#it’s two am I have to be up in four hours

[reiderwriter]

Four In Some Velvet Morning

Chapter Two of I Can't Help Myself

Summary: Civility in the office is equal to pettiness in all things, but when you help Spencer out in a sticky situation, it's all your mind can think about well into the early hours in the morning.

Warnings: Uncomfortable situation with a student (non-reciprocated), suggestive touching, fingering, unprotected sex, rough sex, soft dom! Spencer.

A/N: The second part is finally here!! I hope you enjoy the various office shenanigans of Spencer and our reader. Based on the results of our last chapter, I've made a taglist, which you can access through the link below! Have fun reading, and be sure to let me know what you think in the comments~♡

Masterlist || Add yourself to the taglist~♡

You loved Mondays, or you did love Mondays when they meant only a single teaching hour and a free office to catch up on however much work you'd put off the week before.

But, like everything in your life now, Mondays were ruined by Doctor Spencer Reid.

When you and your coffee arrived at 8:45 on Monday morning, he was right there. You heaved out a sigh of frustration, and he didn't respond, so you sank into an hours worth of annoyed sighs and silence.

“Hmmph,” you huffed, standing from your desk and making your bookshelves. Still ordered alphabetically, and topically, you tried your best to look for the reference guide you'd been annotating all semester. But with no helpful guide to which topics it was that he'd used, you found yourself turning around to address your silent, unwanted companion.

“Spencer, my reference book, where is it?”

You stared blankly at him for a few minutes as you watched him trace a finger down the page he was reading. Delicately, he turned the page and resumed reading the next one, stroking the page like it was a lover in a tender moment, his fingers trailing down to offer his intimacy.

“Spencer?” You said again, and he again ignored you.

“Spencer, there's no way you're reading that fast, cut the crap and answer my question.”

“I can read 20,000 words per minute. Thus, I am busy. And weren't you ignoring me?” You took a deep breath and counted to ten in your head before replying.

“I thought we were being civil, Spencer.”

“I am being civil. I'm very civil. Are you being civil, Ms. Y/N?”

“Doctor,” you spat out. “I may have only one to your three, but I did work hard for it.”

He stopped reading and looked up at you, noting the angry look on your face. Standing up quickly, he checked his watch, grabbed his bag and jacket, making sure to carefully slide the book he was molesting into his bag, and walked straight for the door.

“Spencer!” You said indignantly, and he turned back to you with a sarcastic smile, pulling the book you were searching for off the bookcase and throwing it in your direction, before stalking out of the room.

“Jackass!” You shouted behind him as he sent a wave over his shoulder.

Civility. Well, if that was his idea of civility, you could be just as civil. And you'd start by taking all of the books off of the bookshelves once again.

When three hours had elapsed and Spencer had concluded the day's work, he was disappointed to find the office empty. He didn't dwell on the feeling for long, though, as he flipped the light switch to utter chaos.

You'd pretty much gutted the entire shelf, leaving pretty piles stacked all across his desk, chair, and the floor surrounding it, making it near impossible to make his way to his desk without moving something.

The shelves weren't totally empty, though. You'd left roughly thirty books on the centre shelf, held in place by paper weights he recognised as his own acting as bookends.

A post-it was stuck to the first book.

“Ignore this,” you'd written, a lipstick kiss pressed into the paper as your only form of signature. For plausible deniability, of course. You'd never sign your name to a crime.

He sighed and lifted a hand to start taking some books down when he spotted it.

“D…o…n….t…,” he would've gotten further but for the grin spreading across his face as he read the first letter on each book spine. You'd spelt out five words, and he felt a vague sense of satisfaction knowing you'd spent so much time just trying to mess with him.

“DONT TOUCH MY SHIT, JACKASS,” you'd written. But he was absolutely going to touch your shit.

Much to his chagrin, you didn't return to the office that day, too busy with other duties to need to go back. You also wanted to give him a wide berth, hoping that he'd have time to simmer instead of immediately retaliate for all the shit you'd pulled that morning.

Which was why Spencer found himself at work at 6 a.m., getting an early start so he could see your reaction to his, honestly quite tame reply.

You'd acted like a toddler throwing toys out of your pram for no reason. And while he wasn't exactly acting mature himself, he could at least liken himself to a young child throwing the toys back in frustration.

Everything about sharing this office with you was going to be frustrating.

He opened his book again - War and Peace - and began reading through it as he waited for the sun to rise and you to arrive with it.

It was well worth it to catch the look on your face.

“Jackass,” you muttered under your breath as you walked in, coffees and pastries in hand.

He'd put the majority of the books back on the shelf in his order and system. But he'd also left out a large pile of books, blocking the narrow passage between your desk and the wall. It was taller than you and hardly stable, and since you did not want to get concussed on a Tuesday morning, there was no other route to your desk but squeezing behind his.

You huffed out a sigh, dropping what you'd hoped would be truce coffee and breakfast on his desk before standing to push past him. He blocked your way with his arm as he finished up reading a chapter.

“Password?” He asked, not looking up from his desk.

“Very funny, let me pass.”

“Incorrect,” he smiled, nodding towards the shelf where you'd left yesterday's message.

“Seriously?” You asked. His answering look supplied the answer you needed - try me.

“Don't touch my shit, jackass,” you said in a sarcastic tone, trying once again to push past. His damn arm was still too solid, and he pushed you back once again.

“I'm sorry, Y/N, but that was yesterday's password. You'll have to try again.”

Squinting down at him in confusion, you did your best not to dump his coffee over the top of his head as he nodded to the shelf again.

Your writing was still there, but one shelf down there was a new message.

“BUT… ILO…I LOVE… TOU-” You froze, your entire body going hot as you walked back over to him. He was taking a sip of his coffee, as you desperately avoided eye contact. You knew you were attractive, but you honestly didn't think that Spencer would be interested in you like that. And flirting like this, so out of the blue?

Something had to be wrong with him.

“Password?” He asked, taking another sip.

“B-But I love touching you,” you stammered out, cheeks aflame.

He somehow coughed and snorted at the same time, shooting out of his chair with wide eyes.

“More-” he coughed. “That's not… There's more.���

Your eyes went wide as saucers as you ran back over to the shelves, reading to what was actually the end of the message.

“But I love touching your shit,” you mumbled, and he didn't bother even raising a hand this time. He let you pass, and you sat in tense silence for the rest of the morning.

You got over the awkwardness soon, though, and began using the shelves to torture each other between classes.

You'd once replaced all three textbooks for his class with Russian language versions, back firing spectacularly as he smiled and began reading from them anyway.

He'd started putting important texts on the very top shelf and hiding the only step on the floor in some classroom or the other. Though he too had quit that when other members of staff grew frustrated at the steps disappearance.

You both kept up with the book messages.

“YOU'RE… TOO…LOUD”

“I DIDNT… DO…ANYTHING”

“YOU BREATHED”

“BOO HOO”

“COFFEE…PLEASE”

“IM NOT…YOUR…ASSISTANT”

“WITH THREE… SUGARS”

“I HOPE…. DIABETES… GETS YOU”

“SO…MATURE”

If you were being honest with yourself, you'd probably have realized that you were having a lot of fun hating Spencer Reid. Which made him a little bit harder to hate.

You wished he'd have been more mature about the whole thing, really, so you could despise him without laughing at his audacity every five minutes.

Thursday was the worst day for both of you. Thankfully, he'd taken your advice and scheduled his office hours around your classes.

What he hadn't taken into account was that on Thursdays, you had several classes on different disciplines and for different degree levels, meaning a truck load of resources you had to either cart around with you all day (impossible) or you'd have to drop into your office regularly to pick up your things.

You'd ended up in the same queue as the myriad of undergrads that were taking his course or just auditing and wanted to pick his brain on his off hours, and it was hell each time.

“God, isn't he just so fine. An 18-year age gap isn't noticeable, right?” One girl whispered to her friend as you turned the corner, books in hand, ready to use them as defence weapons should the need arise. The need to laugh and yell it was too much had you biting your tongue quickly. The man was 10 years older than even you, and even you had to pause at the age difference. These girls were practically children.

“And his hair? I just want to tangle my hair in it and pull him down to my-”

“Girls! Please remember this is a hallway, and your professors are still trying to get some work done.”

To their credit, the two first years did turn crimson in shame, sending each other panicked and dirty looks as they communicated their shared horror.

You stepped up to the small hall window at your office and peeked through the blinds.

Another student was inside with Spencer, and the panicked look on his face meant that his conversation was probably going similarly.

The students in the hall whispered and glanced at you every few seconds, and if you weren't in the biggest rush of your professional career, you'd take the time to ask them if you had something on your face.

Instead, you just tried to knock on the glass and hope Spencer would notice your plea for access.

When Spencer noticed you at the window, his eyes locked with yours, his mouth forming a simple plea as the undergrad inched closer to him.

“Help,” he mouthed.

You shrugged in reply, wondering what would possibly be so bad that he'd need your help of all things.

It was then that you noticed the undergrad had reached out a hand to play with the buttons of his jacket, stroking her hand along his chest as he cringed backwards.

You watched him take her hands off him, but she was tenacious, or just a downright creep, and she grabbed his thigh this time, pressing her chest forward. You couldn't see it yourself, but you knew from his reaction and instantly turned head that she was dangerously close to flashing him.

Or she was just doing it.

His eyes pleaded for help again, and you barged into the room with a large cough.

“Doctor Reid, if I could have a moment of your time? It's urgent.”

You dumped the books on your desk, and he jumped up to greet you, stepping out of the young students' grasp and almost shielding himself behind where you stood.

“Of course, yes, Y/N. It is urgent, so I'm sure the students will... be understanding."

He turned back to the student and gestured helpfully to show her the door, but her angry gaze was stuck on yours.

“Old ass skank,” you heard her whisper under her breath. From the hand on your arm and the furrowing of his brow you knew Spencer had as well.

“I'm sorry, what was that, Miss….?”

“Hmm? I'm sure I didn't say anything, Doctor Y/L/N.”

“You-” Spencer began but you silenced him with a hand on his chest.

Her gaze flicked to it, and she grew redder in the face, as if she were truly angry at this development. Interesting.

“Spencer,” you span around, totally ignoring the student now, wrapping your arms up and around his neck. He blinked in confusion once and then twice and hesitated, but let his hands land on your waist.

“It really is so urgent that we speak. Alone. I wouldn't want your precious students hearing anything I have to say to you.” You leaned in closer for the last words, letting your voice flow like honey, neatly seductive as you did your best to remind the student of her place.

Which was as far from a professor's bed as possible.

“She's just leaving, Y/N,” he whispered, equally as breathy as you, if not more. He didn't bother a glance over your shoulder to check, though, keeping his eyes on you as if you were a tiger preparing to pounce on him at any second.

The student grabbed her things and huffed out the door. As soon as the thing was shut, you pulled the blinds totally shut and detangled yourself from Spencer completely, giving yourself a wide berth after bringing yourself so close.

You hadn't realized how long and pretty his eyelashes were until you forced yourself to look at him, how nice his eyes were. The image of them burned into your brain - jealousy, probably. Men always had the best natural eyelashes. It was incredibly unfair.

“What the fuck was that?” You whispered, trying to contain your laugh as you knew the walls here were anything but soundproof.

“Shh,” he hissed, his ear pressed to the door as he listened to the remaining undergrads outside start talking. They obviously hadn't got the memo.

“Is this an official FBI strategy?” You teased.

“Shut up, would you? They're talking about us.”

You found yourself all of a sudden pressed against the door next to him, trying to listen in on the conversation outside.

“So it's true? He's really screwing her?” You slapped a hand over your mouth, both from shock and to stop the hysterical laugh bubbling up in your chest from jumping out. The girl sounded distraught. She sounded absolutely heartbroken. "The coffees every morning were suspicious, and they're always in the office so wrapped up with each other, but I didn't think they were seriously screwing."

“No wonder she was giving us dirty looks earlier,” the other girl whispered back.

“I heard he got her the job here. Pulled some strings, you know. And then, when it didn't look so suspicious, he started and asked for the shared office.”

“Gross! Total nepo hire!”

“No, Tiff, Nepo is when your parents get you the job. What she's doing is just called being a whore.”

Your mouth grew dry, and you pushed back off the wall, suddenly uninterested in anything else the girls had to say.

“Y/N…” Spencer took a sympathetic step your way, offering you an awkward smile as you started busying yourself organizing books.

“Nothing I haven't heard before, Spencer, don't bother,” you said, throwing some papers into your briefcase and keeping your hands moving.

“Though I will say they're getting more creative with their back stories since I have been working here half a year longer than you.”

He watched you work around the office, picking up items and tidying them away as you made a line of tidiness through the chaos of your desk.

“Do you think they all think that?” You asked, curiosity somehow piqued.

“That I got you the job?”

“That we’re screwing,” you said, finally turning to face him.

But the movement was a mistake - you hadn't heard him step closer, so as you turned his face was directly in front of yours, his nose practically touching your own as he looked down at you. It was enough so that the sharp intake of breath you took smelt like him, like he'd wrapped himself around your body and kept you there.

“Do you think they think we're screwing?” He asked, meaning to move away, or at least give you the space for you to do so.

“It doesn't matter to me what other people think,” you smiled up at him. “Because I wouldn't touch you with a tensed foot pole.”

You're thinking about the comment well into the evening, right until the moment your head hits the pillow.

You're thinking about the way his eyes dropped to your lips when you said those words, how he stepped closer and closer until you were backed up against the door.

“You were fine touching me earlier, Y/N. What is it now that makes it unappealing?” He whispered into your ear.

A hand came to your waist as your breath hitched.

“Is it the goosebumps I leave on your skin?” His hand pressed harder as it rose up to your chest. You gasped as he took one of your breasts in his hand, fondling it.

“Is it the way your heart beats uncomfortably hard when I'm close?”

His hand dropped again, falling down the plains of your stomach until he was stroking along the top of your pants, begging for entry.

“Or is it the way I make your cunt wet? It must be so hard pretending to hate me when you want my fingers stuffed inside of you.”

You gasped, but your tongue suddenly didn't work, as he slipped past your pants and his fingers were suddenly on your underwear, grinding the pads of his fingers against your slick pussy.

“You dont have to answer, I think I can tell just from feeling this. Shit, Y/N, I could probably slip into you right now with no resistance,” his fingers pushed inside of you as you gripped his arm for support. It was stronger than you expected, rigid as he tensed his arm.

You let him use your body, aware of your soft sighs and moans as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

His hands were inside you, then they pulled out, and somewhere in between his fingers and his cock filling you, you'd been pressed against the bookshelf, facing it and grabbing at the shelves for stability as he made good on his promise and pushed right into you without a care in the world.

“Spenc-Spencer, the books-”

“You know the books aren't a problem, Y/N,” he groaned into your ear as he pumped deep inside of you.

But the books were a problem, and they fell to the floor with each rough thrust, vibrating as they landed.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buz-

Your eyes shot open the next day, and you jolted out of your slumber, a pillow between your legs as you tried to find your release squirming and humping against it. You reached out for your vibration phone alarm, switching it off quickly to avoid the memory of those falling books from your fast fading dream.

Spencer hadn't touched you in that office. He'd taken your comment at face value and let you leave for your class, but it had stuck in your head.

You'd spent the entire night thinking about his hands on you, and you were entirely uncomfortable with the conclusion you were drawing.

Because now, you supposed, you'd quite enjoy the idea of Spencer Reid touching you wherever he damn well pleased.

🔖@stillhere197 @understandingsunrise

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[cowboylikelyric]

riding lessons (cowboy!harry)

Summary: Where a tense Harry gives riding lessons to some you would have never expected. When jealousy takes over, Harry reassures you of his love. Based on this ask.

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: 18+, angst, smut, oral sex (female recieving),

A/N: i have been dying to do some cowboyrry so here you guys go! and if anyone is wondering, i am totally picturing harry with his current mullet cause duh. please let me know what you think! love you guys the most!

---

      “Harry!” You squeal as Harry peppers kisses all over your face, his fingers tickling up your sides. 

      “Hmm, what?” He manages to get out between kisses, a smile painted on his face. You plant your hands on his chest and try to push him away. 

      Harry had woken up in an excellent mood this morning, full of smiles and love. He had clung to you since the moment you woke up, laying constant kisses on your lips and now all over your face. 

      He ran his hands up your bare stomach under his shirt that you were wearing, his kisses slowing just slightly. 

      “Baby,” You push at his chest, giggling. 

      Harry pulled away with a cheeky smile on his face, resting his forehead against yours. He looked into your eyes and there was that look he always gave you that made you blush.

      “You’re so fucking gorgeous, honey.” He went to take another kiss from you, which would have probably led to much more than a kiss, when his phone buzzed, pulling a groan from him. 

      He buried his face in your neck, mumbling, “Don’t wanna go.”

      You thread your fingers through his hair, pulling his face back so you can look at him. “Lessons?” You ask, a frown appearing on your face. Normally Harry loved giving riding lessons. 

      Ever since you met Harry four years ago, he’s lived in the same place, doing the same thing. Harry grew up on his family’s ranch, and never left. Once he got old enough, his dad let him start running the horse riding lessons because that was exactly what Harry loved to do. He still hadn’t taught you, but that’s because you had never really asked him. It just wasn’t something that you felt the need to do, ride a horse that is. 

      You didn’t grow up here like Harry did. You grew up in a city about two hours from the ranch. You and Harry met on a random Sunday at a grocery store when he was visiting family. The moment you met him you knew you had to see him again. And of course you did, you were persistent. 

      Now, four years later, he was your best friend as well as your husband. You both live on the ranch in a sweet little farmhouse that he and his dad built together.

      But the point was, Harry loved giving riding lessons on the ranch, so you couldn’t quite figure out why he sounded so against it today.

     Harry nodded and placed a kiss on your nose before climbing off your bed. He had dressed himself earlier, so all he had to do was tug on his boots. He grabbed his cowboy hat from the side table, placed it on his head, and came over to your side of the bed to lean over you.

      “I’ll be home for lunch, honey,” he says before giving you one last kiss, then grabbing his phone to check the message he got earlier. 

      As soon as his eyes hit his phone his body tenses, but he moves past it as if nothing happened, sticking his phone in the back pocket of his jeans. 

      “I love you,” You call out as he starts to make his way out of the bedroom.

      He looks back over his shoulder and puts on a fake smile, nothing like the one he wore earlier, saying, “Love you more,” before leaving the room.

      What the hell was up with him? 

      You tried not to think too much about it, getting a shower and getting ready before making your way to the main farm house on the ranch where Harry’s parents lived. 

      As soon as you stepped in, you could smell the delicious breakfast that you knew Ronnie, Harry’s mother and your mother in law, prepared. 

      You turned the corner to the kitchen and saw the spread of breakfast foods across the kitchen island. Pancakes with blueberries and ones with chocolate chips, fried potatoes, bacon, and everything else you could imagine. Your favorite was her hand squeezed orange juice that she made you a new jug of each week. 

      “Ronnie, you really do know the way to my heart,” you say and watch as she turns around, smile bright just like Harry’s.

      She held out a full plate in your direction, “Good morning, sweet pea.” 

      “Morning,” You took the play from her and sat at the island, digging in. And then of course you got to thinking about Harry’s strange mood this morning and it had your stomach turning all over again. So, you asked your mother in law, “Do you know who Harry’s giving lessons to today?” 

      She hummed, shaking her head, “M’not sure. Why’re you asking?” She sets a full plate in the microwave, for Chris, Harry’s father, before coming to sit and eat her own breakfast with you.

     You shrug, “He just didn’t seem too excited to get out there today is all.” 

      Ronnie got a confused pout on her face. “Well, if anyone could figure it out, it’d be you, Y/n.” 

      You nod and stab at the pancake on your  plate, hoping it was nothing major.

      Later on, as the clock struck twelve, you began to wonder where Harry was as lunch sat on the counter. So you took a trip out to the training ring. Sometimes Harry got so enthralled with the horses that he wouldn’t realize the time had passed. Other times, he and Chris would take their horses down the trails for an afternoon stroll. Either way, this wasn’t unusual for Harry.

      The ring wasn’t too far from their house, about a five minute walk. Chris and Ronnie had gifted you both a four wheeler last Christmas to travel the ranch with, but you enjoyed taking in the scenery. 

      As you approached the arena, you watched as Harry rode his horse, Kalli, beside someone else who you could tell was riding, Milo. Milo was patient, so he was often used for lessons. 

      You stepped a touch closer, trying to see who the student was. It was definitely a woman, but her face was turned away from your view so you couldn’t tell. 

      You couldn’t see how Harry was feeling as Kalli trotted along. The both of them rounded the ring and you finally caught sight of her face. Ada.

      After being with Harry for four years, being married for almost one, nothing really sparked jealousy within you anymore. But as you caught sight of his ex riding beside him, your stomach slightly dropped. 

      Ada lived in the same town as you guys, so it was almost guaranteed to come across her a few times in a year. You’d never really acknowledge her, but the two of you had no bad blood. Harry never talked extremely horrible about her, only that their relationship had always been quite… miserable. 

      So why was he giving her lessons? And why hadn’t Harry told you?

      She laughed beside him and he cracked a slight smile before they started making their way toward the stalls, which were in your direction. You were quick to move out of sight, not wanting to make a big deal of this. So, you headed back to the house and tried to shake the enormous feelings that were piling in your gut.

      Harry had never taught you how to ride, but now he had taught Ada. Why did that bother you so much? Harry didn’t even like Ada, afterall, he married you. But did he wish you had more enthusiasm when it came to riding? You loved the horses like they were your own children, you just never wanted to ride them, that was Harry’s thing. 

      Your lip quivered, but you shook your head, stepping back into your home, heading straight for the kitchen. You took a deep breath as you sat at the table and painted on a smile, beginning to eat your lunch. 

      The front door clicked as it shut, his voice ringing through the house as he called, “Honey?” 

      “Lunch is ready!” You controlled the shake in your voice as you shouted. 

      Harry walked through the doorway, sweat soaking through the collar of his t-shirt. He smiled at you as he crossed the kitchen. He approached you from behind your chair, leaving a kiss on the top of your head. 

      He sat across from you where his food sat, removing his hat from his head, sitting it on the table. You cleared your throat, “How were the lessons?” 

      You stared down at your plate as he answered. “Yeah, they were fine. Got to see Willow again. She gets better everytime I see her.” 

      Willow was the daughter of a friend of his, he’d been giving her lessons since she was five. But you weren’t really hoping to hear about Willow. 

      You hummed, “Anyone new?” 

      Harry forked some food into his mouth. “One new student today.” 

      “Sounds exciting.” You say, not meeting his gaze. 

      “Is everything okay?” He asks. Yeah, everythings great, just the fact that your new student is your ex. 

      You look up, nodding, “Yup, think I’m just tired.” 

      He pouted slightly, taking your plate. “Well, go up and take a nap, honey. I’ll clean all this up. Gotta head out to tidy up the stalls then I’ll come back right back to you.” 

      Harry came over to place a kiss on your lips, whispering, “I love you,” before staring over to the sink.

      You padded up the stairs, going along with the whole nap idea. Except you could nap. All you could do was roll around the bed and shut your eyes, picturing them riding together. 

     You groaned and stared up at the ceiling. For once in your life, you had all the motivation in the world to go out to the stalls and saddle one of the horses. That was never something you wanted to do before. You had no idea why. Maybe you were scared or maybe you were just self aware. But now you wanted to, or you thought so.

      You slide off the bed and hop on one of four wheelers, zipping to the stalls where you hoped Harry would be. 

      “Baby?!” You call out as you park the wheeler, stepping to the stalls. 

      “Milo’s!” He yells back and you make your way there. When you get there, Harry’s brushing Milo with a smile on his face. “Hey, honey. That nap was fast.”

      “Yeah, I’m rested and refreshed. Feeling better than ever.” Not. “Hey, uh,” Harry looks up from Milo, “Can I ask you something?”

      He nods, his brows furrowing, “Course you can, Y/n, you know that.” 

      You clear your throat, nodding to yourself. “Great, good, well,” You shake out your hands that feel like they’re getting sweatier by the second, “I was, uh, wondering if you’d teach me how to… how to ride.”

      Harry’s face pulls back, surprise written all over it. “Really?”

      “Yeah.” You nod, taking the brush from his hands and placing it in the basket. “I want you to give me lessons.” 

       The furrowing of his brows returns yet again and your heart drops: He shakes his head in confusion. “Why?” 

      You frown and scoff. “Do I need a reason?” 

      “No, it’s just you’ve never asked me before-“

      “Well, I am now,” You walk closer to him, whispering, “I want to learn how to fucking ride.” 

      Hurt spreads across his face as you spit the words. “Y/n, are you okay? What’s up w-“

      Flashes of what you had seen earlier seep into your mind. Ada laughing beside Harry, him smiling, him not telling you.

      Anger rushes over you as you bring your hands to his chest, pushing him back a few steps, yelling, “Just teach me how to ride, god dammit!”

      Then, you’re stuck in place and so is Harry. You let out heavy breaths, your shoulders tight as your stomach turns. Silence fills the air as you both stand in front of each other. What had you just done?

      Finally, the emotions that you’d buried deep down earlier had erupted and you look like an asshole. But you still felt hurt. But he was the only thing that ever healed the hurt inside of you. So, right in front of Harry, you broke down. A sob rushed out of your throat, tears falling as you stepped over to him, wrapping your arms around him and burying your face in his chest. 

      Harry wraps his arms around you and slowly rubs his hand up and down your back trying to soothe you. “It’s okay, honey, you’re okay.” He laid kisses on top of your head as you cried out into his chest. That was something that you loved about Harry. He didn’t need to know what was wrong, only that if something was wrong, he wanted to fix it. 

      You cried out every single tear you could until his shirt was soaked and your face was drenched. He pulled your face away from his chest to get a good look at you. He stared into your eyes, hand cupping your cheek, asking, “What’s hurting you, honey?” 

      You bit your lip staring at him, debating whether or not you wanted to tell him. Of course, you wanted to tell him, but you didn’t know if it would make you sound like a crazy jealous wife. Because maybe you were in the wrong. What if this was just all in your own head? Wouldn’t you look stupid.

      You took a deep breath, “I know you’re giving Ada lessons.”

      Harry’s face morphed into an expression that you couldn’t read. His mouth dropped open a touch and you thought that maybe it was guilt that you saw. 

      “Y/n,” He shook his head, “I’m so sorry.” He was sorry? Did that mean he had done something? “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” 

      “No, it’s okay,” You try to fan your face to dry the tears on your cheeks. “I’m sorry I acted this way, it was stupid-” 

      Harry grabbed your face again, “Don’t you ever say that. It wasn’t stupid. I’m stupid. I’m so fucking stupid because I actually believed her.” Now, you were confused.

      “What?” You asked. What the hell was going on right now?

      Harry sighed and grabbed your hands. “I didn’t wanna teach her, but she came to me with this sob story,” Shaking his head, a look of disgust washed over his face. “Told me her dad said she needed lessons cause of she didn’t learn how to do something around their farm soon, he’d kick her out.”

      A wave of relief crashed over you. You had no idea she still lived with her dad and you were assuming Harry didn’t either. Ada’s dad also had a farm, but it wasn’t nearly as big as the Style’s ranch.  

      Your shoulders dropped. “Oh.” 

      Harry nodded, “Yeah, accept he didn’t say that. She just made up the whole goddamn story as a way to get to me. I mean,” He motions behind him, “I’m sure you saw her out there. She knows how to ride a fucking horse. I feel so stupid.” He grabbed your face again. “You know she means nothing to me. Nothing else in the goddamn world means a thing to me if I don’t have you. You know that right?”

      “Of course, I do.” You pressed your forehead to his, placing a soft kiss on his lips. “But why didn’t you just tell me?” 

      “I don’t know.” He shakes his head, “Honey I wish I had a reason, but I don’t. God, I’m so fucking stupid.” He gave you a quick kiss. “Forgive me, baby.” 

      You nod. “You’re forgiven,” You wrap your arms around his neck, “But you’re still gonna have to make it up to me.”

      Harry pulled his face back, a mischievous smirk planted on his face. “Right here?” He asked, gripping your hips and backing you up and out of Milo’s stall, before shutting the stall door. 

      “Harry…” You whispered. The dimples grew on his cheeks which you knew meant he was up to no good. “What are you doing?” You asked as he began trailing his lips down your neck.

      “Shh, trying to make it up to my wife.” He slurred against your neck, as if he was drunk off of the feeling. You giggle at his tone but push him off.

      He groans at you but you just roll your eyes. “Down boy, you’ll get what you want. But I don’t really feel like giving the horses a show.” You grab his hand and pull him from the stalls quickly, scanning the ranch for a secret hideaway. 

      Harry tugs you to the right, saying, “The barn.”

      You shake your head quickly. “Your dad!” You whisper shout. What was he thinking?

      “Is done for the day.” He finishes, dragging you over to the big red building. As soon as you get in, He pushes you up against the wall, his lips immediately pressed to yours and his hands feeling all over your sundress. His hands slip beneath the material, going straight for your ass, squeezing it. 

     His tongue slips across your lips, making its way into your mouth as your hands make their way up to his hair at his neck. Your fingers tangle in the curls as you moan against his mouth. You were feeling the effects of his actions already as your arousal began to soak your panties. He pulls away from the kiss, breathless and a lust drunk smile on his face. He pulls his cowboy hat from his head, setting it on yours.

      “Hold this for me?” Harry starts to lower himself onto his knees. “Wanna have a taste of my sweet, sweet Honey.” 

      He lifts your dress up to your waist, looking for you to hold it. You do, grabbing the hem of your dress as a breeze blows over your legs. Harry kisses the inside of your thighs, trailing up to the very apex. You let out a small gasp, your stomach caving in as he pressed his lips over top of the center of your panties. 

      “Oh, baby,” He placed a long lick along your covered center, “So worked up.” He hooked his fingers into your underwear, sliding them down your legs. He tucked them in the back pocket of his jeans before lifting one of your legs and placing it on shoulder. He locked his eyes on yours as he latched his mouth onto your cunt. 

      “Oh my god,” You sigh as he slid a hand back to hold your ass, pushing your pussy further in his face. Harry wrapped his tongue around your clit, sucking at it, sending zaps of pleasure through your body. He groans against you, his tongue moving to fuck into you. Your head starts to lull back at the loads of satisfaction you’re feeling but he’s quick to reach up and pinch your thigh, getting your attention. 

      “Eyes on me,” He speaks sternly against you. You nod and watch as he drowns himself in your arousal, exploring every inch of your pussy. “Ya wear dresses like this more often and I’ll be on my knees forever.” 

      It was one of the simple sun dresses that you had in your closet. You had no idea that it drove him this crazy, but you made a mental note.

      You started grinding your hips against his face feeling the tingles climb up your spine. Harry nodded and kept himself still, letting you decide what felt good. “That’s it, honey, take what you want.” So, you did. Your hands dropped the bottom of the dress that you had been holding, sticking your hands in his hair and pushing his face against you. 

      “Harry,” Your voice grabbing onto a high pitch noise as your high started to creep up on you. Your head dropped forward as you watched him, his hat that sat on your head dipped forward over your face. 

      “Go ‘head, honey, come for me.” He his nose rubbed at your clit while his tongue continued fucking into you, making you moan out and pull his curls.

      And all of a sudden, you were being pushed over the cliff and your high washed over you. Your legs shook as he lapped up every drop of your arousal like a puppy. You hoped that you weren’t too loud, but you couldn’t help yourself as he began to suck at your clit again.

      You yelped and yanked at his hair, shaking your hair, “Too sensitive.”

      Harry chuckled as he removed your leg from his shoulder, rising off his knees. He placed a kiss on the tip of your nose. “Feel good, baby?” 

      You hummed and nodded. “Just like jelly.” 

      “Ready for some more?” He picked you up from your ass and wrapped your legs around his waist, jogging you both to the house, leaving you squealing.

      “Harry!” 

#cowboylikelyric #smut #harrystyles #fanfic #cowboy #cowboyrry #writing #harry styles writing #harry edward styles #harry styles fic #harry styles #harry one shot #blurb #oneshot #sexy content #fanfiction #harry styles fanfiction #wattpad #aesthetic #18+ content

[isalisewrites]

A Deep Dive into JKR's Terrible, Amateur Writing - Part Two

Welcome to my ballsy series where I will prove to you, dear reader, that J.K. Rowling, author of the Harry Potter series and resident Twitter TERF, is actually a very, very poor writer.

And when I say ‘poor writer,’ I’m talking about her prose, her sentence structure, and her scenes. I am not going to discuss anything about the HP world nor the overall plot of the books. 

This is all about the nitty gritty in the craft of writing itself.

Part One Link.

Disclaimer for all readers of this series: 

I’m going to sound very confident in my posts where I work under the assumption I’m a better writer than JKR; because I am. My apologies if this rubs you the wrong way. You’re simply witnessing the culmination of over two and half decades of experience with the intensity from a neurodivergent who is hyperfocused on her special interest. I didn’t just learn how to create stories; I learned the craft of writing to a minutia of details.

I’m not a perfect writer. No one is. I’m not a talented writer either. I’m experienced and skilled through years of study and practice.

I don’t care about J.K. Rowling. At all.

If you’re triggered by the concept and fact that JKR is a terrible crafter of writing, then you might want to take a step back and self reflect on that personal issue.

I still very much love and adore Harry Potter; you’re still allowed to love Harry Potter.

This is not a series to bitch or bash. This isn’t a shitpost. This isn’t an attack on JKR, no matter the disgusting bullshit she spews forth on Twitter. However, my hope is people awaken to the fact that JKR isn’t the goddess of writing we’ve all been led to believe.

This is a place of study and learning, where the purpose is to help students gain critical thinking skills and writing analysis tools to become better in their craft.

And, sorry, one more disclaimer for this specific post: 

Fanfiction is written for fun and is posted for free. I put most of my effort into my main fanfic, Terrible, But Great. (Yes, I intend to update Moon Rite soon, too) However, I also have two fanfics that are cowritten with another author; thus, the style of Shall I Stay and Badger Prey are understandably different. I spend three to four times the hours to edit a chapter versus drafting it. My process for fanfiction: I draft. I do one expansion edit. I do one proofread edit. I post.

However, if I were to publish a novel where people are expected to drop money on said book, my work flow would be vastly more extensive. To be clear, I’d do all of the following myself. I would not outsource. My process for published novels: I would draft. I would do three to four expansion edits. I would do two to three cutting edits. I would do three proofread edits. 

See the difference?

Because I don’t go through a cutting edit for my fanfiction, I’ll often come back later and see things I think are weak. I’m constantly seeing where I can tighten my work. There’s always room for improvement.

Remember: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix is a paperback book that costs $10. My fanfics are free. If I, someone who writes for free and puts what she considers the bare minimum of effort into them, have a higher standard in the quality of my writing than a paid traditionally published novelist, there’s a problem here. 

All right, with that nonsense out of the way, buckle up, my writing friends. Grab a snack. Hydrate. Remember to take what resonates and leave what doesn’t. Let’s begin.

Class is in session.

In this post, we’re going to discuss these five pages from HP5 and dissect one paragraph and a line from page 731. All dialogue is highlighted in blue.

(My favorite book in the series, btw. I fucking love fifth year the most. JKR did a damn good job with Umbridge.)

Since a certain anon lacked the skill to comprehend the difference between too much dialogue and stories driven by a high saturation of dialogue, let's go into further depth about dialogue.

What did I mean last week when I said: "Too much fucking dialogue!"

Today’s lesson will focus on the overall issue in JKR’s dialogue and in the prose surrounding those dialogue lines.

And since, apparently, I “lack the self awareness” to know most of my fics are “oversaturated with dialogue,” I’m going to use weaker examples of my own writing. Chapter 24 of TBG is heavily driven by dialogue with twenty-one named characters to juggle, something that's very difficult for me to manage. Though the chapter is lovely, I do feel it's some of my weaker work. In the end, I just didn’t have the energy to edit it a second time nor go through cutting edit.

Here are three different pages (some connected, some not) from Chapter 24 of Terrible, But Great. All dialogue is highlighted in blue.

You can already see the difference, I'm sure.

So, what’s the difference between a scene that has 'too much fucking dialogue' versus a scene that is highly saturated with dialogue?

Because there is one.

Let's set the scene for HP5. In the middle of an OWL exam, Harry received a vision from Voldemort, showing him that Sirius has been captured. He's being tortured to get something from a shelf, but Sirius refuses. Harry believes the vision is real. He tells Ron and Hermione, then asks for their advice on how to rescue Sirius. Ron and Hermione are both like, pardon, wtf, sir? (As they should be.)

We have five pages of this fight between them. These five pages are mostly dialogue with very little else surrounding it.

Also, note the final page where it has the worst sins of adverb usage. That page is what triggered me to begin writing this series in the first place, btw.

There's too much dialogue here. There's no description. I'm being told stuff, but I'm not being shown anything. There are no emotional anchors to Harry either. The more I reread this scene, the more I realized what was wrong.

There’s an emotional disconnect from Harry in the prose.

Do not misunderstand me: it is NOT to say that Harry isn’t emotional here. It's that the prose doesn’t grip me, the reader, by the chest and twist my heart with his overwhelming emotions. The prose doesn't prove anything, doesn't show me anything. This is an intense, terrifying moment for Harry. It should feel visceral. It should feel tangible. I should be able to taste his fear.

We also don’t get too much information about the emotional states of Ron and Hermione. We have hints, of course. But we can’t feel them. The emotions of the scene are dampened, muffled, dull even.

With an untrained eye, you might disagree. It's okay. You'll see what I mean soon.

Page 731 exact quote:

"I dunno how," said Harry. "But I know exactly where. There's a room in the Department of Mysteries full of shelves covered in these little glass balls, and they're at the end of row ninety-seven...He's trying to use Sirius to get whatever it is he wants from in there....He's torturing him....Says he'll end by killing him..." Harry found his voice shaking, as were his knees. He moved over to a desk and sat down on it, trying to master himself.

(Btw, punctuation issue: you do not use an ellipsis and a period together and there should be a space after the ellipsis.)

This is the only instance in the five pages where we get any information about Harry's physical state.

And it's written in such a weak 'telling' instead of 'showing' way, too.

How and where was his voice shaking? How are his knees shaking? Are they knocking together in a weird way that's kind of physically improbable? Or was it actually his legs were shaking? Isn't he leaning against the door? If his weight was resting against the door, then there'd be less shaking in his knees or legs because his knees would be locked to brace his body against the door. His arms and hands would be shaking, though.

How does Harry master himself? What does that look like? Slow breaths? Running a hand through his hair? Rubbing his face and eyes? How is Harry mastering himself? Is it mentally? Then, where are those mastering thoughts? What are they and why do those thoughts in particular help Harry 'master' himself?

What's Harry's tone as he talking about Voldemort threatening to kill Sirius? How is Harry feeling about this? Give me MORE!

The dialogue is presented to the reader in a bland, empty fashion. Harry is relating something to Ron and Hermione. I could switch the dialogue out with anything and it'd still make sense.

There is little surrounding the dialogue to anchor it.

So, let's rewrite this, shall we?

"I dunno how," said Harry, letting out a shaky breath. His hands clenched into fists against the door of the classroom. "But I know where—they're in a room in the Department of Mysteries that's filled with rows of shelves holding these... weird little glass balls. They're in row ninety-seven. Voldemort, he's—" Harry's voice broke. His breath caught in his throat. The memory of the vision returned full force into his mind, the image of Sirius on the floor at Voldemort's feet stark in his mind. He ducked his chin; his chest inhaled in a desperate breath and the edges of his eyes burned. He's torturing Sirius—I can't just wait around. I can't lose him. Harry looked up at Ron, whose face had grown pale, while Hermione stared at him with wide, terrified eyes. The strength in Harry's legs weakened. "He needs Sirius to get whatever it is he wants and he's—" Harry sucked in a gasp, his voice trembling like an autumn leaf in a thunderstorm. "—he's torturing Sirius... says he'll kill him in the end." His knees buckled. Harry stumbled to the nearest desk; Ron reached out with a steadying hand on Harry's upper arm and silent gratitude filled Harry's heart. With shaky arms, Harry lifted himself onto the desk to sit and twisted around to face Ron and Hermione. He licked his dry lips, rubbed his eyes with a hand, and took slow, deep breaths to master his fraying emotions.

The original canon text has 57 words of dialogue with a total of 83 words.

My rewritten version uses 56 words of dialogue with a total of 247 words.

I'm going to drill this concept into your heads, my lovely students: this is what I mean when I keep saying JKR's writing is both bloated and underwritten.

I only rewrote a single paragraph and its following line. The five pages I've provided are filled with this kind of empty dialogue.

So, what have I done here? Can you see the difference? Can you feel the difference?

Let's analyze what I focused on in this scene to show Harry's body language and his thoughts. I upped the physical effects on Harry's body. His fear causes his voice to break in the middle of explaining what's going on. He's terrified of losing Sirius, the only father figure he's ever known. Voldemort might take another parental figure from him. 

And now the prose reflects these feelings, not just in his thoughts, but also in how he speaks and reacts to what is around him. He is not just speaking at the reader.

Harry exists in his world. 

And you can feel it.

When he stumbles to the desk, Ron is there for him. Hermione reacting could also be added here. There is a lot that can be added to this scene, if one wanted to expand this further. 

Yes, what I've done has increased the word count, yet it strengthens this short moment—and I'd do this for the entire scene.

What I did to the scene is merely one version of its potential. It could be rewritten in a multitude of ways and go in various directions. I spent 10mins to 20mins on it. I haven't edited it or refined it.

Can you finally see what I mean now?

If you compare the highlighted pages of HP5 to the highlighted pages of Chp 24 of TBG, you can visually see the difference in the density of the dialogue. JKR is the one whose writing is oversaturated with dialogue. My writing will always be highly saturated with dialogue because my stories are character driven. I prefer stories like that. But I also need the dialogue to be interesting and engaging, where the character feels alive in their world.

When I say there's too much dialogue, this scene is such a good example of this because Harry, Ron, and Hermione are all over the place in their interactions with each other. Yes, you want your characters to sound realistic, but you're also the author curating an experience for the reader.

There's a balancing tightrope act between having realistic dialogue and unnecessary dialogue.

There's a thin line between showing too much and telling too little.

Lastly, if I were to improve the overall scene, I would center the focus on Harry's desperation to rescue Sirius. As Ron and Hermione try to talk him out of it, where Hermione delivers that iconic line of 'you have a people saving thing,' I'd have Harry explode with something like this:

"You don't know what's it like! You both have your parents—I-I don't... You'd feel the same as me if it were either of your parents being tortured by Voldemort, yeah? I can't lose him—I can't lose Sirius."

I'm not bothering with description around it right now. I just wanted to give the baseline dialogue to show you the theme I'd carry through this scene. It's all about Sirius. It's all about the fear of losing him. It's about showing the emotion of the character and making the reader feel that deeply.

And that's what matters the most.

All right then.

We have come to an end of Part Two in this series. We have discussed fives pages in JKR's Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. The pages in question are 731 - 735 should you wish to look it up and study the scene yourself.

And so, please do the world the greatest of favors and write better than J.K. Rowling. I promise, it's not that hard once you see the differences.

Until next time.

Isa

#harry potter #hp #fanfiction #fanfic #hp fanfic #hp fanfiction #harry potter discourse #harry potter books #jk rowling #fuck jkr #anti jkr #jk rowling is a terrible writer series by isalise #on writing #writing #writers #writer #author #authors #writing advice #writing stuff #becoming better at writing #writer stuff #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writers on ao3 #writerscommunity #creative writing #JKR's Terrible Amateur Writing Series #writing help #writing resources

[lulublack90]

Prompt 20 - Established Relationship

@wolfstarmicrofic May 20, word count 546

“Godric, I love you,” Sirius moaned into Remus’s ear as he clambered onto his lap in the booth they sat at with their friends in the three broomsticks. 

“Oh no you don’t!” Marlene burst out, grabbing the back of Sirius’s robes. “It is too early for sappy Sirius to make an appearance. I am not sitting next to you speaking sweet nothing's into Remus’s ear at full volume because you can't figure out whispering when I am this sober.” Sirius reached over and pushed a glass of something that smelled like paint stripper in front of Marlene. 

“Then hurry up and get drunk, so I can make out with my boyfriend.”

An hour later, they were all a bit worse for wear and Sirius had somehow lost his shirt. He couldn’t even see it. He turned his bleary head to look behind him and found himself eye to eye with Dorcas. She was sitting on Marlene’s lap, giggling as she whispered something into Marlene’s ear and stroked her fingers up and down Marlene’s arm. Marlene had her hand splayed across Dorcas’s thigh, the tips of her fingers disappearing up her short skirt. 

“Oi,” Sirius complained. “If I can’t be soppy,"

“I said sappy,” Marlene corrected. 

“Whatever,” Sirius stuck out his tongue. “Either way, if I can’t be, then neither can you.”

“Oh hush, we’re nowhere near as bad as you two when you get going.” Marlene scoffed. Sirius turned to grin wickedly at Remus, who stole a kiss from his boyfriend and winked at him before he took another sip of his drink. 

“I don’t think you can chastise us, Marlene, when James and Lily are at the same table. Together, the four of them looked across the booth. James’s glasses were hanging on for dear life from one ear. His hair was completely upright and looked hilarious and Lily, like Sirius, and Dorcas, was sitting on her lover's lap. She had her hands fully pushed under James’s jumper and pressed into his chest. 

Sirius grimaced, he was almost certain he’d just seen James’s tongue pushing against the inside of Lily’s cheek. 

“There isn’t enough alcohol in Hogsmeade for me to sit here with that going on. Fancy a stroll, my love?” He asked Remus. 

“Thought you’d never ask.” Remus replied, gathering their things, Sirius’s shirt magically reappearing. He threw down a few Galleons and they made their escape. 

“Hey! Wait for us!” Marlene cried out and raced across the pub and out the door, dragging Dorcas behind her. James and Lily were blissfully unaware that they’d been ditched. 

Remus wrapped an arm around Sirius and Sirius snuggled in close to his warmth. 

“Shall we head back to the dorm while James is otherwise engaged? There’s something I want to try.” Remus had that look in his eye that drove Sirius wild. 

“Bye guys,” He called over his shoulder as he allowed Remus to lead him towards the edge of the village. He was so lucky to have Remus in his life. He felt so loved and wanted in a way even James couldn’t give him. Why did the castle have to be so far away? He wanted to know what Remus had planned. Whatever it was, he knew it would be fun. It always was.

#wolfstar #wolfstar microfic #wolfstar fic #wolfstar fluff #sirius black #remus lupin #dead gay wizards #remus john lupin #sirius orion black #marlene mckinnon #dorcas meadowes #james potter #lily evans #the marauders era #the marauders’ era #the marauders #the three broomsticks #drunk marauders #wait where did my shirt go? #established relationship

[hungryforjay]

𓆈 nrk || harry potter au

𓆈 not gryffindor slander i am a gryffindor myself🫡 first dialogue tags are ib a writing prompt || word count uhh short

˗ˏˋ 𓅰 ˎˊ˗

The witching hour approached quickly. The clouds were sparse and the sky was dark, save for the few stars that twinkled alongside the moon. The weeping willow swayed and the wind whispered through the leaves, flittered through the grass, swept the strands of your bangs and lifted them off your forehead. It nipped at your skin and tickled your calves, your robe doing little to cover your skin.

Riki lies next to you half asleep, eyelids fluttering like the wind.

“Doesn’t it bother you?” Riki mumbles, startling you out of your trance fixed on the thestrals lurking by, “The shit your sister says?”

You watched a fallen leaf twirl onto a dirt bed.

“Does anyone feel good about the shit our siblings say?”

He shifted onto his elbow, his palm hoisting up his head. Riki looked very serious for once, more than you’ve ever seen him before.

“It should bother you. Everyone knows the stigma surrounding Slytherins is old news. You’re not evil. Do you know that?”

You rolled your eyes, leaning farther back on your hands to look up at the sky. It was the same conversation over and over again. Of how your perfect prefect sister, an insufferable Gryffindor, acted like you didn’t exist because you were sorted into Slytherin. And that was four years ago.

“Do you know that?”

Riki scrunched his face, fingers gripping the grass below him. “What?”

“You keep bringing it up so much, I’m starting to think you’re repeating it as a reminder to yourself.”

Scoffing, Riki ripped the weeds of grass from under his hands and rested his head on the dirt bed behind. He chuckled.

“Maybe I have to, y’know? Seeing as you aren’t doing anything to shift the narrative.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re just letting her going around spreadin’ shit about us. Nobody wants to be around us. Not even our own house, we’re outsiders in a place we’re supposed to call home.”

His eyes avoided yours, opting to stare at the moon that colored his pupils white.

“I’m not obligated to do shit Riki. They can think whatever they want. They-“

“They think we’re Death Eaters! That’s not something one can just think—about Y/n. They think we’re murderers…and I dunno about you, but I’m not okay with being labeled as a fuckin’ murderer. I’m a Slytherin. Not, and I repeat, not, a murderer.”

You stare wide eyed as he rested his head back on the bed of grass, shutting his eyes with a harsh sigh.

“Why do you think we’re out here, Y/n? We can’t even get a sliver of peace in our own fuckin’ dorm.” Riki muttered with and like the wind, soft and sharp.

It’s been a long time since you’ve cared about anything real. The last time you tried you ended up defeated against the triumph of your sister. But looking at Riki’s scrunched face, his frustration peaking through from the tremble in his lip had reminded you that he was real, his feelings were real.

Letting her win means losing Riki.

Riki, the only person who stuck beside you the moment you were sorted.

A low huff grumbled in the distance, pulling your attention off Riki. Two thestrals knocked their chins against each other, huffing and whining, playfulness reminding you of the relationship you shared with the boy ignoring you to your right.

“Let’s get her back.”

Riki cracked open an eye at the sound of your voice, eyebrow arched in question. “Get her back?”

You raised your eyebrows in response, heartbeat reaching your ears in anticipation of his answer. He pushed his upper body up with the heart of his palm, a sly grin creeping up the corners of his mouth.

He reached out a hand and you slapped yours in his, shyly grinning back.

“Slick the slytherin you are—Welcome back Y/n.”

#enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen niki #enhypen nishimura riki #ni ki enhypen #ni ki x reader #niki imagines #nishimura riki #riki nishimura #riki nishimura x reader #harry potter

[munsonsmixtapes]

Tired of Waiting

Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

summary: little pieces of your life as you fall in love with Anthony

cw: hurt/comfort

very loosely inspired by Love Story by Taylor Swift

Age 7

The first time you met Anthony, you had been playing hide and seek with your siblings. Your brothers had invited him to play and had declared that he be the seeker. Immediately, you had thought he was cute with his disheveled hair and outfit that was covered in dirt for reasons unknown to you.

He got along with your brothers quite nicely, but didn’t seem to pay you any mind. Almost as if he didn’t like you. And Anthony didn’t like you. He thought you were a know-it-all and didn’t like how you told him what to do.

You hid yourself in the tree above you and tried to hold back your giggles as you watched the boy and your brothers look for you, calling out your name as they did so. You let out a laugh that was a bit too loud and all four of them looked up, Anthony’s eyes going wide as he saw how high up you were. He thought it was very irresponsible of your brothers to let a girl such as yourself climb up there. But instead of helping, they all just laughed along with you.

Taking matters into his own hands, Anthony climbed up to help you despite your objection. You didn’t need his help. You got up there so you could certainly get down. And you certainly didn’t need help from a boy. Especially not one who was your not your brother.

“I do not require your help,” you told him, but he just ignored you, climbing the tree quicker than you ever could.

“No one said you didn’t require it, but I am offering.”

“Then I shall stay up here.” You crossed your arms over your chest, planting yourself down on the branch that you had been standing on. Thinking about letting him help you made you feel weak, like you couldn’t do it for yourself and you most certainly could.

You turned to face the setting sun as Anthony continued to climb to you, paying him no mind. You weren’t leaving that tree until he went away. He was not going to make you look like all of the other women. Because that was not what you were. You were just a girl trying to live out her freedom until it was time to discuss marriage.

Everyone stopped when there was a loud crack coming from below you. You sat up and sure enough, the branch was separating from the tree. Anthony finally reached the branch and him grabbing onto it made it completely break off, causing the both of you to fall to the ground in a loud thud.

He landed on top of you and made multiple apologies even though the fall hadn’t been that far, but you had hurt your knee, probably had even broken it. You screamed in response to the pain and your brothers quickly pulled him off of you and your oldest brother, Henry carried you inside to have your scraped knees taken care of. From that moment, you vowed that you would always hate Anthony Bridgerton.

Age 12

You got over your hatred for Anthony pretty quickly and the two of you had been attached at the hip ever since. You’d chase each other through the garden, threatening to kiss the other once you were caught, but that never actually happened. No matter how much you wanted it to. You knew it was wrong for a boy and a girl to kiss if they were not married, but that didn’t stop you from imagining what it would have been like to press a featherlight kiss to Anthony’s lips.

And Anthony felt just the same. He had realized that the feelings he had thought were hatred were actually of love. He had loved you and more than just a friend. He knew that he was young, but he wanted to marry you. So badly that it hurt. He vowed that as soon as the two of you were of age, he’d do it. If he had the guts.

Age 16

As you got older, you and Anthony talked much of traveling the world together. You’d go to Spain and Paris, and Italy and wherever else your hearts desired. You’d both sit in the study of your house and spin your globe for hours, closing your eyes and spinning the thing and deciding you’d had whatever it landed on to your ever-growing itinerary.

Not long after, Anthony told you that he would be traveling with his uncle through Europe. Coincidentally to the exact places you both had discussed going to. You had been a little upset, but ultimately felt elated for him to be able to do something so exciting. He promised that he would write and bring something back, but that didn’t seem like enough. You had spent every single day for the past nine years together and now you were going to be miles apart with only his letters and gifts to keep your company.

The next week, you saw Anthony off, giving him a hug that lasted a little too long for friends and stayed there until his carriage disappeared down the road. You felt tears fall from your eyes but wiped them away until you were alone.

You knew it was only going to be for a few weeks, but without Anthony, a part of you was missing. A piece of your heart had left with him and you were hoping, praying that he’d finally get the hint and come back and ask for your hand like you had been wanting for years. But he didn’t.

Age 20

Those few weeks had turned into months which eventually turned into years. Anthony had been gone for four years and you eventually threw away the letters he was sending you, knowing that everything he had said was a load of shit. He has promised to come back and marry you, but clearly that hadn’t been of importance since he had yet to do just that.

So, with that, you decided that it was finally your season to find a husband to which your mother reluctantly agreed. She had her heart set on you ending up with Anthony, but since he had failed to propose, she decided that it was probably for the best to just get on with it.

As soon as you had been declared ready to wed, suitors lined up at your door with gifts and many compliments which you took with a smile. All of them were gentleman, but none of them seemed right. The onto one you wanted was out of reach.

You found yourself at yet another ball to meet more suitors that you had forced yourself to go despite your want to stay home and read Anthony’s letters over and over again. You had been dancing with the man your mother had insisted was the right fit for you and no matter how nice he was, you had decided that he was a bore. All he seemed to want to talk about was his family and as nice as it was that he loved them so much, you could only hear about his six siblings for so long.

You looked around the room as he spoke and your eyes locked on a beautiful man by the refreshments table. He has the prettiest brown eyes and hair that was the perfect amount of messy. He was definitely your type and you had been determined to talk to him.

Once the song ended, you excused yourself from Edgar and made a beeline for the man that has caught your interest. His eyes locked on yours and for some reason, they seemed familiar, almost as if you had looked into them before. He gave you a smile and you swore your legs were going to give out at how pretty it was.

“Hello,” you greeted him with a curtsy. “I’m-”

“Lady l/n,” he finished, taking your gloved hand and pressing a kiss to it. How could he have possibly known your name? Unless- No, he was in Paris last you had heard.

“Anthony?” You asked and he just smiled. It really was him! In the flesh! How had he come back and not told you? Perhaps the announcement had been in the letters you had failed to open.

“I believe you should address me as Viscount Bridgerton,” he said, his lips right by your ear, causing you to shiver.

“That would mean that I respect you and at this moment, I don’t.” You pulled your hand from his and headed out of the ballroom, down to the courtyard.

Anthony took off after you, quickly gaining up on you. What had he done wrong? Once upon a time, you worshipped the ground that he walked on and now you were treating him like he was dog shit you had just stepped in.

He told you he was going to come back and marry you and now that he had, you didn’t want anything to do with him. He knew that he had been gone longer than intended, but he had hoped you still would have been happy to see him. Apparently, he was wrong.

Anthony followed you into the hedge maze that took up most of the courtyard and was having trouble keeping up since you had sped up into a run. What even was the purpose of a hedge maze?

He eventually caught you by the wrist and you tried to wriggle out of his grasp, but it was no use. You were tired of running, but you were also tired of waiting. If you said the word, you’d be wed to Edgar within a month and Anthony would have been kicking himself because he hadn’t gotten there sooner. It was what he had deserved.

“Stop running,” he commanded through labored breaths and you just shook your head.

“No,” you replied. “I will not. I am so upset with you that I can’t even comprehend it.”

“Upset with me?” He still had no idea what he had done.

“Yes!” You looked so upset and exhausted that all Anthony wanted to do was hold you in his arms as a way to comfort you.

“Why?”

“Why? Be serious, Anthony! I have waited years for you and I shall not wait any longer. I am done with you.” That was like a stab to the heart. You should have just killed him. It would have hurt a lot less

“Done?” You couldn’t be done with him. You had spent too much time together for that to be true.

“I am to marry Lord Fletcher.” Fuck, he was too late.

“That man is a bore!” You had no interest in hearing his thoughts. He lost his privilege to tell you what he thought when he left.

“He is no such thing!” He really was, but you weren’t going to give Anthony the satisfaction of being right.

“And may I say old enough to be your father.” He was that too, but you weren’t really going to marry him so it didn’t matter.

“But he will be my husband. A role you could have taken on if you had bothered to show up.” With that, he he let go of your hand and watched you move further into the maze.

“But he doesn’t love you as much as I!” He yelled, loud enough for you to hear. You quickly turned around and marched towards him and grabbed him by his coat before pressing your lips to his. You felt him gasp into your mouth but he quickly melted into you, his lips moving with yours.

“You love me,” you said against his lips.

“More than you’ll ever know.” He pulled away and reached into his pocket for the ring he had bought for you in Paris. He opened the box you gasped at the beautiful ring sitting inside it.

“Anthony, it’s beautiful.”

“And it’s yours.” He removed the ring from the box and slid it onto your finger, tears welling up in both of your eyes. “It always was.”

“I’m sorry. I was horrible to you.”

“No apologies necessary,” he shook his head, pulling you into another deep kiss. “Now, shall we go make the announcement?” He asked, offering you his arm.

“We shall,” you nodded and looped your arm through his, the two of you making your way back into the ballroom to announce your much anticipated engagement.

#bridgerton #anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton smut #anthony bridgeton fluff

[weaselle]

What'd your boss do, if you don't mind?

oh dear. trap card activated

ok. ok. There is a lot more behind me reaching the end of my rope. But the final straw was this:

I have next week off (my first week off in 3 years). She said she needed a report. She explicitly told me the reason she needed the report was so she could cover my shifts while i am off, citing problems covering when one of our clients gave me covid a month ago.

She said she needed to know what order I was doing pick ups and drop offs, and she needed to know procedures for the new clients (about half of our clients are new enough that she has never worked directly with them).

She gave the specific example of not knowing to go to the side door of one client's house instead of the front door. She said she also needed to know who had timing expectations, saying when she covered for me clients were "blowing up her phone" because she didn't know when clients expected me and which clients i typically texted an arrival time, again giving a specific example of "like the way you text [client she is familiar with] from the bottom of the hill on your way to her house"

I clarified by using two more examples "oh like how I always let [client's dog] stop to pee right before putting him back in the house, and how I always text [other client] when i am 15 minutes from her house?" and she confirmed that was the information she was asking for. She said to just write it down at each house along my route as i worked each day of the week.

At the end of Monday I told her writing all that down was making me late to client's houses, so i was just going to write it all up on the weekend. I also pointed out that since i was writing so much of it down anyway, i might as well write it not just good enough for her, but complete enough that any other employee could cover a shift of mine if needed. She agreed.

Since i was volunteering to do more than was strictly asked, and since i have been trying to showcase how i go above and beyond because she promised to make me a manager but hasn't, i wrote up this report in my own time, unpaid, over the weekend.

Now I only wrote a short paragraph for each client. But I service about 20 clients each day. Many of those clients are repeat clients throughout the week, so there was a fair amount of copy/pasting, but it was still a hell of a report to write up.

Because it was so long, I spent extra time making it super organized and easy to read, formatted so it's not just a wall of text, easy to skip over parts and find specific information as needed.

I turned in to her a 26 page 14,000 word document, which contains the necessary information for any employee to cover my specific client routes. It took me 7 hours.

Her response?

"This isn't what i asked for"

BUT IT IS EXACTLY WHAT SHE ASKED FOR.

I confirmed that it was what she asked for. It IS a little more detailed than she strictly asked for, but I TOLD her I would be doing that and she spent four days knowing I was preparing to do that and she didn't say a thing about not doing that.

So I'm like "well, what do you need that's not in there?"

And she says "i need to know the exact order you are doing your route, not just pick ups, but slotting the drop offs in-between the pickups too"

So i'm like "that is exactly how that report is written"

And she says "I need to know the times clients expect you to be picking up and dropping off, and when you are doing the walks and when you are taking breaks"

And i go "every client that has a timing expectation is noted in that report, my break times and the walk times are also included."

And she says "it's more information than i need, I need just the stuff i personally need, like the cliffs notes version of your report"

And i'm like "the cliffs notes version, the lines containing the specific information you personally need, are done in bold so you can easily skim through and find it."

and after going around and around like this, it finally comes out that what she ACTUALLY wants is a minute to minute log of how i am spending my day because she's paying me about 6 hours a week of overtime and she's mad about it.

Which i'm happy to provide a log of my time on shift, but if she wants to know why there's overtime, i can tell her in 2 minutes instead of wasting my time on this logging project, IN FACT I DID TELL HER WHY THERE WAS OVERTIME, ONCE WHEN CHANGES TO THE SCHEDULE MADE IT SEEM LIKELY, AND AGAIN TWO WEEKS LATER CONFIRMING THAT WAS WHAT HAD HAPPENED

But really it boils down to me bending over backwards to help her grow her business while she has failed to make good on every single promise she's made me.

Like, I was her only employee for two years and she promised she would make me a manager (i'm interested in a promotion for both the monetary compensation and the job title for résumé reasons) and i worked my ass off to build up the client base so we could hire two more employees and make that happen...

but she did not have me sit in on the interviews, she did not have me shadow her doing the intake process, nothing. She clearly either does not intend on making me a manager or doesn't know how.

i tend to gravitate to small, owner operated businesses, partially because i have a real soft spot for being truly needed, and partially because it's a way to study the dos and don'ts of how to open and run my own business one day.

I understand she is a small business with small business problems, and i have been very patient because she's a single mom with a lot going on in her personal life.

But the thing about me is, while I am very very patient and very very loyal... i need a bare minimum of return on that to replenish it. Tell me what a great job i'm doing every now and then, show appreciation for what i do, listen to me when i say things, etc, and if you NEVER do any of that, my vast reserves of patience and loyalty will dry up.

And once you use up my patience and loyalty? That's it. It's gone.

And I, well, i have been all used up.

also she pays me like half what she should, which i was letting slide because i was going to get a big raise with my promotion to manager, but that is looking like it will never happen, so ... fuuuuuuck this shit i'm out

"so i can open and run my own business one day" has arrived

#my life #too much tea #probably more than you wanted to know lol

[dfortrafalgar]

Catch Up

Law x Fem Reader

You might have met your soulmate while intoxicated, making out with him in a dark broom closet. But the only thing you left with was his first name.

Warnings: MATURE CONTENT, MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED!!!, reader is meant to be over 21, bar crawl setting and responsible alcohol consumption

--

A/N- I'm still (still!) working on requests, and posting un-posted fics from my google drive in the meantime. I'm hoping to have my inbox open once again at the end of the month, or perhaps early June, now that my work/life balance is adjusting properly since starting my new job! I'm really sorry to those who have been hoping for consistent fics from me, i really wish i could write as much as i was recently but i'm still trying really hard!

[Also posted on AO3]

Chapter 1

[Next]

It was hard to convince yourself that you weren’t just the slightest bit tipsy as you kept your head lowered and channeled all of your focus into making sure your feet walked in a linear path.  How many bars had you gone to again?  Four?  Five, maybe?  Your body swayed slightly with your gait as your mind scrambled to catch up with the last drink that you had.  It was only a cocktail, as all your other drinks from your bar crawl were.  Was it mango-flavored?  What street were you even on now?  You blindly followed the two women in front of you whose voices were gleefully mocking the words you had said some hours before the sun had gone down.

“‘I’m not a lightweight, never have been!’” chided Ikkaku, eyes crinkled in a smile as she poked fun at your previous confident statement.  She tossed a glance over her shoulder where you walked only a few steps behind.

“I’m not a lightweight!  My voice isn’t even slurring yet!” you fought back, increasing your speed to keep pace with your best friends.

“And what was the last drink you had?” Nami asked, pulling her phone out of her bra to check her map.

“A mango margarita,” you confirmed.  “With a little lime wedge and a mint leaf for a garnish.  The place was called Elgia Lounge and it was on–”

“Okay, okay, you’re not drunk!  We surrender!” laughed Ikkaku.  “I’m glad you’re not, though, because this next place apparently has some of the best pineapple daiquiris in the entire city.”

Your mouth started watering immediately at the thought.  You were always a sucker for sweet cocktails, arguably some of the most dangerous drinks due to the way the tangy, sour mixers completely blocked the taste of any alcohol added.  Sometimes, it was impossible to tell if there even was alcohol in the glass, but with the way you walked, there was obviously more than enough from your previous locations.  You hadn’t quite passed the threshold into drunk territory yet, but the image of a sweet and tart pineapple daiquiri might just be the thing to completely inebriate you.

Nami stopped dead in her tracks and looked towards the congested buildings immediately to your right side, scanning the signposts in the dark and looking for a specific one.  Tucked in between two sports bars, with absolutely zero signage on the graffiti-covered door, the red-head nodded her head toward the unmarked entrance.  “This is it.”

“Nami, you’re going to get us killed,” Ikkaku murmured, eyes squinting at the door to spot any indication that this was indeed a speakeasy and not a hidden trap house.  

“Am not, I swear this is the place!”

The three of you approached the steel door, Nami confidently being the one to ring the doorbell that was attached to a small intercom system.  It took a few breathless moments of mild worry before a voice filled with static came through the speaker.

“Password?”

You and Ikkaku were both blindsided as Nami crossed her arms over her chest and loudly proclaimed, “Suck my big, fat cock.”

Another few seconds of silence followed before the lock on the door clicked open and the same voice from before spoke, “Come in.”

“What the fuck,” you muttered in shock.

“Told you it was legit!” Nami chided with a giggle.

“A place that makes you say, ‘Suck my big, fat cock,’ as a password doesn’t seem very legit to me, but I’ll take your word for it,” Ikkaku mused as she followed Nami through the door and down a flight of stairs only illuminated with blue and pink fluorescent lights.

Graffiti completely covered the entire interior of the stairwell, leaving no part of concrete untouched from colorful ink.  Even the ceiling above you was marked in elaborate, incomprehensible swirls and zags of paint of all different colors, made even more colorful in the odd lighting.  The stairwell seemed to last forever as you followed your two friends down into the underground, clutching the steel railing for dear life as your tipsy vertigo fought with your ability to walk down a flight of steps.  You finally reached the bottom to another door, this time lined with a soft, cushiony leather fabric.  Nami pulled open the door and greeted a black-clad man standing in the small room directly behind it.

“IDs,” he grumbled.  Straight to the point.

The three of you fumbled through your purses for your driver’s licenses before handing each of them over to the man for a review.  He clicked on a pocket flashlight, scanning each card, handing them back to you with a hum.  “Enjoy the night, ladies.”  His large hand pushed open another door that was hidden in the wall itself.

The room that was opened to you was unlike any of the other bars you had entered, both during your current crawl and in your entire adult life previous.  The room was cloaked in a sexy blue and pink lighting, decorative art of pin-up models framed on the walls along with retro-inspired neon signs and liquor branding.  Groups of people filled the tables nearby, laughing and drinking through the booming music that flowed freely through the space.  It was crowded, almost overwhelmingly so, but you squeezed close to Ikkaku’s back as you pushed your way through the other patrons to get to the bar.  Your hand accidentally grabbed Ikkaku’s ass as her shoulder bumped into your breast, both of you wheezing out surprised laughter.

You popped through the stream of people to the bar which was, unsurprisingly, completely filled with every seat taken.  Two men worked tirelessly behind the counter, filling shakers with liquor and mixers, bitters and juices.  A bin of assorted fruits sat open in front of patrons, allowing the bartenders to grab their garnishes quickly and decorate their glasses with expert precision before passing them off to elated, tipsy customers.  You, Nami, and Ikkaku squeezed yourselves into the far corner of the bar, between the counter and a booth of patrons.  

“At least we can stand here!  It’s a bit crowded but it’ll do for now,” the red-head yelled through the shaking stereo that sat nearby.  

One of the two bartenders waved his hand in the air to attract your attention.  Long, spikey auburn hair framed a sharp face and crooked nose.  You were confused at the angular sunglasses that covered his eyes, but paid no mind in the end.  His voice cut through the music, but was clearly worn after a long night of screaming at people because of the volume.  “What can I get for you, ladies?”

Nami handed the man her credit card, explaining that she was going to close out after one drink for each of them, which he gladly accepted and placed in a secure box by the register.  Your eyes frantically scanned the illuminated menu above the bar, the raunchy, debauched names of the signature cocktails revealing absolutely nothing about their ingredients.  

“What the hell is a ‘Fuck Me Sideways?’” you shouted towards your friends.  

The man behind the counter cackled.  “That’s a pineapple daiquiri!  It’s sour as fuck, hence the name!”

Your mind flashed back to your conversation from the street, mouth once again salivating at the thought of the tangy, delicious concoction.  “I’ll get that please!”

The man memorized your three orders and immediately got to work.  You watched idly as he nudged his coworker’s shoulder and alerted him of the order so he could help with making your drinks.  It was then that your eyes trailed to said coworker.

All sound in the room faded into a muffled nothingness as your eyes narrowed on the other bartender, pupils dilating.  Toned, tanned arms and hands were littered in elaborate, grungy tattoos, and you could tell with the way his worn t-shirt dipped below his collarbones that he had another large piece on his chest, defining his pectorals even from beneath his clothing.  His jawline was sharp, a small goatee defining his chin, black sideburns framing his perfect face as intense, golden eyes focused on his work.   His tongue poked out from his thick lips slightly, revealing a tiny glimpse of a stud pierced through the muscle, and giving his intimidating appearance a sudden adorable qualm as long, deft fingers poured shots of liquor into his metal shaker cup.

You barely noticed the fingers snapping in your face.

“Hey, Earth to Apollo!  Can you read me?” Ikkaku hollered directly in your ear, shaking you out of your trance.

You jumped in surprise, music fading back into your consciousness as the sound of Nami’s laughter brought you firmly back to reality.

“Looks like someone’s got the hots for the emo bartender over there!” sang the red-head, leaning against the wall and making a very lewd gesture with her hands.

You grumbled.  “Do not!”

“Whatever you say, princess,” Ikkaku chuckled in response.  “He is pretty cute… if you don’t make a move I might.”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” you growled, making your best friends roar in laughter.  A rush of blood filled your face with an embarrassed heat.  “He probably already has a partner, a guy as hot as him can’t possibly be single.”

“There’s only one way to find that out, and it’s to talk to him,” lectured Nami.  “Come on, you’re on a bar crawl, you’re drunk, you’re hot, your pants make your ass look fucking amazing.  I would look the other way if you dragged that hunk to the bathrooms.”

“Nami!  Shut up!” you screamed, thoroughly embarrassed now.  It’s not like anyone could hear your conversation amongst the intense volume of the room, but the subject matter still made you flush from your tailbone to the crown of your head.

The conversation dissipated into enthusiasm about the location, the three of you taking note of the sex-positive decor and how good the playlist was.  Every once in a while, your eyes would dart back to the raven-haired man with his eyebrows furrowed in deep concentration as he filtered a cocktail through the metal strainer and into a slim, iced glass.  He reached forward into his box of garnishes, procuring a thin lime wedge and expertly slicing it down the middle to perch it on the rim of the glass.  As you were staring at him, his eyes darted up directly meeting yours.  Your face flushed red hot with embarrassment, but before you could yank your gaze away, he flashed you a grin that had your legs quivering.  He held up the drink.  It was your’s.

You pulled away from Nami and Ikkaku who hardly noticed your movement as you approached the bar and reached between two peoples’ shoulders to grab your cocktail from the man who kept his deep, golden eyes on your form the entire time.  An elated, cold sweat ran up your spine and you flashed him as good of a smile as you could through your ceaseless embarrassment that he had caught you staring.

Once the drink was in your hands, he tossed you a wink.

You hobbled back toward Nami and Ikkaku who were already holding their own orders, sipping idly through their conversation.

“You look like you got spooked by a ghost or something!” giggled Ikkaku, squeezing your left cheek with her fingers.

“Ikka, that hot emo bartender gave her her daiquiri!” Nami replied for you, making the curly-haired girl gasp in excitement.

“Did he say anything?  Did you say anything?”  The questions rolled off of her tongue faster than your heart rate.

“He just winked at me, and smiled, I guess,” you stated through nervous breaths.  

Your best friends dragged you into the conversation that had developed in the short time you were away getting your drink, but when you tossed another glance over your shoulder, you once again locked with golden eyes that froze your feet to the ground.

—

You weren’t exactly sure how much time had passed over all, but it couldn’t have been more than an hour.  You and your friends finished your drinks, closed out your tab, and proceeded to the dance floor to burn off energy under the neon disco lights and pounding music.  You let your mind stray away from the bartender’s piercing glare while you moved your hips against Nami’s, the two of you poking fun at Ikkaku from afar as she found herself in an awkward dance with a random man who was far from her type (that is to say: not a woman).  The room was dipping slightly around you, the sweet pineapple daiquiri definitely making you tipsier than you wanted to be.  You didn’t have to pee at that moment, but you figured it would be worth a shot to sober you up even just slightly.  With a nudge against Nami’s shoulder, you pointed to the bathroom, mouthing your intentions, and waved to her as you walked toward the back of the room through the sea of happy, alcohol-fueled patrons.

The bathroom was situated behind the bar past a few rows of small booth tables, and the further you walked from the center of the lounge the more the music faded to a much more tolerable volume.  The walls remained lined with graffiti, which you trailed with your eyes as you walked, marveling at the tantalizing swirls of colors and personalized messages and names memorialized forever on the concrete.  You finally rounded the corner into the small corridor where the two single bathrooms were found, along with a single broom closet that was kept closed with a padlock.  Your feet blindly led you towards one of the bathroom doors that was cracked open.

“You know, those pants make your ass look phenomenal.”

A husky voice stopped you in your tracks.  A million thoughts rushed through your mind within an instant.  Who was talking to you?  Did you get followed to the bathroom?  Were you being watched?  Were you in danger?  Should you have brought your purse with you instead of leaving it with Nami?  Were you going to make a run for it?

Fighting against your flight, you turned around to face the voice that cut through the muffled music.

Intense, golden eyes, raven-black hair, and a sly, toothy smirk.

“Sorry if I scared you, I promise I didn’t follow you back here,” he added, his face morphing from a flirtatious, mischievous expression into a more apologetic one.  “I had to take a piss, too.”

“Oh, it’s no problem, really!” you replied, inwardly wincing at how your voice involuntarily quivered with excited anxiety.  The Hot Emo Bartender was standing in front of you.  Had he just complimented your ass?  “And, uhm, thank you!  For my ass.  I mean, for saying I look good.  Or, phenomenal, I think?”  You pinched your lips shut forcing yourself to cease your drunken rambling, but your reaction only made the man’s mouth curl into a grin as a laugh bubbled out of his throat.

“Go sober up in there, princess, then we’ll talk.  I’ll wait for you out here.”  The man ended his sentence by entering the second unoccupied bathroom, closing and locking the door behind him.

You quickly did the same.  The bathroom had the exact same aesthetic and lighting as the rest of the establishment, the mirror completely covered in graffiti and leaving little room to view your current appearance after you finished your business.  You gazed through the dried ink, fixing your hair with your fingers and pushing your boobs into place under your top, blowing an encouraging huff out of your mouth before washing your hands, drying them, and exiting the bathroom into the corridor once more.

The man had indeed waited for you, leaning nonchalantly against the wall with one leg up checking his phone.  He was tall, much taller than you, and his legs were long and skinny, complemented beautifully by his tight, bespeckled jeans.  The spots were definitely an odd aesthetic choice in your mind, but you couldn’t complain.  Somehow, they suited his vibe perfectly.  He picked his head up and looked you up and down, that charming, mischievous grin once again returning to his lips.

“Feel better?”

“Absolutely, I didn’t think you’d actually wait out here,” you confirmed.  Somehow, your voice had evened out from the anxious drunken stupor you sported before.  Maybe pissing out the alcohol did have its merits.

“Good, I wanted to talk to you but needed to see if you were too drunk first.  Those pineapple daiquiris are really something,” he explained.

You were very quickly gaining more comfort in his presence, isolated from the club beyond the corridor in the dim lighting that accentuated his cheekbones and gave him the sexiest aura you had ever seen.  You swallowed your pounding heart and returned his grin.

“Talk to me?  Out of everyone here?” you questioned, putting on your charm.

“I don’t just talk to any random bar patron,” he responded.  “In fact, I barely talk to anyone here at all.  But how could I pass up such an alluring face?”  He stepped across the corridor to you, reaching out a hand that smelled like the generic brand soap in the bathroom.  His callouses tickled the fine hairs of your cheek and chin.

“And ass?” you asked innocently, clearly enjoying the little game you two had initiated.

“And ass,” he repeated.  “Though…” his eyes trailed up and down your body from his closer angle, eating you up through your clothes.  “You’re definitely the most stunning girl I’ve ever seen, all around.”  His golden eyes met yours once more.  “You have beautiful eyes.”

He had done it now.  You were beyond flustered, convinced that your entire body was glowing red and steaming like a geyser from your anticipation and embarrassment at his tender compliments.  A part of you still wasn’t convinced that he wasn’t the type to talk up every woman at the bar, but Nami’s words from prior bounced through your skull.  You were drunk, you were hot, and damn it, your pants did make your ass look good!  You only live once, right?

With alcohol and adrenaline fueled courage you never experienced before, you closed the narrow gap between your bodies and pressed your lips against his, standing on your toes and grasping his shoulders to steady yourself.  The anxious voice in your head told you he was going to push you away, call you some horrible slur and leave you in the dust to regret every choice you made leading up to that moment.

You were very pleasantly surprised when his lanky arms looped around your waist, clutching you close to his sturdy form as he moved his lips against yours.  You weren’t an expert kisser by any means, but something about the way his mouth moved told you that he wasn’t actually used to doing this, more of a smooth-talker than a do-er.  He was reluctant to open his mouth to allocate for your tongue, instead simply pursing and unpursing his lips against yours.  The feeling made you pull away, failing to suppress the giggle that followed.

Before you had the chance to make any snide, lighthearted comment, however, a tattooed hand traveled down your arm and gripped your hand, dragging you toward the broom closet.  He fiddled with the padlock on the door without letting you go, shoving open the entrance with his shoulder and pulling you inside.  The door slammed behind you, now almost completely muffling the music blaring from within the club.  The two of you were now free from prying eyes that might wander into the corridor to use the bathroom, completely unaware of the actions taking place just one door away.

In the stark darkness of the closet, the man’s hands found the collar of your shirt and pulled it down as best as he could, encouraging you to slip your arms out and pull it over your head.  His lips pecked at your jaw, your chin, your neck, and the dip of your breast as you unhooked your bra and let it flop to the floor.  Your own hands grasped his ratty t-shirt and yanked it over his head, its loose fit making undressing his torso much easier.  Your fingers now had access to his bare skin, your breath hitching in your throat as you blindly felt around firm abdominal muscles that met a lean yet supple chest and broad shoulders.  Even through the lack of light you could tell just how attractive this man was.  A smattering of coarse hairs covered his chest and stomach, but for the most part he was well trimmed, save for the patch of hair that you felt at his naval.  You heard his breath catch in his throat as your fingers followed the dip of his pelvic bone and trailed along the belt of his jeans.

“Wait,” his airy voice muttered.  “I need to know your name.”

You laughed, divulging your information.  You felt his lips smile against the skin of your neck.

“I’m Law,” he added.

“Law…” you exhaled his name on your soft, aroused breath.  “Can you fuck me, Law?”

A low groan rumbled through Law’s throat as his hands now played at your own waistband.  “Anything for you, princess.”

#x reader #reader insert #fem reader #one piece x reader #op x reader #trafalgar law x reader #law x reader #trafalgar d water law x reader #trafalgar d water law #trafalgar law #catch up fic

[its-in-the-woods]

Down the Rabbit Hole Chapter 6

Chapter one here, two here, three here, four here , five here

Pairing: Walton Goggins x You

Rating/Warning:  As always minor get out.  Little angst, lots of fluff, handholding,kissing, Very Fluffy, Pinch of Angst, Relationship Development, Hurt/Comfort, Older man/ Younger(30s) women, Alternative universe, fictional work (IDK WHY BUT I AM PUTTING IT) Probably more as I go.

Synopsis: Working in film as a make-up artist is hard enough, but then Walton Goggins requests you, well it's way too easy to fall down the rabbit hole.

Note: they are both single, all for fun.

I think I may have an ending now. Posts will continue to be 2-3k long. Every other day more than likely. The whole fic will be around 30k words.

Thank you all again and again for taking the time to read the stories I put out.

***

Your phone hasn’t stopped buzzing, your head is a little fuzzy but not nearly as bad as you’d experienced. Opening your eyes you flip the phone over to see it’s nearly twelve-thirty in the afternoon. Blinking a few times you make yourself sit up in bed flipping your phone on to see a deluge of text messages. Groaning you turn your phone off and stretch. Before any messages were answered you need coffee and maybe a shower. 

Showered and suitably caffeinated you finally flip open the text messages. 

Trevor: 

9 am: So what happened?

9:1 5:Hello?

9:30: Look do I need to call the police?

10:30: It’s been hours….

10:32: You never texted me when you got home

11:01: Okay it’s after eleven. You never sleep in. 

12:45: I am coming over in thirty minutes if I don’t hear from you. 

You reply:

I am fine, I just got home super late. I hope you’re not coming over

Trevor:

You scared me! 

Why didn’t you text me back?

How late were you out

Wait did you go back to his place?????

You groan squeezing your eyes close and drinking a healthy swig of coffee.

You: 

We went for sushi, then went down to the beach. 

Trevor:

That’s all you're giving me! What kinda 1950s dating scene is this?

You chuckle replying:

We stayed at the beach until 3 am. 

Trevor: Wait did you have sex on the beach

You:

TREVOR! 

Trevor:

It’s an important question. Don’t want to find out on the gossip train.

You:

why can’t I have nice things TREVOR. No there was no sex in PUBLIC, we kissed and held hands. Can I not do that????

Trevor: Are you secretly asexual? There is nothing wrong with that. I think it’s romantic. 

You:

I am going to become asexual if it means you stop asking me these questions. 

You could almost hear him laughing at you. 

Trevor:

You like it! 

You snorted and switched messages.

Walton: 

10 am: Hey beautiful, wanted to check in. See how you’re doing this morning. 

11 am: I was wondering about maybe going out to bar a city over next Friday? 

11:10 am: Promise I am not trying to kidnap you.

12:20 pm:  Thought you never slept in?

You:

Hey handsome, sorry I actually slept in. Kept me out past my bedtime.

I would love to go out with you next Friday, fingers crossed they don’t keep us late

You set your phone down, pondering if you still trusted the milk in the fridge to make pancakes. Getting up you get a refill of coffee, phone buzzing. 

Walton: 

If they do we can always go out saturday? Can’t be keeping you up so late. Got make sure you can keep up with this old man. 

You:

Oh I am sure I can keep up with you 😉

Walton:

Careful little lady, I might have to come by and test that theory.

Your face goes bright red and that heat coils low in your belly. 

You: Promises, promises, 

Walton:

If I didn’t have a zoom meeting in ten minutes 😠

You:

Maybe next Friday. 

You’re not sure why you’ve become a tease, but you’re enjoying winding him up. 

Walton:

Monday will be more like it.

You:

😜 Your trailer or mine.

Walton: 

Yours just so Trevor will stop texting me.

You let out a laugh, seemed like Trevor was also enjoying winding him up. You spend the rest of the day chatting with both of them. Sunday is a bit quieter, more zoom calls for Walt and Trevor had gone to Decon’s. 

*** Monday goes by in a blur, Walton keeps his hands to himself when others are around. But it doesn’t stop him from following you behind the food tent to steal kisses. You are now sporting a permanent flush and some of your co-workers are raising eyebrows. You are ever grateful that Trevor has kept his mouth shut. Liz is as pissy as ever but seems to be letting it lay. Katie has slowly warmed up to you again, why you weren’t sure. 

The rest of the week is pretty similar. Early mornings bleed into later evenings, the endless weeks have worn on you. Then Walton slides into your chair with his latest story and you feel like a weight is lifted off of you. The man once more touches you gently and gives you lingering cheek kisses as he goes over to set or costumes.   

Friday night rolls around and it’s going to be a long one. You fiddle with a few of your brushes when the door opens quickly. 

“We are being released. There was a fire on stage, and it looks like we are out at least until Monday,” Liz rolls in looking flustered, her normal perfect facade gone. She looks haggard and frazzled. 

“There was a fire on set?” You ask sitting up and feeling much more awake. Panic shoots down the back of your neck.

“Yep, green sparky left a light on too close to set.” Liz sat in the chair grabbing cleaner. You had stayed in the trailer to start tucking things away as Walton was off-screen for the first three setups. You are out the door before she has time to say more. You stop at costumes knocking at the door. 

Rebeccas opens it and looks down at you, she looks flustered but still has a smile on. “Hey, I am guessing you heard about the fire?”

“Yes, I did,” You say trying not to sound panicked, even though your mind is racing. The thought of him being hurt makes you nauseous. “Umm -is.”

Rebecca looks into the trailer, “Walt. You almost done in there?” There is a bunch of commotion going on in the trailer, with people moving back and forth, and different actors in various stages of undress.

You looked at her puzzled at how she knew you were looking for him. 

Rebecca turns back to you, “He never shuts up about you, so figured that’s why you are here,” She replies, and you immediately feel flustered, clearly rumors are moving again. 

“Oh- umm- Yeah. I just wanted to make sure he was okay.”

Walton pops his head above Rebecca his fingers nimbly button up his shirt. “Be right out.”

You blush and look away, “Sorry, I should probably go.”

Rebeca waved her hand at you, “Your secret is safe with me,” she winked. You wonder not for the first time if you were the only one who was never included in the rumor mill. 

Walton pops down the stairs, and has on grey button-up sleeves rolled up, navy wash jeans. He tilts his head when he looks at you. You let out a sigh seeing him unscathed. 

“You okay?” He asks, his hand touching your shoulder. You nod your head, turning to walk back towards the makeup trailer. You really don’t want to make a scene right now, there were way too many eyes on you both right now. 

“I know I said we should go to the bar tonight,” Walton says, his fingers brushing against yours. You try not to grab his hands, just to know he is still there. “But maybe we should get take out at my place?”

You get to the trailer, unable to stop looking around. He looks right at you, the way he could focus on you was both flattering and unnerving. Especially as you are trying to keep things under wraps. 

“Have to stop and grab a few things first.” You say trying to keep your voice from carrying. “Have you pick me up again?”

He smiles, “I would pick you up any day.”

You are bright red, as you open the door and follow the man into the trailer. 

***

A large paper bag of Chinese food was acquired, along with a couple of bottles of wine. You both devest at the door, slipping off your shoes, and placing the wine on the counter. You watch him move around the kitchen. Practice ease, you watch his muscles move under his shirt. You were tired as anything but being in his kitchen, waiting to eat greasy Chinese food couldn’t have been more perfect. 

You grab plates from him, laying out the smorgasbord board of different food. The two of you scooped a little of everything, before sitting down at the table and pouring some wine. 

“I feel like I should apologize for having you over instead of going out somewhere,” Walton says taking a sip of wine. “I don’t want you to think I am taking advantage of you being here.”

You chuckle, “Don’t know what you mean Mr. Goggins. I thought you invited me to your place to play some chess and listen to swing jazz.”

Walton nearly loses his food at the comment, his hand covering his mouth. “Swing jazz? How old do you think I am?”

“Oh you got to be at least in your seventies,” You tease back taking a bite out of your spring roll. 

Walton coughs, “I didn’t realize you where into grandfathers.”

You choke a little, “Well to be fair,” You wave your hand, “I am usually good with trying anything once.” 

Walton sips on his wine eyebrows raised, “Anything?”

You nod your head, a smile spreading across your face. “Can’t say I don’t like it unless I try it.”

He puts his glass down, watching you carefully as you finish your cup. “I could make some coffee while we clean up.”

You grab his plate stacking it with your own as he grabs the glasses. You two make it over to the kitchen, there is tension in the air as you clean things up. He grabs a French press out of the cupboards aswell as some coffee and cups.

You slide over to the counter and sit on top of it. Feet kicking back and forth as you watch the man ready things.  Flicking the kettle on to heat the water. He comes over and moves himself in between your legs.

“Have I told you how beautiful you are?” He whispers, placing hands on either side of your hips. Face inches from you.

You wrap your hands lazily over his shoulders, opening your legs to let him in closer. 

“No, you haven't today.” You lean in to kiss him, kissing him will never get old.

“You are stunning.” He whispers against your ear. Sending shivers down your spine. The kettle clicks and he's moving away from you. You watch him pour grinds and then water into the press. 

“Why did you wait so long to ask?” You inquire, moving your feet back and forth. Letting yourself briefly wonder if maybe the question was too forward.  

He turned to look at you, bottom lip caught in his teeth. “Umm-”  

Leaving the coffee he came over to you. Cheeks slightly pink, he tucked his hair behind his ear. 

“I - ahh. I didn't think you'd want to go out with me.” 

Your mouth falls open, “Are you serious?”

He shrugs, fingers fiddling with the outer seam of your jeans. You take his hand in yours using the moment to drag him back between your legs. Once he is there, you tip Walton’s head up to look right at you.

“You're so dumb,” You grin leaning in to kiss him. He chuckles and leans into the kiss, strong arms wrapping around you. “I am also dumb, 'cause I thought the same thing about you.”

Walton pulls back looking at you, eyebrows scrunched. “Didn't you just call me dumb? Seems like we both may have missed the sign somewhere along the way.”

You grin one hand finding its way to rub along his jawline. “Took us long enough.”

He smiled, “Trevor is never going to let us live this down.”

You let out a groan, “He is beyond impossible. I am gonna have a small textbook of text messages.”

Walton’s eyes glint, and he pulls his phone out. “Why don't we give him an update.”

You can't help but laugh, “Oh absolutely!” 

Walton flips his phone on turning on the camera he flips it to the two of you. You lean in and kiss him deeply as he clicks the button. The phone is placed on the counter as you wrap your legs around his waist. You pull out a deep moan that rumbles out of his chest when you bite at his bottom lip. It doesn't stop you from pushing your tongue in. Rocking your hips a little, the room feels hot. 

Walton pulls away, breathless, “If you keep doing that, I am liable to forget about our coffee.”

You let out a sigh, “I suppose a little coffee couldn't won't hurt.” You unwrap yourself from him. 

He moves down the counter as you slide off it. He mixes your coffee just the way you like it, handing you the cup as he fixes his own. You wait, watching him work, he turns and gestures toward the living room. You make your way over to the couch.  

Folding yourself up on the end of the sofa, tucking one leg underneath the other. You sip on the coffee, it is delicious and beats any store bought. Walton comes over and sits beside you, taking a long sip of his drink. Looking out the windows you can see part of downtown and the north shore. The lights still dazzling, as the evening wore on. 

“I know, before, I said I wasn’t sure you would want to go out with me,” He said looking out at the window as he spoke. “I tried, unsuccessfully to give you space. But the further I got away the more I missed being near you. Then when we went out for sushi, it all just kinda clicked. This isn’t conventional.” He gestures between the two of you. You hold your cup listening intently. 

“I am, ahh, older than you. And my life is not exactly straightforward. I don’t take relationships lightly, not that this is that. Or.” You can’t suppress the smile as he tries to explain himself. “I am terrible at this. I don’t want to move too fast, but also. I can’t stop thinking about you.” 

You put your cup down, and gesture for him to come closer. He places his cup down beside yours and moves over. Patting your lap, he slips down and lays his head on your lap. You run your hands through his hair, his eyes close and he hums softly against your legs. 

“I can’t tell you what's going to happen,” You say softly, “I am also not good at this, but I am willing to try. However fast or slow you want to go. As for the age thing, I don’t care, it’s never bothered me.” 

Walton’s breath slows and his hand slips under your thigh holding you close. You sit there a while longer, letting him just relax against you. Again you are struck by how simple it is, to just sit here with a warm cup of coffee and the city lights. You could get used to weekends like this. But as always he is moving sitting up and smoothing out his hair, grabbing his cup of coffee and taking a sip. 

“Would you like to come to bed with me?” He asks, you turn away from the lights. His eyes fixed on you, not hungry but curious. 

“I would like that a lot,” You say licking your lips and heart pounding in your chest. 

Walton stands up offering you a hand, which you take, pulling yourself to your feet. The coffee is left on the table as you follow him. Fingers laced together like they are two puzzle pieces. You pass by the guest room and there is a door at the end of the hallway. He opens it and you walk into the large room. There are floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over the sea, a large king-sized bed on a wooden platform. The room is sparse, with two side tables with lamps. A large walk-in closet to your left along with a bathroom beside it. You wonder for a moment how often he has brought others back here. The thought lingers in the back of your mind as you wander over to sit on the edge of the bed. Walton has disappeared into the bathroom.

“I think I have another toothbrush in here,” He calls out, poking his head around the corner. 

You smile and move towards him, “I thought you wanted to take things slow?”

He’s blushing again and handing you the unopened toothbrush, “I–I umm. Just figure I’d offer.” 

You move into the bathroom grabbing some toothpaste off the counter and leaning against it, “I appreciate it, besides don’t want to have coffee breath. Would you happen to have makeup wipes?”

Walton thinks for a moment before he scoots you out of the way, as you brush your teeth. He pops up with a bottle of cleanser and a fresh hand towel. “I knew I had it here somewhere.”

You grin and thank him, he brushes his teeth before disappearing again. You take the moment to clean off your face and neck. Looking into the mirror you got a permanent smile on your face. Letting out a happy sigh you finish up, telling yourself not to put the cart in front of the horses. You walk out and Walton is standing there shirtless, blinds drawn. He slips into a grey cotton t-shirt, that you currently hate, and black sweatpants. Sensing you staring he turns around to see you. 

Chapter seven

*tiny cliffhanger. I always need at least one 😜*

*As always if you'd like to be tagged let me know! *

*reblogs, likes, and comments appreciated! *

#walton goggins #wallton goggins x reader #x reader #fan fiction #fantasy #fluff #fanfic #writing #angst #hurt comfort #au #alternate universe #older man x younger women

[inbabylontheywept]

Someone had to go first

The first ship that arrived was pretty matter of fact about its fate. The pilot introduced himself as Eric, then told us he was part of the first sublight resupply attempt in modern history. He then gave me and the ground control team his bad news.

“So,” he said. “Without real time telemetry, we weren’t even sure which half of your orbit you’d be in. That’s half a solar system’s worth of wiggle room. Decelerating enough to survive contact with your low orbit would take me two weeks, which, you know, it looks like we don’t have. That means that in order to get the second ship in before you lose orbital control to the Kresh, I’m gonna have to make a sacrificial flyby. Ten to the negative four torr is good enough for a lot of things, but at point-seven c it’s gonna be like sandblasting a soup cracker. Good news is that all the expensive toys are in the next ship, so this really ain’t costing you more than a ship and a pilot.”

“You knew,” I said. If they put the expensive toys in the second ship, they knew that the first was likely a sacrifice. No one smart enough to handle orbital physics would miss that.

“I did,” he replied. “But someone had to go first.”

That was, of course, a lie. No one had to go first. No else had had, at least. When our connection to the FTL network was lost, we’d understood that as the end of our reinforcements. Doing resupplies via sublight was just too risky. It was a testament to Earth that it had accepted the risk and continued anyway.

“Is there anything we can do for you?” I asked. This man had come here to die for us. I wasn’t sure how much I could give, but what I had was his.

“I do have a few requests,” he said. “First up, I need as much high-orbital data as you got. The whole lot.”

I began directing tightbeam resources to him immediately. It was an easy resource to exchange - it wasn’t like there was anyone else out to talk to anymore. When we lost FTL, we found ourselves very, very alone.

“Second,” he said. “Right, I know I’m gonna sound like a princess right now, but I have been stuck in this stupid tin-can for almost two-years now, and I seriously overestimated how much I like synth music. If you have anything that’s analog - I don’t care what kind of string or drum or brass you play, but I’d kill to hear something without a beep in it.”

I jumped my own queue in the tightbeam, and added a short playlist that I ripped from the local web. Human Music, it was labeled. 3 Terabytes. I prayed there was something on it that he’d like.

“And third,” he said. “Third. The uh, next pilot is pretty mad at me. Turns out this will just be one of those things left unfinished. That’s all death really is, I guess - a lot of unfinished things. Let him know that he was right: He is a better pilot than me. But tell him that wouldn’t have made a difference here. Bad luck beats skill, and this luck was shit.”

I promised, and he went silent after that. We could see what data he was analyzing, and the short answer was all of it - everything from atmospheric density to troop positions and his own ship’s blueprints. He knew he had one shot at this, and that if the price wasn’t paid here, it would be paid by whoever came next.

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

Ground control didn’t get a verbal warning that he’d entered atmosphere. Just a ping. A little here-I-am, whispered in the dark.

After that, we could keep track with visuals alone.

He hit the outskirts of the exoatmosphere in his first pass, burning bright enough to be seen with the naked eye. He caught the sparse particles like a kite, trying to shed enough speed to hit actual low orbit. Automatic telemetry updates gave us the grim news for the ship: Thermals were holding up decently, but the ablative was wearing out fast.

The entire descent brought us more than two hour’s reprieve. The Kresh hadn’t expected to see a resupply, but they knew what one meant: Get it now, get it fast, or deal with a stream of new troops. They could buy themselves ten days' time by shooting this one ship down now.

That was an eternity during a siege.

The first loop lowered the speed by about a twentieth of light. The pilot responded by pulling the ship in tighter, trying to preserve more ablative plating by trading off with thermal. Seven fighters were close enough to fire off heat seekers. I don’t think the Kresh had ever anticipated shooting down a craft coming in that hot - the missile's decoy avoidance countermeasure actually made it steer around the thing, chasing down loose pieces of shrapnel. Cooled fragments, still hotter than an engine should be at full blast. The simple mistakes bought it enough time to enter pre-orbit, and the fighters had to stop their pursuit. They weren’t willing to die to stop the ship.

Our man, on the other hand, was already committed to that course.

A third loop followed a fourth. Ablative coating went from 65% integrity, to 30%, to 5%. Telemetry scans were exceptionally detailed - the pilot was making the flyby count. The last message we got from him was simple:

Are you EMP shielded? he asked, not even bothering to encrypt the text stream. He didn’t have time to process more than that.

Yes, we replied. We knew what he was thinking, but it was still a shock to see it. The fusion torch that was driving his ship flared hot, burning through the nozzle and feeding directly into the craft’s deuterium supply. The reaction went super critical, and the resulting neutron pulse set off everything in the ship with a z-count higher than iron. Three continuous seconds of EM interference screamed through the comms as the hulk burned brighter than the sun.

The explosion itself wasn’t powerful enough to reach the Kresh ships still in high orbit, but it made enough broadband radiation to blind both sides LADAR. The man must have been a hell of a pilot - half the shrapnel went down and burned up as it entered the standard atmosphere, sacrificed to move the other half past lagrange. Standard evasion would’ve made the pieces easy to dodge, but with LADAR down, all the Kresh could do was sit still and cower as the wrath of a dead man riddled them full of holes. Our best ace had managed to shoot down seven ships before this before getting shot down himself. The wreckage of the freighter took down six.

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

The second ship came in stealth. One second, we were holding attrition in high orbit, the next, something the size of a small station came ripping through the atmosphere.

It did the same trick as the former - swapping between ablative and thermal loads, coming down at a speed that the Kresh fighters didn’t even try to match. Armies could be built in years, but skills like this took decades.

Telemetry connection was established almost as an afterthought. The way the ship casually ate through ablative armoring made my eyes water, but the pilot himself seemed pretty non-plussed.

“You’re down to fifteen percent coverage. You need-

“What I need,” he said, “is to see the previous ship’s telemetry as soon as I land. And I don't need your help landing it.”

He cut off my chance to reply by flicking the channel off. We watched, and we wrang our hands, but sure enough he came in six minutes later with 4% of the ablative left.

I met him on the landing pad. Under normal circumstances, we’d have needed twenty-four hours for the craft to cool enough to even approach, but we’d had cryo ready just in case. Three tankers of nitrogen, and the loading area, at least, was cool enough to touch. Safety would have to take a backseat to speed here - we needed the supplies fast.

But those both would take a backseat to a promised conversation with the second pilot. He was out of the craft as soon as the air was cool enough to avoid scalding his lungs, picking through the workers to try and find who had the telemetry data.

I found him first. The drive went into his hands, but I needed to keep my promise with Eric before letting go.

“You’re better than the first pilot,” I said, and I wasn’t lying. If the previous flier had been a saint, this one was a god. “But you wouldn’t have been able to manage the landing either. There just wasn’t time.”

“Let me see,” he said, tugging on the drive. “Just let me see. I have to know I couldn’t do it either. I have to know that someone had to die.”

I let go of the drive and he stalked back into his ship. I didn’t follow. I figured I’d pushed things far enough.

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

The second pilot left the ship six hours later. He looked bleary in a way that put me at ease. I’d been up the last six hours directing supplies from the ship. Everything from ground-to-orbit rails to AGI targeting systems was inside - to call it gamechanging would be an understatement. It was good work, but I was tired, and I didn’t want to have to pretend otherwise. Seeing the other man with bags under his eyes meant we could just be frank with each other.

“I couldn’t have managed it,” he said, half-ashamed, half-relieved.

“It just wasn’t possible,” I agreed.

We sat there a moment longer. I didn’t mind the break. This was time well spent.

“Did it hurt?” he asked finally.

“Ablative failed before heating,” I said, which was the technical way of saying no. “He overloaded the reactor before the ship actually broke up and did some kind of slingshot maneuver - hit the main body of the Kresh fleet with half a space station’s worth of shrapnel.”

“Good,” he said.

I knew the signs. The tremor in his cheek, the way his jaw clenched - it wasn’t professional, but I hugged him anyway. Let him have the dignity of choosing to weep instead of having it wrenched out of him.

It was a gift we’d all been given at some point in this war. At least now, there was the hope it could be over soon.

#hfy #humanity fuck yeah #scifi

[silverhallow]

In my head I think Sophie and Benedict have wildly different reactions to Eloise running off to sir phillip.

I think Sophie would recognize the Romantic in Eloise but Benedict would be affronted. Why would she refuse all these men on the marriage mart but keep this Man she is interested from them (and particular him)

Anyways my prompt request is a conversation between Sophie and Benedict before he travels with the brothers to "rescue" Eloise.

Something Stupid

Sophie and Benedict had only been back at My Cottage for two days when an express messenger arrived with a note for Benedict from Anthony stating that Eloise had “run away” and was at a place supposedly close to My Cottage and that he and Colin would be behind the messenger as they were going to rescue Eloise, or make her marry the man that she’d ran off to.

Benedict’s mouth had fallen open as he read the letter from his brother, so shocked that the paper fell from his hands and he was frozen in space and time as he tried to comprehend what had occurred.

Sophie had read the note and frowned “this is very strange” she said.

“I… I know, why… why would she not tell someone… why would she not tell me of all people. I get not telling Anthony… but me!?” Benedict said

Sophie sighed and placed her hands on her husband’s shoulders. “Eloise has always been one who valued her privacy, whilst she might not comprehend it when it comes to the rest of you, she does keep her own council most of the time” Sophie explained

“I know that but… running away… she’s had proposals in town, men who had offered for her… and she refused them all! Even an Earl?! And she’s run off to a baron?!” Benedict mused

“Ben, those men in town where not suitable for Eloise, they wanted the surname, or her dowry… if this Sir Phillip has offered to court her, mentioned marriage… it’s possible that Eloise may have fallen in love during her letter writing… that is something that I can see as being very Eloise”

“But running away?!”

“Your sister is very much like the rest of you, she’s impulsive… something will have happened, Penelope, her best friend, just married your brother… Francesca has returned to Scotland unexpectedly… she could very well be feeling lonely and sought out someone or something she felt would give her comfort and purpose… you surely remember what that is like?” Sophie said

Benedict nodded “i know that but still, Soph, she tells me everything. She always has, we’ve never had secrets…”

“That’s rubbish and you know it… you kept your fair share of things from her… she will have her reasons.”

“But what if this man is in his 60s!?”

“Ben darling, if that was the case she’d have turned up here, she knew we were returning after Daphne’s ball, if she didn’t feel safe, if she didn’t like the man… she would have come here, regardless of how embarrassed she would have been”

“What if she couldn’t… or can’t”

“Ben. She is like you, she’s practically part cat. She’d have found a way out, and she’s the best shot in your family… she’d have gotten out.”

“But…”

“Ben, my love, you will make yourself dizzy and sick by going over the buts and the what-if’s… Anthony and Colin will likely be here in an hour. Get dressed, say goodbye to the boys and in the meantime I shall ask Mrs Crabtree if she knows any of the staff over at Romney Hall and if they know anything about this Sir Phillip but i have every faith that all will be okay” she soothed.

“I guess… but…”

“Ben, if you But once more, i am going to have to slap you. I am trusting you, as I am sure Kate will be trusting you not to do something stupid… and control Anthony… if he nearly dualed Simon over Daphne, I can only imagine what he will do to either your sister or this Sir Phillip…”

“Oh Anthony won’t be the issue…”

“Benedict I swear to God you better get those ideas out of your head… I am pregnant with our fourth child… according to you, the daughter you’ve dreamed off… You have to be responsible. You have to come back to me in one piece. I am not raising four children on my own and if you do something stupid like challenge him to a duel, or get yourself killed then I will drag you back from the afterlife just to kill you myself… or you’ll be banned from my bed from now until the day either of us die…”

Benedict looked scandalised. “You wouldn’t do that?!”

“I will if you do something stupid! I want you to be on your best behaviour!” Sophie scolded.

“I… I can’t promise that”

“Well then you best get used to sleeping alone” Sophie said moving away from her husband, arms crossed over her chest looking furious.

“But… but… you… fine” he sighed “I will do my best… I promise not to do anything stupid… but I am not promising not to hurt this man if he has hurt Eloise…” he said

“That is fair… if he has hurt Eloise in anyway, you better leave a piece for me…” she said seriously

Benedict laughed, “that is fair enough I can promise that”

“Good, now go get ready and I'll go speak to our housekeeper” she said pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Benedict nodded and departed to get himself ready and Sophie had to admit, out of everything that went through her brain as she waved off her husband and three brothers-in-law, she had not expected them to turn back up, drunk as skunks, falling out of the carriage with Eloise in tow, who was sporting a black eye looking furious with her brother’s and filling Sophie in on what happened and as she climbed into bed with her husband who was passed out from the excess alcohol she sighed “so much for not doing anything stupid…”

#bridgerton #ask ash #sophie beckett #benedict bridgerton #benophie #benedict x sophie #anthony bridgerton #eloise bridgerton #sir phillip crane

[mangakachan]

I know I just did a poll about the PT designs yesterday (and it’s still running too lmao 😅😂) but Moonie_Fan_Collections is running her own polls (yes, she has more than one poll! Two are for design preference like the one I have, and one for whether you prefer a set of 2 pins for approximately $115 or an individual pin for approximately $70). As she is the maker who would potentially facilitate the translation, manufacturing, and sales of these designs as pins, please vote in her polls if you are SERIOUS about purchasing these as pins!

Please review all 7 of her Instagram Stories before you vote (I took screen shots and put them in this post to make it a little easier to review). Instagram is a bit…weird, and doesn’t let you have more than four options in a single poll, so Moonie had to break up the design preference poll into two polls to accommodate the six sets I came up with. Depending on how the polls go and the voter turn-out, Moonie might consider doing a commitment group for all 12 designs.

While I have to put in a disclaimer that I am not responsible for what may or may not get made from any of my designs (Princess Tutu or otherwise), or any monetary transaction between you and Moonie, if you are serious about wanting these as pins, please let Moonie know by voting in her polls! Instagram Stories are only visible for 24 hours, so please vote before 9pm Pacific Time, Sunday, May 19th, 2024.

EDIT: If the poll is not working for you try accessing it on mobile and/or closing and reopening the Instagram app. IG is optimized for mobile so on desktop it can act kinda weird 😓

EDIT 2: Polls have closed! Thank you to everyone who voted! 👏

#princess tutu #fakir #ahiru #rue #mytho #fakiru #ruetho #signal boost #enamel pins #I can't stress enough how important it is to vote only if you are serious about buying #I've seen makers cancel pins because ppl are enthusiastic about a design but when it was time to pay the enthusiasm didn't translate into $ #for that reason please temper your expectations #I just wanna make sure everyone is aware of that

[kimaisalloren]

“Pietà”

Ah yes art of Frenchmen with an italian title and a Latin quote added onto it. I somehow made this in a fit of mania.

Pieta is one of my favorite works of biblical art. It means pity.

The Latin phrase is “acta est fabula, plaudite” which is “The play is over, applaud.”

#I’m clearly #like #manic #because like there’s a lot going on #I love biblical art and references #halos representing angelic beings. red halos fallen ones #the combination of red and yellow making almost pure white #but if you color pick it it’s tainted red #I’m like #not okay I’m like feral frothing at the mouth and this is my hyperfixation . #dead plate vincent #vincent charbonneau #dead plate rody #rody lamoree #rody x vincent #dead plate #man this plate sure is dead #it’s two am I have to be up in four hours #help

[moeblob]

I unfortunately picked up Bravely Default 2 again (I bought it back when it released) and then started over since I last played it in June 2021. And. You know what. I like these silly beans. And then I saw concept art for Dag's expressions and I am not the same. Why did they decide to give him huge fangs in it.

(also I'm trying so hard to avoid spoilers less for plot but more for characters so if you know anything that happens to characters shhhhh. also the expression concept is below the read more so you can see what I mean.)

#bravely default 2 #dag rampage #selene noetic #i only just recently reached ch2 in the game and i may have a problem #someone was like wait how have you not gotten farther in 25 hours #and im like im sorry its a problem i have an obsession you dont understand #and then he found out i had three of the four party members with two jobs capped at 12 #and then the fourth only had one capped but a bunch high up #and then i told him i was trying to get the gambler asterisk and that meant i had to play a childrens card game #and then i had to do side quests when they popped up #and he was like wait at that point you probably dont need jobs at 12 omg #and im like i know its a problem i cant stop it #so anyway chapter 1 took me forever because i committed to the grind too much #the emotions i feel for silly lil side characters ................ its too real #like even the fact that you beat these two up in the prologue im like teehee funny lil blonde guy #then you dont interact with them in a ch1 quest but they show up again at the same time doing the same quest #and guys i am FEELING EMOTIONS theyre just funny lil mercenaries doin funny lil mercenary things #also please do not tell me anything about the game past ch1 because i want to continue to enjoy experiencing it #which is why i have my ask box closed bc its a game from 2021 and i know im really behind the times #but i managed to not know anything until now and i wanna keep it that way #also i dont really know how to properly draw noses especially when i doodle #but his nose is important and i already struggle with his big jaw so i had to include it somehow #and in the concept art it looks like he has a lil stubble but in game i dont see it so im like ... squinting at he

[b4kuch1n]

fuck it sk8 sketches from da sketchbook. get sk8ed idiot

#sk8 the infinity #kyan reki #hasegawa langa #renga #sure whatever. tagging ship is probably easier than explaining what the fucks up with these two in my head #hi. I watched sk8 with my friend cosme a while ago. I actually dont care about the allegations that much I just got #blasted with teenage years flashback. and now I need reki to have everything on earth and be well #these have been around for like a week lol Ive just been debating posting them to tumblr. bc like. Im not finishing these lol #hesitant to call sk8 ''therapeutic'' but boy oh boy. does it make me confront some stuff. yes a sport anime leave me alone!!! #its just. I think I was this way about raz too actually. listen I have History with Stuff. I'm allowed ok? I'm totally allowed #u can See it in some of these doodles actually. this fuckign anime got me so unwell #hey. if ur a fellow adhd potentials-havers out there. ur a real one. thanks for still hangin out doin what u love/ur best #if u were an 'if u wanna do art u have to be excellent and high-art at it otherwise it means nothing' kid. I am holding ur hand #I'll be normal now I prommy (lying) #well. what I'll be doing now is taking a nap. maybe. gods my schedule backslid like four hours again #eh whatever. I go to bed anyway. got my portion of the day done and tomorrow I go buy new knife #hope someone come give me a new table top and lower the whole thing a bit soon. so I can stop sitting like Im in a shopping cart #have a good night lads. have fun. its imperative

[chiropteracupola]

just a couple of creepy 18th-century innkeepers talking shop!

[featuring @borisyvain's lazarus mcclure and my own james webster]

#em draws stuff #oc time again hehe #haunted by your hand #the gambler: james webster #really I should start having an 'other people's characters' tag again as well... #so yes I have thought about these two being Brothers In Homosexual Haunted Murderhotel for long enough that a drawing happened #I do not know Where they are in this image (esp. as I have aged james up by some 30ish years so as to be able to Interact with mr mcclure) #(which is why she's looking a bit mellower than usual and also wearing teal... Character Development which as of regular hbyh has not #yet come to pass.....) #eh who knows maybe james went to ireland. she can have a little a go to ireland hang out with other horrible people as a treat #she deserves a little treat for making it to the 1780s-1790s (no one thought she was making it of the 1760s alive I am sure) #surprisingly this was a delightful refresher as I have been in a state of artblock/only interested in drawing things I can't work on in #public spaces lately! but this came together in barely two hours (admittedly after four days of staring at pictures of mr mcclure) #anyway if you read this far you should all go look at jory's blog his characters are SO cool and well-researched #james will someday be more well-researched than she currently is but that will be after I get around to reading 'the english pub 1500-1830' #which I found in the library and was so brave and strong and Did Not check out so as to actually maybe get schoolwork done