#she spent a few hours in her outside pen

[kedreeva]

Bug, being very Fierce today

[gf2bellamy]

hiii, you can ignore this request if you don’t want todo it!! It’s sort of fluffy/hurt comfort. Spencer and reader have been pining over each other for ages until reader finally asks Spencer on a really cute date to a museum or something. Reader shows up a little early to make sure they are there on time, and waits for Spencer to arrive. Spencer is super super late because something happened on the underground/metro, and reader thinks Spencer has just stood her up so she flees to Penelope. I’m not sure how it would end, and sorry it’s so long!! :)

date — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: reader feeling upset bc she thinks spencer stood her up a/n: hii !! i love this idea and i hope you like this :) also this gif might be my all time favorite spencer gif

You were early. Maybe a little too early.

But sitting at home, pacing back and forth, obsessively checking the time—it was only making things worse. You’d spent the better part of an hour staring into the mirror, pulling and adjusting your clothes, second-guessing every little detail. At some point, you just had to force yourself out the door before you talked yourself out of it completely.

And now, here you were. Standing outside the museum, shifting from foot to foot, your breath fogging slightly in the crisp afternoon air.

It was a history museum. The moment you’d heard about the new exhibit, your thoughts had gone straight to Spencer.

It had taken you a month to work up the courage to ask him to come with you. A full month of rehearsing in your head, psyching yourself up, only to completely fall apart when the moment actually came.

You had been a stuttering mess, stumbling over your words, barely able to get the invitation out. But Spencer—Spencer had been just as awkward. There had been a long, heart-stopping pause where your pulse pounded so loudly you were sure he could hear it.

Then he nodded. Enthusiastically.

His curls bounced with the movement, and for a second, you thought he might actually be more excited than you were. The two of you had grinned at each other, wide and dorky and entirely too pleased with yourselves.

The memory made you smile as you stood there, phone in hand. You glanced at the screen. 1:55 PM. Five more minutes.

Deep breaths, you reminded yourself.

Your fingers tapped lightly against your thigh as nervous energy buzzed through you. You weren’t sure if it was the anticipation of the date itself or just the fact that it was Spencer.

Maybe both.

Time passed. More than five minutes. More than ten. Too much time.

You had started out standing near the entrance, glancing around every few seconds, expecting to see a familiar figure rushing toward you with an apologetic look on his face. But as the minutes ticked by, your stomach slowly twisted into knots.

Now, you were sitting on a nearby bench, your hands clasped tightly in your lap, biting your lip to keep your emotions in check. You stared down at your phone, heart sinking as the screen lit up. It was much, much later than 2 PM.

Spencer wasn’t coming.

And you knew him well enough to know that Spencer was the most punctual person on the planet. If he hadn’t shown up by now, there was only one explanation.

Spencer Reid stood you up.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you pulled up your contacts, pressing the call button.

Penelope answered on the second ring.

“Hey, sugarplum! What’s up? Are you geeking out over fossils and artifacts yet?”

You hesitated, your throat tightening. “Hi, Pen… are you busy?”

Immediately, her tone shifted. The warmth in her voice was still there, but now it was layered with concern. “No, not at all. What’s wrong? You okay? I thought you and Boy Genius were off on your little nerd date.”

You let out a small, shaky breath, staring down at your shoes as you nudged a small rock. “No… uhm… no.”

There was silence on the other end for a moment, then a softer, more careful voice. “Do you wanna come over?”

You nodded before realizing she couldn’t see you. “Yeah. Yeah, can I?”

“Of course, sweetheart. I made cupcakes this morning. I’ll have some waiting for you.”

You murmured a quiet “thanks” before hanging up, already pushing yourself off the bench. Penelope’s apartment wasn’t too far from the museum—thank God. You just needed to get away from here.

The walk to her place was a blur, and before you knew it, you were curled up on her couch, a plate of cupcakes in front of you. You picked at the frosting absentmindedly before finally whispering the words that had been weighing on your chest.

“He stood me up.”

Penelope’s eyes widened in shock. “What?”

You took another bite of the cupcake, trying to drown your sorrows in the taste of chocolate.

Penelope was still staring at you, her brows furrowed in confusion. “But… he was so excited.”

Your chewing slowed. You glanced up at her. “Hmm?”

She shifted closer, her expression troubled. “Spencer. He had been talking about this all week.”

That caught your attention. You sat up a little straighter, swallowing the bite of cupcake.

Penelope nodded, as if replaying the memories in her head. “He actually bought a new tie for it,” she added, her voice full of certainty. “A completely new tie. I helped him pick it out.”

You blinked, your breath hitching. “What?”

“He wanted it to match you.” She gave you a knowing look. “I mean, he didn’t say that, but I know these things. The man was so particular about the color, the pattern, everything. He kept fidgeting the whole time we were shopping. It was adorable, really.”

Your mind reeled.

Spencer had been planning for this. He had been excited.

So why hadn’t he shown up?

You were suddenly wide-eyed, staring at her as she continued rattling off all the things he had done in preparation for the date—how he had debated over restaurant options in case you wanted to get food after, how he had even worried about what books he might mention so he wouldn’t ramble too much.

He had wanted this.

“Oh.”

It was all you could manage to say. Your brain was still trying to process everything Penelope had just told you.

He had been excited. He had planned for this. He had even bought a new tie.

You couldn’t help the warmth that crept up your neck, a soft blush blooming across your cheeks. “So… he wanted to go out with me?” you asked, your voice laced with disbelief.

Penelope tilted her head at you, giving you a look that practically screamed, Seriously? You still have to ask?

Silence settled between you.

Then, finally, you spoke again—quieter this time, your confusion only growing. “So… why didn’t he come?”

Penelope hummed, tapping a perfectly manicured nail against her chin. “Maybe he got the day wrong?”

You gave her a flat look. “Garcia, it’s literally our only day off from work. I’m pretty sure he didn’t mix it up.”

She groaned, slumping back into the couch. “Right. Good point.”

The two of you sat there, completely stumped.

Penelope let out a dramatic sigh. “I also have some cookies if that helps?”

You exhaled, running a hand through your hair. “Yeah,” you mumbled. “That helps.”

She shot up from the couch. “Good, because emotional support baked goods are my specialty.”

You managed a small smile, but even as she disappeared into the kitchen, your thoughts remained elsewhere.

But then you were pulled from your thoughts by the sound of a knock at the door.

Before you could react, Penelope’s voice rang out from the kitchen. “Can you get that? I’m trying to heat up the cookies.”

“Sure,” you called back, pushing yourself up from the couch and making your way to the door.

The last thing you expected when you opened it was him.

Spencer.

Your mouth fell open slightly.

He stood there, slightly breathless, his shoulders slumped like he’d just run a marathon. His curls were messier than usual, a few stray strands sticking to his forehead. But what caught your attention most was his outfit—something you’d never seen him wear before. A soft button-up, a tie you knew had to be the new one Penelope mentioned, and a blazer that was slightly wrinkled, as if he had been gripping the fabric with nervous hands.

Neither of you said a word. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, as you just stood there, locked in place, staring at each other.

Then, from behind you, Penelope’s voice broke the moment. “The cookies are ready!”

You heard her footsteps approaching before she finally reached the door, holding a plate of freshly warmed cookies in her hands. “Who’s at the—”

Her sentence cut off the moment she saw him.

Spencer.

She froze.

Now she was staring too.

More silence.

You swallowed, your fingers tightening around the edge of the door. “Spencer,” you finally breathed out, your voice barely above a whisper.

He blinked, as if snapping out of whatever trance he was in. His lips parted, like he wanted to say something—needed to say something—but the words just wouldn’t come.

“How dare you stand her up like this?”

Garcia’s voice cut through the tension like a knife. She held the plate of cookies in one hand while the other jabbed a perfectly manicured finger in Spencer’s face.

Spencer’s eyes widened, his cheeks darkening with guilt. “I didn’t mean to, I swear,” he stammered, shifting nervously. His gaze flickered from Garcia to you, his expression almost pleading.

“I took the metro,” he rushed out, “and then it broke down. Completely. They couldn’t get it fixed for an hour and 10 minutes, and my phone didn’t have service underground, and I—” He stopped abruptly, his ramble faltering as he let out a breath.

When he spoke again, his voice was softer. “I’m so sorry.”

Garcia pursed her lips, narrowing her eyes as if debating whether to keep scolding him or let him off the hook. After a moment, she exhaled dramatically and slowly backed away toward the apartment.

“Alright, alright. I see what’s happening here,” she muttered under her breath, before giving you a not-so-subtle wink and slipping inside, leaving the door slightly ajar.

Now, it was just you and Spencer.

You weren’t sure what to say.

You had been so sure he had stood you up. The hurt, the disappointment—it had all settled deep in your chest. But now, standing here in front of him, hearing the way his voice shook with sincerity, seeing the genuine guilt in his hazel eyes, you felt your frustration unravel, piece by piece.

“Oh.”

It was all you managed to say—again.

Spencer winced slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know that’s not really an excuse. I should have—I don’t know, found another way to get to you, or—” He sighed, shoulders slumping. “I just… I’m really sorry.”

You studied him for a moment, your gaze softening. A small smile tugged at the corner of your lips. “So you didn’t ghost me on purpose?”

His eyes widened a bit, and he rushed to correct himself. “No, no, of course not. I wouldn’t do that to you.” His voice dropped slightly, filled with sincerity. “I was actually looking forward to today. I did my research on the museum, and I heard there’s a painting on the second floor that—”

Spencer abruptly stopped himself, his face turning a dark shade of red. He tugged at the strap of his satchel nervously, clearly embarrassed by his over-explanation.

You couldn’t help it—you smiled even wider.

“How did you know I’d be here?” you asked, leaning against the doorframe.

Spencer seemed momentarily caught off guard by the question. “Oh.” He blinked, looking slightly flustered. “Well, you’re very good friends with Garcia,” he said, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

From inside the apartment, you could hear Garcia mumbling with an exaggerated tone, “Good? We are best friends, Dr. Reid.”

You grinned, knowing she was eavesdropping. Spencer’s cheeks reddened further, and he seemed to realize that his conversation was no longer entirely private.

Spencer continued, recovering quickly. “Every time you’ve had a bad day at work, you tend to go to Garcia.” He gave a small shrug, like it was an obvious conclusion. “Like that one time when Hotch made you rewrite your report—remember that? You went to Garcia then.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

“Or when Strauss got mad at you,” Spencer continued, his voice now soft with the memory. “You also went to Garcia.” He fiddled with his satchel again, clearly fidgeting with nerves.

You let out a small chuckle. “I see how it is. I’m predictable.”

Spencer gave a sheepish smile, his hands finally falling to his sides. “I didn’t mean to make it sound like that. I just—well, you seem to always go to her for advice when you're upset.”

You could hear Garcia mutter a small “As she should,” behind you.

Your heart warmed at his words, and you pushed yourself off the doorframe. “I guess you’re right. I do tend to run to Garcia when things go sideways.”

He nodded, looking slightly relieved that the tension seemed to break between you. “So, I just assumed you’d be here… and when I got here, I wanted to explain… before you thought I had just… forgotten.”

You stepped forward, offering him a smile. “Well, i'm glad i can stop worrying that you've stood me up.”

Spencer’s shoulders relaxed. “I really am sorry,” he repeated, his eyes soft and earnest.

You looked him in the eye, the teasing edge of your voice gone, replaced by something warmer. “It’s okay, Spencer.”

A small, relieved smile spread across his face as he let out a quiet sigh, trying to smooth down his disheveled curls. He tugged at the hem of his shirt, attempting to look a bit more put-together in front of you.

Then, as if on cue, Penelope’s voice cut through the silence, loud and clear from the other room. “Dr. Reid, ask her if she wants to go to the museum now!”

You could almost hear her taking a bite of something, likely one of the cookies she’d been baking earlier.

Both you and Spencer immediately blushed, the heat rising to your faces at her suggestion.

“R-right—yeah, uhm…” Spencer stammered, his voice faltering for a moment as he tried to collect his thoughts. “Would… would you like to go to the museum?” His voice was shy, and the way he stumbled over the words made your heart flutter a little.

You couldn’t help but smile at his awkwardness. “Yes,” you nodded enthusiastically, your excitement starting to bubble up. “I’d love to.”

You turned to Garcia, who was still sitting on the couch, her eyes wide with a smile so big it practically took up her whole face. “I’ll, uh, see you at work, Pen,” you called over your shoulder, still feeling a bit giddy.

Garcia shot you two thumbs up, still grinning like she was the proudest friend in the world. “Have fun, lovebirds!” she yelled after you.

You couldn’t help but laugh at her enthusiasm as you turned back to Spencer, whose face was still a little flushed. “Shall we?” you asked, motioning toward the door.

Spencer nodded, a shy smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah… let’s go.”

[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

[azsazz]

Over Ice (Part 12)

Hockey!Rhysand x Reader

Summary: Anon Req: She’s walking around Campus and BOOM right smack dab into Broody McBrooder!! She THEN finds out he’s the tutor for one of her hardest courses (personally Psych would be a good one) and they become super duper close with him and the team!!!

Warnings:

Word Count: 2957

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9) (Part 10) (Part 11)

_________________________________________

“I’m still not sure I understand,” you say, rubbing the grit from your tired eyes. “Would you mind walking me through it one more time?”

You swear you see Emerie roll her eyes in exasperation. You’re not even upset with your new tutor, it’s late, and you’re just as annoyed as she is, but there’s something about the way she’s explaining biological bases of behavior that you’re just not getting.

It doesn’t help that your entire week has been a juggle of avoiding almost everyone in your life.

You’ve felt just as sick as Gwyn was the night of her birthday all week long. For more reasons than one.

For one, you kissed one of your best friend’s cousin. For the second time. After she deliberately told you not to, and you agreed. For two, Rhysand hasn’t stopped trying to contact you since the incident, which you haven’t been able to stop thinking about. You haven’t answered him once, too worked up about the possibility of word somehow reaching Mor.

And the worst part is, you don’t even know if Gwyn remembers what she witnessed that night. Your legs around his waist, his hands gripping your butt. Mouths fused together, so tightly, so desperately. You had no intentions of stopping yourself, couldn’t if you wanted to. You’ve been thinking about his mouth pressed against yours since the very first time you kissed, and with a few drinks in your system, your confidence was off the charts. There was no one to stop you from taking what you wanted, what you both wanted, until your roommate barged through the door to catch you in the act.

You’ve been skirting Gwyn, walking on eggshells around your apartment, spending as much time as you possibly can outside your dorm, tucked between stacks of books in the library, hiding out in the commons. You’ve even gone as far as finding a dingy diner named Rita’s to hunker down and try to instill psychology into your brain. It’s mostly empty, and you’ve sort of befriended the waitress, or maybe she feels bad for you, growling down at your books in a futile attempt at studying, because the Shirly temples she delivers to your table somehow never make it onto your bill.

You’ve even managed to find a new tutor, though she’s about as good at teaching you as Rhysand is.

“I’ve already told you,” she points to the diagram in your textbook with the tip of her pen a little more forcefully than you’d like. Frustration furrows your brow, and you manage to keep your glare aimed at the book. “The cerebrum is the part that starts and manages conscious thoughts, and the cerebellum is the part that processes and regulates signals between other parts of your brain and body.”

It sounds like she’s read it straight from your textbook. Wait a second. You squint at the highlighted text right beside the photo. She is reading this right off the page!

You could fucking do that. You have, and you’re still just as confused. You need some real-life fucking examples, or you’re never going to pick this up. You have a practice quiz on Thursday, and even though it doesn’t count toward your grade, you want to do well.

Do well on the practice, ace the exam.

Simple.

Or, it would be if you could fucking understand.

You set your jaw, grinding your teeth. Rhysand would be so much better at explaining how all of these brain functions work. He’d even give you real life examples and flash cards to help you out. Emerie is doing none of that. She’s spent about half of the hour you’ve been here scrolling through her phone, and you’re pretty sure you’re just prone to having easily distracted tutors.

What have you put out into the universe to be gifted this back?

“Okay, I think I get it now,” you lie. If anything, you can come back to this. Emerie’s phone lights up on the table beside her and you slyly check the time. 8:30. Gods, when did it get so late? One minute, you were tucking your drawing pad in your cubby after the life drawing class you signed up for and the next moment, you’re seconds away from stabbing your pencil into your eye in the middle of the study room at the library. “Can we move onto the next thing?”

But Emerie isn’t even listening to you anymore. She’s frowning down at her cellphone, completely engrossed. Her face scrunches in the same disappointed look you’ve seen from her thrice tonight before she begins tapping a response.

You’re almost impressed at the number of letters she punches in in such a short amount of time. You’d hate to be the person on the other end of the phone with the essay of a message she seems to be writing. It must be almost as bad as being on the other side of her tutoring skills.

You decide to use the reprieve to check your own phone. There’s a message from your mother, something about a conversation she had at the convention her work sent her to. You don’t really understand what she’s talking about, so you click out of the thread with an air of disappointment. There aren’t any other texts.

Rhysand’s name calls to you like a siren. You hover over the chain, sadness curdling your stomach. You made the right decision to cut him from your life, but you’d be lying if you said it was easy. You’ve missed his flirtatious nature, the feeling of being wanted by someone, even if it was just for fun. You miss how helpful he was in your tutoring sessions, even if he was late on more than one occasion. You miss his violet eyes, gleaming with mischief as he teased you. You missed the curve of his wicked smile, the way they slotted perfectly against yours—

The door to your study room opens, drawing your and Emerie’s attention.

Your breath hitches as the very boy you’d successfully avoided for five days and counting saunters through the door like he fucking owns the place.

Your heart stammers in your chest at the sight of him. You don’t know how he found you, tucked away in the most discreet room in the library you could find. You would have invited Emerie over to your dorm room to study, if it weren’t for the whole avoiding your roommate’s thing you have going on right now.

Rhys looks just as fuckable as he did the last time you saw him. A waffled, white shirt stretches across his broad shoulders. The sleeves are shoved up to his elbows, offering you the perfect view of his forearms. To your dismay, he’s not wearing those sweatpants you love to see him in, but the dark wash jeans that fit snugly around his hips do just as much justice. A Velaris U snapback sits backwards atop his dark hair that curls around the edges post shower. You swallow hard, trying very hard not to think about how he’d look in the shower, toned body on display and water cascading down his muscles, down between thick thighs and dripping off the tip of his cock.

You clear your throat, cheeks heating as Rhys tilts his head. There’s a hint of a smile on his mouth, like he knows exactly where your mind went, because he’s thinking the same thing. His eyes trail slowly across your face, down your chest and torso to where the table hides the rest of your body.

Good thing, so he doesn’t see the way you have to clench your legs together.

“And who are you?” Emerie questions, but with her dry tone, you don’t think she really cares all that much.

You do, however.

“I’m her tutor.”

Emerie’s caramel eyes flicker between you and Rhys with a flash of intrigue. You hold your breath carefully as she decides if the captain of the hockey team looming over you is enough hot gossip to stay for the show. Anyone would be interested in watching this play out, but your new tutor seems less than interested in Rhys’ interruption.

Maybe she thinks you’re a lost cause, you think as she silently begins packing her things without so much as a mumble or an apologetic glance in your direction. If she is thinking there’s no hope for you in psychology, she’d be right. It’s been over an hour of working through the questions you got wrong on your last test and all you’ve managed is one corrected answer and a whole lot of mind-wandering to the boy who currently stares at you like you’re across from him in a faceoff. His brows are flat, eyes sharp, mouth drawn in a firm line.

“You’re not,” you insist vehemently. Maybe Emerie will stay if you refuse to give your attention to Rhys. Your warning glare does nothing to deter him. He doesn’t falter. His shoulders don’t wither under your harsh look. He stands tall, straightens his shoulders even, and stands his ground.

Rhys’ lips quirk when your tutor stands. Your attention is diverted to Emerie as she slides her backpack over her shoulder. “Emerie, please—”

“I’m sorry,” she shakes her head solemnly. Rhys’ triumphant smirk quickly disappears when you whirl his way. You’re about to give him a verbal lashing when Emerie slows by his side. She holds her hand out and your jaw continues its descent toward the floor as Rhys proceeds to tug out his wallet and hand her a wad of folded bills.

His trickery slides down your spine like an ice cube down your shirt. What the actual fuck? He paid Emerie to get you here, all because you’ve been avoiding him? A part of you is flattered, but the feeling is smothered by his cunning. You knew Rhys was sly in the rink, but you didn’t know that extended into his daily life. Not like this.

“Thanks, Rhys.” Emerie shoots you a ‘what can you do?’ look and shoves her way from the room. Your shoulders fall in defeat, your mind reeling. Has she ever even taken a psychology class? You want to slam your head into the open book on the table. Surely, that will be more help than the hour you just wasted as an unknowing pawn in Rhysand’s little game.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Rhys starts, and flames course through your veins. You can feel the path they inch to your cheeks, anger flushing your skin bright red. How dare he? How dare he pay someone to pretend to tutor you so he can ambush you?

Good, then I’m doing exactly what I’m supposed to be doing. You give yourself a mental pat on the back. You’ve made it nearly an entire week without reaching out to Rhys no matter how many times you typed out responses went unsent or fell asleep to your text threads. Small wins.

“And you’ve just ruined my night,” you snip back, slamming your book shut. The test you’d been working through is trapped between the pages, squashed in half, but you’re too annoyed to care. An off-center crease on your paper will be something to distract you from studying later. “I can’t believe you faked me out like that! Is she even in psych?”

Rhys winces and that’s all you need to know. Frustration presses hot behind your eyes, prickling your sinuses as it tries to escape. You could explode on him right now, but you bite your tongue. He doesn’t deserve your words or your tears.

“Not technically, no,” he answers sheepishly, but you’re much too angry to think about how cute Rhys is when his face scrunches in concern like that. You avert your eyes and chuck your book into your bag. “Was she any help?”

Of course she wasn’t any help. Although, that means the single question you reworked and corrected is either another small win or you need to double-check your work.

You don’t deign Rhys with a response.

“Look,” he says when you exchange your pencils in the front pocket of your bag for your headphones. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to show up this late but watching film ran late, and I swear I was going to help you study, darling, after I had the chance to talk to you.”

“We have nothing to talk about,” you reply stubbornly. You can’t even look at him right now.

“We do,” he argues. He rounds the table and plants a hand on the back of your chair, keeping you from sliding back to make your escape.

You can feel his breath on the back of your neck. You can’t turn to peer over your shoulder because you know it will bring you face-to-face, maybe even so close your lips might brush. You fight the shiver that crawls up your spine at the thought, the warmth that pools between your legs.

“Please, Rhys,” you sigh. Your gaze is drawn to his broad body like a magnet as he lowers himself into the freshly unoccupied chair. Staring at you with those determined, violet eyes tugs at the wound in your chest you’ve been trying to plaster shut all week. “Can we be adults about this?”

“Sure,” he shrugs, kicking his chair back on its hind legs. “You start.”

You pin him with an unimpressed look.

“Fine,” he rolls his eyes. “You can’t tell me that kiss didn’t mean anything to you.”

“It didn’t,” you respond all too quickly. The fact that your eyes have fallen to the table again doesn’t help your façade.

In truth, the kiss meant more than it should have. You haven’t felt that sudden rush in a long time. You were left buzzing afterward in more ways than one, could still feel the shape of Rhys’ lips against yours all the way back to your dorm that night, could still see that hungry look in his eyes. Even the sight of Gwyn retching into the toilet afterward didn’t chase that image away.

“Liar,” he argues.

“It can’t mean anything, Rhys!” You bite. You cross your arms tightly over your chest and stare at the table, swallowing tightly.

The silence that falls is heavy. His stare is heavy. Everything is fucking heavy.

Suddenly, you’re exhausted. All you want to do is slink your way home and curl up beneath your blankets and avoid everyone for a little bit longer. You hadn’t expected Rhysand to drop in on your tutoring session, nor set up your tutoring session for you. It’s late, and your test is in two days, and you don’t feel any more confident in the material than you should.

You don’t want to fail another exam. You need his help.

After a beat of silence, Rhys asks softly, “Why?”

“Because Mor is my friend,” you repeat for the umpteenth time. You force your gaze to Rhys and your chest aches at the concern on his face. He’s normally so rugged and cocky, winking and smirking, to see him like this needle’s holes in your chest. “And I won’t ruin our friendship over a guy.”

“I can handle Mor,” Rhys says like all of this is so easy. Maybe for him, it is. He’s her family, and she can’t stay made at him forever. You on the other hand, have no such ties. If she found out that you went behind her back to be with Rhys…you don’t know how you’d recover from that. You know Mor, and you know that while she’s confident on the outside, your betrayal would scar her deep inside. “Just give me a chance.”

“It’s not that simple, Rhys,” you respond with a sigh. You wish it were. You wish you could slide from your chair onto his, straddle him and hold him close, let him console you with pretty words and soft kisses until you’ve relaxed enough to keep studying.

You’d love to see him outside of school, outside of hockey, where you can have all of his attention, but there are too many factors that play into being more than friends with Rhys. You need to pass this class, and he has so much on his plate you don’t even know how he has the time to sleep, let alone date.

“It could be.”

You shake your head. You would give him the chance, but you don’t know how. Your fears rear their heads and bare their teeth. The loss of a relationship with one of your best friends in the entire world.

You couldn’t do that to Mor.

Rhys must see your inner turmoil. He plants his chair back on the ground and places a gentle hand over yours to stop you from wringing them together anxiously. Oh. You didn’t even know you were doing that.

Emotion pricks your sinuses as the warmth from his hands spreads throughout your body. He strokes a thumb across the back of your hand, and your bones ache with the need to flip your hand and intertwine your fingers with his. But you can’t. You can’t do any of it.

His eyes are soft when you’re able to look at him.

“It won’t happen again, I swear,” he promises, though there’s a sad twist to his mouth that tells you he doesn’t quite believe it’s possible. He’s telling you right now that he wants more, but he’ll give you the time that you need, as long as you need it.

You don’t tell him that this is going to last a lifetime.

“We can…we can be friends,” Rhys says like he doesn’t like what he’s agreeing to. You don’t like it very much, either. “Just…don’t replace me as your tutor.”

_________________________________________

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[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?”

[femsolid]

Some crazy french scandals you've probably never heard of:

In 2023, a senator invited an mp to his apartment to celebrate his election. He went to the kitchen alone and put GHB in her drink. When he came back he was acting weird and urged her to drink it fast. When the drugs started to take effect, she thought she was dying of a heart attack and he tried to calm her down, but she ran from the apartment and called for help. She was taken to the hospital and he was later arrested. He claimed that he didn't mean to put the drugs in her drink, he was doing a magic trick and the drugs fell into her drink by mistake. On his phone search history the police found that he had been reading about rape drugs. The trial hasn't happened yet, so for now he's still working as a senator and has refused to step down.

In 2024, it was revealed that children were being tortured and raped at a catholic school for decades. The french prime minister was made aware of this in the 90s and did nothing. He is now being investigated by the parliament. He was questioned for more than 5 hours (it lasted this long because he refused to give a straight answer) during which he spent most of his time insulting leftist MPs and pretended to be the victim. The investigation is still ongoing and more than 45 children, now adult men, have come forward. The video of him slapping a little boy while visiting an impoverished neighbourhood resurfaced. While questioned by the parliament he explained that the boy was trying to steal from him and that sometimes hitting a child can be educational. Hitting a child is illegal in France.

2018: During the yellow vest protests, policemen were routinely brutalising, maiming and even killing people. During a rally on may 1st, a policeman was filmed beating a woman and then a couple. However, on closer inspection, it was revealed that the man was impersonating a police officer and that he was president Macron's close friend and bodyguard. The police let him borrow their uniforms and helmet to beat up protesters.

It was also revealed that he was unduly authorised to carry a gun, to use a car paid by the government, and to own a badge authorising him to enter the parliament despite not being a member. He was sentenced to 1 year of house arrest wearing an electronic bracelet and 2 years of suspended sentence.

In 2025, Marine Le Pen, the popular leader of the french neo-nazi party was convicted of embezzlement. This was estimated to have caused a loss to European funds of 4.8 millions of euros.

She was accused of having hired fictitious assistants when she was a member of the European Parliament. In reality, they were working for her party. The court found there was “no doubt” about the existence of the scheme. She was sentenced to a five-year ban on running for public office with immediate effect and two years to be served outside jail with an electronic bracelet.

Let's talk about the left a little bit. The leader of the french left is so agitated and emotional he's an infinite source of memes here.

However, in 2018, things took a disturbing turn when more than 100 policemen, and a few prosecutors were sent to his home at around 7am, armed and with a warrant to search through all his belongings. They also visited a dozen of his coworkers all at the same time, in what appeared to be a very well prepared sting operation. The reason was unclear, though there were suspicions of embezzlement. It was something we'd never seen before in France, in terms of police deployment, and it seems excessive, especially given the fact that nothing came out of it.

However, that's not what people remember from that day.

During the policemen's search, the leftist leader, joined by other mps, became very angry as they were not allowing them to be in the room and witness the search. He screamed a lot, got in their face and was so upset he shouted weird things like "I'M the republic! Don't touch me, my person is sacred!!!" (which have become catchphrases in France) and "break down the door comrade!!!" which made the media talk for days and speculate about his mental state.

The policemen pressed charges against him, one of them stating that he was on sick leave for a week and had to get psychological support because he had nightmares after being shouted at by the leftist leader who responded that he probably shouldnt be a cop if he was that fragile. He was later convicted of "rebellion" against a police officer and had to pay 8K to the policeman. He also got 3 months of suspended sentence.

Obviously I should finish with Macron:

In 2018, a young horticulturist told president Macron it was difficult for him to find a job. Macron told him that all he had to do was cross the street and work as a waiter. In 2016, a unionist criticized him and Macron responded "You don't scare me wearing a T-shirt! The best way to buy yourself a suit is to work." In 2017, he stated: "When you go to the train station, you walk by people who succeed and people who are nothing." In 2018, when everybody became aware that his bodyguard had been impersonating a police officer to beat up protesters, Macron responded to the french people with "Come and get me!" In 2018, he said: "People who are having a hard time financially need to be more responsible. Some are doing well, but others are fucking around." In 2019, he said he was unhappy that yellow vest protestors were being invited to speak in the media: "Jojo with his yellow vest is considered an equal to a minister or mp!" During the yellow vest protests, a middle-aged woman who was just standing there and holding a peace flag was charged by the riot police and left unconscious on the ground. The whole scene was filmed and photographed. Macron said it was her fault for being there and told her that "she should be wiser in the future." However, the police chief responsible for the attack was later convicted. In 2024, when actor Depardieu was being investigated after being accused of rape by several women, Macron stated that Depardieu was a fantastic actor who made France proud and that he wouldn't participate in this witch hunt. In 2025, Depardieu was convicted on two counts of sexual assault.

In a book written by 3 journalists, they quote Macron as saying about the state of french hospitals: "the problem with emergency wards is that they are filled with Mamadou!" a blanket name he uses to call black men. Three weeks later, he told several african governments who had expelled french military from their countries that they forgot to thank France. He explained that the only reason african countries had their sovereignty was because of the french army. He added "it's okay, they'll thank us eventually" to which the Tchad foreign minister responded that he had a "contemptuous attitude towards Africa" and added: "we don't have a problem with France, but french leaders need to learn to respect african countries and their sovereignty." Macron also called the people of Haiti "complete cunts".

In 2017, he visited Mayotte, a french island, and joked that their traditional boats mostly served to fish immigrants. A few years later, when a typhoon hit that same island and killed several people, leaving the rest without drinking water and living in slums, the people of Mayotte were angry and desperate by the lack of support from France. Macron came to visit them, got angry and screamed: "I'm not responsible! I'm not the typhoon! You're complaining but you're quite happy to be french! If you weren't french you'd be 10 000 times in more shit! Yes I'm angry! Because you're disrespectful!" In 2017, he visited another french region, the french Guyane where people were on a strike. Indeed, people were complaining once again about being left out and living in poverty. Macron talked to the media and said that all the strikes needed to stop because it was "preventing the island from functioning." Problem: the french Guyane is not an island. It's situated on the south american continent between the Surinam, Brazil and Venezuela...

That's all I have for today! I hope our misery was entertaining. As a bonus, here is Macron getting slapped by some random french guy:

Au revoir.

[adieutristana]

Could you write something about Jinx helping Reader study for her university entrance exam?

of course! thank you for the request <3

idk if this is something you’re actually going through but i wish you luck with your exams! :)

summary; jinx ‘helping’ her girlfriend study for her college entrance exams. she's got a unique way of helping.

characters included; jinx

tags/warnings; fluff, very lighthearted all around, r is applying for piltover’s academy, r is a top student, author doesn’t understand calc, r is in high school (18)

men dni.

"come on," she grumbles. "this is booooooring."

"i didn't say it would be fun."

pen scratching against paper and grunts of frustration are the only other noises present. you'd already gone through several workbooks and practice exams, mostly on the literary portion of the test. now, you're at the math and science section- and you know you're fucked.

you've been a top student your entire high school career. you studied diligently, took extra credit on every exam, stayed for school fundraising events, led clubs, even gotten involved in volunteer and charity work so your transcripts would stand out that little bit. the only thing you hadn't done was student government.

the academy was your top choice, your only choice since you were a kid. every boring homework assignment, every group project, every night spent volunteering was completed with the promise of the academy in mind. you knew entrance exams would be difficult, you knew that the academy very rarely admitted students from the undercity. but a part of you was convinced that you were the exception. your merits could charm the admissions officers.

so here you are, hunched over a table with stacks of textbooks beside you, scattered papers, empty pens, and a girlfriend who seems to want to do anything but study. transcendental functions. you'd never fully grasped it in class, but now you wish you'd studied harder. your teacher told you it wouldn't be on your midterm that year, so you didn't bother. stupid, stupid.

you barely understood the trigonometric functions, and now you're supposed to solve these during a timed exam? one that decides your path for the next four years?

"what's all this?" jinx asks, lazily toying with the edges of one of the pages. you've splayed out your workbook, scribbles in various colors around the words. highlighter and drawings of each model described.

"transcendental functions."

"huh?"

"transcendental functions."

an exaggerated huff escapes your girlfriend. she rolls her eyes and places her hands back on the edge of the table, peering over your shoulder at the words on the pages.

"i heard you. just dunno what the hell that means."

"i don't either, really." the pen falls from your grasp and onto the paper, but you don't stop to pick it back up. you've been at this for hours, and you're now at a standstill. a standstill. something so rare for you, that you don't know what to do when you're in the middle of one.

jinx seems to notice, at least. she leans back a little in her chair to look over the book, a bit more carefully now. rosy eyes skim over the words and equations, her nose scrunching. you'd think it was adorable if you didn't feel so damn defeated.

"let me look... i might know somethin'." jinx mutters, maybe more to herself than you.

the girl didn't exactly have a formal education. next to nobody in zaun did. you were one of the fortunate few who got the opportunity to go to school, and to do it long enough to graduate and have a chance to go to university.

still, jinx is a right genius. she'd figured out how to use hextech by herself before it was even established in piltover. she'd built several weapons without any outside help, she's unintentionally started a mini-revolution with her ideas. she'd invented several new contraptions out of pure boredom.

maybe jinx would see something that you're not.

dark brows knit together, and her eyes continue scanning over the pages. she makes little 'hmm' noises when she takes the time to really absorb the information on the pages. your heart is beating rapidly in your chest, and your eyes are fixed on the girl beside you. you trust her judgement and confidence, but there's a sliver of doubt. and you hate doubting jinx.

"right! so," jinx pipes, flipping back to the page you started on. "it says that you can't use algebra to solve for these... no addition or subtraction, yadda yadda."

a few notes of her own are scribbled down beside one of the models. she turns back to you, pursing her lips. "and they're used for growth and decay. you understand all that stuff?"

"kind of," you huff. you understand it in the context of algebra, but this doesn't use algebra.

"well, i don't- so we'll skip that part. but i'll try and help anyways." jinx has an amused lilt to her voice, almost as if this study session couldn't be the key to your future. "babe, this is serious."

jinx drums her fingertips on the open book. shaking her head in that way she does, so self-assured. ever the ego, jinx has.

"i know it is, toots! you've only told me a million times how important this is, that it could 'secure your spot in the freshman class' n' all that. but relax, okay? you're not gonna get a damn thing done if you're all... wound up."

your lips press together into a thin line. while jinx usually isn't the most rational person, she's right this time. maybe you are stressing a bit too much. you try to unclench your jaw and let your shoulders relax, a habit you've fallen victim to way too many times.

"you're just gonna worry yourself sick. no point in that." she mutters. jinx drives her words home with a little smack of her lips against your temple, and turns back to the textbook. "yeah.. you're right."

"i don't understand most of this, honestly," she says. though the girl leans against your shoulder, twin braids splaying out, and lets out an exaggerated hum. "but you're smart. you'll figure it out... nerd."

"shut up." you grumble. this only elicits another chortle from jinx, and she pokes you in the side.

"that tickles! stoooop!"

"nope!"

a few more minutes of jinx tickling you, peppering kisses across your face- and you're left breathless. spent. but you're much more relaxed than you had started out, and that's gotta count for something, right?

"alright, let's get back to studying," you sigh, and jinx rolls her eyes dramatically. but there's no actual annoyance to her, only fondness. she's always admired your dedication, even if she makes fun of you for the all-nighters you pull preparing for exams. even if she calls you a nerd and places herself in your lap while you're trying to do required reading for class. even if she turns your head and steals quick kisses from you while you type away, telling you that you're just so cute when you're concentrated.

looking over the words on the page again, it comes as a surprise that the words make a little more sense to you now. the models still look foreign, and the formulas are something you don't even want to think about, but you can at least make out the basic gist of these functions.

it isn't ideal, but it's a start.

"huh. it's making a little more sense now," jinx perks up at this, and lightly elbows your arm. "see? i told you that you'd figure it out! just had to relax a lil'."

you shake your head in amusement at the words, and nod. you pick your pen back up, and start jotting down your own notes on the sides of the pages.

"yeah, just had to relax a little. who would've thought?"

[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.

————————

CHAPTER TWO: HERE

like and reblog if you liked it and follow me to not miss my future content - I will very much appreciate it! Lots of love, A.

[sparklypinkflightsuit]

Love To Watch You Leave: Part 3

Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Reader

Warnings: Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Swearing, Fluff, Angst, Bullying, Eventual Smut, Grieving, Pining, Alcohol, Military Inaccuracies

- Part 2 Here -

———————————

18+ Only

———————————

You and Bradley sat on your porch with a notepad and pen that Thursday, your legs crossed as you swung on the hanging bench and Bradley’s dangling as he balanced on the porch railing.




“Ok, soooo… rule number one can be, no kissing?” You suggested.




Bradley thought about it for a second, “Won’t that seem suspicious?” He asked.




You shrugged, “No I don’t think so, a lot of people don’t kiss in public.”




“Not even a little peck, just for show?” He made kissing sounds, his eyes closed as he leaned towards you.




You grimaced, your flat palm landing on his face and shoving him away.




“Stop messing around.”




“Jeez, sorry. Is it the moustache? I can shave it if you like.” You knew he was joking, but you were beginning to notice that adult Bradley wasn’t quite as unbearable or awful as young Bradley had been. That didn’t change the fact that you held some animosity for how he’d treated you. He still hasn’t apologised after all.




You gave him an exasperated look.




“Okay, okay… what’s rule number 2?” He held his hands up in defeat.




You tapped your pen against the note pad, “How about no talking badly about each other behind our backs? We’ve got to act like an actual couple after all, so don’t be too gooey, but… just say nice things?”




Bradley nodded, “To an extent. I mean normal couples still have their gripes. Like ‘oh he snores too much’ or ‘she spends all my money on shoes’.”




You wrote that down, “Yeah that’s true, ok so we’ll just be reasonable, but nothing too harsh, okay? We don’t wanna be ruining each others reputations.”




The two of you spent the next hour or so jotting down rules, and then Bradley got up to go home and pack last minute. He bounced down the steps and then turned back to look at you.




He had a small grin on his face, “So… I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, ‘babe’?”




You couldn’t help but grin, “Don’t be late, ‘honey’.”




——————————




The next day rolled around quickly, and you sprung out of bed and got yourself ready for the weekend ahead.




The drive was a good hour and a half so you threw on a t-shirt, your softest grey sweatshirt, some cycling shorts and your comfy white tennis shoes. You could change once you got there, but you didn’t want to get stuck in traffic wearing some uncomfortable dress.




After some light makeup, you brushed your teeth and your hair and put your bags by the front door.




“I’ll say bye now, mom. Bradley should be over in a few minutes.” You said, as she sat reading her book on the couch.




“Ok my love, have a good weekend. Let me know when you get there?”




You gave her a kiss on her head and squeezed her arm, “Will do. Love you mom.”




“Love you more!”




Bradley was only 2 minutes late, likely having overslept slightly, his hair still mussed and his voice deep and scratchy.




“Hey, sorry. Where are your bags?” He said, flustered as he jogged up the steps.




You grabbed them and handed one to Bradley.




Bradley held his other hand out for the second bag.




“I can take this one.” You insisted.




“No, starting now I’m your boyfriend, so… let me take your bags.” He held his palm out.




“Technically you’re not my boyfriend for another hour and a half, but… thank you.” You handed him the second bag and followed him to the Bronco.




The drive was mostly silent, but you preferred it that way. You liked to just listen to the music blaring over the radio while you watched the stunning scenery as you drove along the coast.




Every 10 minutes or so, one of you would say something along the lines of “can I skip this song?” Or “did you remember to pack your toothbrush?”




Eventually you pulled up outside of a huge beach house, made up of the larger main house and a second (still pretty large) guest house. It was surrounded by a sprawling green lawn that lead to a small cliff, the beach and ocean only a short few steps down the side.




“Wow.” You breathed, “I’m really nervous now.”




“Yeah, you’re telling me.” Bradley murmured as he looked up at the house.




“Ok, as soon as we step out of this car, we have to be nice to one another, got it?” You eyed him up.




“Yes, unfortunately.”




Climbing out of the car, you looked around at the many guests who had already arrived, sipping morning mimosas on the lawn and mingling, your stomach began to bubble with nerves.




Bradley grabbed all of the bags from the car just as the front door swung open.




Lieutenant Commander Harris came bounding down the front steps excitedly.




“Ah! My friends, how good to see you! Leave those, we’ll handle the bags. Go and grab yourself a drink.” He shook Bradley’s hand and pulled you in for a hug, far more friendly than you remembered.




You and Bradley stood awkwardly apart, and Harris eyed you up for a moment.




Suddenly Bradley remembered and he quickly stepped towards you, a heavy arm wrapping around your shoulder. You forced a smile and wrapped an arm around Bradley’s waist.




“Thank you again for having us! We’re very excited to meet everyone.” You lied.




Harris and what you could only imagine was either his Butler or a Caterer grabbed your bags, and he grinned up at you. “It’s going to be a great party! I’ll catch up with you both shortly.” And with that he disappeared into the guest house, leaving you and Bradley awkwardly holding one another.




“Let’s get this over with.” You sighed.




———————————




The first few hours passed without much incident. You and Bradley hadn’t had to touch each other much thanks to having to meet so many new people. Most of the morning compromised of walking around and introducing yourself to people and chit chatting in between mimosas. By lunch time, everyone had been seated at a very long table, all of the men on the one side and the women on the other, so you hadn’t had to keep up appearances then either. It was only by mid afternoon that you had to start acting.




Everyone had spread out on the lawn with more people arriving every hour, and after several drinks and different levels of drunkenness, people started to probe.




“So how long have you two been together?” Someone had asked.




“Uhh…” you hadn’t discussed your back story, shit.




You and Bradley answered at the same time.




“3 months-“

“-6 months.”




You looked at one another in horror, then Bradley chuckled, pulling you into his side.




“No, you’re right honey, I always lose track of time. 6 months.” He confirmed with a smile.




“Oh how adorable! So still in the honeymoon phase, huh?” The woman winked.




You laughed uncomfortably, “Yeah, we just… can’t get enough.”




Once the woman had left, you took a breather, “That was close. Maybe we should come up with a back story?”




“Yeah, how about-“ but Bradley was quickly interrupted as more people began to speak to you, and again the same arm came to wrap around your shoulder and the lies began to flow, you were worried you would lose track.




You excused yourself to go and grab a couple of drinks from the beverage table, leaving Bradley to mingle. You breathed out a heavy sigh under the bright decorative lighting, your nerves set, and you quickly downed a glass of white wine, grimacing at the taste but relishing the warmth that spread through you, before pouring another for sipping and grabbing Bradley a bottle of beer. You were about to turn around, when you heard the most grating voice you think you’ve ever had the displeasure of hearing. A super high pitched, squeaky giggle followed by, “Oh my lord, Bradley! What are you doing here?”




You turned around, already annoyed to find a stunning red head hanging off of Bradley’s arm. His face a picture of ‘oh hell, how do I get out of this’.




“Hey, Angie.” He pulled his arm from her tight grasp, his eyes shooting over to you.




You took the hint to hurry up and quickly walked over, handing Bradley his beer.




None of you said anything for a second, until Bradley stepped purposefully on your foot.




“Uh. Hey, honey. Who’s your friend?” You stumbled out.




“Y/N, sweetheart, this is Angie, my ex that I was telling you about?” He clenched his jaw.




Suddenly you felt hot, tiny tendrils of… jealously? No, annoyance, taking a hold of you.




“Ah yes, Annie-“




“Angie.” She corrected, her toothy smile all but gone now.




“Angie. Nice to finally meet you.” Your fake smile honed to perfection now. “Bradley has told me all about you.”




Awkward silence filled the air.




You nodded, “So… I guess we should probably go and change, right my… love?” Ooph, that one was more of a struggle to get out.




“Yes, you’re right! Almost forgot we were still in our peasant clothes.” He joked nervously.




You rolled your eyes as you turned around, taking Bradley’s hand and pulling him behind you towards the guest house, as Angie watched you disappear, an indiscernible look on her face.




As soon as you were inside your assigned bedroom, you slammed the door shut and pressed your back up against it.




“Ok that was a disaster. We need to get our story straight.” You planted a hand over your eyes as you panted anxiously.




“Hey, calm down, it wasn’t that bad.”

Bradley chuckled, walking up to you and pulling you in for a hug. Your face was buried in his chest, you calmed down for just a second, before realising how weird this was.




You pushed him off of you, “Why are you hugging me? We don’t hug.”




“Sorry, force of habit.” He sighed, running his fingers through his hair.




“Let’s just get showered and changed, hopefully everyone will be too drunk to notice our shoddy lies when we get back.”




You both took turns showering, and you slipped into your stunning yellow dress, redoing your makeup and hair.




Bradley stepped out of the bathroom in a billow of steam, towel wrapped around his waist.




You couldn’t help but stare at his wet pecks, and how drops of water trailed down into his v-line. You hadn’t realised how well Bradley had aged until now.




“You’re staring.” He smirked.




“Am not. Just wondering what kind of a state you’ve left the bathroom in.”




“Well, you look nice, you always did love yellow.” He stated, grabbing his dress pants and white shirt off the bed.




“And you know that how?” You chuckled, looking at him in the mirror as you swiped on some mascara.




“You always wore it, and your mom mentioned it once, I guess.”




You stood up straight and turned to face him, “Nice of you to remember. This doesn’t look too much?”




He shook his head, “No, you’ll fit right in. Your straps are uneven though.”




“Oh?” You tried to get a look over your shoulder but your view was obstructed and the mirror was too high to offer much help.




“Here, let me.” He said walking behind you. As he moved your hair over your shoulder, his fingers brushed softly against your skin, and again as he adjusted your dress straps, and you swore you felt the back of his knuckle gently brush down the length of your exposed back. You drew a sharp breath, annoyed that it had filled you with the tiniest amount of curiosity and pleasure.




“All done.” He said softly in your ear.




“Thanks.” You smiled awkwardly, turning to face him. “You’d better hurry up and get dressed, we’re gonna be late for dinner.”




Bradley nodded, taking a step back, “Just give me 5 minutes.”




——————————




Bradley was true to his word, and 5 minutes later he emerged from the bathroom. He looked handsome, you couldn’t deny it. He definitely wasn’t the lanky, dark haired, pale boy you hated throughout your childhood. At least not on the outside.




“You clean up good, Bradshaw.” You smiled, sticking your elbow out.




“Thanks ‘honey’, shall we get out there and lie our pants off?” He grinned, hooking his arm into yours.




“Please, please keep your pants on.”




Outside it had now gotten dark, and mostly everyone was dressed in their lovely evening attire, even the pretty red head with the annoying voice.




“Oh there you two are! I was starting to get lonely.” She pouted dramatically, hooking her arm through Bradley’s. Her red dress beautifully complimented her hair, you felt the slightest tinge of jealously, but quickly remembered Bradley wasn’t even yours in the first place.




“I’m just gonna go and top up our drinks.” You excused yourself and hurried away, unsure you could keep a straight face around Angie.




You could hear her giggling and chatting away, and you tried hard to busy yourself.




You suddenly felt a gentle bump into your side, and you looked up to see a very apologetic bespectacled man.




“Oh I’m so sorry ma’am! I… I didn’t see you, I think maybe I’ve had too many of these mimosas.” His slight Southern twang coming through.




You chuckled softly as you straightened up, “That’s okay, how many have you had?” You asked, your hand shooting out to steady him as he wobbled slightly.




“Three.” He replied sheepishly, his cute face scrunching up under his glasses.




“Is that all?” You giggled, “Want some water?” You began to pour some in a glass for him.




“Thank you. Probably a good idea. I don’t usually drink much, if you can’t already tell.” He took the glass from you and began sipping.




“I’m Bob. Sorry for bumping into you.” He said again, sticking out a hand.




You shook it, “I’m Y/N. It’s really no problem.”




Bradley suddenly appeared in between you and Bob, his arm wrapping around your satin waist.




“Hey beautiful, need a hand with our drinks?” He said a fraction louder than he needed to.




“Err… yeah, please.” You handed his drink to him, and you picked up two glasses of wine, one of which you’d give to Angie just to keep her mouth busy so she’d shut up.




“Nice to meet you Bob.” You smiled at him as Bradley lured you away, his big hand sprawled protectively across your lower back.




“And you!” Bob called, “Nice to see you again, Rooster.”




Bradley ignored him, and you looked up at his stoney expression with confusion.




“You know him? He’s cute. Maybe you can introduce us when this is all over.” You grinned playfully.




“No.” Bradley mumbled.




You stopped dead in your tracks, causing Bradley to do the same.




“What’s up with you, Brad?” You asked, looking up at him, holding out the glasses in your hands awkwardly.




“You’re not acting like a particularly good girlfriend right now, Y/N.”




“So? We’re breaking up tomorrow, remember? Plus, I’ve not been nearly as bad as you, with her hanging off of you since we got down here.”




“That’s not the point.” He said taking you by the crease of your arm and pulling you to a quiet corner of the lawn.




“Forget about Angie, I don’t care about her. We really need to make this believable, at least just for tonight. For the sake of our careers.” He was now towering over you, his head stooped low as he whispered.




“Okay. What do you want to do?” You whispered back. You could smell his cologne.




“Can we pretend to be more in love or something?” He smelt so good.




You nodded, “Yeah, okay. How?”




“I have an idea, do you trust me? I might need to break a rule.” This immediately snapped you out of the weird little trance you were in.




“Wait, which rule?”




Bradley took your wine glasses and put them on a nearby table with his beer bottle, then he returned and took your hand, pulling you out to the edge of the cliff.




“Which rule, Bradley? You aren’t going to throw me to my death, are you?” You were suddenly a little anxious, had this all just been a big ploy to exact his evil plan and get rid of you once and for all? Was he still just the same Bradley as before?




When he ignored you and came to stand on the small cliff edge, your heart began to race. “Seriously, what are you gonna do?”




He turned to face you with a small grin, “Just wait until more people look over and then… just trust me.”




Weirdly, despite everything, you sort of did trust him, so you nodded.




Bradley waited, and he watched over your shoulder, waiting for just the right amount of witnesses. He waited some more.




Just as you were getting fed up with waiting, Bradley’s big hands came up to cup your face, and you gulped.




Stooping over you, he dipped his head slowly and his full, soft lips landed on yours.




You gasped, probably audibly, but quickly you relaxed into it, realising it really wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be kissing Bradley.




After a few seconds, he pulled away just a fraction. “You need to move, people are gonna think I’m kissing a corpse.” He mumbled, a slight grin on his face. You realised you had been so surprised you hadn’t moved your arms and they lay by your side, dangling.




He pressed his lips back to yours, and you moved your arms to wrap around his neck as he leaned you back slightly.




There was some cat calling and whistling from the people out on the lawn, and one “Ohhh how romantic!”




Your face began to flush in embarrassment, so you pulled away and smoothed your dress out, before clearing your throat.




You looked at Bradley and nodded, “Thanks.”




You began to walk back to the party with Bradley on your tail, “Thanks?” He smirked.




“Yup, that’ll do it.” You flushed awkwardly, you couldn’t believe you had just kissed your life long nemesis, and what’s worse is that it really wasn’t bad, at all.




You quickly downed another glass of wine, hoping for a little Dutch courage. Bradley eyed you up and was just about to say something, when someone called him over. He looked at you once more, before he excused himself and you nodded, sort of relieved.




You turned to eye up the second drink, your legs somewhat wobbly from the breathtaking kiss, when Angie practically sprinted over to you, her face a mixture of anxiety and remorse.




You looked at her with wide eyes, surprised.




“Girl, I really really need to talk to you. In private.”




——————————




- Part 4 Here -

Taglist (please let me know if you wish to be added for future chapters):

@flowery-mess

@wildxwidow

[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.

[m4iya]

⋆⭒˚.⋆𝜗𝜚 Order up! Mango milk tea, 100% sugar, 100% ice with black pearls for @yiooobb37!

Meu Bem Hinata Shoyo (crack, fluff, post high school, mutual pining)

Small droplets of sweat trickled down your forehead as you stood at the front of the classroom, your teacher attempting to hush the students.

“We’ve got a new student in the class..” Losing focus on her voice, all you could think of were how many pairs of eyes were glued to you; what were they thinking?

“..Are you fine with that? It won’t take you more than ten minutes.” She seemed to be questioning someone.

“But I have practice after school..!” He whined.

She turned to you with a smile, “You can take the open seat next to Hinata - he’s right down there.”

Walking down the rows, some students smiled, while others prepared their notebooks and pens. The boy you’d be sitting next to however, didn’t seem to be in the best mood; his brows slightly furrowed as he mumbled under his breath.

The day progressed, students swarming your table during the first break in an attempt to get to know you. Though despite how frustrated as he seemed, the boy didn’t leave your side even once.

“Okay everybody!” He said, breaking through the crowd and standing next to you, “We have something to do!”

He tugged at your wrist, guiding you outside the classroom where he proceeded to give you what you decided to call a ‘speed-run’ tour of the school. You both practically dashed through the hallway, avoiding the gazes of teachers who’d tell you off if they caught on - it would take too much time and spoil his plan to free up his afternoon for practice. It almost felt like he wanted to get away from you as soon as he could, but it probably wasn’t anything personal.

Remembering how it all played out really makes you laugh. It’s funny how much some people are able to change. The same person who used up his break to tour you around the school only so he wouldn’t have to do so later on in the day, was now the same person who stuck to you like glue whenever you were around him.

Third year hit, and plans for post-graduation were shared by you, who struggled to explain your choice to pursue further studies through a flurry of tears, after learning that he’d chosen to leave for a few years to train overseas. He promised to never leave you behind, and that just because you weren’t physically by his side, you were still in his thoughts. You couldn’t help laugh a little - he wasn’t exactly the best with words, but he always seemed to know how to bring you out of an overwhelming situation.

And now that he was halfway across the world, you found yourself feeling somewhat alone. Someone who you’d spent 3 years with suddenly disappearing so quickly - you didn’t know what you’d do. When so many parts of your day include him; it’s difficult to fill in the gaps where he once was. Having dinner at his place, hanging out with him after an exam, calling him when you couldn’t fall asleep; so many things changed faster than you were able to keep up with.

Though, despite being hours apart, you wouldn’t go a single day without hearing each other’s voices - whether it was over an audio or video call. You’d schedule your college classes and leave a gap in the early afternoon - around the time that he’d be heading to bed. He’d send you postcards sometimes, including small gifts and trinkets that he’d bought with the money he’d been saving up from his part time job. You noticed a shift in his handwriting as he explained he’d been learning to speak Portuguese, you couldn’t help but wonder what it’d sound like to hear him speak it.

Over call, he’d tell you about his matches, the things he does to train, his voice jittery with excitement - you’d need to warn him not to raise his voice otherwise he’d risk waking up his roommate.

Recently, the two of you spoke over the phone as you slipped under your covers, exhausted after a long day. You heard foreign voices in the background as he explained that he was at the gym. You recounted what you went through that day, telling him about all the things you’d learnt. Though you noticed that he’d been almost completely silent, save for an occasional ‘Really?’ or his typical ‘Huh?!’. When you asked if he really was listening, he promised he was - wryly confessing that he simply wanted to hear your voice.

“You’ll hear it in person soon enough.” You chuckled, warmth dressing your cheeks.

“I know, but it's just been so long!”

You weren’t sure how else to respond other than with a small laugh. Given how much time had passed, you couldn’t say you didn’t often wonder whether he really did miss you or not.

And in his typical fashion of leaving things until the last second, a message from him lit up your phone during a lecture. Tapping on it, you wondered if he’d had trouble sleeping - it’d be late night for him right now, wouldn’t it?

Wrong. His message stated that his plane would be landing in Japan in about an hour. He'd told you he was coming soon but he didn't say it would be this soon! Attached to his message was picture of a plane ticket that had only been delivered a few minutes ago due to his layover in a nearby country. As soon as you responded, he answered right back, telling you he wasn’t too far away. ‘You’ll need to find me!’ He typed.

‘Find me..’

It struck a chord with you for whatever reason. The lecture was now an afterthought as you stuffed your notebook into your backpack, rushing out of class and towards the subway station. You didn’t even worry about changing your outfit or applying any makeup.

All this time, you thought about how you’d been feeling lonely, and ever since he slipped from your grasp, things had felt a little.. different, and you had a hunch that he'd been feeling the same. All this time, you didn’t consider how isolated he was, living in an entirely different place, learning a new language, memorising the streets on his own; hours away from all the familiarities he grew up around. Hours away from you.

Small droplets of sweat trickled down your forehead as you stood at the arrivals terminal, voices that weren't his gathering around you. Rushing through the crowds, some families laughed, while others held each other tightly.

You stopped in the midst of your tracks as soon as you noticed a head of ginger hair scurrying through the different groups of people amidst all the chaos, his suitcase dragging behind him, his brows slightly furrowed as his eyes scanned the surroundings.

Breaking through the crowds, you managed to inch closer to him as he stopped in the midst of his tracks, his back facing yours as he fiddled with his phone.

You tugged at his wrist, your gaze shifting towards his head as he turned around, facing you with wide eyes.

"Found you.." You exhaled.

Within seconds, his arms were tightly wrapped around you, twirling you around. His laughter drowned out any background noise; or maybe it was just that you were simply only focused on him and his voice, and the way his arms held you so close - how much larger they were, how you never imagined they'd embrace you.

Your feet planted back onto the floor, hands still slung around his neck with your face nuzzled into his shoulder as gently rocked you back and fourth. "How long did you wait?".

"Not long. I was going to ring you," He replied, showing you his phone screen, "But you showed up all of a sudden!"

Reading the name on his phone, you wondered who he was talking about. "Meu.. Bem? Who's that?".

The chat logs under the name matched the ones you'd shared earlier that day - had he changed your contact name to something different? He sighed, dipping his head over your shoulder in an attempt to hide the growing redness in his face.

"It's you.."

from my 100 followers event ✩ other works

[chososfl3shlight]

Like you

Daisuke x gn reader

I don't think a gender is mentioned... but I usually write fem reader so..

Just a quick fluff n comfort drabble

You met Daisuke on the pony express space freighter. You didn't expect to really enjoy the job, but with him there, it was somewhat enjoyable. Not only because of him either, the other crew members had quite the personalities too. Over the months spent together, you grew to know them all pretty well. You connected with Daisuke more, though, probably because you both were pretty young and interns.

With very few options on who to talk to, you found yourself with Daisuke the most. During breaks, at night, even on the job, you found ways to check up on him. Swansea would get annoyed with the both of you, irritated when you'd distract Daisuke from his chores. You were sorry, but not really.

Getting to see Daisuke on the job was thrilling. When he'd be using tools, the way his arms would flex when tightening bolts. The way he'd groan when frustrated because he didn't understand what Swansea was trying to explain to him.

The more you filed through the things you enjoyed about Daisuke, the more clear it became to you that you might like him. Your eyes widened at the realization, and you tapped your pointer fingers together while holding the clipboard Anya handed you.

"Something wrong?"

Anya questioned with concern. You looked up to see her staring back at you. She was seated at the desk in medical, looking at you as you stood next to her. You scrambled to reply.

"Uh, no! Yeah, sorry, just.. thinking."

You tapped the end of your pen against your lip, smiling sheepishly at Anya.

"Need a reevaluation?" She joked.

You giggled at her comment, shaking your head. She smiled before looking back down at her notes.

"Is it Daisuke?"

Your heart jumped at the mention of his name. Your eyes flickered to Anya, your head turning with delay. She didn't even have to look at you to know that she was correct. You watched as her smile grew.

"It is, isn't it?"

Your eyes widened, and a frown appeared on your face.

"What? What's Daisuke?"

You asked stupidly, your clammy hands gripping at the clipboard. She scoffed and finally turned back to you, her chair swiveling. She looked at you with a raised brow.

"What's on your mind. Daisuke's what you're thinking so hard about."

She had a shit eating grin on her face. She knew she was right, so why continue to tease you about it?

Your jaw slacked open, and an imminent blush painted your cheeks.

"Gosh, can you be any more obvious?" she shook her head with a smile.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" You exclaimed with angry brows.

It only took one glance from her for you to fold and cover your red face with the clipboard.

"Okay...you might be right." You mumbled.

"Yeah, I knew that already"

You let out a long groan. Dropping the clipboard from your face and facing Anya once again. With your hands lazily hanging by your sides, you stood by her awkwardly.

"How'd you know before me?" You whined.

She rolled her eyes at you playfully.

"Are you seriously asking that? You're always with him, even during work hours, and you just stare at him sometimes -"

"Okay! That's enough!" You interrupted.

She giggled at the way your face heated up. She crossed one leg over the other while swiveling back and forth in her seat slightly.

"You should tell him"

You couldn't look her in the eyes. The way your heart fluttered was embarrassing. It felt like you were outside the freighter and couldn't breathe for a second. Anya must've noticed because she began snickering, trying to hold down her laughs.

"I-I'm gonna go now, okay?" You joked, but actually wanted to leave.

She nodded, waving her hand.

"Yeah, go ahead. I can take care of this"

You frowned in consideration, but she shooed you away, so you ended up walking out of medical.

The pumping in your heart grew in pace as you walked into the lobby area. You looked at the big daytime screen and tried to calm your breathing. Closing your eyes and inhaling slowly. You did this often, missing the feeling of the suns warmth on your skin and the soft breeze of wind. You thought you managed to gaslight yourself into feeling a ray of sunshine on your skin when you felt warmth. You opened your eyes to see the source.

"Boo."

Daisuke was standing right in front of you. You jumped with a yelp, almost stumbling over. He began laughing hard, leaning forward and putting a hand on your shoulder while the other wrapped around himself. You felt your body grow stiff as a board. Both of you were pretty touchy normally, but now that you realized you might like him, touch felt different.

"I'm surprised you didn't hear me walk up to you! Though, I am pretty sneaky like a ninja."

Daisuke winked at you, and you had to look away. Feeling too many emotions and sensations in your body. You wanted to mention how you felt his warm presence, but thought that sounded weird.

"That's how I steal the sweetner packets, but shhh don't tell anyone.."

He whispered to you, and you nodded.

"I won't," you affirmed with a smile.

He finally let go of your shoulder with a laugh. You let out a relieved sigh underneath your breath before he continued talking.

"What're you doing out here anyways? Aren't you supposed to be working right now?"

"Yeah, well..aren't you?"

".. Got me there"

You both laugh together. When it dies down, you walk over to the couch and plop down. Daisuke not so surprisingly follows you and sits down right next to you. Awkward silence ensues. Usually, you're able to spark up conversation easily, but you can't bring yourself to say anything.

He tapped his leg seemingly anxiously. This made you feel like he was waiting for you to say something. You were going to or at least planned to... maybe in an unsure thought. You bit the inside of your lips, rolling them between your teeth.

"Daisuke.."

He immediately perked up to the sound of his name. He looked over at you with a small smile.

"Yeah?"

"Um.. I.."

Your voice came out sounding small and shaky no matter how hard you tried to stop it.

"I like you, like a lot..."

You wanted to sink into the couch, or even better you hoped the ship would crash. He stared at you with an unreadable expression, his eyes only boring into you.

"Really...? You..you like me?"

He pointed to himself in disbelief. You stared at him, dumbfounded. Did he think you were out of his league or something? You thought the contrary.

"Yeah? why?" You couldn't help but ask.

He chuckled, messing with the collar of his shirt.

"I just...that's hard to believe. You're so pretty."

Your face flushed at his words, and you laughed to hide it.

"Am I the first person you used that line on?" You teased.

"No," He replied a bit too quickly for your liking.

When your face dropped, he cackled. He explained that he was joking, but the idea that he had been with someone before hurt for some reason. You wanted him to be all yours, as selfish as it sounded you didn't want anyone else to experience love with him other than you.

"So, do you like me back?"

You asked, feeling insecure. He responded with a smile and a nod.

"Yeah. Sorry if it wasnt obvious enough"

For a moment, you forgot you were on a freighter with other people. It felt like it was only you and him in space. You teared up, trying to laugh it off, but the truth is this wasn't something you could easily gloss over. You really liked him, and the fact that he reciprocated those feelings hit you like a space freighter. He looked at you with concern when you started sobbing and laughing at the same time.

Your breathes were interrupted by hiccups as the laughter became overpowered by sobbing.

"Woah, are you..." he paused, instead wrapping his arm around you.

You just about wailed, trying to laugh instead, but more tears escaped your eyes in dismay.

"I'm sorry, I'm trying not to cry," you whimpered.

He giggled lightheartedly, patting your arm as he pulled you closer. Your cheek pressed against his shoulder.

"It's okay, I know it's a lot to bag someone like me"

You snickered, pushing him away playfully.

"Oh, shut up!"

You smiled wide, wiping tears off your face. You just couldn't cry around him. He always made you smile and feel giddy. You felt like a little kid with a crush.

"You seriously okay?"

"Seriously."

He smiled at your response. You pulled him into an intimate hug. Your arms wrapped around him tightly like he would disappear if you let go. He wrapped you into his own embrace, and you both enjoyed the feeling of your bodies against each other.

+ Quick sketch by me

[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

[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.

[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.