#Tips for Managing Holiday Homes

[especialrentals]

10 Essential Tips for Managing Holiday Homes Effectively

Managing a holiday home can be rewarding, offering both financial benefits and the satisfaction of providing memorable experiences for travelers. However, it also comes with its share of challenges. 

Whether you're new to holiday home management or looking to optimize your existing properties, these 10 essential tips for managing holiday homes will help you manage your vacation rentals more effectively, leading to happier guests, better reviews, and increased bookings.

Invest in Quality Furnishings and Amenities

First impressions matter; in the world of holiday homes, the quality of your furnishings and amenities can make or break a guest's experience. While cutting corners to save money might be tempting, investing in high-quality, durable furnishings will pay off in the long run.

Choose comfortable, sturdy furniture that can withstand frequent use

Invest in high-quality mattresses and bedding for a good night's sleep

Provide essential amenities like Wi-Fi, TV, and a well-equipped kitchen

Consider extras like board games, books, or outdoor equipment to enhance the guest experience

Remember, people mention comfortable beds and well-equipped spaces in their positive reviews! So this development might get you more bookings.

Develop a Cleaning and Maintenance Schedule

Cleanliness is paramount in the hospitality industry, even more so in the wake of global health concerns. Establish a thorough cleaning protocol and stick to it religiously.

Create a detailed cleaning checklist for your cleaning staff

Use high-quality, eco-friendly cleaning products

Pay special attention to high-touch areas like doorknobs, remote controls, and light switches

Implement a regular deep-cleaning schedule for carpets, upholstery, and other soft furnishings

Also, regular maintenance should be paid attention to prevent minor issues. Today’s negligence can be tomorrow’s burden! So pay attention.

Conduct routine inspections of appliances, plumbing, and electrical systems

Address any maintenance issues promptly

Consider preventative maintenance to avoid unexpected breakdowns

Price Your Property Competitively

One of the most important tips for managing holiday homes is to take care of their pricing. It can be one of the trickiest aspects of holiday home management. 

Price too high, and you might struggle to get bookings!

Price too low, you could be leaving money on the table.

Research comparable properties in your area to understand the market rates

Consider seasonal fluctuations and adjust your prices accordingly

Offer competitive rates for longer stays to encourage extended bookings

Use pricing tools to optimize your rates based on demand

Remember, the goal is finding the sweet spot that maximizes your occupancy and revenue.

Leverage Technology for Efficient Management

In today's digital age, numerous tools and platforms can streamline your holiday home management:

Use a property management system (PMS) to handle bookings, payments, and guest communications

Implement smart home technology for keyless entry, temperature control, and security

Use channel managers to list your property across multiple booking platforms

Utilize automated messaging systems for guest communication

These technologies can save you time, reduce errors, and provide a smoother experience for you and your guests.

Create a Stellar Online Presence

In the digital marketplace, your online presence is often the first point of contact with potential guests. Make it count, and take this tip for managing holiday homes very seriously!

Invest in professional photography to showcase your property in its best light

Write compelling, accurate descriptions of your property and its amenities

Highlight unique features and local attractions

Maintain consistent information across all listing platforms

Respond promptly and professionally to inquiries and reviews

A solid online presence can boost your visibility and appeal to potential guests.

For example, as an Airbnb Super Host, Especial Rentals updates its property descriptions and details on Airbnb, its own website, Booking.com, and many other partner platforms.

Provide Exceptional Customer Service

Outstanding customer service can turn a good stay into an unforgettable one, leading to positive reviews and repeat bookings.

Be responsive to guest inquiries before, during, and after their stay

Provide a comprehensive welcome guide with property instructions and local recommendations

Offer a warm welcome, perhaps with a personal note or a small gift

Be proactive in addressing any issues that arise during a guest's stay

Follow up after check-out to gather feedback and show you value their experience

Remember, in the holiday home industry, you're not just providing accommodation – you're creating experiences. Especial Rentals takes this measure extremely seriously. Our customer support staff is available 24/7 to cater to all time zones and address every query. 

Contact us today and resolve your doubts!

Stay Compliant with Local Regulations

The holiday home rental market is subject to various regulations, varying significantly between locations. Staying compliant is crucial to avoid legal issues and potential fines.

Research and understand local zoning laws, tax requirements, and rental regulations

Obtain any necessary permits or licenses

Ensure your property meets all safety standards, including fire safety

Keep accurate records of your rental income and expenses for tax purposes

Compliance might seem daunting, but it's essential for a responsible holiday home management.

Build a Reliable Team

Unless you live close to your holiday home and have ample free time, you'll likely need help managing your property effectively.

Build relationships with reliable local cleaners, maintenance professionals, and property managers

Consider hiring a property management company if you have multiple properties or live far away

Establish clear communication channels and expectations with your team

Regularly review and provide feedback on their performance

A trustworthy team can give you peace of mind and ensure your property is well-cared for even when you're not there. While headquartered in India, Especial Rentals has its team members in different parts of the world to ensure the smooth functioning of the property management company.

Implement a Strategic Marketing Plan

While listing sites are important, they shouldn't be your only marketing strategy. Develop a comprehensive marketing plan to reach potential guests through various channels.

Create a website for your property or properties

Utilize social media to showcase your property and engage with potential guests

Consider email marketing to past guests for repeat bookings

Explore partnerships with local businesses or tourism boards

Encourage and incentivize guest referrals

A diverse marketing strategy can help you reach a wider audience and reduce reliance on any single booking platform.

Continuously Gather and Act on Feedback

The key to long-term success in holiday home management is continuous improvement. Regularly seeking and acting on feedback can help you identify areas for enhancement and stay ahead of guest expectations.

Encourage guests to leave reviews on booking platforms

Send post-stay surveys to gather more detailed feedback

Pay attention to both positive and negative comments

Implement changes based on consistent feedback

Share improvements with past guests to encourage repeat bookings

By consistently refining your offering based on guest feedback, you can ensure your holiday home remains competitive and appealing to travelers.

Or You can List Your Rental with Especial Rentals!

Managing a holiday home effectively requires attention to detail, a commitment to guest satisfaction, and a willingness to adapt to changing market conditions. By implementing these 10 essential tips for managing holiday homes, you can create a successful and sustainable holiday home business that delights guests and provides a steady income stream.

Or you can partner with our property management company to let us take care of your vacation rental. We ensure hygiene, security, and maintenance to all the homeowners who trust us globally! Partner with us today and make travel accessible for everyone.

[bronzewool]

Just learnt there’s a TikTok trend going around where UK tourists deliberately don’t tip restaurants because they’re taking advantage of how UK cards can’t be charged twice.

Guys. I hate it just as much as you do, but if you’re not gonna follow the rules, then don’t come to visit. You don’t get to shit on tourists in your own country not following proper etiquette, but decide the rules don’t apply to you when you do it.

[salingers]

october's end.

dbf!joel miller x f!reader summary: a filthy halloween night with your dad's best friend, joel miller. [you get him to briefly wear a ghostface mask]. [enjoy that! i did]. warnings: 18+ mdni. age gap. alcohol. au. begging. cream pie. dirty talk. dom!joel. fingering. jealous!joel. language. masked!joel. no outbreak. no use of 'y/n'. praising. smut. use of 'good girl'. use of 'slut'. unprotected piv. word count: [about] 3,800. a/n: hi! debut, written for @mermaidgirl30's halloween writing challenge. cover by me, divider by @saradika. @saradika-graphics.

Everything’s bigger in Texas, including Halloween. Your childhood neighborhood is locally televised each October’s end, due to every home’s enthusiastic participation. There’s an annual stoppage of traffic for the singular evening’s festivities, permitting only costumed bodies to roam the gated community’s residential roads. 

Branches draped in gauzy webs. Yards engulfed in artificial fog. A beloved holiday tradition, predating the tailend of the seventies, when Dad and Joel were elementary aged and wielding pillowcases of candies. Now, they’re fifty-somethings, bemoaning mutual back pain and cursing pesky lawn decorations.

“Here,” Joel gruffs, while individually sliding Dad two Reese’s pumpkins, from across the kitchen’s counter. “Protein break. ‘S four grams.”

Dad swipes them both up, before confirming that statement by thumbing one’s wrapper, “That ain’t bad.”

You’re quietly laughing at their supposed refueling, while stooping behind the fridge’s door and scanning the moistened shelves. There. A seasonal beer, from your favorite brewery in Austin. It’s comfortably predictable, returning home for Halloween; From Dad purchasing your favorite autumnal ales, to Joel Miller’s ruggedness.

You properly right yourself. Then, using your waist, nudge the appliance’s door shut, “Dad, where’s your bottle opener?”

Dad’s phone abruptly drones, reverberating against granite and interrupting your question; He grimaces at the caller’s illuminated identity.

You guess, “Ghostface?”

Dad laughs, before emphasizing, “Worse. My neediest client.” He abandons his barstool, continuing, “Actin’ like buildin’ up in Waco makes ‘er Joanna Gaines.” Dad apologetically nods toward you, “Joel. Will ‘ya?”

Joel’s scruffy chin tips upwards, directing you, “C’mere.”

Something’s brewing, once Dad vacates the vicinity. Your forced proximity to Joel is newly palpable; Tonight’s different. You’re obedient, in approaching him. Joel doesn’t stop staring. The bottle’s neck is being strangled, under your dominant hand. You can’t completely ward off an image of taking him into your palm.

Your minimal passage to his barstool seemed slow-motioned, almost. You’re not sure. Time’s just apparently lengthier, under Joel’s browned gaze.

 Joel grunts, fingering his carabiner of keys, attempting to sift out his bottle opener keychain, “You playin’ Michael Meyers, ‘gain? ‘Round one night, only?”

You amusedly scoff, “Keepin’ track?”

Joel shrugs, “Eight days, in eight years.”

You’re genuinely surprised that Joel’s noted your absence. Maybe, Dad revealed that specific number, correlating to your sparse appearances in Austin; Well, it could’ve been that Dad mentioned to Joel about how since your high school’s graduation, you’ve only managed to visit home yearly. That’s just basic math. Right?

You stammer, “Uh huh. ‘S my favorite holiday.”

Joel hums, before abruptly wrapping his calloused palm around the entirety of your hand and the beer bottle’s width, “Hm. ‘N that your favorite beer?”

You’re momentarily silent, muted by Joel’s warmth. A sizable hand, roughened from decades of hard labor. The tips of his delectably thick fingers begin tightening at your wrist, securing his hold as he’s standing himself up.

Even fully seated, Joel’s intimidating in size. Him standing toe-to-toe with you? That’s another story. His construction boots are weathered and worn; They would be comically large, in comparison to your measly-sized sneakers, but nothing’s funny about Joel Miller’s body mere inches from yours.

You reply by mustering an eager nod; And, whether that’s in response to Joel’s prior question pertaining your liking of the beer, or merely an approval of his nearness to you? You haven’t decided.

Joel rasps, “Anythin’ else?” He’s pulling your combined hands downward, to his waist. The carabiner’s remained attached to his belt’s loop, “That ‘ya favor?”

You’re struggling to think of something witty to retort. Because, the frayed seam of Joel’s zipper is right there. He’s deftly notching the bottle’s cap inside of the opener’s teeth; The beer crisply hisses, releasing any contained pressure.

Joel whispers, “What, darlin’? Bat got your tongue?”

You defeatedly laugh, “Somethin’ like that.”

He grins, carefully releasing you, “Taste it.”

You harshly gulp, “S–Sorry? Oh, right. T–The beer.” 

Joel agrees, “That’s right.” Then, darkly teases, “Y’know, that pretty mind ‘a yours is boundin’ for the gutter.”

He crosses his arms against his broad chest, the canvas fabric of his Carhartt jacket drawing taut. Joel’s now cocking his head, sending his gaze along the pathway from the glass vessel that you’re feebly holding, to the lower lip that you’re inadvertently biting; Daring you.

You’re feignedly bold, “Meet ‘ya there.”

You drink, even if it’s primarily to keep yourself from further stuttering. At first, it’s an adequate enough distraction; The alcohol’s frigid in temperature, soothing to the high-strung tendons of your throat, from the inside-out. Then, you’re curiously drawn to Joel’s own gulping throat, and that transient composure of yours is gone.

Joel’s devotedly watching you, his glare heady and sensual. His Adam’s apple jerks, moving atop the clenched muscles and corded veins of his neck. You’re somewhat tipping back, gathering your final mouthful, for now; You’ve drained three-fourths of it, by the time that you’ve halted your sipping.

Then, Joel’s thumb darts out, before smoothing against your glistening mouth. He drawls, “Got it lookin’ real good. Let’s see.”

You’re only narrowly audible, “Oh? Joel.” 

Joel’s tongue, deliciously large and scrubbed pink, strokes his finger. He groans, “Mm. Ain’t sure. Need ‘t sample it from the source.”

You inwardly whimper, “Yeah?”

You’re foolishly tempted to extend him the ambered bottle itself, because surely Joel Miller, your dad’s best friend, would identify that as the ‘source’. Not your parted, wanting lips. Like Joel’s read your hesitant mind, he reassuringly pins your hands behind your back, easily dismissing the beer; A singular hand of his own, dwarfing the pair of your wrists.

Joel’s ghosting your lips, “Yeah.”

For good measure, Joel lightly moans, sucking his dampened digit. Humming around the pumpkin spiced suds, lapping up any residual taste from his finger. Arms restrained, spine straightened; Your chest’s rising urgently.

Joel’s own chest, delicately hairy below his threadbare t-shirt, is an odd inch away. A desperate heat’s begun permeating your lower abdomen; Achingly unfurling, taking up residency in your cunt.

Of course, it’s then that Dad’s barrelling over, having withdrawn from his nearby office, “Sorry ‘bout that, kid. Get ‘er open?”

You’re coughing out, “Y–Yep.” Then, “Thanks, Joel.”

Dropping your wrists, Joel winks, “Oh. ‘M pleasure.”

Your incriminating closeness to Joel goes unrecognized by Dad; Seeing as, Joel’s wide shoulders completely obscure you from view.

Dad sighs, “Gee, there ain’t no escapin’ this shiplap.”

Joel immediately laughs, casually reclaiming his prior barstool. The jarring segue from Joel’s flirting with you, to his joking with Dad, is absolutely disorientating. You’re fidgeting, repeatedly and silently tapping your foot. You can’t do Joel here; You’ll settle for doing last-minute Halloween preparations.

You blurt, “Goin’ to start organizin’ the candy. ‘S all in the garage, Dad?”

Dad assuredly nods, “Sure is. ‘Cept these.” He chuckles, gathering the forgotten wrappers from his earlier ‘protein break’ with Joel.

You remind him, “Don’t forget to refill the fog tanks.”

Dad, who seemingly had forgotten, regretfully snaps his fingers, “What would I do without ‘ya?” He’s bragging to Joel, “Look at ‘er.”

Joel agreeably nods. Eyeing you, “Good girl.”

Because, Dad and Joel are career contractors, who are simultaneously life-long friends and next-door neighbors, it’s only right that they’ve done an elaborate, joint Halloween for three decades; Locally dubbed the ‘Construction Fright’.

A (questionably) age-appropriate spread of horror, featuring thrifted tools that bludgeon and dismember an assortment of plastic skeletons. Hard hats, faux-bloodied and stabbed with rusted nails. Construction tape, riddled in spiderwebs.

A half-dozen, battered wheelbarrows, brimming with chocolate candies; Three brown ones, carrying Hershey’s, Rolo, and Tootsie Roll. Three orange ones, containing every imaginable variant of Reese’s. 

 You’ve already been working for nearly an hour; Arranging the color-coordinated barrows of candy. You’re jamming the recycling bin’s lid shut, overtop the cardboard and plastic wrappings of king-sized bars, when the entry door’s opened.

Dad’s entering the garage, “Sun’s settin’ soon, kid. ‘Oughta get dressed.” He lazily squeezes you in an impromptu side-hug, “Thanks, for helpin’.”

You breathily sigh, “Mhm. Oh, I need ‘t light the Jack-O-Lanterns.”

Joel appears, insisting,  “Go on, darlin’. I’ll get ‘em sweatin’ for ‘ya.”

You’re thinking, ‘That’s ridiculously slutty of him to say’, when Joel continues, this time addressing Dad, “Hey. Phone’s ringin’ over ‘gain.”

Dad sighs, “Got ‘t be kiddin’ me.” Then, grumbles, “Sure hopin’ it’s Ghostface.” He grins, lightly pinching your elbow.

You giggle, “C’mon. She can’t be that bad.”

Dad shrugs, smiling before swiftly jogging up the garage’s concrete steps; When Dad’s fully retreated inside, and the door’s naturally swung shut, Joel doesn’t waste any time pinning your body against it.

Joel whispers, “Bet ‘ya find that this pussy’s wet ‘f me, when you’re undressin’ it.” His jeaned, muscular thigh’s nudging your legs ajar.

You airily groan, “P–Please. Fuckin’ kiss me.”

Joel grins, wedging his ample thigh’s sturdy surface against your beating cunt. He kisses you; Joel Miller fuckin’ kisses you. He’s grabbing your face, thumbing your cheekbones. His lengthy fingers, scraping your skull.

His tongue’s deeply delving, eagerly exploring your mouth’s every crevasse. You can’t breathe efficiently or think coherently. Everything’s Joel. His graying beard, raking your chin; A woodsy scent, like that of the hardware store’s lumber aisles, exuding from his clothing.

You’re moaning, “Ngh.” Then, ripping at the silvery hair that’s curling against the nape of his sun-freckled neck, “More.”

Joel’s grunting, “Fuck. Need ‘t stop.” He can’t stop, and sucks your bottom lip, once more. Then, “H–Hear ‘im? He’s gainin’ on us.”

Sure enough, Dad’s approaching. It’s damn-near impossible to quit rutting along Joel’s denimed, upper leg. You’re whining, “Need ‘ya.”

Joel’s panting, “T–Tonight, darlin’.” He arousingly whispers, “All night. When the porch light’s out, sneak over.” Then, darker and deeper, “Repeat it.”

You repeat, “Tonight. When the porch light’s out, sneak over.”

You’re admittedly distracted, during the evening’s trick-or-treating segment. You understand that nothing’s allowed to appear awry around Dad, but Joel’s playing casual too well. You shouldn’t overthink, but it’s torturous; That he’s apparently unaffected. Drinking with Dad and Tommy. Never really staring at you.

Joel’s (conveniently) costumed as himself every Halloween, but himself during working hours; A leathered tool belt, cinching his tender waist. A backwards Filson hat, tamping his unkempt curls. His dirtiest ‘white’ t-shirt; The neckline’s absurdly tattered and torn, an array of holes displaying his body’s coarse hair.

Midland’s country cover of ‘Wicked Game’ is emitting from neighboring speakers. You can’t resist likening the song’s drumming pattern to your own heart’s pulsating rhythm; Yearning for Joel’s attention. Then, Dad’s whistling for your attention.

Dad’s pointing, “Look, kid. Your ‘ol boyfriend, Nick. He’s fuckin’ Ghostface.” Dad humorously roars, standing, “See ‘im? H–Hold on.”

You’re avidly protesting, but Dad’s already approaching Nick, who’s not wearing, but holding his hooded mask; Fingers cupping the elongated, rubbery chin. There’s nothing inherently wrong about him; He (morally) should be your holiday hook-up, not your dad’s best friend. It’s too bad.

Joel snipes, “Dick?”

You tut, “It’s Nick.”

Joel’s feigning understanding, “Oh, Prick.”

You’re unsure what’s initiated this potent sexual tension, but it’s consumed your every thought this Halloween; While, Joel’s every word is loaded. His irritated sarcasm’s gunned your way. Any bickering’s uncommon, for the pair of you. You’re hoping that Tommy’s too busy proffering candy to notice.

Dad’s returned, towing Nick, “Weren’t we just talkin’ ‘bout him, kid? So funny.” Dad, and his dorky penchant for inside-jokes.

Nick cluelessly smiles, “Hi, you.”

You politely reply, “Hi, yourself.”

Nick’s extending his hand, summoning you from your designated seat, “Got ‘t see this costume.” Then, he’s declaring you, “Stunning.”

You’re incredulously laughing, “They’re bloodied overalls.”

Nick grins, persisting, “Love ‘em. Also, this apron’s awesome.” He’s thumbing your accessory’s front, tracing the logo, “Carhartt girl, huh?”

You’re aiming to get under Joel’s skin with, “Scream girl, too.” You inspect Nick’s black robe, feeling his arm’s draping sleeve.

Oh, Joel Miller’s jealous. He’s rolling his earthy-toned eyes; Aggressively peeling his beer’s damp label, while instigating Dad, “Hearin’ this?”

Dad’s indifferent, shrugging. He’s always approved of Nick for you; He’s Texan, and plays Minor League Baseball. That’ll do it.

Nick’s pleading, “Let’s please walk ‘round, sweep the neighborhood?”

Joel snarks, “Hell. Reckon he’s recruitin’ for Neighborhood Watch?”

Nick’s nervously smiling, having not heard Joel’s dig, but surely hearing Dad and Tommy’s abrupt snickering.

You kindly respond, “Let’s. Love seein’ the decorations.”

It’s nine-thirty. Your street’s grown habitually sparse; Toddlers, having resigned to stringent bedtimes. Teens, having retreated to erupting parties.

You decipher Joel’s looming silhouette; His rocking chair’s creaking, upon the dimmed porch’s planks. A gleaming tumbler of (presumably) whiskey is resting against his crossed leg, the glass winking at you.

Joel’s dragging his index finger’s edge against his groomed mustache, thumbing his angrily tightened jaw. He rasps, “Ain’t walk ‘ya home?” 

You’re ascending his porch’s tread, “Didn’t need that. Told ‘im so.” Then, untying your apron’s chaotic knot, “Uncross your leg, Joel.”

Joel’s pleasingly pliant; He warns, “That’s the only order that I’m takin’ tonight.” His lap’s deliciously spreading, “Get ‘t drawin’ the blinds.”

The anticipation’s wetting you. You’re immediately scampering along the porch’s perimeter, rolling down every privacy blind; Joel’s patiently swigging his auburn liquor. You whimper, “A–Anythin’ else?”

Joel’s rolling the wick of his adjacent kerosene lantern; Thrusting his opened lap, scrounging his Zippo lighter from an anterior pant pocket. His hand’s arousingly veined, while flicking the lighter’s flint wheel.

He belatedly replies, “Drop your apron. Undo your overalls.”

You’ve dropped the apron, and something’s spilling out from the largest pocket; Joel’s deeply exhaling, “Explain that.”

The lamp’s emitting faint light, fire illuminating his hardening expression. He’s so scarily sexy. You’re inching nearer, but Joel hoists his palm, stopping you.

You embarrassedly gulp, “N–Nick’s mask. Asked me ‘t hold it. He never wore it.”

Joel’s impatient, waving, “And?”

You’re tentatively unhooking your denimed straps, gently uttering, “W–Would ‘ya? Wear it?”

Joel’s mildly surprised, “Oh?” Deciding, “Bring it here. On your knees.”

You instantly kneel, before gathering up the discarded disguise using your teeth. You’re crawling to Joel, crossing the porch’s dully-lit surface. The bib upon your overalls undone; The garment’s buckling loops clinking.

Joel involuntarily moans, “Ngh. Dirty fuckin’ girl.” His index finger’s pumping from his balled up fist, signaling you.

Your pussy’s thumping, because of his commanding, curling digit. You’re itching to suck it. You need anything of Joel’s inside of you.

You’ve gradually reached Joel; You’re being caged in-between his lengthy legs. Joel forcibly pinches your face, removing the mask from your bite’s grasp. The item’s resultantly spat, against his abutted groin.

He’s astonished at the filthy sight, rustling, “How ‘bout that.” You’re resting on your haunches, while Joel praises, “Good girl.”

Joel’s abruptly leaning downward, before hungrily lifting your body’s entirety along his own. He’s immediately kissing you, sinking against the rocking chair’s curved spine; The porch’s cedar ground sighs, creakily duetting with Joel’s groans.

You’re practically siphoning the remnant whiskey from his tongue’s cushioned pad; Your mouth’s rabidly sucking, while your waist’s desperately grinding.

Joel’s bypassing your denimed, disoriented trousers; His palm’s greedily grasping your back’s arched column. His remaining arm, ladling your ass. Then, Joel’s effortlessly hauling your goosebumped figure upward; The rocking chair’s momentum being an assistant. The mask’s wedged in-between your upright bodies.

Joel breathes, “T–The lamp. Hang tight.” You’re licking Joel’s partially bearded throat; He’s briefly hunching, responsibly lowering the wick, consequently extinguishing the flame. Your quartet of limbs, wrapping his flexing torso.

You’re whispering, “You’re so big and strong, Joel.”

He amusedly sighs, “Yeah?” Promising, “Ain’t seen nothin’.”

Then, Joel’s roughly stamping your body against the front door’s exterior; His bulge swelling, pinning your pussy. The entry knob’s blindly twisted. Joel’s heavy-footed steps are reverberated, crunching his home’s metallic threshold.

First, Joel carelessly clears his entry way’s waist-heighted table. Juggling you, while his tanned arm’s sweeping everything off; A ceramic, coffee-stained mug of loose change’s completely shattered. Second, Joel harshly kicks his anterior door shut; There’s an impressive boot print, left behind.

Joel’s panting, “Tell me ‘t stop?”

You’re begging, “K–Keep goin’.”

He hums, “Hm. Need it, darlin’?” Joel’s hurriedly planting you upon the table’s cleared crest, kissing your nodding throat. Agreeing, “Yeah. You do.”

It’s dizzyingly hot; Joel gruffly ripping off your mussed overalls, easily tugging off your slip-on sneakers. He’s lobbing them across the room, away from the mess of coins and shards. You’re noticing the Ghostface mask, under his unmoving bicep.

Joel’s noticing you, “This what ‘ya want?” He’s hesitantly thumbing the mask’s gaping jaw. “Ain’t scared?”

You quietly say, “Like ‘t be scared.” You’re reaching upward, prying off his hat; His hair’s deliciously gray and tousled. “Here.”

Joel’s flinging his accessory away. Then, handing you the hooded, horror mask, “Go ‘head.” He warns, “Wearin’ it ‘till you’re comin’. Understand?”

You’re stroking his untidy hair, readying him, “Won’t be long.” You murmur, “S–Soppin’ for ‘ya.”

Joel’s grunting, “Fuck’s sake.” Kissing you, in-between threatening, “Filthy. ‘Oughta edge ‘ya. Talkin’ like that.”

He impatiently rings your wrists; You’re positioning the mask properly overhead. The draping fabric’s hitting Joel’s colossal shoulders. 

Your pulse’s hammering, “Oh.”

The mask’s milky-colored expression, surveying you. Stark, against the setting of Joel’s unlighted home. His index finger’s impulsively traveling your body; Dragging over your bottom lip’s dampened flesh. Then, carnally downard, riding your throat. Fingering your jugular’s delicate divet. Hooking your undershirt’s airy collar.

Joel’s taunting, “Heart’s racin’.”

You’re anguishly rutting against his console table’s lacquered top. You need to be touched. You beg, “J–Joel. Oh, Joel.”

Joel’s eerily tilting his head, “Pussy’s racin’ like that, too?” Whispering, “Ain’t it?”

You’re deliriously horny, “Yes.”

He’s humming, “Hm. Shirt’s got ‘t go, first.” His unoccupied hand’s rummaging his hind pocket, while, “Reckon that my knife’ll work?”

You’re pleading, “C–Cut it off.”

Then, Joel’s brandishing his utility knife. The blade’s expertly flicked outward. He urges, “Try ‘t hold still.”

Joel Miller’s carving your fucking shirt; His blade’s blunt edge skimming your sternum. He’s effortlessly halved it, forging an impromptu vest. He’s instantaneously shoving the garment overtop your rigid shoulders.

The knife’s frigid handle brushes your tapered nipple; Joel’s awaiting permission, hovering your underwear’s waistline. You’re nodding, kneading his large shoulders. His finger’s hitching the material, before his blade’s cutting it.

Snipping the remaining side, Joel grunts, “Cunt need stuffin’?” He’s pocketing your saturated underwear and his retracted knife, “I know it’s wet ‘nough to take two fingers.”

You’ve been fantasizing about Joel entering you all Halloween. And, finally; He does. He’s groaning, “S–Swallowin’ both of ‘em. ‘Jus like that?”

Your angling head’s hitting the paneled wall. You’re obscenely squelching around his battering digits. You belatedly respond, “JoelJoelJoelJoel.”

Joel’s roughened wrist’s repeatedly rubbing your beating clit. You’re clenching speechlessly around him, innately meeting every re-entry. Your spine’s warming; Your stomach’s taut.

Your arousal’s watering his driving hand; His palm’s pooling. Joel’s incessantly steady. Praising, “Comin’ up. Doin’ good.”

You’re gasping, “There. Oh, right there.”

The instant that you’re coming, Joel’s yanking off his hindering mask. His beard’s patchy and sweaty. He grins, “Man ‘a my word.”

Then, Joel’s amused mouth’s pounding upon your own; He’s desperately inhaling your breaking moans. Licking your teeth’s underside. 

You’re abundantly squirting, as Joel’s uncorking your cunt. Your spotting vision’s correcting leisurely. You’re languidly sighing; Breathing deeply.

He’s genuinely insane for drinking you from his cupped palm. Then, Joel’s mouthing his soggy fingers; Hitting knuckle. You’re blurting, “Need ‘t fuck.”

Joel’s arching his aging brow; Rasping, “Ask nicely.” Then, he’s towing your body overtop his broad shoulder. Spanking you, “Greedy fuckin’ girl.”

You’re nakedly suspended, Joel’s bicep rippling below your ass. He’s entering his living room; Carefully placing you across his cognac-colored sectional. You’re propping upon the chaise’s leathered cushions. You whine, “Please, Joel.”

Joel’s tutting, “Better’n that.” 

You supply, “Pretty please?”

He’s gradually moving nearer; His denim-clad shins, butting the couch’s edge. Joel’s unhurriedly thumbing his belt’s loop, painfully prolonging his removing it. You’re wetting and writhing against his furniture’s fabric.

Joel’s unimpressed, “C’mon.”

Shedding his accessory; Working his zipper. His acting arm’s so freckled, tanned, veined. Joel’s yanking his t-shirt overhead, before subsequently revealing an appetizing, softened tummy. His happy trail’s graying and wiry.

You’re begging, “Joel. Please.”

He’s winking, “Good ‘nough.”

Every sound’s tantalizing; Joel’s boots and pants, thumping across the carpet. His bare, bulky thigh’s abruptly rubbing against your naked pussy; Then, Joel’s mirroring your body’s horizontal position. Mounting you.

Your arousal’s drenching his underwear’s front; His length’s largely tenting the humid material, “Beggin’ like that. Fuckin’ slut.”

You’re involuntarily panting, when Joel’s finally and fully undressed. His cock’s deliciously girthy. The tip’s engorged, reddened and seeping; Erecting far beyond his belly’s button.

You’re whimpering, “PleasePleasePlease.”

Joel grins, “Cunt’s quiverin’. Feelin’ that?”

You desperately nod, “Need you ‘t feel it.”

Joel’s immediately pistoning his fleshy waist; His cock’s knocking your cervix’s wall. His rough thrusting’s fastly inching your bodies upward, until your head’s rearing the sofa’s supple tailend.

He whispers, “Warm ‘nough?”

You gasp, “C–Cock’s perfect.”

Joel’s inaudibly responding; Ramming your hand, palming your pelvis. You’re feeling his cock, below your abdomen’s exterior. He’s interlocking your fingers; His own swallowing yours; Pressing. You’re practically tracing his bulbous, twitching tip.

He’s praising, “Takin’ me well.”

Joel’s bottoming-out, pounding steadily; His bloated, weighty balls welting your taint. Your clit’s puffing, from his pubic bone’s rhythmic route. Dementedly fucking you. You’re moaning, “Ah. F–Fuck.”

He murmurs, “Cunt’s gulpin’ me.” Joel’s hooking your knee’s underside, before lugging it overtop his broad shoulder’s slope, “Needy fuckin’ hole.”

You’re stammering, “Ngh. M–Mm. RightThereRightThere.”

Then, Joel’s angling deeper, differently; Laying his body’s robust weight against your languid, vertical leg. Your foot’s achingly surpassing your head. His chest hair’s graying and saturated; Scraping you.

Your pussy’s overwhelmingly spasming. Joel’s messily tonguing your nipple’s peak; His mustache’s prickling the sensitive skin. You’re tugging at his hair’s curling strands, “J–Joel. Close.”

Joel’s echoing your prior words, “Meet ‘ya there.”

You’re shockingly surprised, that Joel’s remembered the momentary retort; Your faux-bold response and pumpkin spiced alcohol. That’s it. You’re blindly coming. His cock’s densely brimming your contracting hole; Hammering you.

Your pussy’s pornographically sloshing. Joel whimpers, “A–’Atta girl. Drenchin’ it.” Then, “Comin’ inside. ‘M snipped. Yeah?”

You’re immediately kissing him. Palming his beard’s rugged stubble. Sucking his tongue’s pink pores; Tasting your arousal’s heady flavoring.

His climaxing moan’s roaring down your throat; Cum rapidly spurting, coating your cunt. You’re rubbing his rolling eye’s crinkled grooves. His forehead’s tanned and wrinkled. Joel’s especially gorgeous, while cumming hard.

You’re pouring, when Joel’s unplugging you. He’s breathlessly cursing, “Fuckin’ hot.” Standing, “Gettin’ towels. Need anythin’ else? Water?”

You’re beginning to respond, when Joel’s unexpectedly bending; Kissing you. You smile, tapping your bottom lip, “What’s that for?”

Joel’s embarrassedly pointing, toward the nearby microwave’s blinking clock. He explains, “Ten thirty-one on October thirty-first. ‘Dunno. Good luck? Make ‘a wish or somethin’.”

You’re actually dumbfounded, “Oh? You’re absurdly cute.”

Joel frowns, “Ain’t allowed ‘t call me that. ‘Specially while leakin’ my seed.” He’s nakedly turning, preparing to walk, “Water?”

You’re pulling Joel’s hand, “Wait. Want ‘t hear your wish.”

He gulps, “That… You’ll be visitin’ home on Thanksgivin’.”

[thetriumphantpanda]

freedom felt like summer | joel miller

Summary | Weeks of flirting back and forth with your neighbour Joel all comes to a head when he makes sure every inch of you in covered in suncream.

Pairing | Joel Miller x F!Reader

Word Count | 2.6K

Warnings | Explicit - reader wears a bikini and uses sun cream but is otherwise a blank slate. Alcohol consumption. Swearing, flirting, and dirty talk. Explicit smut - oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected PiV smut, creampie. No outbreak au and no use of y/n.

Authors Note | We've had a slither of sun in the UK and this is what happens. Big thanks to @undercoverpena for the shorts idea ;) I hope you enjoy! If you do, please consider reblogging, leaving comments or leaving a tip via my Ko-Fi.

Divider by the wonderful @saradika

Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi.

There’s nothing quite like an Austin summer. Hot sun beating down, but with the new pool your parents had built when you’d moved out and their fully stocked fridge of soda and ice, it wasn’t too bad at all.

They’d gone on their annual holiday, two weeks in Mexico, which meant you had two weeks of lounging by the pool, soaking up the sun and bleeding them for their food and drinks. No responsibilities, is what you’d told yourself, laptop shut and job applications waiting, whilst you soaked the sun into your skin and made margaritas too strong once the clock struck 1pm.

The heat across your skin had dried the chlorine water quickly, coconut scented suncream slathered across every inch you could reach, not worrying about your back because it was pressed against the back of the lounger. You’re just started to drift off, eyes closing behind your sunglasses, when a voice jolts you.

“You manage to reach your back with that?”

There’s a small smirk that flashes across your mouth, quickly bitten away by your teeth as you sit up and turn around a little, looking over to the fence where Joel Miller is leaning over, pointing to the bottle of suncream on the small table next to you.

“Hard to reach there when it’s just me,” You shrug, “But it’s okay, it’s not getting any of the sun anyhow.”

He shakes his head and makes a tsk sound with his tongue against his teeth, “Don’t mean you shouldn’t try and cover it,” He says, sounding more like your dad than you’d care to admit, “The sun ain’t gonna look at that lounger and think it can’t burn you.”

“Well, I'm here on my own,” You offer, “Unless you’re gonna volunteer to smear it on my back, Miller, I'm gonna have to risk it.”

You can see him thinking over the fence, wondering if this is a good idea, much like he’s been thinking since you came home - degree done, jobs waiting - he’d flirted with you at your dad’s cookout in honour of you graduating, swapped numbers with you the day your parents left for vacation ‘in case you needed him’, and has spent the last week making any excuse to peek his head over the fence and talk to you, specifically when you’re out in your bikini, mostly when you’re dripping wet from coming out of the pool.

He holds his finger up and then disappears from view, only to come back seconds later through the gate at the bottom of your garden that connects your land with his. Your dad had been weary of it at first, but as soon as he’d met Joel, they’d hit it off, and now the gate is used more than the front door when they want to drink together.

He’s dressed simply, a pair of jeans and a worn t-shirt. Too stifling for you, you think, but you know he’s spent most of his life on building sites, so he must be used to the heat of the sun on his skin. Joel comes to a stop near the small table, but instead of picking up the bottle of cream, he opts for the half-empty glass of margarita you’d made not too long ago. He takes a sip and makes a face, which makes you laugh.

“Never understand how you women like this stuff.”

Setting the glass down, he picks up the bottle of cream and flips the lid, motioning for you to sit up, which you do, turning on the lounger so your back is facing him. The bottle of cream is really on its last legs, coming to the very end, so you can hear the bottle express more air than cream the first time he squeezes it. You hear him rubbing his hands together and then feel him step a little closer to your back.

“Ready?” He asks, voice low, to which you nod your head.

Then his hands are on you and it’s better than you ever had thought. They’re rough against your skin, but the way they’re gliding across your back is gentle. His hands drag the cream down your spine to the band of your bikini top, before he’s working it into your skin, all the way up to the nape of your neck. You can feel your head tipping forward, struggling to stifle a groan when you feel him gently shift one of the straps of your top down so he can bring the cream up and over your shoulders, his hand big enough that his fingers brush your collarbone. He repeats his actions on the other side, making sure to bring the straps back up when he’s done, then he gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“All done.”

“You’re a professional at that, Miller,” You praise, “Spend a lot of time rubbing suncream into girls backs, do you?”

“All the time.” Is his dry response as you move to lay back down.

When you turn your head, he’s already walking away.

“You can stay,” You offer, “If you’ve got nothing else to do.”

He stands still for a second before he turns over his shoulder, “Let me change and then I’ll come back.”

He’s doing this on purpose, you think, as you watch him glide under the water again, head dipping up as his arms work him down the pool where he comes to a stop, taking wet hands to slick his hair back from his forehead.

“You ever thought of having your own built?” You ask, sipping from the fresh margarita you’d made.

He shakes his head, “Thought about it a fair bit when Sarah was younger but now it would be wasted on me,” He explains, “Besides, I can always come and use yours,” You watch him bend his knees a little in the water so his chest is submerged, “Kinda hot out there, why don’t you come in a cool off.”

Joel has a point, even though it’s mid-afternoon now, the heat is still just as strong as it was when it was midday, so you drag yourself as carefully as you can manage off the lounger and plop yourself down on the side of the pool, dipping your legs in as Joel swims over. You expect him to stop, but he doesn’t, just puts his big palms on your upper thighs and spreads your legs wide, settling himself between them. You lean back, palms against the warm stone behind you, and push your sunglasses onto your head so he can see your eyes.

“Finally gonna make your move, huh?” You ask, eyebrow raised.

“Somethin’ like that.”

His palms are dragging up your thighs, resting on the band of your bikini bottoms, looking up at you like he’s waiting for permission, which you gladly give with a nod of your head. His fingers are hooking into the waistband and dragging down, you lift your hips to make it easier for him, and watch as he steps back in the water to drag them down your legs, leaving them forgotten on the side of the pool as he spreads your thighs wide. You’re not even think about the neighbours on the other side as you watch him, eyes focused on your bare cunt in front of him.

“Like what you see, Miller?” You ask, with a smirk, reaching your hand down your body, using two fingers to gently spread your folds in front of his face, dragging one up the length of your pussy to play with your clit.

You swear he growls at you, big hand gripping your wrist to drag your hand away from your core. He steps back between your thighs and uses the hand not gripping your wrist to push you back a little. Then his mouth is pressing hot kisses to your thighs, working up and across your tummy, back down the other side until you’re squirming and ready to beg.

You can feel the back of his knuckles drag up and down the folds of your cunt, “You gonna be wet if I touch you?” He asks, tone low.

“Why don’t you find out.”

So he does, using a single finger to dip between your folds, dragging down gently until he’s pressing it into your cunt, easy because you are in fact already dripping for him. You feel him work his finger in and out of you, before he’s adding a second and curling them up inside you at just the right angle to have your head tipping back and a moan dropping from your mouth.

“Gotta be quiet, Darlin’,” Joel speaks, “Do you want next door knowin’ what you’re up to?”

You’re about to come back with some smart retort when he leans forward and uses the tip of his tongue to flick gently against your clit, making it all the more harder to keep your moans at bay. Joel continues the light flick of his tongue against you whilst his fingers more in and out of your cunt, until he switches things up and wraps his lips around your clit, suckling it into his mouth whilst his fingers remain buried deep inside you, curling up in a ‘come hither’ motion to caress that perfect spot inside you.

Your hands fly to his hair, tangling deep in his chocolate curls, keeping his face flush to where he’s working you towards the edge.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Joel,” You breathe out, “Don’t stop, please, I’m gonna come.”

At your words, he doubles down, moving his fingers faster inside of you, sucking at your clit with more vigour. He pushes you over the edge easily, easier than anyone ever has before, legs shaking, skin alight, a silent scream sent forth to the sky as his mouth works you through it. Your body feels like jelly when he finally pulls away from you, but there’s enough energy left through your body that you can pull your legs from the water and get up onto your knees.

“Get out of the water, cowboy,” You murmur, bending down to press your lips to Joel’s, tasting yourself on his mouth, “I wanna fuck.”

You push yourself back from him, shuffling back to let him pull himself out of the water. His swim shorts are wet, rivulets of water dripping into pools at his feet, but all your eyes can really focus on is the outline of his cock through his wet shorts. He’s hard and from what you can tell, he’s big. It makes your mouth water, makes you want to wrap your lips around it, but it seems like he has other ideas for you. He’s dragging you up from your knees, walking you over to the low patio chairs, where he sits himself down on one and promptly drags you onto his lap, your thighs wide as they straddle him in the chair.

Your naked pussy is dragging against the wet bulge of his jeans, his hands moving your hips as you lean down again to kiss him, the endless flirting and build up over the last few weeks finally coming to a head as you let your tongue run against his, his hands lifting your hips a little so he can reach between the two of you to pull his shorts down just enough to free his cock.

You can feel the thick line of him running through your folds, wide head of his cock brushing against your clit as he moves, making you moan into his mouth just as he pulls away.

“You wanna sit on it?” He asks lowly, hands moving back to grip your bare ass, spreading you wide.

“I do.”

“Go on then, darlin’,” He speaks, “Show me what you’re made of.”

He helps raise your hips, letting you reach between the two of you to grip his cock, lining him up with your seeping entrance, sinking down just enough to let the tip of his cock notch into you. You lean your forehead against his, both damp with sweat, and revel in the fact that his mouth drops open in a sigh of pleasure just at the same time as yours does. You ease yourself down onto his cock a little more, letting the slight burn and stretch of him easing in, inch by inch, set your skin aflame.

You still once you’ve sunk down fully onto him, letting yourself get used to his length nestled inside you. You feel your cunt fluttering around him, and you know he can feel it too, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip when you start lifting yourself off him and sink back down.

“Shit, baby,” He breathes, leaning up to catch your mouth with his briefly, “You’re so fuckin’ tight.”

He makes you smile when he says things like that, it makes you bold, makes you lift up on him, almost all the way, and then sink back down, but harder and faster than before. As you move, Joel lets go of his grip on your ass and brings them to your bikini top, slipping the straps down, then pulling the material over your tits. He leans down, sucking a nipple into his mouth, rolling his tongue against it until it’s a stiff peak, switching sides to give the same attention to the other.

Once he’s given enough attention to your tits, he takes your hips in his hands, guiding your movements from bouncing to grinding, his cock sitting right within the depths of you as you move backwards and forwards on him. Joel brings a hand between you, using his thumb to draw rough circles over your clit.

“I need to feel you,” He breathes against your skin, “Need to feel you come on my cock.”

“Just…” You breathe right back, “Don’t stop, keep doing that, I’m right there.”

Joel leans up, mouth hot against the skin of your neck as he starts to suck at your skin, tip of his cock brushing just perfectly against that spot inside you as the familiar feeling at your spine builds and builds until it’s crashing over you. You bury your head in his neck, damp with sweat and the remnants of pool water, letting out the quietest moan you can manage as your pussy pulls tight around his length and you feel yourself gush against him, his thumb continuing to work you through the aftershocks of your orgasm.

“You gotta tell me where,” He mutters urgently, “I’m close baby, where do you want me.”

“Inside,” You beg against his skin, realising it was muffled, you turn your head and speak again, “Inside me Joel, please.”

It only takes a few more deep grinds of your hips before he’s gripping your hips tight to keep you still, spilling inside you, warmth spreading through your cunt and as groans your name quietly, so as not to alert the neighbours as to what they just missed in your backyard.

He pulls you close, arms wrapping around your lower back, both of you catching your breath for a moment. You press a kiss to his chest, nuzzling your face into his warm skin as his softening cock slips from your tight heats. You can feel the trickle of his cum down your inner thigh, but make no effort to move, enjoying the feeling of his arms around you.

“Same time tomorrow?” You mumble against his skin.

“Same time tomorrow, baby.”

[steddieas-shegoes]

Modern AU where Eddie is a tech repair person at an apple store in Chicago while he tries to make it big with his band and Steve is a spoiled rich kid who is trying to cover up that he's been using his macbook to film for his OnlyFans or something similar and he needs that shit wiped.

Eddie is as professional as he can be, but can't help but be amused at Steve being worried that he's gonna see everything.

S: seriously, just wipe everything. nothing has to be saved. don't even look through each file. just start over. E: okay sure. but you know you could just buy a new laptop. S: my dad checks my credit card statements. E: okay, so tell him you bought it for a friend or something. S: just. can you wipe it? E: yeah i can.

Eddie doesn't let him know that he already has seen everything because of course he subscribes to S.H. and often leaves him bigger tips than he can afford. He doesn't even know why Steve does it since he's apparently rich, or his dad is.

It only takes a few hours to wipe it, and Eddie's grateful he managed to help Steve instead of his coworker who is a certified Creep ™️ who absolutely would have made sure to watch as many of the videos as he could first.

He calls Steve and leaves a message for him that it's done, but doesn't hear back and Steve doesn't come by. He does the same thing again the next day, and the day after that, starting to grow concerned.

He goes so far as to check Steve's OF page, just to see if there's an update, but sees it's been shut down, like it never existed.

He finally caves, does the most unprofessional thing he's ever done, and texts Steve's number from his own phone.

This is Eddie from the apple store. Your laptop's ready. Just want you to know after 30 days we usually get rid of unclaimed items.

There's no response.

But two days later, Steve comes into the store wearing sunglasses and a hat, clearly trying to hide.

When he takes off the sunglasses to sign everything, Eddie sees a healing black eye and swollen nose.

He isn't stupid.

And he suddenly feels extremely protective over him.

E: did your dad find out? S: find out what? E: about your online job? S: how do you know? E: I wasn't gonna say anything, and I swear everything got wiped without anyone including myself seeing, but I do subscribe to you and I recognized you when you came in. S, already having a panic attack: shit no. this is bad. okay you can't say anything about this to anyone. please. E: I wouldn't, I won't. but your dad found out didn't he? he did this to you? S: *nods* E: you safe now? S: *shrugs* E: need a place to stay? S: i've been saving. that's why i did this in the first place. so i can pay rent somewhere. E: I have a second bedroom at my place that just opened up. up to you.

And of course Steve takes it because he's desperate, and doesn't have real world experience with a lot of strangers, but has a good feeling about this.

Eddie finds that Steve is a very typical rich kid; ignorant to a lot of the world's struggles, but not an asshole despite his bitchy attitude sometimes coming out, thinks money can fix everything until Eddie shows him that apologies and a cuddle on the couch can be better.

Steve is so touch starved, he doesn't even realize the way he always folds into Eddie's side when they're just relaxing and watching a movie, or how he always lets his hand brush against his side or hand when Eddie gets home from work. Eddie helps him look for a job, and they find that he loves working at a daycare even though the money isn't that great.

They fall in love so easily, neither of them actually realize it happens until Steve comes home after a very long day before the Christmas holidays, covered in paint stains from crafts with the kids, and Eddie just welcomes him home with a kiss.

[secretagentsloveblogs]

god okay but have you considered that

guy and honey who are broke college roommates turned lovers who dont make great money, they've scraped together coins for cheap gas station food and $1 dvd rentals for friday nights indoors. guy brings home dinner frequently because its cheap. honey has the public transportation routes memorized. their car/s is/are old, used and has more than a few problems that they're only fixing with duct tape and a prayer. their furniture is thrifted and upcycled with a little DIY work when manageable, or its handed down to them from friends, coworkers, family, etc. guy and honey who get food stamps and sign up for the programs around the holidays that supply people and families in need with a holiday meal. guy and honey who know plenty of tips and tricks to make their clothing last. guy and honey who are friends with the people at the food banks, pantries and soup kitchens, and who regularly volunteer when they have the time. honey, who has a (very small) veggie garden that sits in their window sill (it grows onions and mint). honey who hasn't bought a new pair of tennis shoes in like 6 years. guy and honey who bought their couch on facebook marketplace for like $20 from a guy in a sketchy alleyway. they collect their plastic bottles and cans to donate at their grocery stores for a bit of extra cash. their walls are mostly bare. they have a small tv on an even smaller shelf in their living room and college dorm era fairy lights hung behind the couch. they have a 14 year old plant that was gifted to them by one of honeys coworkers they consider a 'work mom' and it's one of their most cherished valuables. they eat dinner together at their "table" which is just two tv dinner trays pushed together with salt and pepper in between the trays. and its the mostbeautiful thing to them because it is their home that they created together.

bc i think u should consider it.

[noira-l]

Just the Two of Us

chapter summary: a nice summer day, just what you needed... why is Satoru looking at you like that?

pairing: gojo satoru x f!sorcerer reader

wc: 6,6k

warnings: fluff, slightly kinda suggestive?, blind to love, slight mentioning of sexual activity, spoilers (manga, anime, movie).

author's note: a pleasent day with satoru that is definitly not in love, you are definitly just his "partner", and he definitly don't want to kiss you ;*

s.masterlist

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐 '𝐖𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐚 𝐛𝐫(𝐞)𝐚𝐤𝐞'

Satoru yawned with fatigue. It was his 3rd day without sleep, during these miserable days: he had pursued the curse that kept eluding him, solved the problem of the cursed object locked in the wall of the mountain, and additionally travelled half the country to find the cursed womb that was registered, to his misfortune it arrived as it hatched and he had to fight it.

All he dreamt about now, was going to bed and get some sleep.

"Why did you stop, Ijichi?" he asked, tipping his head to glance in his direction. Satoru was now on his way home, the road was getting awfully long, it was late at night, and besides, Ijichi didn't seem to be in much of a hurry.

"We have to wait for someone," he announced in a trembling voice. He still didn't know if this was a good idea, he hadn't been given official orders from above, and yet he obeyed. Satoru furrowed his brow in astonishment.

"If anyone would like to see me, have them make an appointment with my secretary, preferably after I've slept a bit. I'm not in the mood for it" he was getting weary and it was no surprise to anyone. Maybe he could get out of this car before this person arrived?

Suddenly, he heard the boot open and immediately afterwards, someone forcefully opened the door. shit, too late.

"Hello Satoru~" you said in a cheerful voice getting into the car with your backpack. You glanced at his face. "Surprised to see me?" you asked.

You knew that this nightly sneaking out could have serious consequences, but at that moment, you totally didn't give a damn.

"Quite a lot." he replied "What do I honour this visit with? Higher-ups have sent us on missions again? How wonderful" his voice was tired, but still gravelly and bored to the point of pain. Looking at him, you are unable to tell how many days he has been without sleep.

"Well not this time." you replied "We're going on holiday." you said it with a smile, as if it wasn't you at all.

"Ee- what?" he probably couldn't have been more confused. He was too tired to process it.

"You hear right." you started to pull something out of your backpack "Ijichi, to the train station!" you said it quite loudly. Gojo didn't know if he was dreaming or already hallucinating, it had been a long time since he had seen you so happy. A packet of sweets appeared in your hand, you reached out, to hand it to him with a sly smile.

Apparently that was enough to make Satoru shut up and focus his attention on something other than complaining. He was tired enough that he didn't want to pursue the subject. And your presence made him go on autopilot and not care about anything as long as you were close and full of strength.

You knew the mission was hard for him, especially as he was silent the whole way to the station, eating the sweets you had bought him. All the way from the station to the small village where you had a rented a cottage, Satoru slept, resting his head on your shoulder. When you got off, you just had to drag him with your luggage for some time, but you managed to endure it.

He really was like a child sometimes, you stated as you opened the door and threw your luggage on the floor. It took about 20 minutes before you'd got your head around everything, in which Gojo managed to slide off the couch you'd arranged him on. Fortunately, all that was left was to put him to bed, which you had done more than once, you had experience of managing him in his almost dead-sleeping state when he returned from a mission. This activity, without you being surprised, took the least amount of time. You both found yourselves in your pyjamas, snuggled together on a nice and cool bed.

----

Satoru was slightly awake, not wanting to open his eyes, he started to adjust the pillow under his head. He tried to arrange it a few times, each time it didn't work out the way he wanted this pillow doesn't arrange like the ones I bought last year.

Then it dawned on him that he wasn't in his bed. He opened his crystal blue eyes to looked around the room. It was definitely not his bedroom. He furrowed his brow, lifting himself off the pillow completely, finally connecting the dots in his head and remembering what had happened.

You took him on holiday. That much he managed to remember.

After his morning visit in toilet, he head to the kitchen, following a pleasantly sweet smell.

There you stood, in a summer dress he had never seen before, arranging various desserts and many types of sweet bread on a large, decorated tray.

"Good morning, how did you sleep?" you sensed his presence immediately, besides you also heard him going to the bathroom.

The white-haired man looked around the kitchen and the connected dining room. Everything was clean, neat, well decorated, you could feel the atmosphere of the countryside and the remoteness from the city. This house looked like one where one could truly relax.

"Well, I finally got some sleep. This chasing of curses is such a pain." he sighed straightening his limbs after sleeping.

Just then you put the trays of baked goods on the table "I'm glad, I asked my friend to buy us fresh baked goods in the morning, I didn't think he would bring so many." you giggled clearly embarrassed. That's not what I had in mind, when I asked him for variety.

Satoru sat down on a chair, crossing his legs. ''And why are we even here? Not that I'm complaining, I'm happy when my wife visits me at work and then takes me out into unfamiliar territory when I'm practically asleep...but it's not in your style."

You sighed as you poured portions of fresh juice into your glasses. He's been calling you his wife more and more lately, and you wonder if this is getting under one of his taunts.

"I've decided we need a holiday. Both of us. Away from everything for a while." you said putting your glasses on the table.

"Megumi?" he looked concerned.

"With Shoko" you answered. Satoru noded in understanding.

"Back to the topic. It's well known if we're gone for a long time, the world will come crashing down after all, so I told the higher-ups that we're just going on a weekend of well-deserved rest." Satoru started laughing, your head turned towards him.

"You're joking. They'll probably find out now by questioning Ijichi where we are." he took one of the baked goods in his hand. As soon as he bit into it a wave of flavour spread over his tongue. Wonderful.

"Well no, I payed them a visit myself." you sat down close to him, he reached for his glass at the time "I expressed my opinions on some things and said we were going on holiday." Satoru listened intently unable to believe a bit of what he was hearing. Since when did you stop being so conciliatory?

"Of course, they didn't agree at first. Stubborn, old fools." you mumble the last part "For two days of our absence, the world won't collapse, come on." you took a cupcake yourself "Besides, I said that if they tried to stop us, their walls would have a new, more hmm.. purple colour." you bit into the baked goods and he almost choked on his juice.

Are you capable of such things? Yes, you are, he knew that. He knew you enough to also know, that you avoid such solutions and consider them a last resort. Unlike him.

"I'm sick and tired of them bossing us all the time, treating us like their property. If you wanted to, you could smash them with one finger and you wouldn't even break a sweat, they know it well, and yet, we let them get on our heads too much." you drank a glass of your juice.

Satoru was still silent, his eyes glancing once at you and then another sweet roll on the tray. You're probably right, he's been more stressed lately, the pressure is overwhelming, it's taking its toll on your relationship. It spoils the blood not only for him, but also for you, who also have to deal with them when he's not around. Although it doesn't matter now, these two days should pretty much reset him, bringing him back to his open to fun and confident self.

Damn. He is indeed too serious lately.

Fortunately, here with you, he can relax and let himself be carried away by the programme you have planned for him, because he knew you had something planned. You handled such things well, unlike him. His speciality was spontaneity and unscripted decisions.

"So what's the agenda for today, sweetie?" he said while shoving another sweet roll into himself, not wanting to pursue the uncomfortable topic any further. It was his sixth roll somehow.

"I'll explain. A friend of mine is coming over in an hour or so, he's going to give us bikes and we're going to ride around, I've got a couple of spots we might like. And tomorrow we will go to the hot springs and then I have a surprise planned for you." you replied with a wide smile pleased with the plan. Gojo was happy with it too. "I want to have fun." you smiled to yourself.

"So a bike tour, huh? Just don't complain if I leave you behind or your legs hurt, we both know I'm faster." another cupcake was in his hand. who makes such yummy food?

"I have one more thing for you, a request actually."

"Hm?" he paused devouring a sweet roll to look at you. His white hair were still messy and his crystal eyes aroused, from the amount of sugar he had consumed. There was frosting from the baked goods at the corner of his mouth, and scattered crumbs on his bare chest and belly.

Does he always have to look captivating in all conditions?

"This trip is because we both need a break from our duties. And this trip is primarily for you, Satoru.'' he looked at you as if you were a freak, and it was him that the strawberry filling fell on his stomach.

"Duh~ Of course even the strongest need a break. They think this perfection keeps itself going?" he said scooping the filling from his skin with his finger, licking the contents as soon as he put his finger around his mouth.

"Please listen." you looked at him seriously "This holiday is not because 'the strongest needs a break', no." You got up from your chair and quickly walked over to the linen bag hanging on the chair, pulling something out of it and tucking it behind your back, walking over to him again. "This trip is because Satoru needs a break." you stood next to him, placing your hand on the back of the chair behind him.

Your other hand revealed a pair of round, dark, blue tinted glasses.

You both knew what those glasses were. They had belonged to him back in his high school days, the exact pair you had once taken from him during training as a trophy for beating him in melee training. Six eyes was shocked when you knocked him to the ground. You used trickery of course, but you didn't set the rules, so the prize was yours. Now he's surprised too, at how good a condition they're in, and that you kept them at all.

You found them recently in one of the boxes you were afraid to look in, because all the stuff from your dorm was there, including Suguru's stuff. But you'd been cleaning recently and decided you should finally do something with it. That's where you noticed the pair of glasses that were lying right on top. There were some other things besides, but you didn't pay any attention to them anymore. These glasses reminded you so much of the good old days, that you just stood there for a few minutes in thought, simply holding them in your hands. They reminded you of all the beautiful moments, hardships and fun you had as a teenager, even though you spent most of your time with Suguru, Gojo also fulfilled some small role in your life back then - when he wasn't teasing you - of course.

It dawned you. That's right! Fun! You closed the cabinet, taking only that item, running to your computer to start planning everything.

"So for the duration of this trip, I'd like you to be exclusively yourself. Not 'the strongest', not 'Six Eyes', not 'the greatest sorcerer of modern era'. No. Please." he parted his lips slightly, his face expressing a lot of emotion as you put your glasses on his nose.

"Just be Satoru. That's all you need to be for me." a gentle smile dawned on your face.

You glanced at him from a little further away. "Look at you, you haven't changed a bit." you brushed his hair with your hand gently. Indeed, he looked the same as he did in his school days, only his boyish features had matured over time. Those are still the same blue eyes that made you dizzy, whenever you tried to focus and glance deeply into them. You noticed something.

Why is he blushing?

Why does his face look like that?

After a long moment, in which his eyes completely failed to leave yours, he burst out laughing. He corrected himself in his chair, at the same time putting his foot back on the floor.

In one swift movement, his hands grasped your figure, making you sit sideways on his lap. His face moved dangerously close to yours, one of his hands was on your back, the other on your exposed thigh.

What is he doing?

You were surprised at how easily he was able to seat you and with what gentleness his arms embrace you. His hand moved from your thigh to his nose, as he lowered his glasses to look at you. His eyes literally scanned yours, your bewildered face beginning to take on colour, a little more and that deeply hidden blush would come out into the world.

"Only if this miserable girl from my class joins me too, heh." his shit-eating grin made you hot. Your heartbeat drowned out your thoughts for a moment.

Wait - what did he call you?

You gave him a gentle nudge, standing up from him, pouting.

"Idiot."

His retch filled the silence completely.

----

The forest through which you passed seemed endless. Beautiful colours surrounded you all over. The perfect weather only accentuated them. You drove a little uphill the mountains, sun peeking out from behind the leaves, leaving glowing glimpses on the forest road.

Satoru was riding ahead of you, not holding the steering wheel with his hands at all. His legs holding the bike frame were enough for him. You wondered if he was even looking at the road, he had his phone in his hand, playing some kind of mobile game. Occasionally he would stop with a squeal of brakes, to take a picture of what was a nicer bit of terrain. The real revelation was, when he spotted a bird playing with a stick a few good metres away; you didn't notice it, but he had his eyes and a pretty good zoom on his camera.

However, you had been on straight road for a while, so his full attention was focused on the phone. You came up with a slightly crazy idea. You made sure that your backpack and the contents of your basket were well secured, and then you started to speed up rapidly. You passed him very quickly. When you were in his line of sight, you showed him your tongue and continued your fast ride far ahead of him.

He quickly tucked the phone away, you had caught his attention enough, that he saw your haste as a challenge.

You don't know how long it took you to race him. You could say that you quite matched his pace, overtaking him every now and then, or he was gaving you a head start, there was that option too. You didn't want to let go too easily, although you were slowly running out of strength, you were glad that your cursed energy was helping a bit with that. Sometimes he tried to disturb you, for example: trying to poke your cheek, he had long enough arms to reach easily. You did not remain indebted to him, by trying to ride close enough to him, that you had to step back slightly.

This situation was no different. You overtook him again, this time quite a bit, you turned around when you noticed that he didn't manage to overtake you. His smile was the same one you remembered from the better days of your high school. His whole look was practically the same, you're sure it's a matter of those glasses.

Was he the same? It was hard to tell. You thought for a bit and stopped looking at the road.

Quickly turning your head to notice a pretty big turn. Really close to you.

“Shi-” you had already prepared for the fact that you might fall off a cliff. You already wanted to use your technique, when suddenly something pulled you back with considerable power. Your back hit something. The white-haired man pulled you towards him with the whole bike, a couple of meters away from the turn, completely stopping you in the process.

“Did you just use your blue on me?” you asked, quite shocked.

He answered you nothing and silence, you couldn't read his smile. Without a word, he rode quickly away from you gaining a murderous pace, ringing his bike bell cheerfully in the process.

----

A shadow perfectly enveloped your figures as you sat down by a tree together to rest for a while. Satoru asked for moments to pause, wearing his old glasses, while pleasant and nostalgic, put him into a slight migraine overtime. Though he didn't want to admit it to you, you knew him well enough by now to wordlessly hand him banages from his backpack with a slight smile.

He accepted the material, wrapped them around his eyes, giving him a long sigh of relief. He was truly grateful to you for understanding his needs, giving him a moment's pause whenever he needed it. He put the cloth over his eyes, closing them and trying to fight the migraine that was slowly growing inside him. He concentrated for the moment on his own thoughts, which were mainly focused on you. Were you always so caring? No wonder Megumi came to you more often with most of his needs.

The minutes passed at a fast pace, for that, his migraine refused to pass so quickly. He was replaying some memories in his head that had just flown by. He didn't even notice when he started to fall asleep, surrounded by the hum and soothing gusts of wind and the pleasant scent of nature.

----

He was awakened by a gentle nudge from something near his leg. Satoru opened his eyes and looked quickly at the scene before him. You sat down in front of him, still with the same soothing smile. When you noticed that you had woken him up by accident, you put your hand on his leg, muttering a quiet "sorry''. He noticed you were tinkering with something, by the fact that were sitting a piece away, with your back to him, he was unable to notice what, he was too sleepy for that.

Satoru took off his banages completely, depositing them in the backpack beside him, and in one efficient movement put his glasses on his nose. His migraine had stopped finally, he felt extremely relaxed and rested.

The view was beautiful, the picturesque fields and mountains seemed endless. For moments he stared at the white clouds, absorbing his six eyes with this view, waiting for you to finish working on something. Which you did literally moments later turning to face him, draping the fruit of your labour behind your back.

"I have something for you." you said. The smile wasn't coming off your face today, usually you were much more serious, thoughtful and even sometimes sad, in contrast to him, he was never serious, thoughtful or sad. At least that's what he tried to pretend. Today was different though, today he didn't have to pretend his happiness even a little bit.

"A gift. For me? You spoil me completely today." he chuckled with his confident smile, simultaneously interested in what she had prepared for him.

"Close your eyes." without thinking, he followed your command with his smile. He listened as you moved closer to him, he even felt your touch on his leg again, when you needed a gentle support. Your hands moved closer to his face. He felt something on his head, a very gentle weight, barely perceptible.

"You can open now." So he did, which was met with the sight of you taking a picture of him.

"Wait a minute, that's what you pay for! Do you know how many people want a photo with that georgous face?" he reached out to take the phone from your hands, you responded by giving the phone behind you as much as you could. This light-hearted tug-of-war didn't last long, at least not until out of the corner of his eye he noticed the screen with the photo you'd taken earlier. He moved away in amazement.

A crown of flowers? And not just any crown, you could see the craftsmanship of its creation, the blue and white flowers matched himperfectly. He also noticed, that there was another one lying next to you, with flowers perfectly matched to you.

Without thinking much, he took it in his hands and placed it on your head, just as you had done before. Satoru tried to hide the blush that appeared on his pale cheeks, again this day. For that, you hiding your blush and sweet sigh proved to be impossible. Not when your heart was suddenly beating harder, you didn't quite understand why again. Perhaps it was the fact that Satoru slid his hands along your cheeks, gently stroking them with his thumbs, gazing at you intensely with his sparkling blue eyes. You put your phone down.

Definitely Gojo Satoru was enchanted by the sight. The sight of you flushed cheeks, slightly parted lips and beautiful eyes. You are so mesmerising. The thought crossed his mind that he wanted to keep such a sight of you just for himself.

So this is what Suguru must had seen every day.

He froze, letting go of your face. You glanced at him confused.

Ah yes, one of that thoughts.

You were Suguru Geto's girlfriend in your high school days. You were his best friend's girlfriend. Totally in love with each other, inseparable, always together. Satoru remembered it perfectly. He will never get out of his memory when you came to school together, at first as friends, you and Suguru were already inseparable. He knew that you both came from the same village. It was hard not to notice how condescending, affectionate and absolutely in love with you Suguru was. At least Gojo noticed it right away, you didn't necessarily. His best friend finally dared to confess his feelings to you one day and so you became a couple. The world's most oversweetened, loved, adorable, romatic couple. The amount of this love made Satoru want to vomit. Geto mentioned more than once that he wanted to marry you right after you graduated.

Oh, how fate can be twisted.

After the incident of star plasma vessel, even you were unable to save him. He knew that you tried but failed, he is sure that you are still blaming yourself to this day. The amount of pain the raven-haired man caused both of you was indescribable.

Still, Satoru couldn't get the thought out of his head that he was somehow betraying his best friend by being with you like this. You were Suguru's girlfriend. What is he doing here with you under such circumstances?

Well, that's right - you were.

Suguru was long gone, he knew that. You hadn't been with him for a long time. He broke your heart. He knew, he wasn't coming back. And yet, out of sentiment and out of some strange sense of duty, that one conversation had brought out of him, where the raven-haired had asked him to take care of you, as if something had happened to him. Satoru seems to have taken it too much to heart: by taking care of you for years, befriending you, marrying you and falling in love.

You were his wife now.

You went on dates with others, when you hadn't yet convinced yourselves as much. Everything around you and him screamed that you had come to terms with the situation. Although it took a long time, you had succeeded. He loved him too, in a way. You, in a slightly different way, even though he rarely admits it.

How could he think you had no feelings for him? He didn't know himself. At some point, he had already stopped deceiving himself, when he glanced at the obvious evidence you had substituted for him.

Heck! You even ended up with him for your fifth anniversary. He never felt so good in his life. He is He was asbolutely in love with you, that moment and that feeling. He could be with you like that every day. He wanted to feel vulnerable again, weak and absolutely susceptible to your touch and every feeling you evoke in him.

But he couldn't. He would have fallen impetuously into your arms long ago, for all the years you spent together, for every thing you did for him and taught him. He was so grateful to you.

But...he couldn't. Every time there come situations at which his heart begins to sing, there is also an image of you and his friend together - happy, in love.

And he felt like the total garbage of a person, when he experienced similar feelings with you.

Not because of you, but because of his sense of duty and the awkwardness of the situation. If you continue, as you are now, he will find it hard to control himself. He will end up clingy again, like on your memorable anniversary, and won't be able to stop. Really funny thoughts, considering how close to each other you really are.

Satoru moved away from you, leaning against the tree again.

"Do you miss him sometimes?" You weren't able to hide your confusion when you saw how he completely changed his tone and mood in a second. He removed the crown from his head.

He had to be sure.

"Who?" you asked, not knowing what had suddenly sprung to his mind. He just sighed, looking to the side. "I don't know what you're talking about, Satoru, I'm not sitting in the inside your head." You really hoped this wasn't going to be some kind of argument, that would ruin the good vibe you were so desperate to maintain.

"Him. I'm talking about him, (Y/N)." finally the cogs in your head came together. You sign.

"Ugh, do we really need to talk about him? I don't want to spoil the good times with you." you said laying down entirely on the blanket with a disgruntled expression, you closed your eyes. "I haven't thought about him like this in years, I want to keep the streak."

A long moment of silence passed before you spoke up "..but I've been thinking a lot about you, Satoru." The corners of your mouth lifted. He needs to calm down, he's an adult now and he blushes as often as a teenager.

You lay in silence with your eyes closed, trying to chase all unnecessary thoughts out of your head, repeating to yourself that you should focus on the here and now. You're not going to change the past, there's no point living in it.

After a while you felt movement on the blanket, you opened your eyes slowly, only to see his face above you, he was leaning with one hand over you, the other stroking your cheek. His crystal blue eyes were watching you again. He ran his thumb over, hooking the corner of your lips, making you part them. Why did you even let him do such things? You had stopped asking yourself that question for some time. It seemed somehow unnecessary to you.

"I've been thinking a lot too…" his gaze focused on your parted lips and the uneven breathing that was beginning to build in you, he moved closer.

"...and what were you thinking about?" you said it so quietly that it might as well have been a whisper. You also put your hand on his cheek. Warm, you thought, and noticed too. You looked at his lips.

He pressed his thumb against your lip making you bite down slightly. His hand moved from your face, down your neck, to your collarbone, eventually ending up as a support for him, right next to your head. He was even closer.

"I think I want to keep racing with you." His nose rubbed against yours, playfully, he began smiling goofily again.

Then he rose and stood up, as if he hadn't just given you a heart attack, shaking the remnants of grass off himself while putting on his backpack.

"So, shall we go?" his tone was the same as ever, he had already started to walk towards the bike, as you continued to lie on the blanket, blushing feeling some sort of need that had built up somewhere down.

----

The day was enjoyable.

You rode a bike, took beautiful photographs, had a picnic in a large meadow full of flowers. Just the nice calming things.

Satoru was surprisingly calm until your return home. That was odd. He still radiated a smile, but it was different. Usually he was broad, sometimes arrogant and confident, at times teasing, but this one was smaller, calmer. More affectionate, as if he was smiling half-cheekedly.

His eyes did not leave your side. Which was not new to you, he has a habit of following you around like a stray cat, crying for your attention. Now, however, it was not like that. He just stared, still smiling, responding calmly. Well, maybe not always, because when you were playing Mahjong in the bedroom, he was a bit in over his head, at certain points.

"I can't understand how you win in this game." You scratched your head while glancing at the board. The white tiles were arranged in patterns.

"And I can't understand how you can cook so well. What you prepared today was delicious." he moved the tile on the board.

It was quite late in the evening. A warm summer rain was falling outside the window, irrigating the fields of crops and plants. The sound of soft bells was barely audible from where you were. The two of you were sitting in the bedroom, opposite each other, at an undersized table, drinking tea that you had brewed quite a while ago in a small, decorative teapot. It wasn't long before you had dinner; before heading home, you managed to visit a small farmers' market near the centre of town. You bought all the ingredients and made it into something from an old recipe you got from someone you knew back in middle school.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it." you smiled slightly. The image of him devouring the dish you had prepared always touched your heart in some way. Especially since Satoru, never spared a comment describing the wonderfulness of the dish you had cooked.

"When we get home, please make it again, I think Megumi will be pleased too." his gaze stopped on the piece you had just selected.

"You just did a stupid thing." his voice was quite calm. You analyse a bit.

"I still don't know how to play this game." You paused for a moment from making a move to reach for the teapot and pour yourself some tea. His hands overtook you, lifting the teapot and pouring the hot liquid directly into your porcelain. You thanked him quietly, enjoying his kind gesture.

"Mahjong is a Chinese game, it's possible you might not have known it, it's not so often played in our country." He put down the teapot to the stand, returning his gaze to your face.

"I am not surprised by its presence in this house, even the porcelain we drink from comes from China. So is the owner." You glanced at his cup to see if you should pour it for him too, but the cup was almost full.

"How did you meet him?" he raised his hand to take a sip of cooling tea. You were surprised at how gracefully he does it, as if he has a habit of manners. We're talking about the same Satoru who sometimes played with his food, along with Tsumiki.

"I exorcised the curse that tormented his brother's house not far away. As a token of gratitude for saving his life, he said I could use his summer house. So I did. Although I really resisted it at first, I didn't want him to feel indebted to me. As it turned out, this is a man who feels indebted if he doesn't return the favour."

You pulled the night dressing gown tighter over your body. His blue irises fixed on the board.

"You always take care of others." he said it as if more to himself.

"It's my duty, besides, I like doing it." You lifted your cup up. He continued to stare at the white tiles on the board.

"How did you learn to play Mahjong?" you asked him, the cup clattering against the stand. He signed.

"When I was young, I played this game with one of my teachers." Satoru turned the plate in his hands, examining it from all sides.

"What was his name? What did he teach you?" the white-haired one said nothing for a long moment.

"I don't remember his name or where he came from. My teachers changed quite quickly, no one would stay to teach me for longer. My skills developed rapidly." A white plate rose up in front of his nose, began to rotate by his blue force, and he continued, "I remember him teaching me object control. In the beginning, he showed it to me on the tiles from Majhong, which is why I learned." The tile began to fall, and he caught it in flight. You began to wonder.

"Is there a teacher you particularly remember?" you wanted to find out a bit more about. It seemed pleasant to you, personal enough to get to know him at the same time, but distant enough to be safe.

"No."

"You haven't managed to build a relationship with anyone?" you asked softly, trying to catch his gaze, which was still fixed on the piece in his hand.

"No. My needs changed quite quickly, as did the people around me." he replied dryly, his uncovered eyes expressing more emotion than tone of voice.

You knew that Satoru had been pampered from a young age, spoilt, honoured, he had been so special that everyone had done everything possible to ensure he was looked after in the best possible way.

You were at the headquarters of his clan, you experienced the assessing gaze that measured your worth equally with your strength level. Satoru had the most of it.

You knew he had had a difficult childhood, it wasn't hard to guess. What you sometimes managed to forget through his playful and confident nature, was how lonely he was from the start. You weren't surprised at how much he was affected by his best friend leaving. And now, despite this knowledge, you shouldn't be surprised that he doesn't bond with most of the people he's met. Since he had always been put on a pedestal, it was hard for him to look for commonalities in people or look at their worth, regardless of strength. You experienced this yourself from his side. After spending years with him, you are able to conclude that he has changed that a bit in himself. This does not change the fact that it came with great effort on his part. He is a diffrent man, but still alone with his strenght.

"It must have been lonely." voice betrayed your thoughts, as did the compassion that slipped from your gaze.

Satoru rose from his seat. Instinctively, you reached out to grab him. Afraid that you somehow hurt him. You said something wrong, didn't you? You didn't manage to grab his hand, you were already about to start apologising to him, but he circled the table and found himself sitting on the floor, close to you, hugging you and pressing your head against his chest.

"Satoru? What are you doing?" you lifted your gaze to find his eyes staring at you.

"You said that when you are sad, sometimes instead of saying something I should hug you." his voice was so sincere, open in a way. You smiled slightly, surprised that he didn't understand.

"That wasn't…" he pressed you tighter against him, suppressing your urge to correct what you meant. You embraced him too, putting your arms around his waist and laying your head on his shoulder. You chuckled.

It finally clicked in your head why he did what he did. You couldn't hold back a smile.

You laughed in your soul, at how often you wonder if his touch is typically friendly, caused by years spent together, or if there is something more behind it. Knowing that his touch sometimes put you in a palette of different emotions.

Constantly reminding yourself that by definition you are friends, nothing more, was becoming increasingly difficult for you. Maybe because it was becoming more and more of a lie. At least on your part, you no longer knew how to look at him as a person with whom you only shared a bed and goals. You no longer knew, how to look at him other than as your partner. Hiding it often worked out terribly for you, so you stopped. You didn't want to hold yourself back anymore.

That was your situation. You knew Satoru wasn't the best at expressing his feelings. Often in difficult situations, he falls silent, doesn't know what to do, freezes in place. So you just give him time until he comes to you on his own sometimes. And when he comes, you hold him all the time, promising not to let go.

You are happy that he came to you with this kind gesture.

Even if you think his intentions are different from yours.

"If you want a hug, just do it, anytime, 'Toru." you started stroking his hair, the way he likes it best. You felt his body relax under your touch. White curls escaped through your fingers, soft and pleasant to the touch.

"I'm not surprised you're losing, your positioning is wrong. It's no fun, when you don't even know how to play." he said in his normal voice, then with an efficient movement he planted you between his legs, facing the board. He reached with his long arm for the tea cup on the other side and placed it next to yours.

He pulled you closer to the table, put his head on your shoulder and began to teach you, showing you, explaining everything. He made his movements in game using his power and you listened bravely and attentively to what he was saying. Although it was quite difficult when sometimes he nuzzled into your neck more, tickling you and distracting you with his warm breath.

That day, despite the obstacles, you learned to play Mahjong.

© noira-l 2024 | all rights reserved. do not copy, translate, modify, or redistirbute my work without permission.

[raitonsfw]

𝚓𝚞𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚕𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚛𝚊𝚜𝚙𝚋𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚙𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚎 | 𝚍𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚎𝚟𝚜𝚔𝚢 𝚏𝚢𝚘𝚍𝚘𝚛

synopsis: Fyodor offers to take care of you on your period, as weird as that seems to you. Normally it would be the usual gestures, like milk chocolates and warm baths; but you never thought he’d be into this.

warnings: 18+ mdni, fem!reader, smut, period smut, blood play/kink, cunnilingus, fingering, p in v intercourse, dirty talk, creampie, massages, petnames (my love, good girl), insecurity about having a period, fyodor's a sweetheart.

a/n: marked it as dark content because well, blood play. if its not your thing that's okay, personally was just craving fyodor in every type of way today so this idea came about. wc: 2.7k. m.list

now playing: MOON CYCLE by melanie martinez

divider credit: @benkeibear

You had curled up near the window with one of Fyodor’s blankets wrapped around you. It was cold outside, nothing new, it was winter after all. The holidays would be coming up soon and you reminded yourself to look for a present for him in the next few weeks. A mug of hot cocoa sat amongst the coffee table and you stared at it solemnly.

Fyodor hadn’t come home yet.

It’s the same routine over and over. You wait by the window, seeking solace in the snow that stuck to the branches of the trees. His footsteps were often covered over by the time you awoke in the morning, the goodbye forgotten on the tip of your tongue because he never managed to disturb your sleep. He was silent in the dawned sunrise, the light barely reaching the windows that he opened for you. The birds chirped lightly as he left without so much as a trace lingering within the bedsheets next to you.

The window was your company, in its hinges and blinds. It was your only company as you waited for him to come back from his post. You didn’t know what he did most days, it didn’t matter in your eyes. He never brought home the insolent manner he forgave in the midst of his work. He’d lay everything outside the door and walk in with a fresh aura, something you were grateful for. And then the rest of the night, he was yours.

The hot cocoa had gone cold, the marshmallows melted into the drink and you frowned at it. You forgot you had made it for yourself, too preoccupied by the starlight moving its way through the sky. It wouldn’t do much for you anymore, the comfortability of the hot drink wouldn’t make your pain go away. It was that time of the month, where everything ceased to be exciting. It felt horrible, especially without your lover’s arms massaging your aches away.

Fyodor would take care of you, to the best of his ability at least. Chocolates would be sitting by the fireplace and warm baths would be drawn for your sake when he knew you weren’t feeling all that well. Fresh blankets would be piled onto the edge of the bed as well as some of his clothes for you to wear. But what he couldn’t help you with was the insatiable wanting that overcame you, you wanted him on a silver platter. Wanted nothing but to be touched by him, in every place you could imagine. Wanted nothing but to touch him and make him beg with that lovely accent of his, dripping curses from his lips.

But you couldn’t picture Fyodor ever doing such a thing for you. Not when his hands were so clean, you knew blood would surely taint his demeanor. Maybe he would even leave you, disgusted by the simple question. You didn’t want to ask, afraid of what the future would look like without him due to a stupid fantasy. A stupid desire.

The front door opened with a quiet noise, pulling you from your muses. Your head snapped towards it and you smiled. “You’re home.”

“My love, you look cold.” Was the first thing he said when he saw you, cuddled up in the corner of the sofa. You nodded, snuggling up more into the blanket. His scent wafted off of it and it eased you as you watched him put his belongings down on the kitchen counter.

“I have the fireplace going, plus I found your blanket at the bottom of the closet.”

“Ah, so that’s where that went.” He chuckled lowly, shedding his overcoat and hanging it over one of the dining chairs. His hat came off next, resting on the same chair. “How was the day?”

“It was fine, I just read a book.” You held up the small book from your lap, flipping through the pages for emphasis. “I finished it too.”

“Was it one of the ones you found from my collection?” He asked as he moved around the living room, tidying up some of the mess you had made. He picked up the stale hot cocoa mug and pondered at it for a second. “Would you like another one?”

“No, it’s okay Fyo.” You sighed, waving your hand at him. You probably wouldn’t drink a fresh one either. The dull pain crawled against your back and you pouted a bit. “I don’t want to waste another one.”

He murmured a tiny ‘okay’, bringing it over to the kitchen counter. You continued talking about the book you read, it was one of the ones you found from his massive collection. He had a library of sorts, to say the least. Bookshelves lined the bedroom you shared with him, novels housed within the wooden crevices. You were stunned when you first saw the shelves as you moved your belongings in, forgetting how much of a bookworm he could be.

Now they comforted you as you sat alone on those chilly days, waiting for his return.

“You’re not feeling well?” Fyodor asked, a hint of concern sprinkled in his voice.

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t seem to be.” He came up behind you, leaning over the sofa to kiss the top of your head. He placed his hands on your shoulders and squeezed gently, trailing them down your back. His fingers kneaded into the depths of your shoulder blades, relieving some of the pain that sat there. “My love…”

You shivered at his touch even though it was over the blanket, reveling in the way his presence felt. He gently moved your hair away from your neck, pressing a few kisses there with a soft hum. His tongue lapped at the light hickies, some he left days prior when he couldn’t keep his hands off of you. One of your hands came up from under the blanket to rest in his hair as he sucked a few more into your skin, a soft moan leaving your mouth.

“Did you miss me?” Fyodor asked quietly and your hand ran through the soft strands of his hair, pulling at them lovingly. You captured him quickly into a hushed kiss, moving your lips gently against his. A short noise came from his mouth, like he was a bit shocked you kissed him first. He wasn’t used to you making any moves, normally you let him take the reins and decide how he wanted to move his chess pieces with you. A strategic game it was, he had to come up with new ways to keep you entertained so you wouldn’t become bored.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He muttered against your lips, a smug laugh coming from him. You pulled him closer to you, that wanton feeling hitting hard in the pit of your tummy and you whined into the kiss. You needed him, needed to watch as his eyes rolled back from searing pleasure, needed to hear him force your name out between sobs-

He broke the kiss, patting you lightly on the arm and you looked at him confused as he leaned back up. “Fyodor-?”

Your confusion fizzled away as he picked you up from over the sofa and you realized you shouldn’t have started this. You shouldn’t have gone with your instincts, shouldn't have given in. You couldn’t tell him no, he knew you wanted him from the way you just acted– how were you supposed to tell him you were on your period?

Or did he already know from how you were acting? Did he not care? You couldn’t tell. Panic set in underneath your skin and you fidgeted in his arms as he brought you to the bedroom. As he laid you down on the bed, you hesitated when the white sheets caught your eye. “W-Wait, hold on.”

“What is it, my love?” His hands snaked underneath the soft shirt you were, one of his shirts, and you let out a yelp at the cold intrusion. Fyodor rolled his hips against you slightly and you whimpered a bit as his erection rubbed against your clothed clit. You really didn’t want to stop, a small sigh had escaped him and you were going feral from it.

“Ah, your hands are cold.” You whined out, but you didn’t really care all that much. “I don’t think we should-”

“It’s okay.” Fyodor said, looking at you with concern again. You felt your heart sink at his expression as he got to his knees and off of you to give you space. “We can stop if you don’t want to.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to…” You trailed off, looking towards his bookshelves. He really did have quite a collection, the series neatly cluttered together in the heart of the center shelf. You avoided his gaze on you, hoping he wouldn’t question any further. But deep down, you were praying he’d realize and still fuck you into oblivion.

Fyodor’s eyes kinda widened, seemingly understanding why you were acting this way. You knew he wouldn’t shame you, a warm bath was waiting and he’d go out to get you that milk chocolate for you, letting you eat it to your heart’s content. “Time of the month?”

You nodded and a wave of sadness rushed over you, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. You couldn’t help that you feared the worst. Not that he’d leave you, but that he wouldn’t indulge you. Your arousal had already settled within your body, the buzzing sensation rushing through your veins. It would be such a bother if he stopped now-

Fyodor pulled you from your thoughts again. “Please don’t cry.”

You felt him rub small circles into your hip and you couldn’t be more thankful at the intimate gesture. He pressed his face into your neck, holding you in a tight embrace and you let out a shaky breath.

“I don’t mind.” You heard him murmur into your neck, his hands trailing to your waist. “I can take care of you.”

“With a bath and chocolate?” The familiarity felt nice, though your mood became dampened. You glanced down at where his hands were, but you didn’t question it.

“No, my love.” Fyodor made his way down to your chest, planting kisses above your breasts and over them. He sighed fruitfully as he thought about what you asked, hiking your shirt up over your tummy. “Well, yes if that’s what you want waiting for you afterwards…”

You watched him lap his tongue against your chest, sucking bruises into the delicate flesh and you groaned out, head falling back against the pillows. He let out a slight laugh as you opened your legs for him a bit, letting him settle in between them. Moving downwards towards the pudge of your tummy, Fyodor pinned you to the bed by your thigh.

His fingers slipped inside the waistband of your (his) sweats and you gasped as they found your clit like second nature. He massaged it gently, taking in your choked whines. “I’ve been thinking about you all day…”

His violet eyes bored into your figure as you seethed under his touch, his forefinger dipping slightly into your cunt. He moaned to himself as he felt the wetness, the blood that pooled there, slicking up the tip of his finger. Of course he didn’t care, he just wanted you– in fact, you might’ve awakened a new kink in him.

“Maybe I’ll even taste you, savor you on my tongue…” He continued with a whine etching the end of his sentence, mocking yours as you pushed yourself up onto your elbows weakly. “You want me to-?”

You cut him off sharply, the ‘yes’ falling from your lips as his fingers slid fully in. Curling them in and out, you arched your back with his name falling from your lips. “F-Fyo-”

“Yes, my love?” He didn’t stop, sped up his movements even, looking up at you with endearing eyes. Yours stared back, albeit some uncertainty filled them. He kissed you once to calm your nerves before lowering back down towards your thighs with an assuring smile. “Don’t worry about the sheets.”

He slipped his fingers out quickly and tugged your sweats over the swell of your ass, pulling them off completely. Pad and panties forgotten, he moved them aside to the edge of the bed somewhere. Gripping both of your thighs, he hoisted them over his shoulders and fervently licked a small stripe up your cunt to test you. And when you moaned out, eyes shutting tightly and hands flying to his head, he dove right in.

He savored your metallic taste, lapping at your clit and into your cunt with a lick of his tongue. Fyodor groaned into you as you pulled his hair, your thighs twitching as he drove you crazy. He could feel your slick against his cheeks, but he didn’t mind. He welcomed the way it made you squirm, you were pliant and submissive, desperate to feel something– anything. You were completely putty in his hands and his dick throbbed in his trousers, strained against the white material.

He came up for air, his face stained and you gasped. But, again he didn’t mind, simply just wiping it off on his sleeve as he moved to pull himself out of his confines.

“Fuck, can’t wait any longer.” Fyodor breathed out as he positioned himself between you. Sinking in slowly, a low moan was drawn out of him and you nearly came right then and there. His hands came to clasp yours and his dark eyes fluttered shut as he bottomed out. He felt you tighten around him and he shook with pleasure as he thrusted into you. “Such a good girl for me…”

You whimpered in response, feeling the way he dragged within you. It felt like you were on fire, every single instance of you dreaming about this coming to the surface and melting from his touch. He pushed into you again and again, a slow rhythm, and even though it was slow, an obscene noise came from it. The wet squelching made you dizzy with excitement and Fyodor buried his head into your neck again, panting out small curses.

It felt amazing, Fyodor could barely contain his moans. His cock had stuffed you to the hilt and your blood made it so easy to fuck into you without much force. He rocked into you with tiny whimpers, trying so hard not to cum but he felt it rushing up his spine the more he plunged into you. This was the best decision he’s ever made, to take care of his lover who needed him.

You chanted out his name, your back arching up into him and he thrusted into you faster. He pinned you down again as he changed his position, leaning back and pulling your thighs close to his hips as he sat almost on his haunches. He watched his dick disappear in and out of you, the so-called red filth becoming near molten gold to him. You gripped the pillow above you for leverage as he plowed into you. You felt your orgasm nearing, expelling within your nerves and you whimpered, looking at Fyodor. He looked back at you with hooded eyes and pressed one of his hands on your tummy.

His hips faltered slightly and you watched his eyes roll back, pumping shallowly into you and painting your insides with his cum. He fucked it into you and your orgasm followed right after him, nearly shattering your senses as you clenched around him harshly.

Fyodor pulled out of you, littering kisses against your flushed cheeks as you caught your breath. He massaged your hips fondly and smiled warmly. “I’ll run the bath for you, my love.”

You don’t know what you did to get such a perfect lover; one minute you were in such a dark place and the next, he’s there to kiss your sorrows away. He went to run the bath for you and you looked at the sheets, blemished with you– you and him combined and all you could think of was how the hell you were going to get the stains out.

“Don’t worry about the sheets. I’ll take care of it, now come here and let me take care of you.”

a/n: wanna get tagged in future writing posts? join my taglist!

[huramuna]

downpour - oneshot.

modern aegon ii targaryen x nanny reader minors dni, you will be smited.

this is for @targaryen-dynasty sleepover challenge 🤭 i got the babysitter au + the prompt 'why so shy?' i had so much fun with this, modern aegon is a menace and also a sopping wet cat.

word count: 4.5k

content: smutty smut smut (specifics under cut), aegon being a little shit (we love it), saltburn spoilers (lol), allusions to drug / alcohol abuse and rehabilitation, mullet aegon, jaehaera and jaehaerys are hel's kids but they have an unnamed / unrelated father, gratuitous use of song lyrics, probably a touch of power imbalance because of her job

murder on the dance floor - sophie ellis-bexter

warnings: oral (m receiving), face slapping w/ cock, degradation, dirty talk (this man never shuts up), face fucking / deepthroat, cum on face

“Jaehaerys! Jaehaera! Please don’t run in the house with muddy boots!” you called fervently, trying to collapse the umbrella with one hand, two teddy bears slung in the other. 

“We won’t!” they both called in unison, followed by the unmistakable sound of muddy galoshes squeaking over the marble floor. You suppressed the urge to groan as you entered the exquisite home through the french doors that led to the backyard. 

“Boots off, little ones!” you called again, kicking off your own shoes in a haste to catch the gremlins before they tracked grime all over madam Alicent’s home. You had been working at the Targaryen estate for the better part of a year as a live-in nanny for Lady Alicent’s two grandchildren– twins, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera. It was a wonderful job for the most part, as the twins were a delight and you had grown to have a strong friendship with their mother, Helaena. She was a bit dreamy-eyed and wistful, but was a wonderful mother nonetheless, even if she did have her melancholic days. 

The estate was huge and ancient, passed down from generations through Helaena’s father’s side, which was apparently a near royal bloodline from days long foregone. Viserys Targaryen, the father in question, was hardly ever home. He managed the family business (whatever it may be, you didn’t find it in you to ask– all you knew is that they were dirty rich) with his other daughter, Rhaenyra, from his first marriage. He had four children with Alicent, Helaena being the only one of the brood to still live at home.

 You’d met two of the others as well; Aemond, a lawyer in the family business who was, in short, all business and no play. He never regarded you, really, besides a quick glance or stiff nod. He had, however, slipped you a eight-thousand dollar bonus at Christmas time with a simple card that read;

Thank you for taking care of the twins and my sister. And keeping my mother sane.

- A.T

The other sibling, Daeron, was the youngest of the bunch, visited usually during holidays, as he constantly was studying abroad. ‘Sowing his wild oats’, as Helaena had put it. He was cordial to you and very much had a boyish charm, and Helaena loved to joke that he had a crush on you. When he had come home for New Year’s, he brought you a souvenir from Iceland, an authentic lopapeysa sweater, made from wool and sewn with a beautiful geometric design. 

“Awh, Daeron wants you to stay warm, lovey,” Helaena teased. 

“I-It’s just– her hands are always so cold, a-and the wool is supposed to help keep warm! The inner layer is insulating.” Daeron had stammered, the tips of his ears growing red. 

“Uncle Daeron has a brush!” Jaehaera squeaked, her words whistling through her tooth gap, she’d lost her first baby tooth just the week before.

“A crush, he’s got a crush!” Jaehaerys corrected softly. 

Alicent thought the whole thing very amusing.

That left one child you hadn’t met. You didn’t know much about him aside from small bits of conversation you’d picked up on between the rest of the family. Aegon. The eldest of all of them, and apparently the troublemaker of the bunch. You knew what he looked like from the portraits– blonde hair like the rest but with severely more bags under his eyes. Upon entering the home, one would see the chronological order of family portraits. 

It starts with Viserys, Alicent, and baby Aegon; the latter of whom is happy and chubby and bubbly. 

Then, it moves to the three of them, plus baby Helaena, with her wide blue-eyed stare at the camera. Aegon is still happy.

The next one adds the addition of baby Aemond– there is a glint of sentience in Aegon’s eyes, but he hasn’t experienced the crushing blows of reality yet.

You weren’t exactly sure, but as he got older, he became more morose– more bags, less light in his eyes. Then came the ear piercings, the tattoos, the head shaving, the bloodshot in the whites of his eyes. The portraits ended with this past year’s Christmas photo. Aegon was noticeably missing from it. You’d heard during one of Alicent’s phone conversations with her father that Aegon was in rehabilitation for a myriad of issues, and looking at his photos, you could only guess which one was the straw that broke the camel’s back. 

A particularly harsh clap of thunder broke you from your thoughts, coming back to yourself. You scooped up Jaehaera before she stepped on the carpet with the muddy shoes. “C’mon, let's get cleaned up for lunch, yeah? What do we want for lunch today, lovies?” 

“Grilled cheese n’ tomato soup.”

“No! I want mac n’ cheese.” 

The squabbling ensued, the twins arguing back and forth for a few moments before you butt in. “Alright, how about– whoever gets the floor the cleanest and puts their galoshes by the washroom the fastest gets to pick?” 

The twins squealed in delight as they absconded from your sight, effectively going to do your bidding for you. You would, however, just end up making both meals anyway. As you moved to the kitchen, the sound of the doorbell rang. You bustled to the door, not sure who to expect– there weren’t many roving visitors in and out of the estate unless Alicent was explicitly expecting company– which you had triple checked the calendar when you woke up that morning.

You opened the door, expecting to see a debutante or someone of Alicent’s social circle– ‘twas not the case. You recognized him immediately, seeing his mother’s face in his own. Aegon. He was muddy, dirt flecks splashed on his face as he stood under the stoop trying to get away from the pouring rain. His face was a bit healthier than you’d seen it, the dark circles were still there, but not as prominent. It was like a gloomy day, rather than a full blown storm under his eyes. He had the wisps of a beard starting on his jawline, and his hair was cut into a makeshift mullet, longer in the back.

“Who the fuck are you?” he asked, hands in his pockets. 

“Erm– the… the nanny. For the children.” you stammered, his tone catching you off guard. You glanced behind him, seeing a beat up dirt bike caked in mud– that was probably how he got here. 

“A nanny? You’re a bit young for that, yeah? My nanny’s were all wrinkly old prunes.” 

“Oh– uhm, come in, Mr. Targaryen.” 

He perked a brow at the name, but didn’t say anything. He beat the bottom of his boots on the doormat, which didn’t accomplish much. He immediately began to track mud on the floor. “Mum home? Hel?” 

“Lady Alicent is… upstairs,” you offered, following behind him at a quick pace. “Helaena is taking a nap– the storm–” 

“Yeah, I know ‘bout Hel’s issues with storms. Don’t need to tell me twice. So, you got a name, or are you just the nanny?” 

You gave him your name as you glanced at the clock– it was almost time for the children’s lunch and you hadn’t even put it on the stove yet! 

“Got any food around here? Fuckin’ famished.” he added then as he nosed around the kitchen, hands still in his pockets. 

“I’m just about to make lunch for the twins– uhm, I can make you something too if you’d like.” you walked past him, quickly putting some pots on the stove and starting the gas. You and the twins were on a strict schedule, and if they didn’t get their lunch on time, they would turn into hellions. 

“Sure. Whatever the kids are having. I’m not picky.” Aegon waved his hand behind his head as he disappeared from the kitchen and clomped up the stairs, likely to speak with his mother. You fretted for Alicent’s mental state once that was done, and you felt even guiltier for not giving her a heads up.

As the tomato soup heated on the stove and the water began to boil for the macaroni, you unlocked your phone– you were curious about Aegon and why he’d come back, exactly. Well, of course, besides the fact that he lived here (or did, at some point) he was still supposed to be in rehab for another three months. You went to instagram, rolling your eyes as you saw that his profile was on ‘suggested for you to follow!’ 

You clicked to his most recent photo, the first that he’d posted in over a year.

“Jesus christ,” you muttered under your breath as you put down your phone on the counter to stir the soup. 

“Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain,” Aegon teased behind you. When the fuck had he gotten there? “Soup n’ mac and cheese?”

“Tomato soup and grilled cheese for Jaehaera, mac and cheese for Jaehaerys.” you responded plainly, trying not to notice that he was practically breathing down your neck. You glanced over as he leaned on the counter, where you had left your phone. Unlocked. Like an idiot. On his instagram page.

“Curious about me, are you? I’m surprised you haven’t heard enough about me from my mum.” 

“I don’t like to pry into Lady Alicent’s affairs–” 

“I wouldn’t consider myself an affair, more like a one time fling, eh?” Aegon snorted, grabbing your phone. It took every fiber of your being to not break all sense of decorum you held to snatch it back from him. “You’re not following me– let’s change that,” he mused, beginning to scroll through your page now. “Lots of pictures of the kids here– ooh, a trip to the seaside. There’s no pictures of you on here, eh? Only of… my family n’ other stupid shit, like the ocean.” 

“I’m a live-in nanny, sir,” you grit out, stirring the soup with more force than necessary. You consider yourself a patient person, and have become accustomed to how people in the Targaryen’s circle made their jabs. High society and filthy rich people had their own language of insults– ones that you wouldn’t realize they were insulting you until much, much later. It was like a game with a slow burning poison. But Aegon, apparently, was different. There was nothing meticulous about his jabs, no filter, no slow burning poison. It was all punch and sting, like a bite from a rabid dog rather than a viper. “I usually attend family trips.”

“Live-in, huh?” he drawled, his arm leaning over the counter in such a laissez-faire manner that you could feel yourself scowling. “Don’t get much action then, I take it? Let’s see if there’s any nudie judies on here, then…” 

“N-no!” you broke then, all sense of manners flying out of your body as you struggled to take back your phone.

“Why so shy? Got something on here you don’t want me to see?” he staved you off, a hand planted firmly on your shoulder as he scrolled through your photos, making all sorts of gaudy faces. You didn’t really have anything overtly scandalous, maybe a few lingerie shots for an old boyfriend.

“Aegon, leave her alone. Give her back her phone.” Alicent’s voice cut through the room like a knife, stunning both of you.

He sheepishly gave you back your phone as she crooked a finger to her son, ushering him to a room on the farther side of the house. 

As you fed the twins their lunch, you overheard some yelling, arguing and heated voices. You only saw Aegon later when going to your room to get ready for bed. His eyes were teary and red. 

— 

The next few weeks went by with some normalcy— everything was as usual, except it was like you had a third child to care for; Aegon. Except this child didn’t listen at all and had terrible habits. He was constantly flirting with you, but also would weave in jabs at the same time— you couldn’t quite tell if he even liked you or not. Not that it mattered, anyway.

You were sneaking in your own lunch one afternoon, eating scraps from the twin’s lunch while they napped— basically just the crust you cut off of the grilled cheese and the small bit of soup left in the pot. 

“You eat like a mouse.” Aegon said, always managing to be there to annoy you. 

“Too much food makes me tired— I won’t be able to keep up with them if I’m sluggish.” 

“Could always drink a red bull or a monster, instead.” he offered, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it in the kitchen. 

“You shouldn’t do that inside. It’s bad for the children’s lungs. Lady Alicent says—,” 

“Well, it’s my fuckin’ house too, innit? I can smoke in here if I well and bloody like,” he growled, exhaling a puff of smoke into your face. “My mum must be paying you extra to be my nanny too, then? The way you’re up my ass all the time.” he flicked ash in your direction. 

You crossed your arms tightly over your chest. He was goading you, baiting you into a reaction. He was being insufferable on purpose. You could tell by his pearly white smile he currently had plastered to his face, like a smug little— 

“Never had a nanny so pretty, though,” he continued. “If I asked real nice, would you feed me soup? Dress me up? Give me a bath if I’m real dirty?” he got closer and you could smell him— the smell of marlboro reds and cheap aftershave that had become synonymous with Aegon blew out your senses until it was all consuming.

Your mouth parted as you tried to think of some witty response, some barb, some jab— but nothing came out. You just huffed and turned away from him in an attempt to hide your red cheeks. Why were you blushing? 

You could practically hear the cockiness ooze from him, his mouth perked into a cheeky smile as he stole one of the crusts. He knew he’d gotten to you. 

—

It’d now been over a month since Aegon moved back home and the building tension between you two hadn’t let up a bit— you constantly felt trapped and elated all at once. When you saw him, your chest fluttered slightly in anxiety and anticipation. What was wrong with you? 

It was a dark, gloomy day. The seasonal storms were in full swing, pelting the estate in rain and hail. Alicent, Helaena, and the twins were out on an escapade to Alicent’s father’s house— you guessed Aegon hadn’t gone. But, it was a huge house, so surely you could enjoy some of your time off without seeing him? 

A rumble of thunder shook the house, rattling its constitution— and then the lights flickered. Flickered… flickered… then… out. It was dark, then, even with your window shades open. You turned on your phone flashlight and tiptoed out of your room, going to see if perhaps you could smack the backup generator into working. 

You hadn’t expected to work today, nor see anyone, as Alicent had given you the day off. So, you were subsequently dressed in your pajamas— a hilariously oversized Bass Pro Shop shirt (a gift from your dad in America) and cat-patterned sleeping shorts. Your toes cracked and creeped on the floorboards with each movement, and to your chagrin, as you passed Aegon’s door, it opened. He was wearing a shirt that said “MILF: Man I love Fishing”, with just his boxer briefs on, which didn’t seem to bother him at all. 

“Oh. You’re still here.” 

“Yes?” 

“Sorry, thought you were gone with the rest. Sad, I can’t do the Saltburn thing now.” 

“The… what?” 

“The Saltburn thing? Dance around the empty mansion to myself with my cock out.” 

“What.” you responded with the most deadpan tone.

“Dance… with my cock out?” he repeated.

“No– I know what you said– but why?” 

“Why not?” 

You rolled your eyes, shifting the conversation. “So, the power is out– uhm, do you know where the backup generator is?” 

“In the wine cellar. Nifty, huh?” 

“... the… wine cellar. I can’t say I’ve been down there yet.”

“I know it like the back of my hand, c’mon then. I’m sure I can kick the old gen in the nads and get it to work.” Aegon said with surprising confidence, turning on his phone’s flashlight and half blinding you. 

You followed behind him, to which he hummed ‘Murder on the Dancefloor’ while doing a half-assed dance, apparently from some movie that was definitely something you hadn’t watched– you don’t remember the last time you watched a movie that wasn’t geared towards the twins. 

“So basically… he had the whole mansion to himself, and then he dances through it with his cock out, hanging massive brain, y’know? It's murder on the dance floor, you better not kill the groove,” he imitates the dance, sprawling his arms out in the doorway to the wine cellar and shaking his bottom a bit, which was, admittedly, nicely fit in his snug boxer briefs. You felt a strange heat flush to your cheeks.

“And this… is a… what? Comedy?” 

“Well, categorically no– I’m not a film aficionado. I guess it could be considered a psychological thriller, but I thought it was pretty funny,” he stopped before continuing into the cellar. “It gets pretty hairy in here, so stick close, okay? Ever seen The Conjuring?” 

“... yes, actually. Horror movies are kind of my favorite.” 

“Ah, a girl after my own heart,” he mused. “Well, think of the basement in that movie, but instead of a bunch of old useless shit, it’s a bunch of old wine.”

“And… instead of ghosts?” 

“Oh, there’s definitely ghosts.” 

“... what.” 

“Yeah, estate is haunted. You haven’t noticed?” 

“Shut up.” you murmured. You were a huge fan of horror movies while simultaneously being a huge chicken shit when it came to scary things– you were prone to hiding your face before the big jumpscare or running up the stairs from the kitchen when it was dark, just in case something was chasing you– and your feet had to be covered by the blanket at all times when sleeping.

“Aww, you scared?” Aegon teased, turning to you.

“I mean– ghosts are scary. Of course!” you offered sheepishly, pulling up the collar of your oversized shirt to cover your nose and mouth in an almost hiding manner– a nervous habit of yours. 

“I’ll keep you safe, love, no worries about that.” 

“... that’s what they always say, right? Then they totally leave behind their girlfriends to get stabbed by the killer or… eaten by the monster.”

“You my girlfriend now?” he asked, that stupidly annoying and somehow charming smug energy exuding off of him in waves. 

“Shut up.” you grumbled as you both approached the generator. It was covered in dust and hadn’t been touched or tended to in a long time, it looked like. “Do… you know what you’re doing?” you asked Aegon tentatively, watching as he inspected it.

“Me? Oh, fuck no. I never know what I’m doing, honestly,” he shrugged, giving the metal box a kick and haphazardly pressing some buttons. “No dice, sweetheart. ‘Spose you’ll have to dance in the dark with me for a bit longer, huh? But, if there's a ghost, you'll be... ghost food, or whatever.” 

You pinched your brow in annoyance. “I don’t understand you.” 

“What’s there to understand? I’m a pretty open book, you know.”

“No– you aren’t. You flirt with me but also… insult me? I don’t get it.”

“It’s called teasing– picking? Picking on? Getting the goat?” 

“What? So, like a little boy pulling a girl’s pigtails on the playground because he likes her? That makes absolutely no sense, Aegon.” 

“If you spend your time trying to find a reason for it, you’ll go insane. Why not just enjoy the point of it? I like you.” he breathed, suddenly very close to you. He set his phone aside on top of the generator, flashlight up. It illuminated the walls of wine and cast shadows of cobwebs and dust all around the both of you.

“What?” 

“Are you deaf– I. Like. You.” he repeated, his knees bumping yours as you were practically glued together, your back now against the ancient stone wall.

Your lips parted as you inhaled a breath– okay, you weren’t exactly expecting him to say that, or even like you at all– you figured the flirting was all hot air, a defense mechanism, something for fun, not… real. Your heart was pounding in your chest and you became all too aware of the fact that you hadn’t been touched since you got this job, maybe even before that– and your previous boyfriends never made you feel… flustered like this. You couldn’t form words as he, uncharacteristically cautiously, put his hand on your cheek. He was so close, so close– his body heat mingled with your inherent coldness and warmed you instantly. You weren’t sure what came over you, but you leaned forward, slotting your lips against his. What the actual fuck were you doing– you were kissing your boss’ son, her notoriously bad mannered, foul mouthed, sloven slob of a son, and you liked it. Your hand instantly went to the back of his head, fingers grazing through his choppy curls– even giving them an experimental tug, which he seemed to enjoy, by the indication of something poking you in your thigh. 

His lips moved against yours like a dance, and you couldn’t get the fucking song he was singing earlier out of your head– It’s murder on the dancefloor– you grasped at his hip, it was fleshy and pleasant, the tips of your finger slipping under the elastic of his briefs– But you better not kill the groove– his hands were exploring, too, under your stupid Bass Pro shop shirt, groping at your breasts with reckless abandon – If you think you're getting away, I will prove you wrong – the heat rose in your body until you couldn’t take it any longer, the two of you were practically eating each other alive in this dank, dusty cellar and it was undoubtedly the hottest experience of your life – I'll take you all the way, boy, just come along – your lips parted for a moment, still connected by a string of saliva, bridging the gap between the two of you – Hear me when I say, hey –

“On your knees for me, love?” he asked, his voice suddenly so deep and husky, his thumb skimming over your collarbone. 

You fell to your knees for him so quickly– how pathetic. He wriggled down his briefs, already leaking at the fat tip of his cock. He wasn’t overly long, but he was girthy, like a beer can. Your eyes widened, which he must’ve noticed, as his face was plastered with a shit-eating grin. Your mind immediately went to an image of a so-called ‘American delicacy’ (your father’s words, not yours) called Beer can chicken, in which a can of beer is shoved in the ass end of a chicken and grilled. It is apparently as delicious as it is horrifying. Your throat bobbed as you surveyed it, a tentative hand around the base. He shook his head, prying your hand from him.

“Nope, mouth only. Open up, be a good girl.” Aegon muttered, looking down at you, the light of his phone flashlight illuminating him from below– he looked like a God. Or maybe a devil. 

Your mouth parted as his hand guided you forward. You wholly expected him to nestle in your mouth, but he surprised you with a slap to your face with his cock. It didn’t hurt, just caused you to yelp in surprise. He smeared some of the pre-come across your cheek, then slapped the head of his length on your waiting tongue. It was somewhat degrading, what he was doing– but it lit a goddamn fire under your ass, the neurons of depravity in your body, wherever they may lie, were alight with each nasty little gesture Aegon gave you, before he finally slid home. It stretched out your mouth, prodding at the back of your throat. 

“What would everyone else think, hm? If they knew you were such a fuckin’ slut.” he growled, gathering your hair in his fist like it owed him money, beginning to fuck himself into your mouth, careful to pay attention to your body language to make sure he wasn’t working you over too much. He made sure to be extra careful with his toys, rather than break them.

Tears welled, spilling down your face as you let him use you, degrade you– and yet, he also praised you.

“–such a good girl for me–”

“–you can take a little more, there you go–”

“–prettiest throat I’ve ever fucked–”

You felt like you were on fire, set ablaze by arousal you’d never experienced before– was this what they sang songs about? Dirty, borderline pornographic songs but the point still stood.

You had to chalk it up to the barometric pressure of the storm, right? Aegon wasn’t your type— your type was… well-adjusted, non-addicts, non-bad boy, non-troublemakers. Aegon was the antithesis of what you were into. 

And yet— you were into him. You were into him in a pathetic, pitiful way. It made you cringe to think about but you couldn’t resist his puppy dog eyes, nor could you forget the way he was whimpering— fucking whimpering! You squeezed your thighs together slightly at the sound of it, at the blurry-eyed, teary sight of him looking down at you on your knees, eyes half lidded. 

He pulled out with a particularly throaty grunt, painting your face in his unnaturally warm seed, somehow careful enough not to get it in your eyes– small mercies. Your lungs inflated with oxygen once more as you caught your breath, trying to gather yourself. You felt the swathe of cloth over your face as Aegon cleaned you up with his ‘MILF: Man I Love Fishing’ shirt, which he had apparently taken off. 

“You good?”

You nodded slowly as he helped you to your feet, brushing off your knees with the clean part of his shirt. 

“Um– so,” he still held onto you, as if he was afraid you’d run away. “Do you want to watch a movie with me later, when the power is back on? Like, actually watch it– I won’t fuck your face, I promise.” 

“... are you asking me on a date?”

“Umm… yeah. I think.”

“Maybe we could watch Saltburn?” you offered with a shrug.

–

“Your mum texted me,” you whispered. “The bridge is temporarily washed out from the storm, they won’t be back ‘til tomorrow.”

“Do you know what that means?” Aegon said, suddenly giddy. You both had just finished watching Saltburn, and you finally understood what the ‘Saltburn thing’ was. 

“You know your mum has like ten security cameras set up around the house, right?” 

“Okay… and?”

“I’m not dancing naked in the hallway, Aegon.” 

“How about just in my room? Please?” 

You gave a sigh, beginning to take your clothes off.

“Siri, play ‘Murder on the Dancefloor’ by Sophie Ellis-Bextor.”

‘Okay. Now playing ‘Murder on the Dancefloor’ by Sophie Ellis-Bextor, as featured in Saltburn.’

It's murder on the dancefloor!

But you better not kill the groove, hey-hey, hey-hey!

It's murder on the dancefloor.

But you better not steal the moves.

DJ, gonna burn this goddamn house right down.

[lovebugism]

ooooo what abt for blurbcember being alone on Christmas Eve w Steve x reader & once one of them realizes they are alone when they called they speed over and spend the night together, maybe confess some feelings too👀

hope you like it!! — you call steve when you end up alone on christmas eve and he comes over without thinking twice, 'cause that's what best friends are for, right? (friends in love, hurt/comfort, 1.4k)

blurbcember ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

Just a moment ago, Steve Harrington was on his couch. He had an arm around his girlfriend and a scruffy cheek on her hair as they watched A Christmas Story for the third time that evening. His dad was snoring over it from his spot on the recliner while mom watched on from the kitchen, where she’d just popped in another batch of cookies. 

Everything smelled like vanilla. Like home and the holiday season.

Then the phone rang. His mother picked it up, hiding her wine-drunk slurs as she answered. It was for him, of course, because it was you. “Feel like spending Christmas Eve getting drunk with me, Harrington?” you’d ask through the static of the receiver.

It’s like he blinked and he was in your childhood bedroom, splitting a bottle of your dad’s expensive liquor with you in your twin-sized bed.

The too-big house down the street was dark and empty, with you abandoned inside of it. The entire mansion was horribly clean — too clean — like no one actually lived there. The only Christmas decoration in the whole place was the tiny Christmas tree on your dresser. It basks the two of you in a golden hue while you laugh together in similar colors.

“So your parents just… left you here?” Steve presses, lying on his side at the edge of your mattress, propping his weight on his elbow.

You nod and take a swig from the glass bottle. Your lips shine with the amber liquid until you swipe your tongue against your buzzing bottom lip. “Holiday party at the Carmichael’s. No kids allowed,” you answer. You manage to smile as you say it — ‘cause you haven’t been a kid for a while — but it’s still slightly forced. 

Steve can see right through it.

“Still,” he insists with a furrow to his brow as he takes the bottle from you. “That’s really shitty.”

“Well, my parents are basically the king and queen of being shitty, so…”

Steve scoffs an emotionless laugh and raises the whiskey to his lips. The thing glugs when he tips it back. He takes a small sip, just enough to coat his tongue, because he knows he’ll have to go back home eventually. He licks at his shining rosy lips, just to feel how numb they are. 

“Your parents are shitty, and mine are… total fakes,” he concludes with a lopsided, sorrowful grin.

“Drunk enough to vent yet?” you tease, smiling down at him with your cheek tilted to your shoulder.

“No— I mean, there’s… there’s nothing to vent about, you know? They’re just, like, putting on happy faces for everyone at the party like they weren’t totally falling apart two days ago. Now it’s just like… nothing ever happened.”

You figure by “nothing to vent about,” he means that there’s a world of shit to vent about but that he doesn’t really feel like getting into any of it. You don’t blame him. He’s not the one who called his best friend on the very brink of falling apart, anyway.

“Is that what you were doing when I called?”

He nods, blinking slow and smiling soft. “Thanks for saving me, by the way.”

“Bet you’re missing loads of fun right now, Harrington.”

“Yeah, right,” he scoffs and passes the whiskey off to you. “Right now, my dad’s passed out in his Laz-E-Boy, and my mom’s watching the same Christmas movie over and over and over again.”

The visual makes you laugh.

Steve laughs because you are.

“Yeah. I mean, Nancy’s into it, I guess, but that’s just because she’s way too nice to—”

“Nancy’s there?” you blurt before you mean to, gaping with a shock you couldn’t hide if you wanted to. You thought he might’ve been as lonely as you were. You figured that’s why he dropped everything for you without thinking twice.

Your confusion makes his face screw up. He’s too oblivious to understand. “…Yeah?”

“You said you weren’t doing anything important!”

“It wasn’t important!” he exclaims, right before realizing how insensitive he sounds. He cowers, as though Nancy could somehow hear an entire block away. “Well— Not that she isn’t important— It’s just that—”

He stammers hopelessly. ‘Cause he doesn’t know how to say “you’re more important to me” without sounding like a total douchebag.

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” he settles on, suddenly shy about the whole thing. His eyes fall to your comforter because it’s easier than meeting your eyes. His fidgeting hands pluck at the tiny pills of cotton.

“Steve…” you whisper in an airy sigh because you don’t know what else to say.

He can’t tell if that’s good or bad, but his name sounds like honey spilling from your lips, anyway.

“Her brother’s there, though! And all his little shithead friends— so it isn’t like she’s totally alone,” he assures you in a single breath. You can’t tell if he’s saying it more for him or for you. “Plus, you said you were here by yourself, so I… I wanted to make sure you weren’t alone.”

“And they say chivalry’s dead,” you tease despite the distinct warmth swirling in your chest.

Steve flashes you a crooked grin to hide his similarly hidden feelings. “Well, whoever said that has never met me. Obviously.”

“You should really go back home, though,” you tell him. It’s not like you want him to leave. You’d rather him be here all the time. You’d rather it always be Steve and never anybody else. But it can’t be like that. It can’t ever be that way.

“What? No!” Steve shouts with his face screwed up in offense. The lights from your Christmas tree leave harsh shadows on his chiseled features, making them that much sharper. 

“Your girlfriend’s there, Steve. And all of your friends—”

“Not you, though. And you’re, like, the most important friend I have.”

“Steve,” you groan.

“I’m serious,” he insists, even though he’s laughing at your dramatics. “I’d much rather be here with you than pretending to be happy with everyone else.”

Your chest aches — a dull, hot, and empty ache. It’s like his words are a knife, and he’s just pierced your sternum with it. “You’re not happy?” you ask him in a fragile, broken whisper.

“I mean, I am, I’m just…” he trails off when he can’t find the words to say. He sighs and lays back completely, relaxing for the first time all night beside the warmth of you. His honey eyes concentrate on the shadows on your ceiling until he’s brave enough to speak.

“I don’t know… I love Nancy and everything— you know that. But… I never felt like I had to stop pretending around her, you know? It’s like I’m still trying to impress her. All the time. And with you, it’s just like…” 

He loses the words again. Your relationship is much harder for him to describe. The way he feels about you can’t be put into words. He’s not sure that there’s any that even come close. 

“I don’t know— It’s just easier,” he concludes with a heavy sigh. “Don’t read into that too much, alright? I’m just tipsy.”

He’s only had a couple sips of alcohol. He’s not even close to being tipsy. He’s content, at best, but you’re probably more to blame than the whiskey.

You know all of this, too, but decide not to press it too much.

“Noted,” you nod, huffing as you lie on your back beside him. His fuzzy Christmas sweater scratches you when it rubs against the skin of your shoulder. You can smell his deep, woodsy cologne and the hot chocolate on his breath. You shouldn’t get as lost in it as you do.

You wonder if he ever has the same problem with you — if the smell of your perfume, or your hair, or your strawberry lipgloss drives him crazy — or if it’s all in your head.

It might be better kept up there, either way. 

Saying anything out loud might change things too much.

“But, you know, just for the record or whatever,” you start in a gentle whisper and with a teasing glint in your eye. 

Steve’s already smiling when he turns to look at you. He falters slightly when he realizes how close you are — enough to feel your whiskey-coated breath fan against his chin. He doesn’t know why it makes his heart race. 

“I’m glad I make it easier on you,” you confess, so suddenly soft, as your sparkling eyes flit between both of his. “‘Cause being with you is easier for me, too.”

Steve’s rosy lips curl into a quiet smile. 

His chest sparkles with a foreign emotion, and he isn’t completely sure why. Your words feel almost like a proclamation of love, but maybe he shouldn’t read into any of it too much. Not how gentle your words sound or how you’re looking at him right now. 

You’re just tipsy, after all.

[cumikering]

Neighbour Keegan Russ x reader

3.5k | fluff Fake dating on Christmas but wishing it wasn’t. Hey, where did the rest of the wine go?

“Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Keegan turned to you standing at the door of the laundry room.

He chuckled. “Likewise. Seems like everyone’s already gone for the holidays.”

“You’re not going home?”

He shook his head. “My break’s too short to make it worth the trip. You?”

“I’m flaking.” You tipped your basket into the machine next to him. “I’m gonna say I’m sick.”

“Oh, why?”

“My cousin’s family is hosting. She’s not my favourite.”

He laughed. “What’s your beef with her?”

“She’s such a show-off, won’t stop talking about her boyfriend and the fancy gifts she’s getting.” You inserted the coins into the machine with more force than needed. “And I think it’s finally getting to my mum, because she’s asking about my relationship status.”

“Well, if you need company…” he said, trying to not sound too hopeful. I’d love to spend some time with you.

You turned to him, brow raised. “Wait, you mean, you want to come with? Be my plus one?”

“That wasn’t- well, yeah. I can do that.” He shrugged. “If you want.”

This wasn’t the direction he was heading for. He was going to offer to spend Christmas together, maybe exchange gifts, but he surely wasn’t going to take that back. Anything for a chance with you.

“Really?”

He always enjoyed seeing your face brighten like that, despite never getting the chance to see it enough. When you moved in down the hall a few months back, he’d always found you cute, even managed to exchange numbers ‘in case you need anything’. But between deployments, he was lucky to even catch a glimpse of you once a week, leaving any possible advances towards you simply a fantasy to him.

But the opportunity presented itself that late Sunday morning and he wasn’t going to let it go.

“I don’t mind. Spending Christmas alone is depressing anyway.” He smiled. “What do I need? Wine, gifts?”

You shook your head. “Just show up, that’s all.”

“I just need to look good?” he teased.

You laughed. “I didn’t want to put it that way.”

“That’s alright. I know my place. You’re welcome to dress me up.”

“Okay.” You looked down at your basket. “I’ll text you when I get the details. See you next week.” And with that, you left, avoiding his gaze.

He was out of practice, but was he that out of practice that he came on too strong and scared you? He certainly didn’t mean to make it suggestive. This was going to end before it even started. He grimaced to himself.

This fake dating shenanigan was never going to work if you could barely look at your ‘boyfriend’. Dress him up? That time you saw Keegan on a run shirtless out your window you had to sit down.

But he was casual about the offer. Obviously it meant nothing to him, just something to do for the holidays - anything was better than celebrating alone. You didn’t have to make it weird.

It was just a lunch.

So when he asked if you wanted to have dinner at his place on the 24th, you didn’t know if you were supposed to be excited or not. But surely he was just being nice. He was nice.

He didn’t speak much (you wished he did though because his voice was divine), but he was always nice ever since you moved in, telling you to not hesitate to text if you needed anything. You knew he meant it, but between his tours, he was still a busy man you didn’t want to bother. Instead, you delivered home cooked meals after each deployment.

Maybe he was trying to return the favour.

When you said yes, well, Keegan couldn’t contain his excitement. He made a run to the fancy supermarket after work. He’d been told that women liked guys who cooked and he wasn’t horrible at it. It was his time to shine.

He welcomed you to his apartment with a smile. He hoped you didn’t judge the state of his kitchen too much. He had underestimated the effort required for said dinner, but the way you lit up made it all worth it.

“Would you like some wine?”

“No, thanks. I don’t really drink.”

He sat down, the dishes across the table. “Well, then your family is getting two bottles.”

“Please, you didn’t have to.”

“Are you sure I don’t have to try to impress them?” Isn’t that what boyfriends do?

“You’re doing more than enough coming tomorrow. My mum’s going to like you too much.” You let out a small laugh.

You too, I hope. He helped you to a serving of potato gratin. “I really don’t mind.”

“This is delicious. I didn’t know you’re such a great cook,” you said after a bite.

He smiled proudly. You didn’t need to know he persuaded (or coerced, who knows) the cook at base to coach him for the night.

Your eyes flicked back onto your plate, but his remained on you. You were a pleasure to look at, and the fact that you were there in his apartment, letting him cook dinner for you, made him chew on his lip.

Having usually only met in passing, he finally had the chance to ask more about you. And you smiled again when you talked about what you liked doing for fun, the passion oozing out of you. He could listen to you all night.

He wished he had dessert as a reason to keep you longer, but the conversation moved to the couch after you helped him clean up. He breathed a small sigh of relief, feeling like a boy clueless on how to keep their crush’s attention.

“What are you wearing tomorrow? I’ll pick something that goes with you.” He figured he was too bold the other day with his statement.

“Actually, if you don’t mind, I might as well pick your outfit while I’m here.”

Well, he didn’t expect that.

Keegan sat on his bed as you went through his wardrobe. How cheesy would it be if he were to pull out his guitar and serenade you? He, too, was told the ladies liked men who played the guitar. Why do you think he picked it up in high school?

“I can’t pick between these two.” You held up a maroon sweater and a dark green button down.

“I probably I shouldn’t be offering after such a huge dinner, but do you need me to put them on to see?”

You looked at him with a little glint in your eye as you laid the clothes next to him. “If you insist.”

Oh, he loved making you smile.

It was adorable how you quickly everted your gaze when he took his shirt off (he was hoping you’d look), but at least he enjoyed the attention you gave him when he was in said tops. You settled on the sweater and black jeans before excusing yourself for the night.

“We don’t need to take a cab tomorrow,” he said at your door. “I haven’t driven anyone in a civilian setting in a long time, but I can drive us.”

You laughed. “I can’t even begin to guess why you feel the need to tell me this, but I am not reassured at all.”

“People at work think I’m a bad driver, but I’ve never been in any accident.” He placed a hand over his chest. “I promise to keep you safe.”

“You better.”

The next morning, as your (self-proclaimed) arm-candy for the day, Keegan did way more push ups than he needed to. He also managed to retrieve the cologne he hadn’t seen in at least a year. He’d made it his mission to make sure taking him to your family was worth your while.

He fussed with the car audio. “Would you like any music?”

“I thought the etiquette is the driver gets to pick.” You strapped yourself in, the belt snug against your dark green top.

“Fair enough,” he said with an amused smile. He pulled off the lot as the familiar intro to Why’d You Only Call Me When You’re High played.

“Oh, I like this song!”

“Sing with me.” He turned up the volume.

The both of you sang wholeheartedly, and he knew he shouldn’t be looking, but he had to see the smile on your face. You were rather quiet in the short interactions you had, but you’d opened up the night before, allowing your playful personality to shine. You were a steady stream of glee that didn’t drain him and he couldn’t get enough.

He should have made his move much sooner.

“You wanna tell me about your cousin’s infamous boyfriend?”

“They started dating in the summer. Bella couldn’t shut up about how he went to Ivy League and got his masters, how much he’s making and his fancy vacations.” You chuckled. “Well, the first time we met, she dropped her very expensive earring at the restaurant. The three of us looked for it under the table and then he said ‘threesome’ under his breath.”

Keegan bellowed a laugh, looking over to you. “What the hell?”

“I wish I was joking.” You shook your head. “I don’t think he intended to say it out loud because when I turned to him, he looked like he was about to piss himself. He never looked me in the eye the rest of the day.”

He stifled the last of his laughs. “If I were him I’d have left. Forever.”

“She’s always smiling with him so I’m happy for her too, but he’s definitely not as cool as she painted him to be.”

“Wait, that’s who I’m up against? I don’t stand a chance. I should have got a fancier gift than wine.”

“I didn’t want to compare, but you’re the far better company. Far better looking too.”

He didn’t have to look at you to tell you were smiling. He hoped you meant that.

“So I have to stare at you a bit to sell it, right?”

You laughed. “Well, you don’t have to.”

“What if I can’t help it?”

“Then I guess I’ll have to stare back.”

“Should I- can I hold your hand?” He was glad he didn’t have to look at you because he wouldn’t dare to ask otherwise.

When you placed a hand on his thigh, he gripped it as his heart raced.

And yours now too.

Keegan went far beyond the extra mile for this silly lunch, and what for? It only made it hard to dilute your hopefulness that this meant the slightest bit more than nothing.

A sliver of dread crept up. If your mum liked him too much, and you knew she would, she’d keep asking about him, and what would you say? You wouldn’t want to break her heart, but most importantly, you didn’t want to break yours. How were you going to say ‘we won’t be seeing each other anymore’ without your genuine disappointment bleeding through?

But you were a big girl. It was your petty idea to rub it in Bella’s face that you had a handsome and well-mannered plus one with a stupidly silky voice. You told yourself you’d worry about that after.

You turned to him. He’d styled his hair differently and shaved that morning, his light stubble accentuated his jaw. He smelt good – fresh and clean. His sweater was snug enough to outline his strong arms and chest. You hoped he didn’t mind you looking. Maybe you should have taken his offer to dress him up.

He had loosened his grip, thumb now stroking over your knuckles. He had pretty hands, his long fingers curled over the steering wheel. You entwined yours with his.

Despite the weather, your hand remained warm in his on the porch. You looked up at him, rocking on the balls of your feet, but his gentle smile and the squeeze to your hand slowed you down.

It was your first time being this close to him, watching his beautiful blue eyes twinkle in the sun. The eye-contact lingered.

“Coming!” A voice called from inside as footsteps approached.

“Show time,” he muttered close to your ear.

When Bella swung the door open, she looked at Keegan, then you and back to him, eyes wide. You bit back a smirk at the way she couldn’t hide her surprise.

“Hi, I’m Keegan. You must be Bella. Nice to meet you.” He extended his hand.

She blinked before taking it. She swallowed and took another second before turning to you. “I thought you were joking about bringing someone.”

He chuckled. “Well, here I am in the flesh. Hope you don’t mind.”

“No, not at all.” She stepped aside. “Please come in.”

He followed close behind you as the three of you made your way past the kitchen. You hugged your mum and aunt before introducing him.

“From us. Thanks for having me, ma’am.” He handed your aunt the wines and gave your mum a squeeze.

You went to the dining room where your dad and Bella’s chatted. Keegan addressed them with sir and exchanged pleasantries before you followed your cousin back to the kitchen. You didn’t miss how the table was only set for six.

She linked arms with you, eyes narrowed. “Not bad,” she muttered.

I know. “Ryan’s not joining?”

“We broke up last month.”

You stopped to look at her, brows furrowed. “No- what happened?” You genuinely thought they were going to last.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m not sad about it.” She swatted her manicured hand in dismissal.

“Are you… Sure you’re okay? You seemed happy with him.”

“I am. I guess the honeymoon period wore off, that’s all,” she said with a shrug. “Anyway, for my birthday, he got me a Dyson Air Wrap gift set, but it’s so not in my colour.” She shook her head and continued to walk, tugging you along. “He should have known. How did he think I was going to like it?”

You blinked. You’d appreciate even a quarter of a Dyson Air Wrap, but you knew it was another one of her humble brags. You let her have her moment.

Your mum laughed with her sister over tea. They didn’t get to see each other often and you thought it was worth the hassle of enduring Bella that day to see her like so. She gave you a pleased look and a thumbs up as you grabbed extra tableware and you had to stifle a giggle.

Keegan flashed you a smile when you entered the room to set the table for him. Making conversation with your dad and uncle, he looked like he fit right in.

Lunch began shortly and the chatter built as the wine poured. Keegan sat next to you and helped you with the food before himself. He put his hand over yours when you mouthed ‘thanks’.

“I heard you moved to a new apartment? How’s it been?” your aunt asked.

“I did. I love it there.” You turned to Keegan, smile blossoming on your lips. “Actually, that’s how we met. He’s my neighbour.”

She cooed. “How sweet! Looks like you settled right in then.”

“How big is your apartment? Mine is huge. It’s such a pain to clean,” Bella said offhandedly.

You blinked. Your aunt turned to her with furrowed brows.

“How’s the new job so far, kid?” your dad asked. “I hope better than the last.”

Before you could answer, Bella interjected. “Oh, did I tell you I’m getting promoted next month? They’re giving me my own office too.”

The table fell silent. After a beat you said, “That’s great. I hope you like the new office.”

“Of course! The city view is gorgeous. I’m sure you’ve never seen-“

“How’s your new job? Tell us,” Keegan said.

You gave him a small smile before turning to your dad again.

After lunch, the seven of you moved to the living room for the gift exchange. Keegan didn’t leave your side, a hand on your knee as you unwrapped your gifts.

You got your parents a couple’s spa trip, a tea set and a board game for your aunt and uncle, and a perfume for Bella. In turn, you received a pretty charm bracelet from your parents and a nice pair of headphones from Bella’s, in your favourite colour too. You gave each of them a squeeze for the gift.

As Keegan helped you put the bracelet on, you ignored Bella when she asked what brand it was, simply thankful she didn’t even comment on the perfume. Next, you tore open the envelope from her. You didn’t expect much, but it definitely wasn’t the gift card to the hairdresser and the little note that it came with.

Hopefully you can fix your hair <3

You froze and Keegan leaned over to read the card in your hand.

“I’m sorry, is there something wrong with her hair?” he narrowed his eyes at her.

She shrugged. “Oh, it’s just dry, that’s all. Can’t you see?”

Your aunt gave her a disapproving look, but she wasn’t looking.

“I don’t think there’s anything that needs fixing,” he said firmly, his stare unwavering. “Her hair’s perfectly fine.”

Before Bella could respond, with a wobble in your voice, you excused yourself to the kitchen. Your mum quickly followed.

“Oh, I’m so sorry for making you come, sweetie,” she said, stroking your back. “I know you two don’t really get along.”

“It’s not your fault, mum.” You frowned as you poured yourself a glass of wine and downed it. “She can say whatever she wants. I shouldn’t care what she thinks of my hair, or my apartment, or my job.”

“Maybe she’s a bit envious today. I mean, you’re the one with the nice boy with you.” She smiled playfully. “You should see the way she keeps stealing glances at him. Too bad he’s too busy staring at you to notice.”

You let out a small laugh.

“That’s my girl.” She gave you a hug. “I like that he stood up for you. It’s the only way my daughter deserves to be treated.”

You smiled against her shoulder and the both of you stayed in the embrace for a bit longer.

The living room was tense when you returned to your seat next to Keegan. He gave you a sympathetic look as he rubbed your arm. Bella didn’t meet your eyes, her arms crossed over her chest.

While you were gone, her mum told Bella off, and it was hard for Keegan to bite back his laugh as she sulked and pouted.

Your aunt broke the silence by suggesting a few photos by the Christmas tree before you left. He volunteered, making sure you looked perfect in them.

You bade your goodbyes and once again gave your aunt a hug. You left the damned gift card on the couch and took Keegan’s arm to the car. He had noticed you were more smiley than before the incident.

You groaned when he drove off. “Now you know why I was gonna bail.” You slumped over, looking out the window.

“I’m sorry about what happened."

“M’glad you’re with me. Would’a been pathetic going home alone and pissed.”

“But the rest of your family’s very nice. I actually had a nice time.”

”Yeah? But how much of that was fake?”

“What?” He took a quick glance at you.

“Y’know, the hand holding, standing up for me.”

“None. Nothing I did was fake.”

“You sure?”

He laughed. “Were you drinking? In the kitchen?”

“Well, yes,” you hesitated. “How’d you know?”

He pulled over and turned to you. “If I didn’t like you I wouldn’t have come.”

“Don’t joke around now.” Your eyes narrowed.

“I’m not.” He took your hand, lips quirked into a small smile. “Sometimes I linger around at my door so I can catch you, but I never do because I come home too late.”

Your frown remained and his heart raced as the silence ensued. Shit, he must have read the room wrong. How much of this would you remember?

“You should talk more,” you finally said. “Your voice is perfection, addicting.”

He let out a relieved chuckle, thumb grazing over your knuckles. “I sound that good?”

You shrugged, flashing him a playful smile.

“Can’t help thinking had I been more forward from the start, maybe I wouldn’t just be ‘someone you’re taking’ today.”

“There’s next year, no?”

He held your gaze. “If you were sober, I’d ask if I could kiss you.”

“Why not now?”

“I want you to remember, so I’ll wait until we get home.”

“That’s a shame, but at least the wine will make your driving somewhat bearable.”

He laughed, pressing your hand to his lips. “You better sober up fast, because I’ve been waiting too long.”

More Keegan: second chance on Tinder, werewolf AU

@glitterypirateduck @sofasoap @macravishedbymactavish @shadofireshinobi @keegansshark @tiredmetalenthusiast @caramlizedtomatoes @two-gh0sts @rowanyaboats @mysticslumber @tipsykeen

[mental69er]

i think what i really need in life is a jealous victoria smut and i just need her to dom me badly i just need to be taken by her

content: 18+, desk sex, jealous and possesive victoria, top victoria, slight choking (not even but tagging it just in case), fem reader

setting: you've been working for Victoria and dating her in secret

"What do you think you're doing?" Victoria demanded as she shut the door on you. The room was dark, the street lamp from outside struggling to let its light reach the inside. The sounds of the party outside were muffled, your festive mood muting too at the harsh tone Victoria used.

She took a step deeper into the room and you backed up, your back hitting the desk. The red solo cup filled with holiday punch crinkled in your nervous grip.

You had started working for Victoria six months ago, inspired by her hard working ethic and her advocacy. That starry eyed adoration soon turned to more when you got the position on her campaign and got to work under her. Long work hours together fostered romantic feelings that turned into a secret relationship.

Given the nature of her work, it would be bad press if your relationship got out since she was your superior. Had you done something at the party, slipped up in some way, and made it obvious that the two of you were entangled?

"I-I'm sorry," you told her. "I'm not sure what you're talking about."

Victoria stopped a few inches from you. She had decided to go with a deep plum power suit today, complete with a shirt that hung a little too low and had inspired you to look down several times when you had thought she wasn't looking.

Her perfume, that rich and heady scent that made you think of powerful people, surrounded you and you cursed the drinks you had drunk already. It made you want to put your hands all over her.

In fact, it was why you kept your distance tonight. That way you wouldn't kiss her or flirt with her out in the open.

"Did you think I wouldn't notice you getting chummy with Lorie from Management?" she asked, tipping her head to the side, wearing that thin smile that meant she had little patience.

"I-uh," you had expected something else entirely. "I wasn't?" It came out as a question, and the uncertainty of it only seemed to make her more upset.

"You were," she said, plucking the drink from your hand and letting it slip into the trash can right by the desk. "I think that's enough for tonight. Maybe you should go home."

"Excuse me?" you couldn't help the indignation in your tone. "You don't get to decide that for me. And I was only chatting with her." Your heart pounds in your chest as realization comes to you. "Are you jealous?"

She leaned in at this, placing her hands on the edge of the desk. Mouth close, her dark eyes boring into you. "Who does she think she is, talking to you. Putting her hands on your shoulder."

"I wasn't flirting with her," you told her.

"But she was flirting with you." She hummed. "I don't like that."

You couldn't help it. You scoffed. "She doesn't know we're dating. And since we can't tell her, I'll just avoid her for the rest of the night. But I am not leaving. And, I will be drinking." You would not back down, because you would not be told what to do in a relationship.

You tried to indicate to Victoria to lean off of you, to let you pass, but she wouldn't let you. Instead, a small smirk began to wriggle it's way up her lips, that damned cocky look you loved so much breaking onto her face.

"I think after I'm done with you, you might need to go home," she whispered into your ear, breath hot against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. "I intend to leave a mess."

You gasped involuntarily as you felt her hands grab you by the hips and tug you on top of the desk. "Victoria! We're at a party."

She ignored that, letting her hands run down your thighs. You could already feel yourself giving in, body turning to putty and she was barely touching you.

"Did you know this is her desk?" she smirked, voice low and thick as she stepped close enough to you that your knees were touching her.

A hot flush spread down from your chest to your thighs. "Victoria, seriously. She wouldn't have flirted with me if she had known you and I were dating."

"I don't care," she said, tone hard. It was as if a switch had been flipped inside her, seeing you with another woman almost draped over you. You hadn't even thought Lorie was hitting on you, simply been overly affectionate because she was a bit tipsy.

You hadn't known Victoria could even get jealous over someone like you. The idea of it, despite how risky it was to do anything during the company party, made you ache between your legs.

"Still, it's risky, with your campaign. The door's not even locked-"

"I don't care," she emphasized, nails digging into the flesh on your thighs. Oh, she was more upset about this than you thought. Fuck, why did the idea of that turn you on?

She kissed you without warning, hard, faces mashing together. You kissed her back just as hard, wrapping your legs around her hips to draw her in as her hand came up to cup your face, other hand on your neck lightly squeezing down. She didn't let up with the kiss, pressing in for another one, and then another, heads tilting to the side, tongue probing inside your mouth, hand on neck guiding you to stay where she wanted you, keeping control over the kiss.

You could feel her lipstick smearing all over your face with how messily she was kissing you. "I wish I could show them that you're mine," she mumured, breaking the kiss to mouth at your neck, no doubt spreading more lipstick that you would have to regretfully remove. "You'll have to show me how your mine, instead." She pushed you down lightly til you laid flat on the desk top. She tapped your hips and you released your leg lock on her.

"Go on, darling," she said. "Show me what's mine."

Blushing hard at her words, you shimmied out of your pants, throwing them aside, before slowly sliding your underwear off and letting it drop to the floor. The wood was cool on your overheating skin and sent small goosebumps prickling your skin.

You spread your thighs for her, fingers teasing apart your folds. You were certain it was too dark to see everything, but you knew for certain she could hear how wet you were.

"Tell me she can't have this," Victoria insisted as you could hear her swallow thickly. She placed her warm hands on your thighs and excitement mounted inside your stomach at how close she was.

You'd never seen Victoria jealous, never thought she ever could be, but seeing how much she needed you to be hers was doing things to you. Was it bad to say you wanted to see her more like this?

Deviously, you murmured, "maybe if you fuck me hard enough, I'll remember that this isn't hers."

That had the intended effect you wanted. "You're going to regret saying that. Turn around. I want you bent over that desk." The tight anger in her voice only made more wetness pool between your thighs. You quickly turned around. "You might want to hold on, because you'll need it," was her whispered warning into your ear as she poured herself over your back.

You just managed to grab onto the other end of the desk when she thrust two fingers deep inside you. You let out a surprised cry at the roughness of the motion, but she didn't ease the pace. Each thrust felt like it had the full force of her body behind it and you placed your mouth against the desk to try and stifle your cries.

She pressed kisses to your ear, muttering words. "You're mine, do you understand me? I will not share you. I don't even want other people looking at you."

You nodded your head, though you weren't sure if she wanted you to answer, busy as you were trying to keep quiet. The weight of her on top of you kept you pinned to the desk and you were desperate to raise your hips up to chase her fingers as they slid in and out of you, wet squelching noises filling in the room.

The party had long left your mind and you could only think of Victoria on you. Her thumb brushed against your sensitive clit and you jolted with pleasure. It wouldn't be long til you came.

"Your orgasm's are also mine," she reminded you, biting gently on the shell of your ear, slowing her thrusts. You let out a frustrated groan. "Understood?"

"Uh huh," you breathed out, wanting to come already.

She slipped her fingers out. "I said, do you understand."

"Yes!" you hissed out, squeezing your eyes shut with desperate want. Victoria slipped her fingers back in and went even harder than before. The pen holder on the desk fell over, spilling pens onto the floor, the stacked papers fell over with a light thud. You were glad nothing else was on this desk, otherwise you'd make an even bigger mess.

"You come, only when I tell you to come."

"Yes!" you hissed out, choking on the sounds of pleasure that wanted to erupt in full volume from your throat.

"Good," she said. She straddled the back of your thigh and began to roll her hips against you, free hand gripping the desk as well. It started to creak and groan with the combined effort of both of your motions.

You could feel yourself begin to grow close. "I want you to come with me," she ordered, fingers slowing as she rolled her hips into you with increased fervor, voice taking on a breathless quality.

You nodded your head dutifully, intending to hold out for her even as your pussy spasmed greedily on her fingers. She rode your leg, and you could feel her heat bleeding through her fabric. "Close," she muttered and rolled her thumb against your clit making you cry out.

"Come for me," she said, and with one more flick to your clit, you were coming, Victoria's hips stuttering to a stop. The two of you took a moment to recover and when she pulled you off the desk, one of the legs snapped and it slumped over with a loud crash.

You froze, worried that someone would come in and discover you if they hadn't already. But the noise from the party outside had increased. It seemed someone had turned on music. You let out a relieved breath.

"Did we, did we actually break her desk?" you muttered out in horror. How had that happened? You plucked your underwear and pants off of the floor and hastily tugged them on.

"Shitty quality desk," Victoria shrugged it off. "I'll order her a new one tomorrow." She paused. "Maybe."

You huffed. "You cannot still be mad at her."

Victoria said nothing, merely came up to wipe her smeared lipstick off of your mouth with her thumb. She smirked at the sight of you. "I think you're going to need to go home. Can't have you looking freshly fucked."

It was your turn to smirk now. "I think that you might have to as well," you said, hand sliding down to her pants and undoing the button there as you got to your knees in front of her.

[sleepyhutcherson]

can you write a fic where mike is jerking off to a pic of reader because she’s on vacation or a family trip?

please.

pairing: mike schmidt x gn!reader

contains: nsfw, minors dni, m!masturbation, sub!mike. let me know if i forgot anything else!

a/n: eee thank you for your request (๑>◡<๑) hopefully this isn’t too boring lmao hope you enjoy <3 !!

mike becomes so desperate when you’re gone—you’ve only been gone for four days and you wouldn’t be returning from your holiday with your parents for another three days which wasn’t long…but it was too long for mike. he’s used to having you around all day but now the house is extra quiet without you and he hates it.

you call him everyday, you text him whenever you can and mike appreciates it, he feels less alone when he’s talking or texting you. albeit, there’s a familiar melancholy feeling that washes over him the moment he hangs up with you, your goodbyes only reminding him you’re not there with him. he misses you terribly, it’s almost so pathetic how much he misses you. he misses your voice already, your laughter, your smile that he cherishes so much, your lips, your skin…the way he would have access to it, running his digits against your soft skin whenever he craved your touch. god, he missed you so, so much. he missed the sounds you would make whenever he was burying his cock inside of you, the way you would praise him for doing such a good job fucking you, the sight of you bouncing on his cock while he whined and begged for you to let him cum.

a whine falls from his lips once he’s brought back to reality, the living room’s empty and it’s almost dark out, his cock twitching in his boxers. he needs you now - fuck, he needs you so bad. a sob escapes from him… it’s such a pathetic sound it only makes him more desperate for you. he thinks about calling you, he needs your attention, but he isn’t sure you’ll be able to help him with his little problem—what if you’re with your parents? he can’t risk that. instead, he scrolls through your messages, back to that photo you sent of yourself a few days ago. it was a low quality photo, one that shouldn’t have brought him the pleasure it did, but you just looked so beautiful.

he fiddles with his belt, struggling with one hand. once he finally manages, he unbuttons his jeans pulling them down along with his boxers, letting them fall down to his ankles. he positions his phone in front of him where he can get a good look at you. he starts stroking his cock, pre cum dripping from the tip… he’s lucky he has the house to himself considering how loud he starts to get. he whines, begging for you… “please, please, please,” he begs, his cock throbbing in his hand as he’s stroking it. he stares at the photo of you, eyes brimming with tears at the overstimulation. he quickens his strokes, his cock desperately wanting to release. “mm’so good. please, please let me come.” he whines, bucking into his fist. the thought of you denying his release only made him harder.

his eyes were hazy, daring to shut but he so desperately wanted to continue to stare at how fucking hot you looked in that photo. more whines escaped from his mouth, crying out your name, begging for you to let him come. “i’ll… i’ll be so good for you just - fuck - please let me come,” he cried out, picking up the pace. lewd sounds of his hand pumping his cock and his whimpering sounds filled the home, he wondered if the neighbours could hear him. god, he wished you could hear him. hear how much he needed you—how eager and hungry he was for you, for your touch; for all of you.

he was close. he continued to stroke himself, the thought of your pretty hands around his cock only bring him closer to his release. “m’so close, baby. please let me come.” he sobs and like that he threw his head back, a loud final groan slipping from his lips as he bucked into his hand one last time before finishing, his come coating him. he panted heavily trying to catch his breath—he was a complete mess now. his hair sweaty, sticking to his forehead, cheeks flushed, his hand covered in come. if only you could’ve seen him like this.

[junedenim]

your velveteen suit

part one part two part three

if you've fucked him, might as well do it on your terms

warnings: smut, p in v, fingering, begging, fine dining, pie for dessert, squirting, oh, and a little angsty

word count: 4.2k

You're wearing pigtails in your hair. Two barely there braids, unraveling at their center. It's the cutest fucking thing he's ever seen. He's supposed to be reading these reports but you're in the kitchen, wearing his old university hoodie, and it's the cutest fucking thing he's ever seen. You're the cutest fucking thing he's ever seen. 

You've made a mess of the kitchen. You bang the rolling pin and the flour scatters more, puffs of dust shooting up in the air. You're making Christmas cookies, well, attempting it. Since you're not going home for Christmas this year and despite the whole office getting a holiday break, Alex will be working through it, you want a taste of Christmas. So, you want Christmas cookies.

"Do you have any cookie cutters?" You turn around and ask, flour smeared on your cheek.

He's smiling, can't help but fucking smile. He shakes his head.

You frown. "Should've thought of that before making the dough."

"Do you want to go out and get some?" He asks.

You sigh, "No, I'll get creative." You proceed to take out a knife from the block and work away on your sketches. 

And he lets you work and even manages to get a couple of peeks down at those reports of his. But then you put them in the oven and exhale a sound of relief.

"C'mere." He motions for you to come over to him sitting at the table. 

You drag your feet across the floor and he grabs your hand, sitting you on his lap. He starts kissing your neck, moving all around the column with little care in the world. "Alex, you whine, pushing his mouth off of you.

"You want to do something special?" His smile is mischievous and his grip on you grows tighter.

You roll your eyes. "I am not doing a sex tape, Alex."

He chuckles. It was brought up once, about a week ago, and he said as a serious suggestion for his Christmas present but when you got mad and ranted about how violating it was, he claimed it was a joke. "No. I'm talking about doing something special for the holidays since it'll be just you and me."

"Who says that?"

"Because your gift to me is a little getaway trip."

"I thought you had to work."

"I can get a weekend away. We could stay here too. Doesn't matter as long as I get to fuck your brains out the whole weekend."

You gag, "Yuck." You stand up from his lap, tugging out of his tight hold. "You're so vulgar."

His hands turn your body around to face him. He peers up at you through tempting eyes. "I thought that's what you like about me."

You bend down and kiss the tip of his nose. "I'm going to go make the icing."

As you walk away, he slaps your ass making you screech. "You can do that later," he argues.

"We can do whatever you want to do later too. I thought you had all this work to do that's why you couldn't help me make the cookies."

Alex stands from the table, walking over to you. "No, I'm a terrible cook, that's why I couldn't help you with the cookies." He leans forward on you, trapping you in a cage with his arms against the counter.

"Excuses, excuses," you click your tongue.

He moves closer, you can feel his hot breath on you, coating all over you. He's intoxicating. "You calling me a liar." He's right up against your ear, whispering, leaning closer, kissing just behind your ear.

"I have to watch the cookies," I argue.

"I like them a little burnt," he mutters into your neck.

You don't put up a fight, instead chastising him, "Alex."

"Don't act like you don't want it." His voice is low, husky, and treacherous.

But you give in, letting Alex crowd into your space, pushing a thigh between your legs. He yanks the hoodie off, bending down and tonguing your nipple and you gasp louder. "Fuck, Al."

"I want to bend you over that counter." Alex pulls you forcefully towards him turning you around and shoving you down onto the kitchen counter.

Your breasts feel the chill of the counter and turn your head back, biting your lip. "What about what I want?" You tease.

Alex shakes his head. "You want this." He reaches his thumb out, pulling your bottom lip from your teeth. "Don't you?" His hand drags its way down your spine, reaching your ass, clad in his boxers. "Say you want it." He squeezes a cheek tightly and he knows just what makes you break and what makes you bend, and he's fully intent on getting his way.

You make eye contact with him and his gaze burrows itself into you. "I want it."

"What? What do you want?" 

You look at him and he's gotten a little flour on his chin. You reach back, twisting yourself to grab his chin and wipe the spot away. His skin is soft and he's soft and it's insane how gentle he seems when he's being so rough. He grabs your hand before you can take it back and he kisses the back of it. It's a blessed passion. He releases your hand delicately. "Well, aren't you going to fuck me?" You finally answer.

He slips right back into his role. "That's what you want, huh?"

"Yeah," you say cheerfully. "I want you to fuck the shit out of me."

Alex seems overcome by this. He pushes your head down to prevent you from moving so much. You follow orders for now and keep it there as he pulls down the boxers, exposing you. He runs his fingers through you and doesn't bother with much more after he feels the wetness of you. He murmurs, "Fuck."

You hear his belt come undone and the cold metal of the buckle touches your right ass cheek as he pulls his pants down. He moves your hips, sticking your ass out more, his touch making you shiver. He slaps your ass, more purposefully than when he lightly did it earlier. It makes you jump and you'd ask him to do it again if it didn't make power go to his head and threaten your cookies getting burnt.

Alex gave his hard cock a few quick strokes. "Do you know how hot you look right now?" 

You meet his eyes and smile at him as you continue to stroke his cock. This seems to move something in him as he moans and moves his hand quicker. "Are you going to put that thing in me?"

He hits the bottom of your butt cheek. "You want to beg for it now?" 

You put your head down silently, not saying a word. But then you have to suck a breath in when he touches your clit, rubbing it lightly, reverently even. Alex knows just the right moves to make and it would be infuriating how well he knew how you moved now if it didn't bring you so much pleasure. And, then his mouth is on you, traveling up and down, purposefully avoiding your clit like he gave you a taste of pleasure just to dangle it in front of you for the rest of time.

Alex then has his tongue buried deep inside of you. It moved over the entrance and all around your insides, making you squirm and pant and gasp and moan. You're writhing and pushing against his tongue and you can practically feel him smirk into you. The warmth of his mouth leaves you. You want to whine but you know how cocky he'll be so you bite it back, and lay her head down into your hand.

He stands up and moves his hand over your ass, feeling your soft skin again. He lines himself up with your center slowly. The first push is overwhelming. You're desperate for more contact and although you're not begging, Alex can feel your body beg. He is taking his sweet time.

The push was slow and torturous. Alex's grip tightens on your hips as he pushes in, enough to let a bruise make a memory of this. You clench around him and he gasps and leans forward, pushing further into you impossibly fast. "Fuck," you both moan and groan.

Alex rolls his hips languidly and dirty at first, teasing and coaxing you to move your own. You push back on him, creating pressure pulling him in deeper, harder. Your eyes roll back when he suddenly snaps his hips once and pure, unadulterated pleasure shoots through you.

Alex leans down, his clothed chest rubbing against your bare back. He asks in your ear, "You really like that, huh?" Your bodies move back and forth in a way that could make your skin chafe.

His thrusts became harder and faster with each passing minute. You can't help but emit dirty moans and curses.

Alex pushes you down onto the counter to prevent your erratic movement. "God, you're so hot like this. Everyone must want to fuck you all the time, right? But they don't get to."

"Only you do," you answer before he even asks because you're desperate and so close and he's so fucking hot too and only you get to fuck him.

"Fuck," he groans at your response. He gives his hips a sharp snap. "Do you know what that does to me? What you do? Fuck!" His thrusts become more rushed and rough as everything closes in. 

"I'm coming," you tell him as you feel the stirring at the pit of your stomach reach a boiling point.

Alex moves hard. "Me too. Yeah." 

You wrap tightly around him, closing in on his cock. You cry out a moan as you clamp like a vise around Alex. He shoves himself deep in you, wrapping his arms around your waist, tugging himself deep into you as he comes. You feel him, all around, in you. His hand lands on the arch of your back and his hair tickles you. You don't want him to move and he doesn't want to move so you stand like that with him buried in you. Then, the oven timer goes off.

"Shit, don't move," Alex begs.

"The beeping is annoying," you complain.

He removes one of his arms and reaches over as far as he can to shut it off before returning to his old position. It's quiet and peaceful. The room smells of sweat, sex, cookies, and him and it might be your favourite scent ever.

"Fuck," he groans. You can feel his nose nudge up against you. "How do people ever get any work done? Did your past partners get fired from their jobs because they didn't show up at work to fuck you all day?"

You giggle. "Not that I'm aware of."

"What fucking idiots?"

*

He packs 2 sugar cookies into his lunch and stares at them for a while. You chuckle at him in the office kitchen, pouring yourself a cup of tea. "They're not that special," you tell him.

The cheery snowman smiles at him and the sloppy snowflake you attempted is his favourite color. "I can admire them," he tells you. He doesn't want to eat but then again it's a cookie and he already had a few the night before and they're really fucking good.

"I think you can afford to eat a couple, boss," Gunner comments as he walks in, slapping the tops of Alex's shoulders.

Alex's brows furrow as Gunner walks over to the fridge. "Huh?"

"You know," Gunner's voice shakes, "like you're a fit guy. I-I mean, you're in good shape for someone your age."

You giggle into your tea. Gunner is sweating bullets and Alex's face is contoured to mess with him. Alex stands from the table. "Think I'll eat the rest of my lunch in my office."

When Alex leaves, Gunner lets out a deep breath. "That guy scares the shit out of me."

"He's just messing with you," you reassure Gunner as you take a sip.

Gunner sighs. "He probably thinks I was coming onto him or something."

You laugh and leave Gunner to his paranoia, heading toward Alex's office. He's taken a bite out of the snowman, now headless. "Lock the door," he tells you.

He's cheery but not flirtatious. You squint your eyes but comply. "Why?"

"'Cause I want to talk to ya. Come here." He taps the edge of his desk so you walk over to his side of the desk. He takes you off guard and pushes you up so you're sitting on his desk, atop one of his reports. He grabs your hanging legs and places them on his thighs, your kitten heels pressed down on his trousers. 

"I'm not having sex in here."

Alex sighs and leans back in his chair. His hand moves up and down your leg, going from your ankle joint to under the first inch of your skirt. "Yeah, yeah. I have a question for you."

He grabs your waist and pulls you forward. "Yes?"

Instead, he kisses you. You can taste the sugar from the icing on his lips and he can taste the honey from your tea on yours. It's impassioned and soft, you half expect rose petals to fall from the sky. 

You pull away with a smack of your lips, leaning back on the palms of your hands. "You had a question, mister."

He taps your kneecap. "Okay. Well, I was thinking that maybe we could go to the office's Christmas party."

Something catches in your throat. "Like...together?"

"Yeah." He's not making eye contact. He's staring at your shoes and pulling with the straps on the left one.

"No."

"Okay." His eyes don't look up and he drops your feet, nearly making you fall off the desk. 

You stand up straight, steadying yourself. "What did you think I would say?"

"Whatever, just forget it." He acts like a brooding teenager. His arms are crossed and he refuses any chance at looking him directly. 

This whole thing is out of the blue, to say the least. "I can't—I can't do that. You know that."

"Yeah, yeah." He's calm, rising from his chair. "I don't know what I was thinking."

"It's fine and it's a lovely thought but I thought we talked about this."

He walks over toward the door and you think he's leaving. "Yeah. Understood." But he opens the door and holds it, gesturing for you to walk out.

Your eyes widen. "You're serious?"

He gestures again.

You're irritated by him. The way his hair falls, his suit fits, and his eyes bore into you. You don't have anything to say, so you leave, arms crossed, and shoes clicking, your left one slightly unbuckled.

*

You don't go over to his house that night and he doesn't go to your flat. You avoid each other the next day at work, which is easy, you just spend all day in your cubicle and he doesn't leave his office.

The office's Christmas party is a different story. You show up late due to traffic and he seems to be several drinks in already. He's dressed like he just came from work, which in all likelihood he did.

He's talking to Elizabeth, nodding along to whatever she's saying but his eyes are stuck on you, dressed in red silk that more would say resembles the devil than Christmas. Your eyes are stuck on looking at anything but him.

You partake in the free appetizers and stand by the bar, fiddling with a drink so it looks like you're busy. Or busy waiting. He finds you there, maybe because he wants another drink or maybe because he wants you. It's silence and he waits for his scotch to be refilled.

You allow your gaze to fall on him and his eyes steady on the bottles of liquor on the other side of the bar. "You look nice," you say, an olive branch.

Alex clears his throat and rubs his nose. "Thanks." The crackles of Christmas music pass through and you fiddle with the lime on the edge of your glass. He looks over at your downcast eyes. "You look pretty too. Beautiful."

It still makes you blush, even after the childish fight, he shoots right through you. "Thanks."

He sighs heavily and leans down on the bar, rubbing his face. "I'm sorry about the other day. I just got in my own head."

"It's okay," you absolve.

He shakes his head. "I don't know why, I'm just sensitive about that kind of stuff."

"Rejection?"

"I guess."

You nod. "I can tell."

"How?" He's eager to know.

You turn to face him more clearly and he sits down on the barstool next to you. "You're a people pleaser. You're working through the holiday so Ed can take off and you overcompensate for so much because you live in fear that one day he'll turn you away and all your hard work will be for nothing."

He looks down at himself as if he's trying to examine his body. "I suppose." He sips from his glass.

"And," you exhale, "I'm not an idiot I remember when you used to come to these things with her." Her that you don't ever talk about her but sometimes Alex will be telling a story and he'll hit a point where she's involved and he tries to work his way around it without mentioning her.

"That's not what the other day was about," he insists.

You shrug. "Maybe, but you were bent out of shape at the idea you'd come to this alone."

He shakes his head and crosses his brows. "No. I wanted to come here with you."

"I believe you." Part of you wishes you came together too and then went home together. "But you know we can't do that."

"Yeah. I just got lost in a fantasy." He's staring off into the distance like he's looking at that old vision you thought of so he can show it to you.

"That's fine." You lean over and place your hand on his shoulder. His face turns to you and you're so close you almost want to kiss it and pass it off to everyone in the office as a drunk thing. Instead, you whisper, "We could do something else."

"Like what?"

You ask, "Christmas party is when the interns hook up, did you know that?" He shakes his head. "Last year, I caught Henry, that geeky one, and Stephanie, the one who always had her bra straps out, fucking in the coatroom."

"So, am I you're Henry?"

"I mean, you could be Steph if you want."

"Where are your bra straps?" His fingers trail around your shoulder fronts, only touching and seeing the dress strap.

"I'm not wearing a bra."

"Do you do shit like that just to get a rise out of me?"

You laugh at him because he's goofy, running his hands through his roughed-up hair and eyeing you up and down saliciously. "Not intentionally."

*

You're not stuffed in the coat closet, that's too public. You're stuffed in a cleaning closet that smells like wet mop. He shuts the door and you yank on the lightbulb. You're both illuminated lightly and it's the kind of light when you pass the flashlight around and hold it under your face and tell ghost stories.

Alex doesn't pounce right away, which shocks you. Instead, he stands by the door with his hands on his hips. 

You hike up the short skirt of your dress. "Do you wanna see?"

Alex just nods, eyes fixated between your legs and you give him a coy smile as you tug your panties down and step out of them. You pull it back like a slingshot and launch it over by Alex who manages to catch it with a chuckle. "Your turn."

Alex shrugs off his suit jacket and places it over the broken office chair. 

"No fair!" You call out.

He shakes his head. "It's not my fault you dress so skimpy to a Christmas party."

You gasp. "I think you'll find you like it when I dress skimpy."

"Yeah." He strides over and kisses you. Hot on the mouth, right to your core. His fingers travel down and he pushes your dress's skirt back up. 

"Do you want me to play with your clit? Huh?" He brushes his finger over the swollen flesh, your hips jerking in response. He chuckles and it's so pleasurable you laugh a little at the sounds you make.

Alex shifts down and places his mouth directly on your heat. It's forceful and unforgiving, making your legs shaky and you grip the shelves for balance. He sucks sloppily on your clit, his tongue rubbing along the underside.

"Such a pretty cunt," Alex murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. "You know that right? That no one has a pretty cunt like you." His words against make you writhe. "So slutty and wet for me." He licks broadly up the center. You throb under his touches and licks and still want more. He slips three fingers inside, taking a few seconds to stretch you before fucking them in harshly, pounding against his pussy.

He laps over your clit as he thrusts his fingers inside, pressing upward and making you moan. The heat inside you is building quickly, his fingers curling into the skin of his thighs. You clench under his fingers, lost completely.

"Oh fuck, Al, I'm close—"

"This is what you wanted, isn't it? Me touching this filthy pussy?" He's harsh with his words, even harsher with his actions as he fucks in faster and flicks his tongue restlessly over your swollen clit until you cry out sharply, feeling everything burst inside you.

Your back arches as you come, head tipped back and exposing the long line of your throat. Alex's face stays buried against your pussy, his nose brushing against your mound. You feel yourself gush, making you pull Alex's head off of you. "Fuck, I've never done that before."

Alex looks up with a cocky chuckle and his button-up is slightly soaked. "Did you squirt or pee on me?"

You whack his shoulder. "Shut up."

"What?" He laughs really getting a kick out of himself. "At least we have a mop."

You hit him again when he gestures toward the dirty mop. He only continues to laugh. "It was not that funny and I didn't even do that much."

He hugs your hips and places his chin on your stomach, looking up at you. "I'm just making jokes. I'm happy."

You comb your fingers through his hair. "Me too."

He beams, wide and proud. "Good. I would do anything to make you happy."

"Really?"

"Yes."

You pull him up and undone his belt. He gets the message and tugs down his trousers and underwear. You take his cock in your hand and give him a few pumps, rubbing him against your pussy. 

"You want me to fuck you?" He asks.  He pushes the head teasingly against the clench of your hole, the fat head slick and messy with precum and your wetness.

His cock is right there and it's close, so fucking close to being inside you. You throb at the thought, eyeing the thickness of his cock and that familiar stretch. Alex starts to push inside at an achingly slow pace, watching the way you grip around the head of his cock, stretching to take him in. He's a little more than halfway in when he pulls out completely and smirks.

You roll your eyes. "I thought this was about what I want."

Alex chuckles. "Alright, then do your worst."

You stare at him, teasing you, making you give into him because giving into him makes you happy. "Just fuck me, okay?"

"Deal." His lips are rough on yours and his hard cock brushes against your stomach.

Finally, he pulls back and lines himself up, thrusting in sharply the first few times, rocking his hips as he becomes entranced with the tight pull and grip. "Fuck, you know how fucking good—"

You cover your hand around his mouth and shake your head. "None of that," you insist. "Just look at me."

Alex nods and he becomes slower, more intimate, and intently instead of rough and sloppy. You wonder if two people have ever made love in a broom closet. You doubt anyone had made love at the office Christmas party. It's loving and tender but you're impatient. "You can go faster," you whisper.

His eyes are worthy of falling into completely. You don't know how he doesn't get lost in his own appearance sometimes. How his not staring at himself in the mirror for hours because you could stare at him for hours. "Okay," he says softly.

He doesn't start pounding into you, but he moves quicker with more purpose of reaching an ending. He reaches down and starts rubbing your clit and you feel yourself tense up and you begin to moan louder and more frantic. He's sweating, his hairline damp, and muscles straining the sleeves of his shirt as he grips your hips tightly.

"Fuck—fuck, oh," you cry out, falling over.

He grunts, "Fuck, I'm gonna come."

"Come in me." Your face burns at how desperate you sound but he listens. His breath is ragged and his movements jerky as he draws the last of energy out, emptying into you.

Alex takes a deep breath, pulling out of you. He still has your panties and you can feel him dripping slowly out of you.

He opens his eyes and smiles a satiated smile at you. "I think we should go home. Your flat. Since you have the cookies."

But you know he says it because it's what you would prefer. And, for that sacrifice, you love him.

*

a/n: well...part 5?

[justlemmeadoreyou]

a misfortune | (mechanic!harry part 1)

Okay, so here is my version of the grumpy!harry x sunshine!yn trope. I had midterms so this got a bit late! Sorry! I don't rhink you waited for my shitty writing, but here it is (forcefully)

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Summary: Harry is a grumpy asshole, but he is also a mechanic that you are in desperate need of. Sunshine!reader x Grumpy! harry trope

Word Count: ~2k

8 hours.

That's how long you've been in the backseat of your car, and chewing on your already swollen nails. All your belongings, from clothes to your oversized makeup bag, toiletries, blankets, bedsheets, and even your electronic gadgets, are crammed beside you on the backseat. Your life has spiraled into chaos because your landlord has kicked you out.

Tears well up in your eyes, blurring your vision as you recall the moments that have led you to this bleak situation. It isn't fair, which is something you think. That isn't true though. You haven't paid your proper rent in nearly six months, frequently stumbling home at obnoxious hours, blasting loud music when you were drunk and high, and you hadn't even bothered to check the 15-day eviction notice that arrived almost 20 days ago. So, yes, your landlord had every right to kick you out.

You were irresponsible, reckless, and didn't give two cares until you became homeless. With your car serving as an unwelcome shelter, you realize you should have been more responsible. You should have cared more about your living situation before it all came crashing down on you. If only you had taken your life more seriously, you wouldn't be stuck in your car on this cold, lonely night.

It was the beginning of November, and you had so many plans about decorating your small apartment. You had fetched out the Christmas lights too, planning on hanging them out the following weekend. The memory of those festive plans, the warmth of the holiday spirit, now feels like a distant dream.

You wipe away your tears, but they keep flowing. You shift some of your stuff down on the floor of the car to make some space to sleep in. You curl up into yourself in the small space, and after a few more tears, you're finally asleep.

You're woken by harsh knocks on your window. You try to open your eyes, but the sunlight pouring in through the window is so blinding that you have to squint and shield your face with your hand.

It's a man, who looks angry at you. You roll down the window a bit so you can hear what he's saying.

“Could you move your car out of here, please?”

You rub your eyes and finally get a look at your surroundings, and you see that you've basically parked at the entrance of a house.

“Yeah-yeah. I will. Sorry,” you grunt with a raspy voice, and he goes back inside.

You quickly fix your clothes and your hair, and grabbed the car keys from your pocket. Opening the door, you got out of the backseat and got back out front.

Pushing the key in, you turned it, but the engine didn’t start. You tried it again and again, biut all in vain.

Great.

Just fucking great.

Now even your car had given up on you.

You felt like crying all over again, this was all so heartbreaking. You had to get the car checked almost two months ago, when the check engine light had started to blink first.

You pulled out your phone and searched for a nearby garage. Hopefully, there was one that was 2 blocks away. But that meant you wouyld have to push your car two blocks.

You could also call a tow service, but that would take money, and money was something you were running short on.

With a loud sigh, you switched the handbrake on, and got out of the car.

Rolling up your sleeves, you started to push it. The car was so heavy, and you managed a good 200 meters, before you were sweating profusely, and almost gave up, putting your hands on your knees and breathing loudly.

A kind man offered to help, and thank lord he did. With lots of struggle and a good 15 minutes, you were finally able to reach the garage.

Quick Fix Auto

You read the garage name, before lockiong your car and walking in. It was still 8 pm, so you doubted getting any help at this hour.

“Hello?”

You called out tentatively as you entered the garage and walked further into the shop, past the cars and vehicles scattered out front. Hopefully, a second voice would call you back, or you would have had to wait for someone to come in.

“Yeah, I’m a bit busy. Be out in a minute,” the voice replied. It sounded British and thickly laced with an accent. You couldn't help but think that now a gorgeous British guy would see your horrible car, which was also your home, all wrecked up and messed up due to negligence. Bonus points to you for not even washing your face after waking up.

You briefly contemplated running away and finding another garage with an old mechanic. However, you realized you physically wouldn't have been able to do that. So, you took a deep breath, preparing to face the embarrassment and potential humiliation.

After a few moments, he came out, and boy, was he gorgeous. A white headband held his thick hair back, and below that was a beautifully shaped face with green eyes. His tan hands were covered in a bit of grease, and he had tools hanging from his upturned waistband.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, and you gulped hard, snapping back to reality from admiring his physique. Boy, was he pretty.

“Oh, um... I tried to start my car this morning, but it won’t start.”

“And what’s the issue? The battery is out, fuel is down?”

“I don’t know, that’s why I came here.”

“Jeez, your breath smells terrible. Alright, let me have a look at it. Keys?”

He extended his hand to take your keys while looking into your eyes. You squinted at him for his rude remark, then handed him the keys.

“You don’t have to be so rude, you know.”

He kept walking, ignoring your comment. As he reached your car, he stopped in his tracks when he saw your belongings inside it. He turned back to look at you, and you frowned. Eye bags, dark circles under your eyes, a sad face, and you hadn't even washed your face; you had to rush to get your car fixed. You were in bad shape.

He decided to draw a line and not throw questions at you. He opened your car and took a look inside, noticing that the check engine light was on.

“How long has this been on for?”

“Oh, that. Yeah, about... 2 months?”

He slumped his shoulders and came back out, walking to yhe front and opening the hood of the car. As soon as it went up, a big cloud of smoke escaped.

“Fuck. What did you do?”

He coughed a bit, taking a step back to let the smoke dissipate. You felt even more humiliated than before, but he seemed more focused on the issue with your car than making further remarks about your condition.

“Alright. So, this is not going to get fixed in a short while. It’s going to take atlest 2 days.”

“No! Where will I live?”

You exclaimed loudly, and his eyes widened.

You could book a hotel?”

“I don’t have money.”

“A motel?”

“How will I reach one? Most of them are out of town.”

“Right, so you could still sleep in it at night, but I lock the garage at 11. So, you will have to park it outside.”

She nodded her head, and he still felt bad for her.

“I’m Harry, by the way”

He extended the same grease-stained hand again, and she complied, shaking hands with him.

"I'm Yn." she said.

"There’s a bathroom at the back. You can clean up there if you want to. My staff comes in at 9, so you still have about half an hour."

She smiled at his kind offer. He might be rude and grumpy, but he wasn't a bad person.

"Thank you, Harry. I really appreciate it."

"Oh that's okay. But, you do have money to pay for your car, right?"

You did a quick calculation in your mind, and quickly came to the conclusion that you didn't have even that money.

"No, but- listen to me! My payday is here, so I'm gonna get paid soon. I have to buy few supplies first, and then I promise I will pay you as soon as possible. I'll borrow money from my friends."

"As long as I get paid, I don't care where you get the money from."

And the grumpiness was back.

"Okay! Can I go in?"

"Sure. Be my guest."

You got some stuff from the car and went inside the garage. walking all the way to the back, and finding the washroom. You locked the door and cleaned yourself up.

Meanwhile, Harry took a look at your car.

It was in a bad condition. it hadn't been serviced in over two years, and the engine oil hadn't been replaced in so long. The battery was old too. A lot of work had to be done. and he had no idea how he would manage when you literally lived in the car.

Meanwhile, you were happy to have gotten a place to brush and bathe. Initially, you thought you would have to go to a cafe or restaurant, and brushing and bathing there would’ve been embarrassing. Even though embarrassment and humiliation were your best friends now.

You walked out in clean clothes a while later. and saw your car standing at the same place, with no sign of Harry. You searched for him again, and found him at the back, working on the same car he had been in when you had arrived.

"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"Why aren't you working on my car?"

He slid out from the bottom of the car, before replying, "I have other jobs too. First come, first serve. Plus, this one paid me in advance."

You frowned and flared at his words, and decided to deal with him later.

"So, can I take it, then? I have to go to work."

"No, I will work on it in the afternoon."

"Then how the hell am I supposed to reach work?"

"Many options, by foot, take the bus, order an Uber, Oh! Sorry! I forgot you didn't have money."

He mocked you once again, and this time, you seriously wanted to punch him across the face. Maybe you would, once your car was done. But right now, you have priorities.

"Alright, fine. But my stuff is in the car."

"Chill. Nobody's gonna take it. They might give things to you, though."

You rolled your eyes again, and went back to your car. Why did he have to be such a dick?

Gathering your bag, you stuffed your valuables, leaving only clothes and heavy articles behind. You shifted it to one corner, and draped a huge sheet to cover it.

"Okay, I'm leaving."

And once again, that grumpy asshole ignored you.

(next part)

divider by @firefly-graphics

okay, sorry if this sucked, i really don't know how to write l literally finished this at 2am, so really really sorry

taglist: @freedomfireflies @gurugirl @thechaoticjoy @styleslover-1994 @gem1712 @ellaorchard @bxbyysstuff @opheliaofficial07 @rafaaoli @tchlamqtsgf @the-mouse27 @indierockgirrl @vrittivsanghavi @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @drewrry @babyiamperfectforyou @whoreonmondays @avalentina

let me know if you want to be added or removed!

[princesssmars]

hazel falling in love with her childhood family friend is rotting my brain actually.

wc : 1383

sfw and slight nsfw? fem reader. thanking emma and rachel for making hazel rich because i love writing rich people stuff. i’d say maybe a good mix of cocky!hazel and loser!hazel because i love both so bad.

so for the first six years of her life she spends her winter holidays at a beautiful chalet in aspen with her parents, spending the days having snowball fights with her dad and falling asleep by the fireplace with her mom.

just like. she's rich, and her mom seems like one of thos wealthy women who loves to go on vacation to show off her perfect life and her perfect friends, so she or her husband definitely had a vacation house they'd visit every year.

when she turns seven they finally let her start skiing on the bunny slope, figuring it’s better than the little evil genius thing she does with the pots and the tiny snowmen. for a little kid she's pretty good at the sport already, if not taking the pizza and french fry tip a little too seriously.

about an hour in though, she's taking her umpteenth trip down the hill when a four foot mass slams into her right side, going at way above whatever speed limit was allowed in this area. she's lying flat on the ground, her right arm aching and her hound pounding and she's about ten seconds from crying when she looks over to see you, face planted in the snow and your shoulders shaking as you laugh like you're insane.

both sets of your parents rush over to make sure that the both of you are ok, and after you manage to calm down a bit and give hazel a very formal sounding apology that your mom whispered in your ear, you ask hazel if she can help you learn to control your speed on the slopes.

so after an hour of driving her crazy as she tries to teach you how to control your speed, your moms sit at a table watching over the both of you while sipping on their drinks and becoming fast friends.

ever since then, each winter was spent together. whether it was spending time in the snow, (hazel continued to excel at skiing, eventually giving up on trying to teach you), sharing stories of your normal lives over cups of cocoa at the cafe in the ski lodge, and helping each other decorate your christmas trees that you both had to beg your parents to buy.

whenever she went back home the days following new years, she’d count the days until she could see you again. to compensate for the time apart your parents let you send a horde of letters and e-mails to each other, letting the two of you share long phone calls on their phones when you were still to young to have your own.

hazels secret favorite hobby became photography. you couldn’t go twenty minutes without her shoving her polaroid camera in your face. she’ll tell you it’s because she’s using the vacation time to explore and try new things, and not that she constantly looks back over the photos of you with a big smile and a flush to her face.

(she also won’t mention that she’s addicted to the feeling she gets when pj and josie come over to her house and pj goes ona ten minute rant about how impossible it is that a girl that pretty could spend time with hazel without being insane. she ignores the insult because she’s hung up on the fact oh called you pretty.)

now i think hazel was pretty much always aware of the fact that she liked girls, if not because she realized that being obsessed with a certain scene from cruel intentions and always volunteering to play the husband when one of her friends wanted to play house on the playground was, in fact, not straight.

but at this point she’s maybe fifteen, she’s starting to grow into her looks and she’s definitely not ready to admit she might has a crush on you. at this point you both have had your own phones for a while, and she couldn’t even count the amount of times she had fallen asleep with you over facetime.

over the course of that year she often found herself wondering what your sexuality was. dumb ass stereotypes had her believing there was no way you, pretty and popular and preppy you could possibly be gay. and if you were a lesbian there was no chance that you'd like her back.

it was just made all the more confusing when once she had complained about how she hadn't had a girlfriend, let alone a first kiss yet and she was nearly halfway through high school with no experience for the hundredth time that you told her you had a solution for her on your next shared trip.

so you can imagine her shock when three days after landing in aspen you pull her into your room in your lodge and sit her on your bed before telling her you knew the perfect way to get more experience was to experiment with you.

"your first few times kissing and stuff can be pretty awkward, so why not just do it with me? i can show you the ropes and stuff.”

now on the outside she seemed normal, agreeing with an easy smile on her face, but on the inside her brain was playing the loudest tornado siren known to man.

it starts tame, the first few days consisting of you just telling her about your past experiences with girls and how to take it slow and everything. she knows its important but it honestly feels like torture. every time you talk to her she's wondering about what you'll do to start the physical lesson, if you'll set her down on her plush bed and softly touch her, or if you'll finally get fed up with the waiting like she is and press her and take her against a wall.

if you had known you would have prepared, but hazel was a freak in disguise and had decided that she was ready to take things into her own hands. you had invited her to sleep over at yours and drink hot cocoa while watching christmas movies and she had accepted in a heartbeat. what she didn't expect was for you to be wearing really cute pajamas, your legs covered in little hello kitty's and christmas trees with a plain red top and geez she could see you weren't wearing a bra.

hazel was a ticking time bomb, and when the two of you were sitting on the couch and she watched the reds and whites and golds dance across your face and you looked ovver at her with a 'what's wrong, hazie?' she exploded, smushing her lips onto yours in a mess of limbs and teeth.

she can feel your giggles in her mouth as she presses you down into the plush of the couch, her excited hands gripping your cheeks before brushing over your chest and gripping your waist, grinding her hips into yours and groaning when your giggle turned into high pitched moans.

it feels like she kisses you for hours before you reluctantly stop, your hands going to press into her shoulders when her head follows yours to resume making out. "hazel, as much as i'm enjoying this we were supposed to be taking this slowly. since when did you know how to...do that?"

"i dont know i just," she sighs as she tries to catch her breath, starting to get embarrassed about what a virginal mess she must look and be acting like. but you seem to like it, so she starts to not care all that much. "i just really want you. i wanna do everything with you."

you smile and hold her cheek in your hand, her eyes fluttering shut at your touch. you look at the gentle expression on her face, the slowing of her breath, and how her hips still occasionally stutter downward looking for yours, and you cant find it in your heart to deny her. you never really could.

"ok, hazie. we can do whatever you want-"

you're cut off before you can finish, the girl quickly rejoining your lips together and groping at your body once again.

when she gets back from vacation, hazel is less single, less unexperienced, and more than ready to throw this in pj's face.

i kinda lost inspo for this can you tell :,(((( but i thought the idea was cute so take this thing. bye.