserving your presence. A place for you to unapologetically take up space. 

Safety.

Across the short, skinny hall was another room, a second bedroom flipped into some sort of office space. A bookshelf was shoved to one corner and a desk in the other. Walking in there was like walking into a minefield, bits of school covered every inch, his and hers. Though your little square inch of space couldn’t compare to his mountains. Now that your two years were over, you were ready to burn whatever you had stored in that room.

“Okay, here we go.” His voice was light, yet deep, and even more so comforting. Carrying two wine glasses in his knobby fingers, his tall, slender figure appeared in the doorway with a smile. That smile.

Messy hair, smooth, cream colored skin, glasses perched on his button nose… You could climb him, and you wanted to, and you have. He was yours, the boy rounding the bed, Soobin belonged to you, all of him, not just the parts no one got to see. He was yours, and he was proud of it.

Shirtless, he sat on the edge of the mattress and moved closer to you, smirking at the shirt that hung down over your hips. “That’s my favorite.” Handing over one of the glasses, he snuck a kiss to your cheek.

Looking down at yourself, the acid washed Deadman Wonderland t-shirt you slipped on with Shiro’s face on the front of it made you laugh. It was worn, something he bought back when the anime aired. Tipping your chin back, you took the glass and smized. “It’s my favorite. You nerd.”

Sipping his wine, he almost blew it out of his glass. “Nerd?!” You answered with a nod. Soobin laughed, shaking his head, letting you tuck yourself into his side. Slipping an arm around you, he tousled his fingers through your hair before his hand settled on your hip. “I seem to remember you loving Ganta.”

“I do love Ganta,” you said, gazing up at him. 

Soobin sipped from his glass, his tongue poking between his lips for a second as he took you and your bare face in. “I love you.”

Three words you haven’t heard tumble from a boy's mouth in ages. Taking a deep breath, your cheeks flushing, heart skipping a beat, you blinked. Soobin smiled. It was the first time either of you had said it.

“I mean it,” he continued, eyes aglow with know. “These last few weeks I’ve…” He paused to shake his head, a shy laugh coming out of him. “I’ve felt it, and I know, I know, that this had the possibility to… scare you, but, I had to tell you. You don’t have to say it just because I did, I just-”

“Soobin,” you whispered. Shoving your glass of wine, that you haven’t touched, into his hand, you moved away from him for a brief moment. Feet tucked under you, you dragged your hands through your hair and took another breath. Part of you felt like crying. He was serious, you knew he was serious, you could tell he was serious. It’s Soobin for god's sake, the boy’s never told a lie in his life.

There was a sound behind you, him putting the glasses down, then he shifted on the bed and you felt it, his hands on your shoulders. Digging his fingers into your muscle, his lips pressed the softest kiss to the base of your neck.

With a breath, you shook your head. “How?”

He laughed quietly, and you felt him shrug. “Don’t do that to yourself.”

“I’m serious,” you said, turning around. Soobin’s hands dropped to your knees. Tilting his head he withheld a smile, fingers dancing gently over your skin. “How do you… How?”

The corner of his lips finally tipped up, his gaze positively driving you crazy. Nerd or not, the boy knew what to do. “How do I what?” 

Sighing, you closed your eyes. This was what he did. Communication. Clear communication. Looking at him, you whispered, “How do you love me?”

With the way Soobin’s beguiling gaze fell you would’ve thought the last ten years were splayed upon your face for him to see. Your past tugged at your heart, threatened tears into your eyes and yanked you further from Soobin in this moment more than you’d thought it would.

These words were bound to come up at some point, you’ve been seriously dating for almost an entire year. If you went off the date he first asked, it would be in two days, partially why you were sharing a special night together, to celebrate an anniversary of sorts, as well as your graduation. Fitting he’d save this for tonight.

“I’m serious,” he said. “Don’t do this to yourself.” Lifting a hand to touch your cheek, he hesitated and waited for you to nod, then touched you. He drug his thumb over your cheekbone, brushing away a tear. “Remember what I’ve told you. You’ve come so far, you’ve done great things for yourself. None of what you went through defines the kind of person you are. You are far from unworthy, you are deserving of everything great, everything beautiful and wonderful.”

Placing a hand on top of his, you laced your fingers together and watched him speak, letting his words patch up what they didn’t break. You wish you could say this was the first time he’s had to say something like this.

“You are worthy, and loved. I will never let you forget that. I’m also telling you the truth when I say that I love you. I love you a lot.” Biting onto his bottom lip, he studied your hands woven together on your lap and started to smile. “When you ask me ‘how’, I can’t explain it. You’re exceptional. You’re so kind, and entirely too cute. You’re smarter than me most days, and the way you love things is just… Overwhelming, in the best way.”

Gulping, you breathed and squeezed his fingers. “Not… smarter than you,” you mumbled. 

Soobin scoffed, scooting closer to you. “Are you kidding? You can figure things out faster than I can, my brain takes two to three business days to compute information. You’re wicked fast. You’re quick, you’re a fast thinker.”

Because I used to be sneaky, you thought. Because I was hiding the biggest secret and had to be quick on my feet.

He dropped his chin to meet your eyes that had fallen. “What are you thinking about?” After you shrugged, he said, “You can tell me.” After you shook your head, he said, “Nothing you say will make me-” Love you less.

You could see it all playing out.

Shying away from his touch, you rolled over on the bed and sat on the edge, staring down at the wooden floorboards.

Behind you, Soobin whispered, “Too much, got it.”

Not one bit of it was derogatory. He didn’t even mean for you to hear it. He was good at that, using the good tones when he spoke. You noticed this was something he’d been doing over the year you’ve spent with him. He’d pick up on these moments and save them, log them in his memory, learn from them, and know how to move forward. 

And he has the nerve to say you’re smarter than him.

You were nothing more than an observant, sneaky, slithery snake. A skill that sickened you. How an honest man like Soobin could sit here and tell you he loved you baffled you.

Beneath the guilt, the excitement bubbled. Beneath the, you think, fear? A small part of you was kicking it’s feet. He told you that he loves you. The cutest boy, the sweetest boy, the boy who almost tops every boy you’ve had in bed, the boy who brings you snacks when you’ve forgotten to eat, the boy who tries his hardest to get along with your parents, the boy who tells you day after day how important you are to him…

The boy who didn’t shame you when you told him bits of your past. The boy who keeps the alcohol in his home in an unknown spot, because he cares about you. The boy who has let you sleep over night after night, clinging to him in your sleep, finding sanctuary here beneath his roof instead of your own.

The boy whose brows shot up as you took your time turning around on the bed to face him. He didn’t reach for you, he didn’t say anything. He allowed you to do what you needed to do, he let you go. Everything Soobin did was for you. Never once, in your year of togetherness, did he force you to do anything, did he tell you what to do. All of your choices were your own, freewill. 

As fast as he made the face he pushed it away, not wanting any of his reactions to persuade you to do a thing. His lips rested in that always smile, and his hand took yours as you reached for one of his. Taking a deep breath, you nodded, studying the way your fingers fit between his perfectly. His long, knobby fingers complimenting your own. A perfect match.

“I… I love you too, Soobin,” you whispered. His lips parted. The gentle sigh that fell from them was clearly an accident, one he attempted to backtrack on.

“Hang on, I-”

You cut him off, smiling, letting go of his hand. Climbing into his lap he protested and took his hands to your shoulders. 

“No, I do,” you breathed, slinging your arms around his shoulders. Chest to chest, you kissed the tip of his nose and giggled as his cheeks flushed pink. “Don’t try to stop me from saying it. How could I not?” 

His brown eyes were alive, sparkling, gazing at you in awe. He really wasn’t expecting you to say it back, to mean it, to be so serious about it. 

Everything you’ve shared, everything you’ve done, everything you’ve told him about, it all lived between you in this moment. The past, both of yours, the damage you’ve both endured. When he opened up to you about growing up with a struggling single mother, having to grow up way too fast. The night you cried in his lap on his couch and told him all about Taehyun while he drug his fingers through your hair, letting you speak your truth. 

Taehyun, the fucked up, weird, emotional and physical cheating with Beomgyu, the drugs, how you never knew your father, the night at the club…

Over the last year he’s heard it all, and he’s opened up to you about so much more. And here you both were, holding onto one another, not judging each other for it. Choosing to love one another despite the depth of your shadows. 

“I’m so proud of you,” Soobin whispered, his hands slipping up the back of his t-shirt you wore. “For everything,” he continued before you questioned his words, and you usually would. “I know it’s been hard, especially these last few months, but look at what you’ve done. For yourself.” He paused while you took a deep breath. His eyes were locked on yours, making sure you were hearing every single word he spoke and every unspoken intent within them. “You did that. You.”

Not your mother. Not Taehyun. Not the people who’ve tried to hold you back from living a life you deserved. A happy one, a peaceful life.

You got that here. Wrapped up in Soobins arms, closing the space between your lips, kissing him roughly with an audible sigh, you got a peaceful life here. Falling backward onto the sheets with him as he let you take the lead, tugging down the waist of his sweats, you got the happy life here. 

The make-believe fantasy you once dreamed of, the privacy, the escape, the safety… You got it. This was where you were meant to be.

10/7/2019

.…If I can be brutally honest about all of it, I’m terrified. I mean, this is ridiculous, what the fuck am I supposed to do? Don’t read the bad words, ignore those, don’t use bad words. I use them when I can’t think of anything else to say, and truthfully, right now, I don’t know what else to say. Or do, for that matter. I don’t know what to do. I can’t even talk to my mom about it, and shit, she’d know exactly what to say, she always did. She was the best, and, yanno, I don’t know what’s gonna happen here, but if someday you find yourselves here with me, I’m sick that you’ll never have known her. But, you guys, I mean, shit, you guys have the best mom. The most selfless person I’ve ever met in my life. I know she’ll love you forever, and always. Take care of her, please. Love her. Love her with every bit of your heart, because I know she’ll love you with every bit of her own. You’ll never feel a love more true than hers….

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