#cream stucco siding

[blueskywalk]

Outdoor Kitchen Outdoor Kitchen in Tampa

Example of a mid-sized southwest backyard stamped concrete patio kitchen design with a roof extension

[decadentindustries]

Austin Patio Example of a mid-sized transitional backyard concrete patio design with a fire pit and no cover

[conkreetmonkey]

holy shit this is long... tldr; I get neurodivergent over masonry

So I've been doing a lot of research on building methods, from the conventional to the old school to the new, and one thing I always found missing from older methods (as in basically anything that isn't either solid concrete or stick-frame) was the lack of hard, impassable moisture barriers on exterior walls. Surely a wall that looks like old red brick on the outside and inside must have more layers in between, right? Where's the housewrap? Where's the bitumen or tar paper? Pretty much all old-school roof materials I've seen have had some sort of waterproof layer under the shingles, but never the walls, floors nor foundations themselves.

Now, I live in a town with a lot of 100 year old buildings, which isn't that old but still predates the prevalence of the 2x4 and the popularization of plastic. I've been in many buildings where the walls on the inside are seemingly the same clay brick material as the ones on the inside. My grandma's basement was seemingly made from assorted stone, and I've seen many basements with walls of brick or cinderblock. Despite the inherent porosity of their materials, these walls hold strong through the harsh Canadian winters and the soggy spring thaw, the wood and plaster up against them free from water damage or mold. It felt impossible. Surely there was something I wasn't seeing, right? Surely you can't just build a 2-whyte brick wall with an air gap in between and some drainage holes and just have it work, right? Where's the mould? Where's the mildew? Where's the water damage, and crumbling from repeated freeze-and-thaw cycles?

I was unable to find a straight answer, despite the fact that I was obviously missing something. You can't just stick insulation, plasterboard and framing joists up against a brick wall that's exposed to outside air on the other side, right? Surely it will rot!

The only things I was able to find were synthetic sealing creams that make things hydrophobic, and something about a metal "dimple sheet" that required you to "decouple" the roof joists from the walls to install it, because it was simply assumed that you'd be installing the product in a preexisting brick house. Both of these things were obviously modern, and heavily flawed as products. The sealants needed reapplied every 5 years and didn't even provide full protection, and the metal sheet, once installed, required that no wood any longer touch the bricks as it would somehow become guaranteed to rot. This isn't even what I wanted to know. How did people 100 years ago build the buildings I know I've stood in, where the bricks were free from chemical sealants and physical moisture barriers yet didn't let the rain in?

Finally, after posting to a masonry forum, I recieved my answer.

There is no secret ingredient.

The exterior layer of bricks simply get wet when it's wet and dry out when it's dry.

Limestone is naturally antifungal and antibacterial, so mold simply cannot grow on materials made from it. Lime plaster allows water vapour to pass through it, yet resists actual liquid water, so at once water cannot become trapped within it and fester, but applying a lime stucco to exterior walls or a plaster to interior ones prevents leakage while allowing water vapour in the air to pass through, and thus the house to "breathe." Additionally, old insulation "fluff" that is now made from foam or fibreglass was then made from wool, which is also naturally antibacterial. And wood, of course, can simply be sealed to prevent decay with a multitude of different methods, if that's even needed, which it often isn't unless it's actually touching a surface that can be expected to routinely become moist.

Old buildings simply weren't built with absolute airtightness in mind. There's no one layer that's 100% moistureproof in an old exterior wall; even water repellant surfaces such as lime stucco allow humidity to pass through. There's no hydrophobic layer of tarpuline, rubber or tar anywhere but on the roof.

Dudes, I'm starting to realize that modern stick-framed housing insulated with pink fiberglass and made of pine, chipboard and plastic wrap... kind of sucks? Like, they have their advantages surely, they're immensely easier, quicker and cheaper to build, and way easier to heat/cool, but they're also flimsy and, quite ironically, actually MORE prone to mold than old school buildings, because once the housewrap under that vinyl siding, stone block veneer or board-and-batten starts to go (and it will eventually), it's a single point of failure, and everything behind it is prone to rot? And if moisture does seep in, it has no way to escape due to the moisture-tight, airtight quality of the home, so it has no choice but to fester? Like, think about taking a hot shower, and the steam that builds up, only removable from the home with a modern HVAC fan or by opening a window. Think about how, if you don't do one of those things, you're all but certain to get mold on the drywall. That's because of the lack of vapour-permeable materials! It simply can't pass though any exterior wall, back outside into the air! The air is stagnant by default!

And look, this is not me claiming that stick-frame is inherently bad, or that old style building methods are always better. Back then they put asbestos in the walls and lead in the pipes, paint and windows. Technology has moved forward, not back, and is continuing to move forward, becoming better, stronger, more efficient. But when the modern home uses housewrap and housewrap alone as waterproofing, it's hubris manifest. It's a sheet of plastic screwed to some plywood with a wide washer. Eventually, there will be a leak, inside or out, and once that happens you're all but guaranteed destructive rot and mold. It's a tradeoff, exchanging durability and ease of maintainence for cheaper construction and better insulation, and sometimes that's justifiable, but nowadays it seems to be the only option in all of suburbia.

Limestone is a great material. It has a variety of uses, it's abundant, it's simultaneously water resistant and breatheable, it prevents mold, and it can even self-heal from minor damage. Clay and stone may be porous, but they're strong. These materials have their downsides, but they're not inferior. Pretty much no material is (except for fucking cordwood, which just plainly sucks ass in 95% of situations). Logs and timber have a place. Concrete has a place. Steel and other metals have a place. Plastic has a place. So long as it's not toxic, it has a place. There is no one best way to build a building, just as there is no one best way to cook a meal; it depends on where you are and who you're serving it to.

And now that I understand the simple genius of lime mortar and stone or clay blocks, I feel bad that they're not really used in the mainstream anymore. Sometimes, it's better to accept that moisture exists and have a multi-faceted system for directing it away from decay-prone materials, rather than to try to "defeat" it entirely with the modern miracle material of plastic, and then cockily build everything behind the plastic out of rottable materials. No home can go forever without repairs, just as no person, tool or machine can. The question is whether there's any redundancy, or if one failure in a crucial area destroys the whole system.

I've always loved masonry aesthetically, and now I love it functionally as well. This world has so many wonderful things in it.

[bad-fucking-omens]

The Witch Twin (Alec V. x OC) - Chapter 20 - Home

Summary: When I thought about my future, I was sure that I had the rest of my life vaguely planned out.

Then, my older sister moved up from Arizona to stay with us — and turned my entire life upside down.

I had no idea just how bad it had gotten until I was standing in a castle in Italy, convinced that I was about to die.

Length: 3.1K words (Complete fic 71.8K words)

Fic warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, death, explicit smut (M/F), referenced/implied past child abuse, emotional manipulation by sibling

Chapter warnings: Explicit smut [M/F, oral (fem receiving), P in V sex]

Read on AO3 or read below

20. HOME

Alec held my hand in his as we drove through the gates of Volterra, towards the rolling Italian countryside that surrounded the small city.

We were going to look at a couple nearby villas that Heidi had scouted for us. We had explained to her what we wanted in a home and she had compiled a list of ten villas for us to look at. Both of the villas we were looking at today were close to Volterra and fairly secluded, as they each came with a big estate that would not allow any humans to see or hear us from the boundaries of the property. Heidi had arranged for us to tour each property without a realtor and she had given us the keys yesterday.

We pulled up to the large, wrought iron gate that belonged to the first property we were touring. Alec quickly got out of the white Lamborghini he was driving to unlock the gate and push it open. He returned to the car and drove us up the long, smooth driveway.

“Oh, it’s gorgeous,” I breathed when the villa finally came into view.

The two-story, Renaissance era villa was made of a light beige colored stone and roofed with red terracotta tiles. There was a separate, smaller, one-story building that seemed to be a garage a bit further down the driveway. The grounds that surrounded the house consisted of a neatly trimmed lawn and, beyond that, lots of trees that would provide us even more privacy.

Alec parked the car in front of the villa and we got out. We walked towards the large, double doors of the front entrance. Alec unlocked them and pushed the door open, gesturing for me to enter the villa first.

The interior of the villa was mostly modern, though it was clear that whomever had updated the villa had tried their best to keep the original walls and architecture — old wooden beams crossed along the ceilings, the walls were a cream-colored stucco, and the floors were made of a dark grey, polished stone.

The foyer that we had stepped into allowed us to see up to the second story, which was lined with a wrought-iron railing that also lined the staircases on either side of the mezzanine.

“It really is beautiful,” Alec murmured softly as we moved to the living room, which was to the left of the foyer.

Bright sunlight poured into the room from the tall arched windows that stretched almost the entire height of the walls. The room was decorated with modern, light-grey, plush couches, a matching armchair, and a large oak coffee table. A stone fireplace was on one of the interior walls, with beautiful, Renaissance paintings hanging on either side of it. An ornate, iron chandelier hung from the ceiling.

“There’s so much light.”

I stepped into one of the sun spots. Thousands of tiny rainbows scattered across the walls and floor of the room from my crystalline skin.

Alec wrapped his arms around my waist. “I wish we never had to hide. . . . I wish I could show you the world without having to hide under clouds or in the middle of the night.”

I leaned back into him and replied softly, “I don’t care how I see the world — in sunlight or darkness. As long as you’re by my side, I’ll be perfectly happy.”

He huffed out a soft laugh, then pressed a kiss to my cheek. “You’re adorable and incredibly sweet.”

We stood there for a few more moments, simply soaking up the sun and each other’s love. Finally, we broke apart and began to tour the other rooms.

The room that led off from the other side of the foyer was a library the size of the living room. Every wall was lined with expensive, dark oak bookshelves that were currently empty. The plush carpet that covered the floor was a light grey that matched the curtains that hung over the tall, arched windows. Two very comfortable-looking, brown, leather armchairs sat in front of the windows with a small side table placed between them.

There were two more rooms on the first floor. One was an office that had a single wall lined with bookshelves, and a beautiful view to the grounds behind the house.

The other room was a large bedroom that had an ensuite bathroom and a walk-in closet that was nearly double the size of the one we had at the castle. The floor of the bedroom was made of the same dark stone as most of the villa. A king-sized bed was pushed up against one of the walls, beneath a large, horizontal window. A single glass door led out to the back of the patio.

We stepped through the door onto the patio. A large pergola covered the patio, its wooden beams wrapped in fragrant honeysuckle that kept the area well shaded. Two cream-colored couches that were meant to be out in the mild Italian weather were arranged in an L-shape around a white marble table. The tiled patio extended beyond the pergola and surrounded a large, rectangular pool.

“Mm, that pool would definitely get a lot of use,” I commented, throwing a smirk over my shoulder at Alec.

“Oh, is that so?” he replied, a smirk curling on his own lips as he approached me. Alec set his hands on my hips and pulled me back against his chest.

“Mhm,” I hummed and leaned into his touch. I enjoyed teasing him. “I mean, I doubt either of us will be able to keep our hands off each other when all we’re wearing is a swimsuit . . . or nothing at all.”

“Fuck.” Alec’s grip on my hips tightened. I could feel him start to harden as he pressed closer to me.

I giggled as I stepped out of his grasp, leaving him groaning. I turned and walked backwards towards the house.

“Come on, love. We’ve still got the second floor to see.”

Alec rolled his eyes, though he followed me back into the house. I reached out and snagged his hand in mine. He linked our fingers together and pressed a kiss to my cheek.

There were three rooms on the second floor. Two of them were bedrooms that looked nearly identical to each other, with tall, arched windows and glass doors that led out to the balcony they shared. There was a shared bathroom between the bedrooms.

The third room was a home theater. A large projection screen covered one of the walls, and two rows of couches were lined in front of it, the second row about half a foot higher than the front row.

Alec leaned close to whisper in my ear, “We could put a bed in here. . . . Could cuddle together while we watch a movie or something. . . .”

“I’m sure cuddling would be all we would be doing,” I replied sarcastically. Alec nipped my shoulder teasingly and I laughed.

“We could turn the two extra bedrooms into something other than bedrooms,” he suggested.

“Like what?”

“Whatever we want. A game room, another library, an art studio.”

I leaned into his side and said softly, “I think I’d like an art studio.”

He hummed and pressed another kiss to my cheek. “Then that’s what you’ll get.”

“You’re so sweet to me,” I said, turning to face him. Alec grinned and held me closer to his chest when I wrapped my arms around his neck. “I don’t want to look at the other house. I want this one.”

“Whatever you want, princess.”

“Are you sure? It’s your house, too.”

Alec chuckled. “You forget how long I’ve been alive, love. They’ll all look mostly the same to me. As long as you’re happy with the house, that’s all I care about.”

I stood on my toes to kiss him fiercely. Alec laughed when we broke apart. He gently brushed my hair behind my ear and stared down at me with a soft smile. There was so much love in his gaze that it sent butterflies fluttering through my stomach.

“I’ll tell Heidi to tell the realtor that we want this one,” he said. “Hopefully, we’ll be able to close within the next couple weeks and then it will be all ours.”

“We’ll finally have somewhere to escape to whenever we want to be all alone.”

“Our escape from the real world,” he said with a smile.

I kissed him one more time before we finally headed back down the stairs and out of the house.

I sat lightly on the hood of the Lamborghini as I watched Alec lock the house back up. I leaned back, pressing my hands against the warm metal when Alec turned around. I smirked when I saw him pause in his step for a moment when he saw me. I watched his crimson eyes drag along my body before he looked up again.

He walked slowly towards me and, when he reached me, gently pushed my legs apart so he could stand between them. Alec leaned down over me, his lips barely brushing mine as he breathed, “If I remember correctly, I promised to make up for our interruption yesterday.”

“You did,” I said.

My eyes flicked up to meet his. I could still see the unconditional love in his ruby irises, but it was quickly becoming clouded with lust.

Alec pressed his lips to mine and my eyes fluttered shut. I wrapped my arms around his neck, one hand drifting up to card through his curly hair. Alec leaned down over me, forcing me to lay back on the hood of the car.

One of his hands trailed down my side until he reached the hem of my white sundress, which he hurriedly pulled up so it was bunched around my waist. He groaned when his hand slipped between my thighs.

“No panties, princess?” he breathed against my mouth. He circled his fingers lightly around my clit and my breath hitched in my throat. “You had this all planned out, didn’t you?”

“It’s been too long,” I replied, tugging at his hair. “I’ve missed you, Alec.”

He hummed and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “I know, princess, I know. I’ve missed you, too.”

My mate trailed kisses along my cheeks and down my neck. When he reached the neckline of my dress, he gently slid the straps down my arms and pulled the dress down below my breasts. His mouth traveled across my chest and I moaned when he wrapped his lips around one of my nipples. My fingers tightened in his hair as he teased the sensitive bud with his teeth. His hand had wandered back between my thighs and he gently rubbed my clit again.

“Alec,” I whimpered. “Please.”

He laughed against my chest. “Easy, sweetheart. I just wanna take my time with you. . . . You deserve to be savored, Eve.”

Alec ran his tongue slowly up through the valley between my breasts. I shuddered at the feeling, arching my back. Alec’s fingers slipped away from my clit to gently press into me as he sucked a hickey onto my neck.

“Oh,” I gasped.

My hand slipped down to grasp the hair at the back of his neck. Alec groaned against my throat as I tugged at his hair. He moved his mouth up to my jaw and kissed my lips again. Eventually, my lips parted and his tongue pushed into my mouth. Our tongues slid together slowly, our makeout languid and lazy. I had to admit that Alec had a point — it was so much better to savor the moment than rushing through it.

Smoldering fire trailed everywhere that his skin touched mine. I could feel the reverence and affection he had for me in every touch, in every kiss. I hoped that he felt just as loved as I did at this moment.

“My sweet girl. . . .” Alec bit my lip gently. “Stay just like this for me. Don’t move.”

I nodded and he kissed me one more time before he made his way back down my neck. I groaned, tilting my head back against the hood of the car. I felt Alec smile against my skin as he continued to kiss a path down my chest and stomach.

He pushed my dress up again as he knelt on the ground, between my legs. He brushed his lips lightly across my inner thighs, still slowly thrusting his fingers in and out of me. Alec scraped his teeth gently against the sensitive skin of my thigh. My breath caught in my throat as my stomach fluttered with pleasure.

Finally, Alec ran his tongue through my soaked folds. A breathless gasp left my mouth and I arched my back as he locked his lips around my clit, gently sucking on the small bundle of nerves.

‘You taste heavenly, princess. Absolutely divine.’

A shiver ran through my body as Alec’s words echoed through my mind. I sucked in a breath and let it out shakily as he ate me out, using his skilled mouth and fingers to bring me closer and closer to the edge. I moaned out his name and reached down to tangle my hand in his hair once again. He groaned against my pussy.

‘Close, princess?’ he asked in my mind when my moans picked up and I began moving my hips into his movements.

“Yes,” I breathed.

‘Cum for me, then, sweet girl.’

Alec curled his fingers inside of me and I finally fell off the edge. I gasped as my back arched again and my pussy fluttered around his fingers. He groaned, nuzzling against the inside of my thigh. My entire body tingled warmly as my orgasm ran through me.

When I finally started to come down from my high, I noticed that Alec was pressing soft, feathery kisses to my thigh. He slowly pulled his fingers out of me and I whined softly at the loss. He rested his head against my thigh and smiled at me.

“Ready for me, love?”

“Mhm,” I hummed. “C’mere and kiss me.”

Alec laughed softly and pulled off his shirt as he stood again. Then, he leaned down over my body to press his lips to mine. I lazily wrapped my arms around him and pressed my tongue into his mouth. I moaned when I tasted myself on his tongue.

He reached between our bodies and shoved down his jeans and boxers. He grasped himself in his hand and moved so that the tip of his cock was just resting between my slick folds. I shivered as anticipation built in my stomach.

Alec finally thrusted slowly into me. We both moaned, our kiss breaking as he dropped his head into the crook of my neck as he bottomed out inside me. I curled my arms around him tightly. I loved feeling his body on top of mine and his cock inside of me. 

‘You feel so good wrapped around me, princess.’

I groaned. I dragged my nails across his back as he began to slowly thrust into me. Alec brushed his lips against my neck, right over the silvery, scarred bite mark that remained from my transformation. A soft moan fell from my lips. He knew that spot was particularly sensitive for me.

“My perfect, sweet girl,” he murmured against my skin. Alec rubbed his hand along my thigh, gently gripping it and moving my leg so that my knee hooked on his hip, which allowed him to thrust even deeper.

I groaned and tipped my head back against the car. “Fuck.”

Alec huffed out a strained laugh against my shoulder and nipped at my skin. “Tell me how good you feel, love.”

“Feels so good, Alec,” I whispered. “Perfect. . . . You’re perfect. . . . I love you.”

Alec groaned and kissed me fiercely. His gentle grip on my thigh tightened as he fucked me harder and shoved his tongue in my mouth. I gasped into the passionate kiss and scratched my nails across his back.

A few moments later, I came for the second time. My back arched up, my head tipped back, and I clung tight to Alec as wave after wave of intense pleasure flooded my body.

Alec followed me quickly off the edge, moaning as he thrust as deep as he could. His hips stuttered slightly and his cock twitched as he filled me with his seed.

I watched him with half-open eyes, slowly and lightly dragging my nails along his bare sides. He shivered at my touch before he looked at me. He kissed me again, this time all soft and sweet, before he rested his body on top of mine. I giggled quietly and reached up to brush my fingers through his messy curls.

“Well, I think I made up for our interruption the other day,” he teased.

I rolled my eyes, but I was smiling. “You certainly did.”

I lifted my head up slightly to press a kiss to his forehead. Alec hummed quietly. His eyes fluttered shut as he rested his head on my chest. I laid my head back on the hood and closed my eyes, continuing to card my fingers through his hair.

“I love you so much, Eve,” he whispered. “So beautiful and smart and sweet and perfect.”

My heart swelled with love and I said softly, “I love you more than anything, Alec.”

Alec rested his hand on my side, his thumb just below the curve of my breast. He slowly swiped his thumb along the soft skin on the underside of my breast and I moaned lightly.

This was one of the few private moments that I wished time slowed down so we could remain in our own little world for just a while longer. We were entirely alone and basking in the afterglow of amazing, passionate sex and soaking up all the affection and love we had for each other.

A few more minutes passed before Alec sighed and reluctantly said, “We should head back to the castle.”

I frowned, but nodded in agreement. He carefully lifted himself off of me, but before he fully stood up, he bent his head down to kiss me. I smiled when he finally pulled away and Alec laughed.

He pulled his clothes back on, then offered me his hand to help me sit up. I let him pull me up and he kissed my forehead, his hand caressing my cheek lovingly.

My smile grew even bigger when he began to fix my sundress for me. He gently pulled the dress back over my breasts and slid the straps up onto my shoulders again. He pulled down the fabric that had been bunched up around my waist, smoothing his hands over it to ensure that it all fell back into place. He even knelt down and strapped my heels back onto my feet. Alec pressed a gentle kiss to my knee before he stood up again.

“Ready, my love?”

“One more kiss and I will be,” I replied with a teasing grin. Alec smirked and rolled his eyes, then kissed me again. When we broke apart, I said, “Let’s go.”

[kaunis-sielu]

Frozen: A Slumber party

It’s Friday night and the guys have this weekend off for the first time in what feels like forever. The season isn’t particularly long but it is crammed full of games. You’re hanging out alone in your apartment, the Avengers have an away game, reading a book when your phone rings. You pick it up blindly and answer,

“Hello?”

“Kattenuge, can you come to my house?” This gets your attention and you close your book.

“What?”

“There’s been an injury and I just need some help.” He sounds tense and if you listen carefully you swear you can hear someone crying in the background.

“Yea, I’m coming.” You tell him climbing off the couch. “What happened?”

“Can I tell you when you get here? The gate code is 0929.”

“Okay.” You trust him and you trust that he wouldn’t just try to get you to come to his house using some gross ploy that someone was hurt.

It’s snowing when you get to his house, you punch in the code he’d told you and pull slowly up the driveway. If it wasn’t for the gate at the front you wouldn’t have ever known someone famous lived here. It’s a cute white stucco house with big windows and a curving driveway that goes behind the house. You follow the driveway and park to the side, Thor is waiting on the lower porch and after you grab your medical bag you climb out of the car.

“Thank you for coming Moxie.”

“Wow, something must really be wrong if you’re using my normal nickname.” You tell him lightly, he looks so stressed that you need to try and calm him somehow.

“I’m sorry. It’s just, I trust you and she fell and hit her head and I can’t just take her to the ER. I mean I can but if I have another option I’d rather do that.” He’s rambling so you put a gentle hand on his arm,

“Let’s go.” He’d said she, if you walk in on a naked woman you might actually be sick. Thor takes your hand, hope his lover doesn’t mind, and you follow him into the house closing the door behind you.

You hear the wailing before you see her. But you round a corner and Thor scoops the little blonde girl off of the giant bed she’s sitting on in a room that’s absolutely his.

“Hi baby. I’m sorry, you’re okay.” He soothes, “This is papa’s friend Moxie she’s here to help.” She blinks up at you, tears falling down her cheeks. “Moxie, this is my daughter, Astrid.” She has a big bandage wrapped around her head and you can see some pink at the edge, damn head wounds bleed forever.

“Hi Astrid, I’m going to unwrap your owie so that I can get a look at it okay? It might bleed some more but that’s okay.” You tell her, but it’s for both her and Thor’s benefit. He did a pretty good job wrapping it, when you get to her forehead you find the inch and a half long cut just above her right eyebrow. It’s thankfully not very deep so you won’t need to do stitches.

“Oh good,” you murmur more to yourself than either of them.

“What?”

“No stitches, we should be able to butterfly it and then cover it with a bigger bandaid.” You tell them both, you clean the cut as gently as you can, Astrid only flinches once.

“Sorry Honey. I know it’s cold.” You tell her, as she bats those watery eyes at you. God she’s adorable. When you finish Thor presses a kiss to the side of her head.

“You did so good A.” He soothes and she buries her face in his chest. “How about some ice cream? Moxie can stay for some?”

“That’s not necessary.” You tell him but when he looks up at you from the bed with pleading eyes you realize maybe he just needs someone to stay.

“What happened?”

“She fell off her chair at the table.”

“Do you need me to clean that up?” You ask glancing into her eyes to make sure she’s not showing any signs of concussion.

“No, I can get it.”

“Thor, you have a very brave girl to take care of and get some ice cream for. Let me help.” You tell him gently and after a moment he nods. You pack everything up and follow him into the kitchen where he pulls out some ice cream for Astrid. She’s watching you with big eyes and when you give her a soft smile she gives you a little one back.

You clean up the small bit of blood then put everything into a biohazard bag then into a second bag to throw away later.

“Kattenuge, ice cream.” Thor says and you put the bag into your bag.

“I need to wash my hands first.” You tell him and he gestures to the sink behind him. It’s weird to be in his home, with him, and his daughter. The painted toenails make more sense now, when you finish drying your hands you join Thor and Astrid at the counter. She’s chatting away now that she’s not bleeding and has some ice cream in her belly.

“Thank you for coming.”

“Of course. It wasn’t the call I was expecting but I’m glad I could help.” You take a scoop of your ice cream and Thor smiles softly over at you.

“I don’t tell people because I want her to have as normal a childhood as I can.”

“What about kids day?”

“I haven’t decided.”

“If she keeps a helmet on? Or do you have to run it by-”

“I have full custody.”

“How?”

“My mother lives here when we’re gone.”

“Papa?”

“Yea, Kanin?”

“Can Moxie sleep over? We can watch a movie and I bet Moxie likes movies. Do you like movies?”

“I do, but I don’t have anything for a sleepover.”

“Just one movie then?” She pleads and you glance over at Thor who nods.

“One movie, but it’s gotta be a good one.” You tease her and Astrid nods solemnly, you can’t help but adore the little girl who is happily eating her ice cream. When Thor looks over at you he’s got a soft smile on his face you feel like you’ve passed a test or something. Thor rests his hand on the small of your back and for a moment it’s almost like you’re this sweet little family.

“You okay Kattenuge?”

“Yea. I should go.” You don’t know which of them gives you better puppy eyes, Thor or Astrid.

“But Moxie you said you would watch a movie! I was gonna pick a good one.” Astrid says, “Papa!”

“That was the agreement.” Thor agrees and damn it, damn these two blue eyed blondes. You sigh softly,

“You’re right. I’ll stay.”

“Yay!” Astrid cries climbing off of the stool and running out of the room.

“Are you angry with me?” Thor asks softly and you look up him in surprise.

“Why would I be angry with you?”

“For keeping her a secret. I know we’re kind of a thing, or we’ve gone on some dates and I want us to be something.”

“I respect your desire for privacy. If I had a child and I was in your position I don’t think I’d tell anyone either. Especially not this early.” You see him visibly relax, “I just kinda panicked. I don’t know.” You can’t tell him that you imagined the three of you as a cute little family. That this was your home. It’s way too early for that.

“Come on Moxie!” Astrid calls and you chuckle, “I got us the best blankets. Papa can use the little one.” She says from the edge of the kitchen floor.

“Oh Papa has the little one huh?” Thor says and Astrid giggles and runs back into the living room.

“Don’t worry, I’ll share.” You tell him taking his hand,

“Thank you Kattenuge.” He murmurs pressing a soft kiss to the side of your head. You join Astrid on the couch and Thor sits on the other side of you. She falls asleep against your side halfway through the movie, when it’s over Thor scoops her up and brings her to her room.

“Don’t leave.” He whispers over his shoulder at you, you won’t lie and say you weren’t going to slip out. You do grab your bag and wait for him by the door you’d come in.

“Kattenuge, I’m going to think you don’t want to spend any time with me.”

“It’s not that, I just don’t love driving home in the snow. When I was a kid we got into an accident because of the snow.”

“I can call you a car if you’d rather.” He offers putting a gentle hand on your arm.

“I’ll just take it slow.”

“Can I walk you to your car?” He asks sweetly and you nod before tugging your shoes on. When he unlocks and pulls open the door you’re floored by what’s in front of you. There’s got to be at least six inches of snow already on the ground and your heart plummets.

“Why don’t you just stay?” Thor says softly and you look up at him with wide eyes. “Astrid has already met you, she liked you, I like you. It’s safe here.”

“You don’t think it’s a bit early for me to be staying over?”

“Just sleep Kattenuge.” He soothes, “You can sleep in the guest room where my mother usually stays if that makes you more comfortable.” You bite your lower lip and glance back out at the still falling snow.

“Do you have some stuff I can borrow?” Thor gives you a slow smile and nods, he offers you his hand and you follow him back into his room for the second time that night. He digs some clothes out of his dresser, a tee and some shorts, then passes them to you. You’re fairly certain you’ve seen him wear this shirt before.

“You’re sure this isn’t too fast?” You ask him, “you just got divorced.”

“Kattenuge,” he soothes, “I appreciate the concern but my marriage to Sif was over the moment she decided to be unfaithful. Astrid doesn’t even remember a time when we all lived together. But, if you’re uncomfortable I can call you a car, it won’t hurt my feelings.” You’re not sure what comes over you but you suddenly find yourself kissing him, one arm curled around his neck. Thor wraps one of his arms tightly around your waist so you’re flush against him while his other hand comes up to cup your face. When you pull away from him you’re both breathing a little hard,

“Thank you.” He says and you laugh, he’d completely put you at ease something you were more than a little grateful for.

“I just, you’re so sweet.” You tell him and he smiles down at you. “Thank you for not pressuring me.”

“Of course Kattenuge.” He presses another quick kiss to your lips, “Now, let’s go to bed.”

🏒🏒🏒

This is a series of one shots. If you have any suggestions or ideas for Thor and Moxie please let me know.

Tag list:

@foxyjwls007 @andahugaroundtheneck @also-fangirlinsweden @pagina16ps @princesssterek @valsworldofcreativity @dumblani @inkedaztec @loving-life-my-way @animegirlgeeky @shinycupcakebaker @eralen @sophham @gh0stgurl @wonderlandfandomkingdom @killcomet @abschaffer2 @sass-masterkittenmama

[acleanpressurecleaning]

The Importance of House Washing

Just like your car, a dirty home requires cleaning. Having your house regularly cleaned will help prevent mildew and mold from building up.

Organizing can make your cleaning job much easier and faster. Start by creating a dedicated station for your cleaning supplies. This will save you time and money.

Cleaning the Exterior

The outside of a House Washing can collect dirt, mildew and mold. These can damage the cladding and cause it to degrade over time. Washing the exterior of your home regularly helps prevent this and keep it looking fresh.

 A good rule of thumb is to wash the exterior of your home at least once a year. This will remove any dirt build-up and help halt any organic growth. Washing your house is especially important if you plan on painting it as a fresh coat of paint will not adhere well to a dirty surface.

Before attempting to pressure wash your house, you must ensure that you have the right equipment and knowledge to do so safely. Pressure washing can cause a lot of damage if not done properly, including damage to windows, doors and landscaping. It is also recommended that you test your water pressure on an inconspicuous area of cladding before applying it to the entire surface.

Cleaning the Gutters

Gutters are important for directing rainwater away from the roof, House Washing Services and foundation. But when they become clogged with leaves, debris and mud, water can overflow and cause problems. That’s why it’s important to clean them regularly.

A good gutter cleaning solution is white vinegar or cream of tartar mixed with water. Scrub the solution onto the gutters and rinse. This is an effective way to break up grime and stains.

Alternatively, a pressure washer can remove stubborn stains from a home’s gutters. A high-powered nozzle and proper safety precautions are key to avoid damage to the roof shingles, siding or landscaping. If you prefer not to teeter on a ladder, there are gutter-cleaning attachments for pressure washers that allow you to keep both feet on the ground. If you choose this method, be sure to protect your eyes and wear sturdy work gloves. Also, have a bucket nearby to deposit debris. You should also consider adding gutter guards to prevent re-clogging.

Cleaning the Roof

The roof is another area where a house wash is very important. If the buildup of mold, lichen, and/or moss is not cleaned on a regular basis it can cause damage to the shingles. This can lead to leaks in the home and/or ceilings. It can also create a shelter for rodents to nest in and cause further problems. In addition, a dirty roof can be an eyesore and reduce the value of your home.

Soft washing is the process of cleaning a roof using low pressure, a biodegradable chemical and a high volume of water to remove stains, dirt, moss, and algae. This is done to protect the shingles from damage caused by a pressure washer.

When a soft wash is performed, the crew will often cover or water any plants near the building to prevent them from being contaminated or damaged by bleach or other chemicals used in the cleaning solution. The crew will also take care to ensure that no debris is left behind in gutters or plant beds.

Cleaning the Interior

Even if you regularly sweep, mop and dust your home, there's still gunk that can build up. The right cleaning solutions, scrubbing by hand, and a good pressure wash can help you achieve a clean as a whistle house once again.

The first consideration when washing a house is the surface material; Hardie siding, brick, vinyl or Stucco will dictate the algaecide detergent strength and mix ratio used. Generally, smooth surfaces use a weaker solution while porous materials such as brick and stone will typically utilize a hotter, higher concentration of up to 3% sodium hypochlorite with longer dwell times.

If you're planning to hire a professional, make sure they follow all the CDC's guidelines for pressure washer safety and use the proper equipment to avoid injury and damage to your home. It's also a good idea to clear the surrounding area of toys and bikes to avoid kids and pets tripping on them during the pressure wash.

[valaruakars]

Let’s Get Physical (Part 4)

Viktor/F!Reader || 6k || Modern!AU + Gym!AU || SFW (for now!)

You do crimes and your punishment is to fall, hard. Viktor shows his true colors—some of them, at least. And unlike you, Rio can be a very good listener. 

Part 1 → Part 2  → Part 3 → Part 4 (Ao3 Link) 

Asphalt to concrete. Concrete to grass.

In a heart pounding, mind racing, miserable little frenzy, you aren’t paying much attention. All you do is run and run and hope your chafing legs will keep you upright, keep carrying you forward, despite the constant terrain shifts.

You are jolted out of that hope. 

But your footing holds. You find it after a sudden, soggy stumble in the front yard of a very beige house. The mesh on your brand new sneaker will never be the same—stained dingy brown with mud, unlikely to lift. At least it’s still on your foot, not stuck behind in the sludgy ground as you clench your jaw and charge forward on your fourth act of trespass.

Two more and you just might come out on their street. 

You only hope you can recognize it without a street sign in this sea of cookie-cutter houses—stucco siding in shades of neutral wherever you look, each mailbox the same, no cars in the street. Yes, you know the way to Jayce’s house like the back of your hand by now, but this alternate route is so different, disorienting. You never expected to find yourself on a mad sprint between houses, through the backyards of his neighbors.

The path of most resistance, sure, but it’s the fastest way back to the house.

The fastest way back to Viktor.

He’d been short on the phone when he asked you to come back, but you heard the restraint. He chose his words carefully, measured his seething tone, but oh could you sense the resentment brewing in him. His accent had a bite when he was angry that made your heart do funny little palpitations, but that was just because it was struggling against the way you held your breath, trying not to pant into the phone. 

“Oh, fuck,” you’d hissed, more at yourself than him, “You—You’re leaving, aren’t you?”

He sounded rather exhausted with your nonsense. He said, each syllable clipped, “Well, yes, but—”

“I’ll turn around right now, I’m so, so sorry—”

“I don’t need an apology from you,” he’d said crystal clear into the receiver, no mistaking it, and you’d stopped listening entirely after that, in an anxious freefall where sorry couldn’t save you. You simply promised to be quick and hung up; cut off whatever he’d been saying at the time and started to run.

You can only imagine his face, impatient and sour, the twist of his mouth, those hateful honeyed eyes. The fraught sound of his voice echos amongst the rush in your ears as you run fast as your legs can carry you. 

You, wind-whipped and blustery, are suddenly thwacked in the cheek by an outstretched branch when you round a tight corner. No skin broken, bloodied or bruised, but it stings as much as you imagine the things he must be thinking about you right now. 

What a coincidence—they sound an awful lot like the things you tell yourself on your worst days, when your confidence curdles and your more tumultuous emotions slip their leash. Days like today, when nothing could go right from the very beginning. Waking up this morning? Failed. Work this afternoon? Trainwreck. And now this, just a simple run? Disaster. 

You tried to be better than your worst impulses, but maybe you should’ve let them win. Should’ve gone home. Should’ve had that ice cream in the cocoon of your downy duvet, digging yourself a miserable hole until it melted to sludge beneath the heat of your hands. Should’ve fallen asleep to a show on your laptop feeling sad, sorry and sugar-comatose—guilty when you woke up, but not because you’d fucked up someone else’s evening too.

But instead you’re  running at top speed, stopping and groaning and cursing when you hit a house with a fence and have to backtrack, wondering why you’d been so fucking thoughtless as to shove your car key into your pocket along with your phone. All of this could’ve been avoided if you’d simply left it in your bag, but no. That would’ve required a brain cell, when you apparently have none on offer. 

Well… Maybe you’re being a little too self-deprecating? A little too dramatic?

But the situation calls for it when you’re hauling ass into the next backyard over, only to see a hill slick with mud rising like a grassy wave, the house built into it looming above. If you had the lung capacity to scream your frustration, you might’ve done it at that point. 

At least, up until you spy the wooden stairs built into the side—then you would’ve been embarrassed. 

Soft with rot, you bound up them two at a time and wind up back on the concrete slab of someone’s driveway, ready to keel over from the effort. Ready to give up, and walk the rest of the way. 

But the house across the street is very, very familiar. The cars in the driveway too, when you look closer.

A sweaty, gelatinous sense of triumph goes to war with the dread hiding out in your gut as your legs carry you forward on autopilot and you see Viktor in the driveway, leaned up against his driver’s side door. 

When the sound of your shoes scraping the asphalt grows loud enough that he looks over, surprise written plainly on his face, you take that as a well-needed win for your pride. You slow down to a wobbly-legged jog as you cross the street, satisfied with yourself that you’ve beat his expectations; perhaps even proved that you are, in fact, sorry. He probably hadn’t thought to see you for another fifteen minutes after you told him the street you’d started on when he asked where you were.

One hand in your pocket fishes out the key, and with the other you wave sheepishly to him on approach.

You expect nothing, but he waves back and you almost feel relieved.

Almost, because that feeling doesn’t have time to settle in.

Your foot hooks the lip of the driveway, that muddy fucking shoe, and all you can feel is split-second weightlessness, empty shock as the world falls out from under you. You barely register Viktor’s face collapse as the vestibular panic of falling so swiftly, head over heels, with no hope of righting your balance, kicks in and forces your hands out. Saved from face-planting, but in exchange you feel the sharp, bloody bite of concrete scraping into both knees. The heel of the palm that braces the impact—soft, tender flesh—skids against the ground with the force of your weight. The other is spared from the teeth of your key puncturing into your closed fist, but not those poor knuckles. They graze the grimey cement, some given more grace than others, all welling red regardless. 

As much as you try to hold it back between gritted teeth, a pitiful, gasping noise rips from your throat. 

You hate that vulnerable sound, born of shock and shredded skin, just as much as you hate hearing the strike of Viktor’s cane down the driveway as he hastens to you. You, so pathetic and crumpled on your hands and knees, trying to parse your body’s pain signals, numbed faintly by adrenaline but fading fast into full blown hurt. You aren’t yet sure how to move, how to peel your raw wounds away, scared to assess the damage.

As it turns out, you aren’t being all that dramatic. It’s a bad fucking day—an understatement, truly—growing worse by the minute. And as much as misery loves company, you do not want that company to be Viktor. Not when you’re so fed up with never getting it right around him, with having your confidence rattled and raised and being powerless to it. 

On instinct, your eyes well and burn hot with the prickling threat of tears, your throat seizing up—but no, absolutely not, he won’t see you cry today. You have that power, if nothing else. Your pride need not be wounded too.

Head hung, you stare intently at the dirty ground beneath your hands, gathering resolve to move, willing yourself not to make more of a scene than you already have. But your eyes slowly focus on a pair of ratty, once-white sneakers where they step into your field of view. Then a hand extending down. He probably can’t crouch comfortably, but he tries.

“Let me help you,” he urges, and like hell you will.

All you’d do by taking his hand would be to drag him down with you, and that won’t accomplish anything. He’s in such a hurry to go anyways, better not to waste his precious time on you.

And so, careful not to bleed on him, you slap your key into the clammy palm of Viktor’s hand. Summon the very last of your strength and composure to rock back on your heels and stagger to your feet, dodging him artlessly as he tries to scoop a helping hand under your bicep. Hiss with more spite than you realized yourself capable of, “Move it yourself and go.”

You haul your burnt-out, battered body inside, and do not hear him follow.

Good.

—

Granite presses smooth and cool into the backs of your thighs; water from the tap runs in dirty, lukewarm rivers from your knees down over your calves. Stings like hell, slow to soothe, but you have to rinse the debris and those nasty granules of stone out of your raw wounds, oozing anew each time you move and the skin shifts over your joints.

It won’t cleanse the embarrassment, though. And more than anything, you are so, so embarrassed. 

Jayce wouldn’t have judged you for this. So why did it have to be him instead?

You want a good, long, cathartic cry about it all, the weight of the world dragging you down, but there’s something too vulnerable about sitting out in the open and losing it in at someone else’s house. In a kitchen sink, no less. 

Stiff upper lip, but a few hot little tears slip out regardless. You allow yourself as much—that natural response to bodily pain. Even as a child, no stranger to falling off, bikes, scooters, skateboards on those infinite summer afternoons, you cried for the trauma of your skin and bones every single time you hit the ground. Adult you is no different—only human, and nobody likes to bleed.

Across the house, the garage door shuts forcefully—a warning, a declaration of presence. There is a long pause that comes before his discordant footsteps start across the hardwoods. Leaves you enough time to furiously swipe at your faintly streaky cheeks with the sleeve of your jacket before Viktor rounds the corner.

You see him approach stiffly out of the corner of your eye. That grace period has lasted just long enough for you to decide that you won’t look at him and stick with it, unlike last time. But you don’t have the cruel heart to ignore him entirely. That isn’t you.

“You’re still here,” you observe dully, inspecting your fingers as if anything has changed. Still bleeding. Still dirty.

He stops on the other side of the island, and you can feel his prying eyes on you. Clears his throat and says, “Yes. I, ah, wondered if you’d be alright. It looked—looks painful…”

Are you wrong to be so bitter? So contemptuous? He sounds… concerned. Genuinely so. 

“I’ll live. Just a scratch or two,” you dismiss, hunched over the stainless steel basin, but he doesn't budge. “Seriously, don’t you have somewhere to be? Or did I run all that way for nothing?”

“I only asked that you come back. It was your decision to do it quickly,” he simply points out. Infuriating, given the way he spoke to you earlier; moreso when he adds, “I was not in that much of a hurry.”

Your head snaps up, body pivoting with you to blanch at him: “Why didn’t you lead with that?!”

At least he has the decency to look somewhat apologetic, eying the hand cradled in your lap with pursed lips that betray a lingering hint of annoyance. It’s in his voice too. “I tried to tell you. You hung up on me.”

Your voice notches up an octave in distress. “Yes, because you wouldn’t even let me apologize! I figured you’d like it more if I showed you I was sorry—I didn’t know what else to do!”  You don’t want a fight, hate feeling trapped—hate most that you sound desperate to be understood more than angry. 

Exasperated, he asks, “Did you listen? To anything I said?”

“Yes,” you scoff, like a liar. Have to hold your head high and defiant, but perhaps that makes you easier to see right through.

And he does see right through you. He silently stares, disappointment palpable, and waits for you to correct yourself. 

Which is all it takes for you to fold. 

“Okay, no, but you were basically, I don’t know, yelling at me,” you say, trying desperately to cover your own ass. All you have is that childish accusation to throw at him, and it isn’t going to hold water when you’re full of shit. You know it. He knows it. 

And as if to prove the point: “I’m sure I did not raise my voice with you,” he gently insists. “Let me reiterate, now that you are listening: I don’t need an apology from you, because I spoke to Jayce. He…” Viktor’s face twitches, a flash of agitation there and gone, “Forgot that I had somewhere to be, and misdirected you as a result. This was never your fault.”

Perhaps it hurts more, the throbbing in your hands and knees, knowing that you can’t blame anyone but yourself for not hearing him out; for letting your rancid mood get the better of you.  “Still, your tone was very misleading,” you sniff, sore but steadily coming around. 

He considers for a moment and you can’t help but stare. You notice it then, an interesting feature of his: To watch the way his eyes shift, never quite settling, is to watch him think. And he thinks hard, considering the right response. 

Finally, he quietly says: “Perhaps I was, eh, somewhat abrasive…” It’s a level of self-awareness you weren’t sure he possessed up until this moment; a softness you want to be more familiar with. “I admit to being frustrated, but that wasn’t directed toward you. I… I apologize, if it sounded that way,” he says. It’s earnest—not what you expected, and yet exactly what you want. But perhaps it’s all spoken out of pity, if you look as miserable as you feel. 

“It did,” you agree, pushing for more. “You should’ve saved it for Jayce.”

“Ah, no, that was more of a residual from Jayce,” he sighs, shifting his weight uncomfortably, almost like he regrets admitting that in front of you. Viktor clears his throat and continues, “So, as I said, I’m sorry.” 

You deflate from the sudden absence of tension, your stiff shoulders dropping; the only anxiety left is that of being alone with a very cute, if slightly awkward, man. Not that you want to think about the pain, but it might be better if you do to distract from that warm, jittery feeling rising in your chest. 

“It’s… fine. Thank you for saying so,” you say. That’s the truth entirely from your dry mouth, growing worse by the minute. “I’ll park in the street next time and save us all the trouble.” 

“Then Jayce also forgot to mention that the HOA will have your car towed if you do.”

“Oh,” you frown, at a bit of a loss, “That’s… stupid.” And it is, yes, realizing that no matter what you’’d done, you would have been fucked either way. 

“Very,” he agrees easily, and that’s that. 

Not sure what comes next, you circle back to what landed you here in the first place. “You should, um, probably go, right?” you ask, an awkward little nudge in the right direction. That is: Away from you. Not that you want him to leave—you’ve come a long way from rejecting him in the driveway—but you wouldn’t know how to feel if he stayed either. At least you’re slowly feeling better than when you first came inside and crawled onto the countertop. A lot less like ugly crying, that’s for sure.  

“I should,” he nods. Except instead of going back from whence he came, Viktor starts walking around the island, away toward his dark little corner of the house as he tells you to, “Stay put,” before you can question him. 

You have every intention to, for as long as it takes to recover yourself, but you’re struck by just how alone together you are in this big, quiet house. It makes you want to scuttle away to the safety of your car; to be long gone by the time he comes back. But you won’t fall prey to that instinct. Not today. 

Because, damnit, you’re going to be confident! You’re just going to be yourself.

And also because you can’t leave anyways. 

He definitely still has your keys.

—

Just as you finish chugging water from the tap and sending a reassuring text to Jayce—yes, everything is fine and just focus on having fun tonight—Viktor reemerges with two boxes of bandaids, topical ointment and that dreaded brown bottle of peroxide tucked into the crook of his arm. You fully expect him to dump them in a hasty pile on the counter and leave, and in part, he does.

He deposits the supplies with a satisfied hum and sets to dragging a stool around to the kitchen sink, right beside you.

“…What are you doing?” you ask, though you know the answer.

“Helping,” he says simply, pulling out a drawer and hooking his cane on it. “Talking, if you might like.” Those warm, amber eyes tick over your face—too searching, and you have to pretend the raw skin on your palm is far more interesting. “Unless… You’re uncomfortable?” he asks in that soft lilt, and you can hear ‘with me’ implied at the end.

“No!” you say quickly, the strings of your heart given a gentle tug. “No, please don’t think that. I’m not.” You manage a small, reassuring smile, mostly in the crinkle of your eyes, and he takes his turn to avert his own.

Viktor reaches for the paper towels, busying himself; tears one off and begins folding it into a small square, then another. “That’s… good,” he says slowly, palpably awkward.

You look down at him, really look at him, then, and find none of that piercing antipathy you keep expecting. No, there’s concern in the curve of his focused little frown as he wets the square with peroxide. His face, gaunt and angular and always some degree of tried, perhaps it just coes off as angry unless you actually know how to read him? 

Which is all to kindly assume that he must have a chronic case of resting bitch face.

And when you look even harder, you finally think to find his crappy sneakers and sweatpants get-up strange when he looked so put together before. You figure: Can’t get to know someone if you don’t pry just a little, right?

So you shove hesitation aside and ask, “Where are you supposed to be going again?”

“Nowhere, now,” he says, sounding oddly pleased about it. “You gave me a good enough excuse to reschedule, though not enough to cancel entirely. It was physical therapy. I did not want to go, so thank you, I suppose.”

“Oh… So you used my suffering for your gain?” you ask, your accusation all in good humor. You finally shut off the water, your toes in the sink starting to prune.

“I did.”

“How is someone else’s skinned knee enough to reschedule an appointment like that so short notice?”

“Mm, and without a fee too,” he adds smugly, clearly some experience with this. “I may have… embellished the extent of your injuries.”

“Embellished, as in we’re supposed to be driving to the hospital right now?”

“Well, in a sense, your hand is broken,” he shrugs.

You scoff and hold out your worst hand for inspection; wiggle the fingers as if you need to prove they’re intact and functional, if a bit roughed up.

He eyes it curiously but doesn’t venture to touch. “Ehh… Not that broken, though. Nothing peroxide and a few bandaids won’t fix, I think.”

“I’d prefer to skip to the bandaid part, please,” you cringe. “That stuff stings. So bad.”

“You may not. It’s necessary.” He holds out one of the peroxide soaked paper towels to you as you pout unconvincingly. “Now would you like to, or…?”

“I think I can handle it,” you nod and take it gingerly from him, your fingers spared from brushing. “Besides, I have a strategy.”

“Oh?”

“Here, give me another one.” As requested, he presses another wet paper towel into your grabby little hand, groping blindly as you curl over in the sink. “If I do it like this, it’ll be three big stings, and four smaller ones—watch.”

He does as you press one into each straightened knee, your scraped palm firmly over top of one. Three birds, two stones?

Those metaphorical stones really fucking hurt. You hiss through your teeth, looking for catharsis as the peroxide bubbles fizzy and painful in your wounds.

“Very brave,” he coos, “very strong.”

And given the note of sarcasm in his voice, you tell him to, “Shut the fuck up.”

He has a sense of humor, that much is clear, since he laughs quietly beside you. Distracts you from the pain, bless him, with a realization that has the world shifting on its axis ever slightly. 

For all that you have built him up in your mind to be something he isn’t—harsh and unkind and dismissive—he is shockingly easy to talk to. You can’t find it in yourself to be surprised anymore that he and Jayce are such good friends, strange and reclusive as he is.

“That’s probably enough,” he advises after a moment.

You peel the patches off; discard the double-sided dirty one on the counter beside you, and use the one with a clean side to dab at your knuckles, finding they sting slightly less. Enough so that you have it in you to ask, conversationally, “So when do you have to go instead? To the new appointment?”

“Tomorrow evening… Unless another accident crops up,” he says, and you don’t miss the suggestion of conspiracy in his tone. 

You snort a little laugh, but don’t fall for the misdirection—don’t offer to stage another one or pretend to be scandalized about aiding and abetting this truancy. Instead, you ask point blank, digging your fingers into a soft, personal spot, “What’s so bad about it?”

“I never said…” He quiets beneath the knowing, skeptical look you level him with. 

“Yeah, but you implied it. Several times.” You tilt your head, a little lighthearted conspiracy of your own as you ask: “You skip regularly, dont’cha?” 

Viktor narrows his eyes at you, confirmation in its own right, but won’t define what regularly entails. “Fine… Fine,” he mutters. Says slowly, as if to taste the sour words on his tongue, “I do not like going…” He stalls out, searching for the answer and comes up short—can’t find it fast enough. 

“Because…?” you prompt. Unhelpfully. 

He sharpens as you push over much; it isn’t just his face this time. 

Viktor looks up at you from beneath heavy, furrowed brows, but doesn’t shut down or retreat. If anything, it makes him choose his words less carefully—makes him more emotional. “Because I find it uncomfortable, and it’s nothing like what you and Jayce and Violet choose to do. It is not… not fun,” he says bitterly, gesturing in the vague direction of the garage before he picks up the antibiotic cream and hands it to you next.

You nod; let his words settle as you unscrew the lid and set to smearing your cuts in smooth, white—now with pain reliever, thank god—ointment. 

“Part of why it’s fun is because I get to hang out with my friends the whole time. It was lonely, though, before I started coming here, and that made finding motivation harder sometimes,” you say, shrugging off the vulnerable note in that statement. “I understand that working out and physical therapy aren’t exactly the same, but either way, going it alone is tough. Maybe it’ll never be fun, but it can get a little easier with the right support.”

“You do understand that it’s not a group activity, yes?”

“You’re missing the point,” you say with a sigh, grabbing for the extra large bandaids just out of your reach.

Viktor nudges them closer.

“A good support system doesn’t mean that anyone has to go with you or be doing the same thing. It can just be someone who checks in, to keep you accountable and encouraged, if that’s helpful,” you say, fiddling with the box you’ve picked up. Going out on a limb, you guess, “Doesn’t Jayce do that?” because he’s exactly the kind of guy that would.

But Viktor shakes his head pensively. “We… do not talk about it much.”

Weird. 

But ultimately none of your business. That’s a boundary you won’t push. Not with Viktor. 

You’re far caught up on the fact that he doesn’t seem to have anyone in his corner. It isn’t a complicated feeling—the thought leaves you sad on his behalf. Leaves you feeling like you have to do something, like how Caitlyn had once advocated for you; like how Jayce had brought you in and changed your trajectory for the better. 

You can do that for Viktor. 

You should do that for Viktor—it would be the right thing. 

Deep breath. Approach it naturally. And put the bandaid on, for fuck’s sake! You’ve had it in your hand, toying with the edges of the wrapping, for far too long. 

“I won’t pretend to understand your whole thing,” you say, gesturing loosely to him, and mean many things by it, “but if you want some positive peer pressure or someone to keep you accountable, I’m willing to be that person. If you want.”

He looks at you for a long moment, perplexed. Like he’s waiting for you to say, ‘Just kidding!’ or to reveal your ulterior motives. There are none, other than to show him that it matters that he takes care of himself. More and more, it’s increasingly clear that he struggles to do so. What could be more important than that, you didn’t know. Not yet. 

“No,” he says slowly. Hesitant, as he begins rummaging around in the other box of bandaids for the right size. “I, ah—Thank you, but that’s not necessary.”

You’re careful to ask, “Are you sure?” just in case he wants to change his mind. “Speaking from experience: Worrying about disappointing other people can be very motivational,” you tease, trying to make him comfortable at your own expense.   

“Positive. Although, I appreciate your intentions.” 

“Well, if you change your mind, I guess you have my number now.” You try to be flippant, casual, cool about the way you acknowledge that, though secretly it makes you feel a little giddy. 

“About that…” he starts, drawing himself up into better posture, and at once, you realize how much he’d shrunken into himself before. He hands you another bandaid, mostly unwrapped but for the sanitary bits of paper protecting the pad. “I would appreciate if we could speak more directly. To, ah, avoid future conflicts with you coming and going,” he quickly tacks on, offering up one last bandaid for the palm of your hand. “Jayce doesn’t always relay things to me. Or to you, it seems.”

“I thought that might be a better idea, but I just wasn’t sure, um, how to…” You gesture between the two of you, as if that might fill in the blank.

He doesn’t understand. “How to…?”

You sigh and sum it up as concisely as you know how. “You haven’t been very approachable. Not like Jayce.”

That strikes something in him, that truth too harsh. You didn’t mean it to be.

He strains to say, “I understand,” and his voice sounds distant. Before you can assure him that your opinion has changed, he clears  his throat and, with an air of finality, says: “Is there anything else you need? I have other things to get back to.”

You try to smile, but it’s a wispy thing that falters—doesn’t want to stay put. Part of you wants him to stay. All of you knows there’s no reason for him to. So you say, “No, I think I’m sufficiently patched up,” as he stands and fishes your car keys out of his pocket, leaving them on the counter. 

You swing your legs over the side of the island. Hop down with the full force of your weight and feel the impact sharply, pins and needles, in the soles of your feet. You wobble, expecting to catch your balance this time and quickly, but, full of surprises, Viktor takes no chances.

He catches you up by the elbow, blunt tips of his fingers digging into your jacket. You instinctively reach back. Steading yourself, you take hold of his forearm—wiry, corded with lithe muscle you never noticed until you feel it for the first time. Not all skin and bone, apparently. 

You have to laugh it off like you don’t feel stupid and embarrassed all over again, releasing him slowly. “Thanks, I’ve got it from here.”

“Mmhm.” His tone is flat, not remotely as flustered as you. “I would hope so.”

You’re still vaguely sweaty, growing worse by the second. With him so close, you’re hyper aware of it. Oh no… What if he’s been tolerating that strange, adrenaline sweat stench of yours this whole time? Fuck. You totter back, feet still wet from the sink, to give him space.

He gives you plenty, pivoting to leave.

But you can’t leave it like that. 

“Seriously, thank you,” you stress, cradling your bandaged hands. “I mean it.”

Viktor nods tritely; pauses a second and looks like he might say more by the thoughtful flit of his eyes. But he simply tells you, “Have a nice evening,” and disappears down the hall to his bedroom, leaving you to clean up the little mess you’ve created together, a bigger one made of your feelings still to parse.

—

This is not a good idea.

Good evening.

No.

Sorry to contact you so late.

Still wrong.

Hello.

That’s it. Simple. Concise. Just a greeting.

Why is this so difficult?

The cursor blinks back at him on the screen of his phone, dimming out as he stares and considers what comes next. Not quick enough, it cuts to black, locks him out and shows him a very haggard reflection. 

He lets it slip from his hand. It clatters onto the leaf litter of papers and notes and books left open covering his desk, and he cradles his head in his hands. The press of his fingertips into his temples is familiar in these frustrated moments. The ache of his back too, protesting his poor posture—it hurts worse today than it has in months, but he weathers it, just barely.

Something moves out of the corner of his eye. Just Rio, ambling out of her rocky little shelter, toasty in her painstakingly tended terrarium that spans the low bookshelf beside his desk. She’s always nearby to keep him company; responsive as ever.

“Ah, promiň, můj malý příteli,” he coos, scooting over for a visit. “That was loud, my mistake.”

Her little tongue flicks out. He likes to think she accepts his apology.

“Perhaps you can help me, hm? You can be very charming when you choose. What do I say to her?”

Rio blinks slowly, sagely; forgets to put her tongue back in her mouth, it seems.

“No. No, I never did apologize for that. I’d rather not revisit that incident—you remember.” He sighs and tries not to replay it, but there it came.

The awkwardness of putting his advisory meeting on hold, enraged at Jayce’s inconsiderate behavior, only to storm into the garage and encounter you instead. He’s doing worse and worse with surprises, and first encounters have historically been a toss up. That one had been primed to fail from the beginning. 

Nothing had gone right that day, starting with his car breaking down on campus again, climaxing with another funding rejection, and ending with you. He hates to think of it: his stilted words, the hurt and horrified look on your face, the smattering of guilt it all brought him that night, even after he concluded that blowing it was for the best anyways, all things considered.

And there are many, many other things of far more importance he should be considering right now. There’s the notebook of calculations demanding corrections. The one hundred and fourteen page document leering at him from his laptop. Multiple emails from department members and a voicemail from Jayce, probably drunk and nonsensical and apologetic after that near shouting match in the driveway earlier today. None of which are you.

And yet.

“I should not be doing this,” he mutters to Rio on her slow, steady clamber to the shallow water dish—due for a refill soon. “Agree with me, please.”

But she simply blinks twice, and he swears beneath his breath.

Viktor reaches for his phone again. Taps 7-4-6-6 in quick succession and unlocks it to his single word disaster in progress.

Think. What would Jayce say in this situation? Jayce, with all his success in relationships, romantic or otherwise—he can charm anyone regardless of whether or not he’s actually trying to. Jayce is approachable, that was the word you’d used to cast him further into his friend’s shadow. You clearly like Jayce better, as things stand. Not that he can blame you; not that he’s surprised.

But… How much better?

Viktor clenches his teeth and tries to channel Jayce.

Hello. I’m sorry. I hope that you are feeling better!

No, no, no.

Too vague, yet also too personal. And worse, Jayce is far too liberal with his exclamation points to be emulated. Despite that you’ve saved him from—or rather, delayed—a miserable hour of his life, he didn’t actually like that you’d fallen. No need to sound excited when referencing the incident.

Once more now.

Hello. Please remember to change the bandages in the morning.

Much better. Uncomplicated with a touch of friendly concern. Nothing you can misconstrue.

But his thumb hesitates over the send message button all the same.

‘What is the point?’ he wants to ask Rio, now sitting in her water dish, but she won’t know any more than he does. What is the point, truly? What does he hope to accomplish, reaching out like this?

Indulging a silly, pointless whim. Hurting himself in the process. That’s what.

He should’ve let things lie; should’ve let you believe him angry and left you alone to tend to yourself earlier. Should not have gotten so familiar speaking to you, that was the biggest mistake, because now he has to live with the knowledge that you're so very easy to talk to—with the urge to talk to you again.

Which makes no sense, really. You aren’t like him—nothing deeper to connect to—so why Jayce insists that you’d make a good match, he can’t understand. Not when your interests clearly couldn’t be more divergent—yours physical, his intellectual. Yes, you are far kinder to him than he likely deserves, but kindness can only get you so far; it can’t make you compatible beyond… baser thoughts he may or may not have entertained.

Fine, just once—entirely on accident.

But so what if you’re… you’re attractive? That admission matters little, knowing nothing will come of it. Nothing, when casual hookups have long since lost their novelty. Nothing, when he can’t afford to give of himself to something serious. Nothing, when you probably see someone like Jayce as your ideal partner anyways.

…If not Jayce himself.

He lets out a sharp breath, shaking his head—shaking it off—as he scoots back to his desk.

This is not a good idea. There is no point.

And so, indeed, nothing will come of it.

Because Viktor clears the message, and gets back to work.

[hawkinsschoolcounselor]

he beams of sunlight shining through definitely give off hopeful/happy vibes but on the other hand, from only a two second video it's clear that you could literally cut through the tension with a knife. So I don't know what to think. I'm trying to stay calm and natural about it all since it's been a very tumultuous few days. Thoughts/predictions on what's happening?

Side note- this doesn't seem to be set in Hopper's cabin, but it does seem to be a Vol2 scene (rather than a deleted/reworked Vol1 scene). As far as I'm aware, his cabin had tall green and wood-plank walls, brown wood-plank floors, and rather drab furniture. It never had grey floors, orange cushions, nor a cream-painted or stucco half-wall with a stripe of orange on top. However, I don't believe the Lenora house had any of those elements on the interior (as far as we've seen), so I think it's safe to say that it's a Vol2 scene. Probably set in a desert/southwestern motel. Thoughts?

We can't really get a good enough look at their surroundings to know where they are. The messy state of the room does support it being Hopper's cabin, though. Keep in mind that it was thoroughly wrecked by the monster last season, and it's probably been unoccupied for nearly a year. That couch they're sitting on isn't anything I recognize. It looks like a two-seater, but it doesn't even appear to have any arms.

As for how they handle this scene, I think it could go any number of ways, really. It very much depends on when and where it takes place, too. If it doesn't go well, then I fully expect it to lead into Will's trance, if the scene isn't already partially the trance itself. If Mike were to brutally reject Will, then I expect them to suddenly cut to another Mike frantically shaking another Will while calling his name. In any other bad outcome, it would probably leave Will vulnerable to a trance later on.

[junghelioseok]

untitled. | jjk

↳ aka, i’m in my feelings about a 23yo again but what else is new.

◇ jungkook x reader ◇ smut | fluff | established relationship ◇ 1.0k [1/1]

notes: i wrote this on my phone as soon as i woke up this morning and it was littered with typos and unformatted as all shit so i’m gonna need u to reblog this one please thanks!!!

warnings: domestic soft lazy sex, cockwarming, jungoo is a big softie and so am i 🥺

“Good morning, baby.”

It starts slow, just as it always does. A whispered greeting and the lazy slide of a hand along the curve of your waist, trailing from your hip all the way to the swell of your cheek where he settles to pull your mouth against his.

“You’re so pretty,” he breathes against your lips, and you know he believes it with the entirety of his big, mushy heart. You couldn’t feel (and look, for that matter) more like a bedraggled rat in the morning, with your eyes crusty and your cheek stippled by a wrinkle in the pillowcase. But Jungkook strokes your cheeks with his thumbs and plants kisses on both of your eyelids, and you sigh, curling into his familiar, comforting warmth.

Ever so slowly, his kisses move southward. Jungkook trails them down and across your lips, before descending to the column of your throat and the soft spot on your clavicle. Against your thigh, his cock stiffens, and you sigh out his name when he maneuvers you atop him and settles your legs on either side of his strong thighs.

“Wanna be inside you,” he breathes, and that’s all it takes. A little lube from the bottle in the nightstand and he’s breaching your walls, the stretch just as familiar and warm as everything else about him.

“Love you,” you murmur as he rolls his hips gently, his eyes crinkling into a boyish, toothy grin as he buries himself deeper.

“Love you more,” he murmurs back, and you keen out his name when his fingers curl around your hips to keep you against him as he ruts up into your slickening cunt. It’s slow and lazy and intimate, and it’s made even more so when he spills into you and remains there, your name escaping his lips in a raspy groan as he falls limp on your shared mattress.

“I should get up and pee,” you tell him softly, when he makes no move to let you out of his ironclad grip. “Jungkook, I really—“

“You know, I started looking at rings last year.”

Jungkook says this softly, casually, as if remarking on the weather. The sky is blue, there’s a 10% chance of snow in the afternoon, and oh, I’ve been thinking about marrying you for three hundred and sixty-five days now. You want eggs for breakfast?

“Jewelry stores, online boutiques—it took months. Ring shopping is no joke. There are so many options, and cuts, and styles...” He sighs. “I didn’t know where to start.”

You’re staring at him now. There’s a crick in your neck from the way it’s uncomfortably craned, but you don’t look away. “Jungkook—“ you breathe, and you don’t know what else to say after that. Your boyfriend—soon to be fiancé?—is gazing thoughtfully up at the white stucco ceiling, the beginnings of stubble dusting his jaw like a shadow.

“But six months ago, I finally found it. The perfect ring. I’ve been keeping it in my sock drawer—“ he chuckles, “—since you never go in there and I do all the laundry, anyways.”

“Jungkook.” Your voice is stronger this time, but still hazy with disbelief and breathy with awe. Your heart feels like it’s about to pound straight through the prison of your ribcage and out into the open air, free as an uncaged bird.

He doesn’t hear you—or even if he does, he doesn’t stop. “I started carrying it around with me three months ago,” he murmurs dreamily, still addressing the ceiling with a flush beginning to creep up his cheeks. “I almost did it last month, y’know, when we were at the diner. You were wearing that yellow sweater, and you had whipped cream on your nose. And I just had this thought, like, wow, that’s my wife. I’m gonna marry her.”

“Jeon Jungkook, you are not proposing to me when your flaccid dick is inside my pussy,” you finally say when he starts reaching for the drawer of his nightstand, and Jungkook blinks, coming out of his daze at last.

“I’m not?”

You don’t know whether to laugh or groan, so you do both, the two combining into a weird little huff of air that sends a wispy tendril of his hair across his forehead. “No, you’re not,” you murmur, brushing it away and tucking it behind his ear. “It’s a little stupid, but I always imagined that we’d be outside somewhere. I mean, I’d say yes to you anytime and anywhere, and you could be wearing a garbage bag for all I care, but...” You shrug, the motion made awkward by the fact that you’re still on top of him with your legs on either side of his naked thighs, and the fact that his dick is still very much inside you. “I figured you’d be on one knee, at least. You were on both last night, so I know you don’t have any health—“

Jungkook presses two fingers to your lips to shut you up, a crinkly eyed grin creasing his face. “You want me on my knees, baby? Because I can do that. I’ll do all that and more.”

(And he does. First in the shower, after he finally releases you from his embrace, and then again when you make your way to the kitchen, breakfast all but forgotten as you grip the counter so tightly your knuckles turn white.)

(There’s a third time, too—hours later and right as you step out of the house and into the fresh snow that’s fallen sometime during the night. He’s grinning a grin so wide that you fear his cheeks might fall off, so you drop down beside him and cup them between your palms, kissing him in between all the yeses and I love yous.)

(He’s right. The ring really is perfect.)

[refinedbuffoonery]

Looking Through A Window (13)

macriley married undercover au

masterlist.

R+S+U ch 4 walked so this chapter could run. That’s all you need to know.  

*****

It’s the music Mac notices first. Jazz pours through the open windows of Cody Rickshaw’s mansion, each lilting note dancing down the slope of the golden light and skittering across the driveway’s terracotta pavers. It’s a lively tune played in some major key, but Mac doesn’t know enough about music to identify it further. 

The mansion is incredible from what he’s already seen of it via an old real estate listing. Beige stucco exterior, terracotta roof tiles, shrubs and palms and flowers strategically placed throughout the immaculately green lawn. Including the pool house and stable out back, the whole compound is a little over twenty thousand square feet. He’s almost afraid to ask how much it cost. 

He should’ve brought a nicer suit. 

Handing the keys to the valet, Mac extends his arm to Riley, and she accepts with a smirk. It’s intoxicating having her this close. Their shoulders brush, and her perfume—a different one than what she wore on their fake date—tickles his nose, but at the same time, Riley’s firm grip on his arm is grounding and reassuring. 

Mac sneaks another look at her back. Exposed by her black backless dress, the dark lines of the tattoo are harsh against her skin, and Mac would be lying if he said the sight of it isn’t still off-putting. It’s stunning, but it’s so not Riley that it’s more weird than anything else. 

She catches him staring, and he quickly looks away.

A woman in her forties with dyed red hair greets them at the door with a bright, white smile. “Welcome to our home!” she says. She must be the candidate’s wife, then. Mac gives the woman a polite nod before leading Riley into the mansion. 

The interior is even more extravagant than he expects—wood paneling, cream upholstery, chandeliers hanging from high ceilings, exquisite paintings that, altogether, probably cost as much as the house. A less experienced agent would be afraid to touch anything. 

Luckily for him, Mac has no qualms about breaking stuff. 

Beside him, Riley scans their surroundings, systematically mapping the veritable maze they just entered. Mac does the same, craning his neck to see through the mass of people gathered in the atrium. It takes a minute to find someone he recognizes. Like them, Conrad and his wife seem to be trapped in the front of the house, but none of the other Patriots are anywhere to be seen. 

Conrad’s wife detaches herself from his side and elbows her way through the crowd to greet them. “You must be James and Genevieve,” she says in a thick Southern accent. By looks alone, she’s way out of Conrad’s league. 

Mac smiles. “We are.” 

But Mrs. Deacon’s attention is solely focused on Riley. “The boys weren’t kidding when they said you’re a pretty little thing.” She grabs Riley’s free arm. “Come, Genevieve. I’ll introduce you to all the other wives. Let’s leave the boring business stuff to the boys, shall we?” 

Riley forces a smile, laying the fake excitement on a little too thick, but Mrs. Deacon doesn’t seem to notice. “I’ll catch up with you later,” Riley calls over her shoulder as she disappears into the crowd. 

For a moment, Mac just stands there awkwardly, left alone in the middle of the party with nothing but the squeak of his patent leather shoes to keep him company. Tonight is the first time they’ve interacted with the Patriots unarmed, and honestly, Mac is more comfortable this way. 

Matty insisted he bring a gun. She doesn’t need to know he didn’t listen. 

The snack table is calling his name, so that’s where Mac heads first, surveying the veritable feast of bite-sized dishes. He should be doing the same thing as Riley—meeting as many people as possible so by the end of the night they’ll have a complete personnel list for the Patriots. That damn list wasn’t part of the initial FBI intel, and not knowing who people are is starting to piss Mac off. Really, it’s the lack of knowledge in general. 

Damn, he really has lost his taste for long ops.

The appetizers are good, but the champagne is only mediocre—although Mac supposes it’s not fair to compare it to the astronomically expensive stuff he’s had in France. Nothing compares to that. Still, the bubbles on his tongue, sliding down his throat, are crisp and pleasant. 

“Good evening, James,” Ethan says, approaching from Mac’s right. He begins his own survey of the food. “I see Charlotte Deacon already stole your wife. Word of advice: don’t expect her back any time soon.” 

Charlotte Deacon. Conrad’s wife. Habitual wife-stealer at parties. Noted. 

“Didn’t think so,” he replies. 

Ethan studies him, his gaze a little too keen for Mac’s liking. “You seem far more comfortable here than any of my men. You attend these things often?” 

“Gen and I have an active social life.” An easy half-truth. 

“Good for you. I’ll admit mine took a turn for the worse after my ex-wife and I separated. She was always the planner.” 

“Sorry to hear that.” Mac sips his champagne. “If you don’t mind my asking, what went wrong between you two?” It’s a big risk asking such a personal question, but Ethan volunteered the information first so… 

“She didn’t believe in the cause. She gave me an ultimatum: my work or her.” It’s Ethan’s turn to drink, long and slow. 

The cause. That’s what Conrad called it too, on that first visit to the warehouse. Three weeks later, Mac still doesn’t have a clue what it means aside from condoning the murder of innocents. But if Ethan was willing to leave his wife for it… 

Mac doesn’t know what to think. 

Riley appears through a gap in the crowd, champagne in hand, laughing with a group of women. Mac asks Ethan, “Did Charlotte Deacon steal your ex at parties too?” 

A dark laugh. “They were inseparable. Still are.” 

A long pause stretches between them. Surprisingly, it’s not awkward, although it’s not exactly comfortable either. More guests trickle inside. Mac supposes it’s time to move on; he can’t hide by the appetizers all night. Riding the coattails of this temporary camaraderie, he asks Ethan, “Any other advice?” 

The older man looks him square in the eye. “That wife of yours? Don’t let her go.” 

“I won’t.” The words are thick on his tongue. 

“Excuse me,” Ethan says, and they part ways. Mac just glimpses the outline of a gun beneath Ethan’s suit jacket before he melts into the crowd. 

He’s still puzzling through why Ethan would be armed at a party like this when Jett, of all people, waves him over. What the hell? Jett hates him just as much as he hates Jett. But Mac soon finds himself being welcomed into a group of guys all in their thirties—some he knows, some he doesn’t, all members of the Patriots. A pleasant and entirely foreign version of Jett introduces Mac to all of them. 

Maybe it’s just Riley he hates. Asshole. 

They talk about baseball. Time passes quickly.

Mac barely registers Riley’s approach before a cold hand slips into his and she murmurs, “Baby.” Their code word sets off warning bells in his brain, and Mac immediately excuses himself from the conversation, doing his best to ignore the hungry looks the men give Riley. 

Worry creases Mac’s brow as he leads her a few steps away. Riley looks at him with pleading eyes, and Mac automatically brushes a loose piece of hair out of her face. The gesture comes easily now, with no second-guessing afterward. “What’s wrong?” he asks. 

Riley swallows. “I got cornered coming out of the bathroom by some random guy who doesn’t know how to take ‘no’ for an answer.” 

Fear crawling up his throat, Mac squeezes her hand. “You okay?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little rattled.” Riley’s gaze shifts to something behind Mac, and he follows her line of sight to a man sulking in a corner, nursing a drink. “He wouldn’t leave me alone until I told him you’d put a bullet through his favorite body part in the middle of the party.” Nevermind that neither of them are armed. 

The man makes eye contact with Mac and straightens. He pointedly shifts his gaze to Riley, and by the time he raises his glass in mock salute, Mac is seeing red at this man’s lack of respect. “I’ll be right back.” He drops Riley’s hand. Mac sidesteps her, but she anticipates the move and sidesteps with him. 

“Don’t. It’s not worth it.” 

What the hell? It’s the least this douchebag deserves. “I’m going to fix this for you,” he assures. He’s going to punch that man in the face, that’s what he’s going to do.

“I don’t want that.” 

Mac freezes, the fire inside him dying a little. “Why not?” 

“I didn’t ask you to.” Not meeting his eyes, Riley crosses her arms. “You don’t have to fix everything.” If she doesn’t want him to fix it, then why would she—

He doesn’t get to finish the thought.

“We can talk about this later. Incoming.” She grabs his elbow and spins him just in time to see the man of the hour approaching. Mac glances over his shoulder, checking if someone important is standing behind him, but there’s nothing but empty space. They’re alone. Cody Rickshaw wants to talk to them. 

Cody Rickshaw. Tall, well-groomed salt and pepper hair, expensive white smile. Nice suit. Nicer watch. A man of the people, but with deep pockets—or so his image on the campaign trail portrayed. 

“Welcome to my home!” he says, shaking Mac’s hand, and Mac notes the subtle difference between Cody’s wording and his wife’s. “Thank you for coming. Ethan’s new business partner, right?” 

“Right.” 

The song changes, and whatever Cody was about to say is lost to the sweeping melody. “Excuse me. I believe I owe my wife a dance.” He leaves as abruptly as he arrived, and Riley mutters a few snarky choice words under her breath that Mac chooses to ignore. Other couples have already begun to gather outside, swaying in the open space by the band. It’s a nice, balmy night, and Mac too would rather be dancing than systematically meeting people. 

They have time for a quick break, he decides. 

He offers a hand, and it feels like he’s offering his heart right alongside it as he asks, “May I have this dance, Mrs. Turner?” 

She ducks her head and smiles. “You may.” 

There’s something pleasant in wrapping her cold hand in his warm one. Like together they create thermodynamic equilibrium. 

Music wraps around them in a soft embrace as they follow it outside. Warm white lights hang over the patio, and the tiered fountain subtly shifts colors. Beneath the layer of alcohol, the air smells sweet and floral. As his hand finds Riley’s waist, fingertips brushing her bare skin, nervousness weighs down Mac’s feet, making him forget everything he knows about dancing. Riley squeezes his hand.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” he replies tightly. Her eyes search his, and Mac knows without a doubt that if he holds eye contact with her for one more second, he won’t be able to hold back the confession rising in his throat. He draws her closer so that they’re cheek to cheek, chest to chest. 

Riley’s breath catches as his hand slides to the small of her back, and just for tonight, Mac lets himself pretend it means something. Call him Cinderella at the ball—content to live out the fantasy until reality comes calling. 

“You look beautiful tonight,” he murmurs as they sway to the music. Riley is beautiful all the time, but tonight especially so in her elegant black gown. Modest in the front, completely open in the back, with sleeves that stop midway down her forearms. Her jewelry is simple—a pair of thin, but long, diamond earrings—making the tattoo on her back stand out even more. All night, Mac has noticed people staring at it, a few in distaste but most in awe and appreciation. 

He’d be staring too if he wasn’t already enraptured by the way her eyes held so much warmth and light every time she looked at him. 

“Thank you,” she says. “You don’t look too bad yourself. Definitely better than Jack would’ve in that suit.” Mac laughs. 

“He’d resent that.” 

“He doesn’t need to know.” 

Mac presses his smile into her skin in the form of a cheek kiss. Hopefully Riley’s peripheral vision isn’t good enough to see the blush coloring his face afterward.

The couple beside them are excellent dancers, the man twirling the woman with practiced ease. A familiar ache flares in Mac’s chest. That’s the kind of love he wants. That kind of comfort and connectedness. At the song’s next crescendo, Mac twirls Riley away from him, and despite her surprised expression, she follows his lead without missing a step. 

Spinning back into his arms, she tells him, “By the way, one of the guys you were talking to earlier was the dude who tailed me a couple weeks ago.” Their bodies aren’t as close as they were thirty seconds ago, and Mac gets the feeling there’s more to her comment than just sharing intel. 

“Which one?”

“Crooked tie.” 

That was Peter Morrison. One of Jett’s buddies and, apparently, the dude who’d made him want to bash Ethan and Conrad’s heads in. 

Since she wasn’t appreciative of his earlier protective gesture, Mac simply replies, “Good to know.” 

He feels Riley take a deep breath. And then— “Remember our conversation that day? When I told you he tailed me?” Mac nods. “You asked me if I wanted a hug or help kicking someone’s ass.” He nods again. “That’s how I need you to react every time. I need you to give me the choice.” 

It takes a second for her meaning to click. 

“Is this about the creepy bathroom guy?” Now it’s Riley’s turn to nod. “I thought since last time…” He stops mid-sentence when she raises a meticulously drawn eyebrow. 

“Last time I was angry and needed space to let it out. But this time? This bullshit happens often enough that I know how to handle it, but it still scares the crap out of me every time.” She lowers her voice. “I’m afraid of the day I won’t be able to handle it.” 

Her admission rings through Mac’s head. I’m afraid. I’m afraid. I’m afraid. She came to him for comfort and he dropped her fucking hand. 

He is an idiot. 

Voice thick, he manages, “You’re saying you wanted the hug.” 

“Yeah. I wanted the hug.” 

Pushing aside the familiar blame and self-loathing, Mac sends up a plea for forgiveness. “Is it too late for that hug?” 

“No. It’s not too late.” With a watery smile, Riley closes the distance between them once again, and Mac holds her tightly, letting his thumb absently brush her back. 

He curses himself. How stupid could he be? He assumed incorrectly, but more than that, he completely misread the situation. She’s his best friend, for crying out loud, and most of the time he can read her like an open book. Most of the time, Riley wears her emotions plain on her face whether she likes it or not. God, if he was wrong about this, then what else has he been wrong about? 

Before his overanalyzing brain makes him doubt things he knows to be true, he whispers, “I’m sorry.” 

I love you. 

“Please don’t stress out about it,” she whispers back. “I just wanted you to know. For next time.” 

Too late.

The song changes, and before long someone taps Mac’s shoulder from behind. 

“May I cut in?” Ethan asks. 

Mac barely reins in his growl. Why the hell do they keep getting interrupted? This party is huge. Can’t Ethan talk to literally anyone else? 

But after a silent conversation with Riley—and her consent—Mac steps aside to let Ethan have his turn. As he walks away, Mac just hears the beginning of Ethan thanking Riley for her unexpected support during the council meeting earlier this week. He tunes out the rest. 

Taking up a post beside the fountain, Mac doesn’t dare blink as he catalogs Ethan’s every move—every facial expression, every arm movement, every confident step across the dance floor. Even the hand just barely resting on Riley’s hip, carefully placed to avoid touching her bare skin. Mac clenches his teeth. 

But what bothers him the most isn’t the older man’s chivalry or his above-average dancing, but the way Riley’s face lights up when she laughs, genuinely laughs, at something Ethan says. That look Mac has long thought was only for him. 

He’s not quite sure when the first time she smiled at him like that was—maybe a year, year and a half after they met?—only that he’s been the sole receiver for a long time. Admittedly, that smile was less frequent while she was dating Billy and Aubrey, and never when Billy or Aubrey were physically present, but Mac still likes to think of it as his smile. 

The fact that Riley also flashes that smile to the guys at her favorite taco shop in order to acquire a free churro is an outlier and should not be counted. 

It shouldn’t grate on his nerves, but it does. While Riley’s never been his, she’s always been his girl, in a way. Maybe that’s just Jack’s protectiveness rubbing off on him. He’s never liked having to share her time and attention with some random man.

“So he got to your wife too,” someone drawls behind him. Conrad stands a few feet away, hands stuffed in the pockets of his too-long dress pants. 

“Excuse me?”

Conrad jerks his chin toward Ethan. “He likes attention. And he has no problem flirting with any of our wives to get it.” The resentment beneath his words is palpable. 

Mac recalls what Ethan said to him earlier. That wife of yours? Don’t let her go. He’d taken it as a warning. But if what Conrad said is true… Ethan’s words weren’t just a warning, but also a threat. 

Ethan twirls Riley right as the song ends, and then he’s offering his arm to lead her back to Mac. About damn time. “Your wife is a lovely dancer,” he says to Mac. “Thank you for letting me borrow her.” Everything about his wording rubs Mac the wrong way. The implication that Riley belongs to him. The fact that Ethan is thanking him and not Riley in the first place. Smirking, Ethan turns his attention to Conrad. “I take it Charlotte is still off holding court somewhere.”

“Something like that.” Tension brims between Conrad’s clipped words and Ethan’s smug ones. Interestingly, Conrad doesn’t go any more on the defensive; instead he lowers his head slightly and lets the conversation end there. Like a dog called to heel. After a few seconds, Conrad excuses himself, slinking back into the crowd. 

“Enjoy your evening,” Ethan says with a polite smile. Then he vanishes into the crowd as well. 

Unable to stop himself, Mac runs a hand down the length of Riley’s spine, emboldened by jealousy heating his blood. She shivers. 

At some point since they first came outside, the moon had risen above the slant of the roof, and now bright, silvery moonlight mixes with the warm yellow of the backyard lighting. Riley’s diamond earrings are ablaze with it. 

“I got a few more names,” Riley says, lowering her voice so no one overhears. “But I think we have ourselves a personnel list.” 

“Good.” The word comes out sharper than Mac intends, and she studies him. Damnit. 

“You okay?” 

“I’m fine.” 

“Good, because I’m not.” The look she gives him is both a warning and a request. Hold it together. “One more dance,” she adds at a normal volume, pulling him back onto the dance floor. Then, when she’s pressed against him and the music is guiding their feet, Riley murmurs, “It’s just acting.” She says it more to herself than to him. “Just a little longer, then we can go home.”

Smiling at Ethan was just an act, he realizes. 

He also realizes, then, the difference between them: Riley keeps her feelings about the op buried deep under her icy mask, while his churn just beneath the surface. 

And it’s the churning that could ruin everything. In more ways than one. 

God, he’s a mess. 

Mac takes a deep breath. And another. And another. And another until he can say I’m okay and mean it. Appeased, Riley rests her head on his shoulder. 

He wants to go home. Not just back to the safe house to escape the party, but home home, where he can sit at his desk and pick up an old project and rebuild his sense of normalcy, away from everyone but himself. Soon, he promises himself. After tonight, they’re one step closer to soon, whenever that may be.  

Meanwhile, his lungs fill with the scent of Riley’s perfume—sweet, floral, and some heavier note he can’t identify—emanating from the warm skin of her neck. It’s soft and comforting like a worn blanket tucked around his shoulders. He says something remarkably eloquent like, You smell good. 

She laughs softly. “Glad you think so.”

The music peters out, and people start migrating toward the small stage setup inside. But Mac isn’t ready to let Riley go. He says, “I could dance with you all night.” 

Mockingly batting her eyelashes, Riley replies, “Is that so, Mr. Turner?” 

How someone as perceptive as her missed the honesty behind his flirting is beyond Mac. Under any other circumstances, he’d slip into character and keep teasing her, all for show, but maybe he’s just high off her presence because for once Mac doesn’t want to play it off. He wants her to know. And maybe that’s a stupid idea, but then again stupid has never stopped him before. 

He shakes his head. “You. I could dance with you all night.” It’s as close as he can get without saying her name. 

“Oh.” 

She hesitates, and Mac braces himself for a rejection that doesn’t come. In fact, she does the opposite. 

Riley smiles. Not a big one, not one of his smiles, but a slow upturn of her lips that makes his heart flutter. “Come on. Let’s go inside.”

She doesn’t let go of his hand. 

The crowd is bigger than Mac anticipated, and he and Riley have to squeeze themselves into the gap between a pillar and a very large potted plant. Cody is already on stage, standing too close to the microphone as he thanks everyone for attending this humble party. Mac rolls his eyes. There’s nothing humble about this. 

Cody Rickshaw knows the game well. He talks about big, necessary changes and family values, and he knows the easiest way to unify people is to convince them that other people want to ruin their present way of life. He makes campaign promises and jokes at his own expense. All standard operating procedure. And then he invites Ethan on stage. 

“The man behind the curtain,” Cody begins. “Ethan here has been instrumental to my success, and I look forward to continuing our work to create a better future for everyday Americans.” 

By… terrorizing them? The connection between Cody and Ethan—and by extension, the Patriots—still doesn’t make sense. 

Ethan is dismissed from the stage, and Cody calls up another donor. Mac doesn’t know what to make of their relationship; he’d hoped to gain some insight tonight, but he’s still clueless. He fidgets with Riley’s wedding ring, giving his hands something to do while he thinks. 

Why would a politician support murdering his own voter base?

Quietly, Riley asks, “What are you thinking?” 

“Not sure yet.” He sighs. “We need to get closer. Figure out what they plan behind closed doors.” He catches Riley’s gaze, noting the wide-eyed look of apprehension there, even as she nods. 

“Agreed.”

*****

Against all odds, Charlotte Deacon is somehow even more of a busybody than Carrie Ann. Carrie Ann, at least, one could see coming. She likes to announce her presence from afar. She feeds on her victims’ dread as she approaches. But Charlotte Deacon, on the other hand, swoops in out of nowhere, trapping her victims before they know what’s happening—or have a chance to contemplate escape. 

And Mac is, without a doubt, a victim of this choreographed violence. 

Charlotte scrutinizes Riley’s wedding ring, holding Riley’s hand hostage while she shines her phone’s flashlight on it. Mac has no idea whether that helps, and when Riley shoots him a questioning look, all he can do is shrug. 

“This is stunning,” Charlotte says. “It sparkles just right, don’t you think, James?” She twists it slightly, and bright white light bounces off the ring directly into Mac’s eyes. 

“It does.”

“I’d reckon it’s the brightest thing in here.” She lowers her voice. “And that’s saying something if you compare it to wannabe Barbie over there.” Charlotte gestures toward a woman across the room, clad in a bright pink sequined dress. She’s not wrong. It’s shiny, all right. 

Like Carrie Ann, Charlotte is easily appeased by flirting and other public displays of attention. A few warm looks and some gentle teasing puts a gleeful smile on her face. 

Content to indulge her—and indulge himself—Mac replies, “I wouldn’t know. Nothing sparkles quite like she does.” His eyes settle on Riley’s face. The delicate line of her brow. The slope of her cheekbones. The curve of her lips. 

And damn her, she bites her lip and lets her eyes sweep down his body. 

Charlotte looks positively delighted. “Don’t hold back on my account. I don’t mind a little PDA.”

Mac wouldn’t mind a little PDA right now either, but roots have sprouted from the soles of his feet, piercing the hardwood floor and curling into the concrete foundation beneath. He couldn’t move even if he wanted to. 

And he wants to. 

He’s terrified to. 

He’s terrified because of how badly he wants to. 

He could blow everything right here, right now. All this time tiptoeing around her, making sure this was a line they never crossed. Always making sure their intimacy was real, even if they had to occasionally put it on display. Screw holding out hope that she might return his feelings, a hope that’s fleeting by the day. This might be his only chance to find out what kissing Riley Davis is like. 

And yet. 

Mac can’t.

Can’t blatantly cross her boundaries like that, nor cross his own. But Charlotte is waiting expectantly, and they’re married for god’s sake, and now it’s weird because they’re not kissing already, and—

Fuck. 

He still can’t move, but that doesn’t matter because Riley is moving toward him entirely too quickly. Her hand clasps his elbow, she’s rising onto her tiptoes, and he doesn’t even want to know what sort of look Charlotte Deacon is giving them now, and—

Her perfume, which up until now Mac thought was soft and comforting, feels like it’s smothering him. 

Her eyes flutter closed, and if he were an artist instead of a scientist he’d spend a lifetime capturing the delicate sweep of her lashes over her cheekbones. 

He can’t do this. Not when it’s fake. The first one can’t be fake.

At the last possible second, Mac swerves, and Riley’s lips land on his cheek. Even before she has a chance to physically react, he knows he’s hurt her. Mac puts a gentle hand to her waist to prevent her from recoiling, and she stiffens under his touch. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. 

He didn’t expect this to ache the way it does, leaving him bruised and raw from the inside out. 

But Riley is stronger than he is, or at least better at hiding it than he is, because she plasters on a ridiculous pout, chastising, “Don’t be a tease, babe.” 

In a voice that doesn’t feel like his own, Mac somehow smoothly replies, “You like it.” To that, Riley simply rolls her eyes. 

“Well,” Charlotte says, clearly trying to puzzle through what she just witnessed, “You two have quite the night ahead of you.” Her innuendo isn’t quite as blatant as Carrie Ann’s, but it’s still hard to miss. 

“That we do,” Riley says, and the edge to her tone makes it clear the rest of Mac’s night won’t be as fun as Charlotte implied. “That said, please excuse us.” 

She doesn’t wait for a response. 

Riley’s iron grip feels like a manacle around his wrist as she drags him through the mansion. They pass room after room, make turn after turn, until they’re alone at the intersection of two unpopulated hallways. 

This could not be going worse.

Mac regrets nothing. Regrets everything. 

“That was humiliating,” Riley hisses. “Why wouldn’t you just kiss me?” 

He deserves the anger clouding her eyes, setting her jaw, sharpening her snarl. The look of betrayal turning the space between them scorching and hostile. He deserves all of it. 

For embarrassing her. 

For spending the whole night touching her and teasing her and flirting with her. And then not following through in the single instance where he actually needed to. The rest weren’t necessary; they just…helped. 

Mac knows all too well what it’s like to be the recipient of that kind of attention while undercover. Knows how good it feels to play pretend in this way. It’s an act, but over time it gets too easy to slide into that role, and that’s when the fog settles in, blurring fiction from reality. 

It messes with a person’s head. All undercover work does. This type of work just happens to tangle with hearts too. 

Except, Mac can’t bring himself to feel bad about the flirting. Dodging the kiss, yes, but not the flirting or the touching or the dancing. Maybe it’s the op screwing with his head too—who’s he kidding, it definitely is—but after their conversation the other day on the bathroom floor, something is different between them. A shared vulnerability. A new, deeper level of intimacy. Whatever it is, it redrew the boundary lines between them. 

His lips part, but no sound comes out. He tries again. 

Same result.

Shoulders caving inward, Riley’s anger fades into something else. Something…worse. It feels enough like defeat that Mac’s heart constricts. He doesn’t know who’s squeezing it, only that sharp nails pierce the vital organ as Riley says, in a barely audible whisper, “It was only a kiss.” 

He’s falling. He’s been standing on the edge of the cliff overlooking the churning, multifaceted sea that Riley is, wanting to jump and convincing himself to back away instead, but now the compacted sand crumbles beneath his feet and he’s sliding, sliding, sliding toward her. Toward the inevitable. 

Below him lies jagged rocks, and this current path will end with his broken body sprawled across them soon enough. 

His only choice now is to jump. 

“I’m not kissing you unless it’s real.” 

He doesn’t stutter. He doesn’t second-guess himself. Just quietly, but clearly says the damning words. 

Riley’s expression shatters.

And for once in his life, Mac can’t read a single emotion on her face. None last long enough for him to register, each refracting across her face like pieces of a kaleidoscope. He’s still falling. Unable to read her, Mac has no idea where he’ll land, or if he’ll even land in one piece. 

He doesn’t get the chance to find out. 

Muted male voices drift down the hall, headed in their direction, and when Riley starts to speak, Mac shoves her against the wall and clamps his hand over her mouth. Her eyes flare, livid, but he needs to shut her up before she accidentally gives them away. 

Maybe it’s nothing. But maybe it’s not. 

The voices are louder now, but if the way Riley fights his grip is any indicator, she still hasn’t registered them. “Listen,” he mouths, and after another second Riley finally stills, eyes softening in understanding. 

Mac can only hope she’s still wearing that expression when they eventually circle back to what he just confessed.

He doesn’t dare peek around the corner, but that doesn’t stop Mac from leaning as close as possible once his hand drops from Riley’s mouth. There’s a lipstick print stamped on his palm now. 

The voices are familiar. 

In the reflection of a nearby window, Mac can just make out two well-tailored suits he’s already seen tonight, up close and personal. One far closer than he would’ve liked. 

“The best time table I can offer you is a few weeks. I have the personnel, but something this intricate takes time,” Ethan says. 

A sigh. “You promised you’d eliminate my opponent,” Cody Rickshaw replies. “Your deadline is nearly up.” 

“I know.” 

“I have other contacts.” 

“I know that too.” 

“I want it public and impossible to trace back to me.” 

“My boys will make that happen.” 

They stop walking. Mac and Riley nearly bump heads trying to lean even closer. 

“The next event I attend better be a funeral. Capisce?”

Riley mutters, “What is this guy, a mob movie enthusiast?” Mac glares at her. Jack could—and did—teach her every essential skill she’d need as a spy…except how to refrain from making snide comments in inopportune situations. Jack never figured that one out for himself either. 

“Eliminate him, Ethan.” 

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what ‘eliminate’ means. It’s the missing connection between Cody and the Patriots. It’s the reason he and Riley are here in the first place. 

Cody hired Ethan and the Patriots to clear the campaign trail for him. To wipe his opponent, the current governor, off the board completely. 

Eliminate means murder.

.

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Sweet Honey and Iced Tea (Part 3): Toji Fushiguro x Fem!Reader

wc: 2.7k

tw: NSFW

masterlist

It's done! We're caught up to the events of Lemonade after this.

"Bye!" you shout back to your mom, dashing to the Charger at the foot of the portico. "See you later!"

"What time will you be back from the sleepover?" she wonders, but you shrug and continue down the stairs. When you open the car door, you toss in your overnight bag and Toji catches it, eyes wide.

"What the hell is--"

"Just drive," you groan, and he places the bag in the backseat, eyeing you while you put on your seatbelt. "I'll explain later." Toji drives off, past the guard post at the end of the road and onto the main road, where you finally relax.

"You look really nice," he murmurs after he clears his throat, his right hand drifting over to your thigh. You're clad in a knee-length black dress, with the necklace he gifted you resting right below the mock turtleneck.

"Thanks," you reply. "You look... normal." He's changed his black shirts out for a blue dress shirt that's slightly unbuttoned and a pair of black slacks.

"So, what's up with the bag?" Toji wonders, changing lanes. "You staying the night or something?" When you don't answer, he looks over at you, wide-eyed. "Wait, you're kidding, right?"

"I never kid," you murmur. "You'll see."

When he pulls up at the tallest tower in the city, you stare open-mouthed, gazing at the massive structure of steel and glass. Toji passes his keys off to a valet, muttering, "Scratch on the car, and you'll have a scratch on your face".

"Of course, Mr. Fushiguro."

Toji opens your door, and you step out, your legs lithely crossing the space between the car and the sidewalk. He takes your hand and laces your fingers through his, walking into the building and past the crowd gathered by the concierge. "This place is packed on weekends," he mentions, and you blink, following him to the elevators. When he presses the "up" button, a door opens, and a man greets you both with a smile.

"Passes up to the Sky Tower?" he wonders, and Toji groans, fishing something out of his pocket. When he hands the man a silver key with what looks like a hotel tag, you watch the man's eyes glaze over. "My apologies, Mr. Fushiguro. I haven't seen you here in a while."

"According to records, no one has ever seen me here," he reminds the man sternly, who nods and hands him the key.

"Of course, sir."

You settle in next to Toji and ride the elevator up to the top floor, clasping his hand the whole way. Was this part of the underground activities your mother spoke to you about? Or was this just...

The doors to the elevator open up to a long, dark hallway, only illuminated by sporadic blue lighting coming up from the floor. Toji leads the way again, and you look around, examining the hallway with curiosity. You can't hear anything, you can barely see... what kind of place is this? Once the plush carpet beneath your feet gives way to a path of marble, you regain a sliver of your confidence.

"It's just dinner," Toji reminds you as the doors swing open, unveiling a luxurious restaurant filled with a plethora of carat-encrusted and silk-covered personalities. This isn't "just dinner". This scene tops the best dining arrangements you've seen for clan head meetings.

A woman with long black hair and dressed in a black suit is standing at a marble podium, brown eyes flicking up to watch you two walk into the restaurant.

"Ah, Mr. Fushiguro! You're right on time."

"Was I supposed to be late?" Toji wonders, grinning. "It's always a pleasure to see you, Misato."

"And the same to you, sir. Right this way," the woman lifts two menus from the side of the podium, and as you walk behind her, you take in the sights. Posh seating arrangements cover the expanse of the dining area, each table covered in an eggshell white cloth, and chandeliers are distributed around the ceiling so each table received the same amount of lighting. Gilding decorates the white walls, and portraits of beautiful women in fantasy scenes stare back at you. But you're ushered past a set of glass doors and into a private room, where a table for two sits alone, surrounded by glass on three sides that overlooks the city below.

"Enjoy," Misato says, leaving the menus on the table and walking out. Toji pulls your seat out for you, and you sit in it before he pushes you in a little, then takes his own seat across from you.

"Toji, this is..."

"Do you like it?" he asks, eyeing you carefully.

"I love it," you answer. "But you could have just taken me to a picnic by the lake and it would've been fine."

"I'll remember that for next time," he grunts, lifting a menu and handing it to you. "I normally don't order off of this, but you can take a look and see what you like."

"Why are you doing this?" you wonder, peeking at the green-eyed man over the menu. "This seems like a lot for a first date."

"Is it?" Toji asks, fiddling with his fingers. "Or is this what you should expect from me as a man of stature and influence who is wooing a woman who will soon be on equal footing?" You swallow hard, knitting your brows together. He's right, you realize as he glances up at you, lips quirking into a smile. If he hadn't wined and dined me, I would've thought I was just another one of his playthings.

"Fushiguro!" A man calls out jovially, entering the room from the glass doors. He's tiny, with thinning brown hair and piercing black eyes; his hands raised in excitement. "You've finally brought a beautiful woman to this fine establishment." Toji laughs as the man claps him on the back and turns to you.

"This is my girlfriend, y/n. Y/n, this is my favorite bartender, chef, and confidant Gurumogi."

"Oh, y/n? I've heard so much about--" The man stops, clearing his throat. "I've heard so much about your family! It is such a pleasure to meet you."

"And you as well," you smile, bowing your head slightly.

"Listen, I've got something the two of you will love. Give me those menus, you won't need them. I'll bring out two main dishes, one dessert, and as much wine and brandy as you want."

"I have to drive," Toji reminds the man, who cackles loudly. "I won't be drinking tonight."

"When do you ever leave here and drive sober?"

_____________________________________________________________

"Can I eat the rest of my dessert?" you wonder, fully tipsy off the aged wine, stellar food, and even more enjoyable conversation.

"Not in the car, babe," Toji murmurs, his eyes focused on the road. "Gotta get you home first."

"Oh, I'll make sure I keep your car clean," you reply, reaching your hand into the bag. "It's just chocolate cake."

"Chocolate cake, cashew-caramel ice cream, a caramelized banana, and coffee dust." Toji corrects you, and you laugh, touching his arm playfully.

"You really paid attention, didn't you?" Toji's green eyes swim as he looks over to you, and you blink slowly, putting on your best flirty look. "You pay attention to a lot, don't you?"

"What's the bag for?" Toji asks, eyes back on the road.

"What isn't it for?" you shoot back, removing your hand from his arm.

"You're really staying the night, then?"

"I want to," you begin. "I want to stay the night with you."

"Not going back home?" he wonders, turning into a gated residential area and slowing down.

"Not until tomorrow." Toji rolls down his window and makes a motion to the guard at the front, who waves him on, smiling brightly. You don't speak again until you arrive at a large, stucco residence (about the size of your house, if you're being honest) with lights illuminating the facade. Toji swings around the front driveway, parking right in front of the house before stopping the car and getting out. He opens your door again, taking the bag of leftovers and your bag from the backseat before helping you out of the car and up to the door of the house. A bald man opens the door, face stoic as he lets you and Toji into the residence before shutting and locking it.

"I'll have Gulia prepare a room for you," Toji murmurs, climbing the stairs with your things after handing the bag of food to the man at the door.

"Not what I had in mind." Toji turns at this, his green eyes watching you ascend the staircase shakily. "I thought you'd let me occupy your room with you."

"Is that what you want?" he asks, mouth parting slightly.

"Yes," you breathe, standing right in front of him on the top stair. "I want you." His eyes dip to look at your lips but then come back up to your eyes, and he discloses,

"Your wish is my command."

His room isn't too far, but by the time you've reached it, your feet are crying out in misery. As if to acknowledge this pain, you flop onto the bed face down in neatly-made sheets and a tender but firm mattress. Toji takes off your shoes after placing your bag in a chair, rubbing your feet as you lay on the bed in your tipsy state.

"That feels good," you mumble, eyes closed. "Feels really good."

"Yeah?" Toji's voice has dipped an octave, and you can hear the desire in his voice again, just like a few nights ago. Finally.

"You're too nice to me." Toji huffs a laugh, kissing your ankles.

"If it gets me this view," he teases, "Then I'll be nicer than a broke man after your money." You chuckle, lifting up off of the bed and stretching, bones popping back into place.

"Or a rich man after my hand in marriage."

"Oh, I wouldn't be nice about that," he begins, unbuttoning his shirt. "I'd be so mean."

"You would?" You sit on the edge of the bed, watching him pull off his shirt. When Toji finishes, he tosses it onto the floor, then leans over you, placing a kiss on your forehead.

"Oh, yeah. I'd be so unkind. All I'd need to do is suck up to your family because I'm really marrying them, not you." You run a hand up to his jawline, then pat it twice, shaking your head.

"Then why are you so nice to me?" Toji cranes his head down, lips brushing against yours as he breathes:

"Because I'm in love with you."

When he kisses you for the second time, you feel the jolt of the spark again, but this time, it nearly knocks you flat onto your back. If it wasn't for Toji catching you, you'd be splayed underneath him, ready to be devoured. He holds you close, kissing you hungrily and with need as you tangle your hands in his hair, pulling slightly. The growl into your mouth is borderline feral, but it doesn't matter to you.

You want him.

He wants you.

There's nothing left to discuss.

Thick fingers make quick work of undressing you, and before you can really register that you're naked, you're on display for the only man you've ever been physically undressed by. Toji licks his thumb and middle finger, running his middle finger up your slit and nestling his thumb against your clit.

"If you want to stop, say so. I'm not going to push you to do something you're not ready for." You nod, and he begins to circle his thumb on the sensitive nub, drawing a soft whine from you as your hips move up into his hand. When his middle finger sinks into you, Toji hisses, lips curling up slightly. "You're already drenched, baby."

"Just for you," you reply, and Toji closes his eyes, inhaling deeply.

"Shit," he laughs, opening his eyes. "I want to be inside of you so bad. But I have to make you cum first." His middle finger moves against your g-spot lazily, curling and pressing ever so slightly. You buck into his hand again, losing your breath and running both hands over your breasts. Toji takes this as a sign and leans down to flick your right nipple with his tongue carefully, his eyes watching your face contort into an expression of pure pleasure.

"Please, Toji," you pant. Toji quickens his strokes against your g-spot in response, sucking on your breast with added pressure. When he moves to your left breast, things are becoming hazy, unraveled, incohesive. You feel an orgasm building, your hips rolling under his touch, and Toji feels it, too, his eyes darkening.

"Go ahead," he whispers against the skin of your earlobe. "Cum for me, baby. Whenever you're ready."

"Ah," you exhale, frowning. "Gonna cu--" The gasp wrenched from your throat drags painfully into your lungs. You feel every nerve light up in your body and Toji hums, long and loud, feeling your cunt spasm around his finger.

Your orgasm feels like it might go on forever but it suddenly stops as Toji removes his fingers from you. He frees his cock from his pants quickly, stroking his thick, weeping member as he leans over you. The arm that grasps his cock is covered in a tiger tattoo, the head of the beast sitting right at his wrist. You trail your fingers along the image, but then Toji presses your right leg up and your left leg to the side.

"I don't think it'll fit," you whisper, looking at his cock with uncertainty as he rolls a condom down to the hilt.

"It will," Toji reassures you. "It might take some work, but it will. Just be patient, sweetheart." When he nudges his cockhead into your entrance, you stiffen up instinctively. "Relax," he coos, kissing your cheeks repeatedly. "Just relax for me." You try to let go as he rocks into you slowly, holding your head in his hands as he kisses you deeply and eases himself inside of you. But when he feels he can go no further, Toji lifts onto an elbow and rubs your side carefully. "Feel okay?" His eyes are hooded, but you still can decipher the care and concern in them.

"Yes," you breathe. "Just stay here for a moment." Toji cups both of your breasts and litters kisses across them, sucking harshly in places where he knows the hickies won't be seen. When you're ready, you shift your hips up a little, and he begins rocking into you again, squeezing his eyes shut at the feeling of being buried inside of you.

"God damn," he mutters. "Probably won't last long..."

"Really?" you wonder, throwing an arm around his back.

"Honestly, I could nut right now," he laughs, and you do, too. "But I'm going to hold off for as long as I can; want to make your first time one of the best." You moan at this, and he lifts his hips slightly to push his final inch into you. When Toji's sheathed inside of you, he begins to pump a little faster, not pulling out fully, but almost. Your panting is timed perfectly with his groans, and before long, the sound of your lovemaking turns into a perfect symphony of slapping skin, moaning, and tender sounds of kissing here and there.

And it's all so perfect.

When you reach the edge of oblivion again (which doesn't take long), you curl your fingers into his back, holding Toji as close as you can. "Fushiguro," you breathe, and he grasps your hips tightly, feeling your cunt close around him.

"I feel you," he huffs. "I'm close, too." It takes almost three strokes for you to lose your mind, and you very nearly blackout as he rams his hips into you before they jerk sharply. "Oh... fuck..." Toji moans into your ear as you keen softly.

When you both come down from your high, still holding each other close, you realize that there's no one else in the world for you, and Toji mumbles, "I'm going to make you my wife someday."

"But our families--"

"Will have to suck it up," he quips, shrugging. "Not our problem anymore."

But you both know you'll have to go up against some resistance. So, when you leave his residence the next morning (after he's made love to you once more before you showered), you agree to keep it a secret until it's the proper time to address it.

Which won't come for another five years.

[moonbeambucky]

I Promise (Part 1/2)

Pairing: Chris Beck x Reader Word Count: 4106 Warnings: fluff, smut, pregnancy

Summary: Before heading to Mars Chris Beck reconnects with his best friend, unaware of the outcome of their night together. With the burden of his mission will Chris make a promise he can’t keep?

A/N: My first Chris Beck fic! Rather than a really long one shot I’m splitting it into two parts. A big thank you to my love Allie @all1e23​​​ for beta reading 🍕❤️ gif source (x)

“Hey.”

The soft resonance of Chris’ voice brings tears to your eyes, ones you couldn’t help from slipping out. They fall down the curve of your cheeks past the uneasy smile you wore.

“I kept my promise,” he said. Chris flashed the top row of his bright white teeth, his mouth curving into a boyish smile that reached his eyes, the fine lines crinkling around them. He tilted his head as he looked at you through the screen, a comforting gaze that made you feel as if he was there with you. 

The quality of the video chat is near perfect making you almost forget Chris was millions of miles away. He looked the same, not that you expected him to look different. It had only been a few months since you last saw each other. 

His hair looks darker than usual but you suppose it’s the low lighting of the small room he’s in. He’s bundled up in a thick NASA sweatshirt and you can see several more layers he has on beneath the collar. Chris looks tired but that’s expected, what he’s doing right now is not a walk in the park. You know it’s the reason why it’s taken so long for him to contact you but you wish he did it sooner. 

More tears flood your eyes, burning their way out as you wished he never left at all. You can barely hear Chris over the sound of your own sobs.

“Please don’t cry,” he pleaded.

You lifted your head towards the screen and seeing the concern on his face only made you miss him more, wishing he was there to console you in person.

Your hand swept away tears from your cheek as your voice cracked saying his name. “Chris…” 

The streets are simmering with the heat of a summer that couldn’t wait to officially start. Calendars be damned, it was hot. You indulged in a cool shower when you got home from work but time didn’t allow for a languid evening of staying in your towel as you applied serums and moisturizers, lotions and creams and every other post-shower pampering you normally do. Tonight was dinner with a friend and you needed to get ready.

Chatter filled the air of the patio, a small secluded outdoor space at the back of an Italian restaurant on the Upper East Side. It had an Old World Tuscan feel, from the stucco walls that looked purposely imperfect. Green patina shutters hung beside a wrought iron lantern that glowed in the early evening. Lush greens and bright flowers sat atop the half wall that surrounded the dining area making you forget you were in the city.

Chris looked the same, not that you expected him to be different. It had only been about two years since you’ve seen each other, right before he began training for his mission and now you can’t believe it was about to happen. Never would you have expected that the little boy down the block who became your best friend would actually be going to Mars.

For most of your lives you were in the same school, starting in Mrs. Kramer’s kindergarten class where you stuck together; two kids that were nervous about making friends and finding comfort in each other. As the years went on you weren’t always in the same classes but your friendship continued to grow. Chris was picked on for having a girl as a best friend and the girls always teased that he was your “boyfriend.” It never felt that way with Chris. He was your friend first and you never saw him as anything more. 

By the time you were in middle school Chris was already taking advanced classes in math and science and the only class you had together was art which he was famously terrible at. It was there you asked him a huge favor, whispering to him at the sink as you rinsed off your paint brushes. “Could you kiss me?” Chris turned as red as a boiling lobster, immediately sweating as if he was being roasted alive himself. It was later that day walking home from school that you clarified what you meant.

There was a boy, Justin Kaufman, who was the coolest kid in your grade. You had a crush on him like everyone else and you were shocked when he asked if you would go with him to the dance on Friday. You were worried he might try to kiss you and being inexperienced made you nervous. Justin was really popular and if you were a bad kisser then the whole school would know it. Chris was your friend, someone you trusted, someone you could practice with just to make sure you didn’t make a fool of yourself. 

You had no frame of reference for kissing back then apart from one sided smooches to pictures of movie stars that you had a crush on. But feeling Chris’ lips press back against yours was… nice. The best part about it was that things didn’t feel awkward after. Chris was still your best friend and nothing changed. 

A server hands you a menu and you thank him, scanning through it to see what you might be interested in. Chris looks up at the same time you do, wondering if you wanted an appetizer.  You nodded letting him choose, considering the limited food options he’ll have for over the next year. 

“Can you drink?”

Chris’ nose crinkled as he smiled. “In space? No. Tonight? Yes,” he chuckled softly. 

Two glasses of red wine were set on the table as you indulged in delicious food, catching up as much as you could before Chris’ mission. 

“So you’d love what happened today,” you began, leaning closer, “We filmed a restoration video and yours truly was in it.”

Chris’ eyes lit up as he gasped. “I love those! You have to send it to me. Hopefully I can see it before I go. What was it?”

“A sixteenth century European oil painting.” You went into detail and Chris loved listening to your knowledge of art history. It was no wonder that was your major, taking your studies further to work as a conservator at the Met.

Chris swallowed his food quickly to speak. “You were always good at that– art, attention to detail. Remember when we had to sculpt our own faces?” he chuckled.

There was a short burst of laughter as you remembered that day from so long ago. “Yes! Thankfully the real you doesn’t look anything like that abomination you made.” 

Chris drops his head down to hide a bashful smile that mixed in with laughter. He’s enjoying himself, catching up with you, eating. This was so good. He couldn’t help but scoop up another forkful of pasta, not expecting you to ask him a question. “So, how are you feeling?”

He paused to reflect and wiped a bit of sauce from the corner of his mouth. “I’m nervous… excited.” Taking a sip of wine, he sets the glass down carefully on the table. Chris’ face has grown more serious. “My mom’s worried.”

“Of course she is, I don’t blame her. I’m worried. Mars is… well it’s Mars! It’s not around the block.”

He chuckled. “No, it’s definitely not.” 

Chris is heading home to Connecticut tomorrow to spend the next few days with his parents. Chloe, his younger sister is coming in as well so they can all spend some time together before he has to fly down to Florida.

“Then it’s go for launch!” he said with a beaming smile, though Chris had to correct himself for the sake of accuracy. Once he’s down there the crew has to quarantine for at least ten days and go through a bunch of pre-flight checkups and procedures first. “Are you gonna watch?”

The incredulous look you gave him answered his question. “Did you really have to ask? Of course I’m going to watch the launch.” 

His eyes twinkled as he smiled back at you. “Oh and don’t worry I put you on my contact list so you can send me emails. Not sure how quickly I'll get them since CAPCOM directs it back to us. And as long as we have the right satellite coverage we can even do video calls.”

“Like Facetime?”

“In theory yeah, more like space Skype,” he laughed. “It’ll be nice to stay in touch.”

Your smile was bright in the dimness of the evening. You can’t imagine not staying in touch with Chris. The longest you had ever gone was during his Air Force training. He checked in with his parents when he first arrived and from then on it was sporadic. You were able to send him letters though and tried to write him every week though your own schooling and an apprenticeship at the Louvre had taken up a lot of time but that was how your relationship was. 

No matter where you were in life, across the world or hovering above it in the International Space Station, you always kept in touch. It’ll be harder now considering he’s going farther than ever before but you’ll make it work. 

Chris would be back by next November and his mom was already planning a big party for his return, one he’s certain you’ll be invited to. Though you haven’t seen his parents in a while you still kept in touch with them from time to time seeing as they were still friends with your own parents.

“It’s crazy to think you’re about to go to Mars.” 

Chris swipes a palm down his mouth, leaning his elbows against the table as he muses, “I know. Feels like I got the call yesterday.”

It was a night similar to this one, where Chris was in New York celebrating with you and other friends on his selection to be part of the Ares III mission. He had been working at NASA for a few years, doing biomedical research in their center in Virginia and now he was about a month out from spending two years training for his long term mission to Mars. 

He stayed at your apartment that night, continuing the celebration in your own private way. You had come a long way from learning to kiss with Chris. It wasn’t a big deal, neither was it the first time you had sex with each other. It was a special dynamic that worked for the two of you, one you don’t think you could have pulled off with anyone else. With Chris you had trust that was built up over the years. He was safe, he was your friend and this was nothing more than just sex. 

It didn’t happen too often, a couple of times here and there. You both dated a few people over the years and even though you were single at the moment you thought about the promise you made to each other as teens. “If we’re not married to other people by the time we’re thirty let’s promise we’ll marry each other.” Such a silly promise but thirty seemed so far away at the time. 

Chris couldn’t make it to celebrate for your thirtieth birthday but you did get a card from him where he joked that the wedding was off. You were in a long term relationship, one that Chris thought would lead to marriage but you ended things a year later. It wasn’t there; that natural spark that made your heart skip a beat every time they smiled brighter than the sun, or when their eyes sparkled like stars in the night every time they looked at you. 

You walked through the streets with Chris after dinner, casually strolling back towards your apartment and stretching out the inevitable goodbye that you didn’t want to say. It was so good to be with him in person again, not realizing how badly you missed it until the hours started ticking closer towards him leaving. By the time you get to your apartment Chris decided to come up stairs, wanting to spend as much of his time with you as he could. 

Chris sits comfortably on your couch, cozied up beside a large pillow. He places his wine glass down on your coffee table, needing to gesticulate with both hands as he starts getting into talking about his research. He’s been published before in numerous academic journals and now he’s going on about how excited he is for his latest topic, musculoskeletal alterations and the effects of deep space travel. 

He’s cute when he really gets into it, crinkles pulling around the corner of his eyes as his whole face lights up. You let out a shaky breath, smiling even wider yourself as you watched the passion he had for science and learning, one that matched the level you had for art and preserving their history. 

Chris apologized for rambling on, taking a sip of wine to clear the dryness from his throat. 

“So, give me the lowdown… can you jerk off in space?” 

He covered his mouth to prevent the wine he was choking on from spitting out. You couldn’t help the sly smile on your face that cracked wider the redder he became. 

“Well?”

Chris cleared his throat again. Pinching the bridge of his nose he looked down into his glass, chuckling a bit as he said, “The official stance from NASA is no comment so I’m going to stick with that.” 

“That’s not an answer!” You could barely hold a faux sneer before you broke into a smile. Teasing Chris was all in good fun, something that went both ways from the time you were young. 

You adjusted the way your legs were folded underneath you, brushing your knee against his leg. Chris lifted his arm up, a silent invitation for you to get closer and so you did, resting your head against him as his arm came around you.

Things had quieted down and you listened to the steady beat of his heart. This would be the last time you would see Chris for a long time. Your arm reached around to hold him for as long as you could.

“I’m going to miss you,” you whispered against him. 

Chris’ chest sunk as he exhaled a deep sigh. “I’m going to miss you too.” His arm squeezed a little tighter around you as he pressed his lips gently against your forehead. “Just look to the stars and I’ll be there.” 

His words brought a comforting smile to your face, one you shared with him as you tilted your head to look up at him. “Do you want to stay?”

The corner of his mouth tugs a little as Chris thinks about it. There’s nothing he really misses at his hotel more than he does you. The only reason he came to New York was to see you first before going home. 

“Yeah, I’d love to stay.”

You shifted yourself on top to straddle Chris, carding your fingers through his hair and taking in the gaze of his eyes that became pools of deep blue. You closed the distance between your lips, feeling his hands come around your back. Soft moans bubbled in your throat and soon you found yourself being carried to the bedroom. 

Clothes were discarded, lips were on skin that burned hotter than the stars. You writhe against him, thighs quivering around his head, reaching out to grip him by the hair, holding Chris in place as he coaxed out your release. His lips taste like you and he licks them again, savoring your sweetness as he crawls up your body. 

He tears open the condom, gathering your wetness on him as he slowly pushed in. A sinful moan falls from your lips as you feel the stretch of him inside you, inch by inch until he was fully seated. An experimental roll of his hips sets the pace for pleasure. 

Your hands graze up the curve of his arms, reaching his back and digging in half moon shapes into his skin with your nails as he thrusts into you.

“Ahh fuck, you feel so fucking good,” he panted, moaning as his hips snapped forward. His name fell from your lips, a sweet sound that he couldn’t deny he loved hearing. 

He changed his angle, hitting you with deeper, longer strokes. His mouth found your nipple, sucking at your peak as his hips gained speed; groaning and squeezing his eyes tightly as he fucked you, ready to explode.

“Shit!” Chris hissed, backing off quickly. You’re confused and concerned, sitting up and turning the light on beside your bed to see what was wrong. “The condom broke,” he said, still catching his breath.

Chris got up to discard it in the bathroom as you sat on the bed, crossing an arm over your chest, waiting nervously. When Chris walked back in the room he apologized for that, the stiffness of his length giving you relief that he hadn’t finished so you continued. Using your hands on him as he let out soft moans, distractedly opening another condom that you rolled down on him. You straddled him, leaning forward to capture his lips for a sweet kiss first before you lined yourself up and sank down on him. 

Soon enough you were riding waves of bliss together, gripping Chris as you clenched around him, burning white hot behind your eyes. He’s right behind you, on the edge of pleasure, exploding inside you like a supernova.

Dropping your head onto his chest, it felt like your body was made of overcooked noodles that splayed loosely against him as you were desperate to catch your breath, coming down from the heights you soared to. Chris’ arms hold you close against him, his lips languidly peppering kisses to your sheen covered skin. 

When his heartbeat returned to a steady pace Chris went to the bathroom to once again discard the condom and you followed behind him to use it. He went to the kitchen to get something to drink, bringing back an ice cold glass of water for you. 

Back in bed you cuddled together, with goosebumps breaking out on your skin as Chris’ fingertips graze gently up and down your arm. Your eyes feel heavy but you don’t want to give in because when you wake up you know you’ll have to say goodbye and that’s not something you want to do. 

“You’ll stay in touch, right?” you murmured against him, as worry took root within your stomach. His quick and emphatic reply should have been enough but you couldn’t help yourself from needing to make sure you would still hear from him during the mission. “And call me? With the space Skype?”

“I promise,” he said, as a smile spread across his face. Chris’ hand stopped moving, settling on your arm and holding you close. 

“Promise me one more thing?” He hummed in response and you continued, “Stay safe up there.”

Chris tilted his head down and feeling him shift you looked up as he said, “I promise.”

In the moonlight his eyes sparkled like clear tropical waters. Slowly, a soft smile spread across your face as you stared at him. “I love you, Chris.” There was no romanticism behind it even after being together, just pure love for your friend. 

Chris exhaled, planting a kiss to your temple. “I love you too, Y/N.” 

Despite wanting to spend your remaining hours together awake you reluctantly fell asleep in his arms, tearfully parting in the morning. Two weeks later you watched as the space shuttle launched, with proud tears filling your eyes as Chris’ picture flashed on your screen along with the rest of the crew. Seeing that made you feel hopeful and overjoyed at the prospect of hearing from him soon.

“Chris… I’m pregnant.” It was a relief to finally tell him but you didn’t feel any better, uncertainty weighed heavy on your shoulders, crushing the space for your lungs to expand. Chris knows but now what?

He’s silent, his lips parted slightly and you don’t know if there’s a delay in the feed. Maybe you should have emailed it to him. You were going to at first and instead chose to word the importance of needing to speak to him in such a clandestine way that you were contacted by someone from NASA. Upon speaking to them they allowed your email to be dispatched and then you waited. 

Chris’ eyebrows knit together, his shoulders slumping down as he stared at your face through the screen. He didn’t have any doubts, you were always truthful with each other, but he still wondered how.

“We put on a new one, I thought…” 

“I thought we were good too,” you said, letting out a shaky breath. 

You weren’t just pregnant, you were pregnant with his child and based off of some quick calculations in his head you were nearing the end of your first trimester. “H-how are you? I mean, how are you feeling?”

“Physically or…” Nervous laughter bubbles out of your throat. 

This was hard on you, the physical symptoms weren’t fun but you could manage. What was more difficult was not telling anyone. It was early enough in your pregnancy that you could hide it from your family. They still lived in Hartford and hadn’t been down to visit yet but you couldn’t avoid them forever. Work was a different story. You had to let your boss know you would have to modify your duties as working around solvents and other chemicals would not be safe.

There was never a doubt in your mind about keeping the baby. When you were younger you imagined having children by now but it didn’t work out that way. It was something you were okay with, finding life fulfilling in different ways. Work was incredible, you were able to travel and though your relationships hadn’t worked out in the past you didn’t hold on to any resentments. Life was always complete and now things were going to be different. 

You wanted to speak to Chris first before telling your family because you needed to know your expectations. Chris had a life of his own and you didn’t want your choice of having a baby to make him feel obligated in any way. You were an adult; a smart, independent woman and could do this on your own.

“I know this isn’t something we planned but…” Chris exhaled, the corners of his mouth lifting upward, “There’s no one I’d rather do this with than you... I promise.” 

Chris’ eyes glisten with tears as his smile grows and you find yourself brushing away your own from the corner of your eyes. It was comforting to know Chris will be part of the baby’s life. Truthfully it would have been weird if he wasn’t in some capacity considering how close you were. For now you have a lot of time on how you’re going to figure things out for the future.

After the call Chris reflected in silence, staring out of the giant triangular windows of one of the Hermes’ common areas into the vastness of space. He was lost in thought, startled by his name being called by a crewmate. He turned to see Mark whose bright smile fell with concern upon seeing Chris’ face, asking if he was alright.

“I’m gonna be a dad,” Chris responded, his tone mournful in the realization he’ll be missing the birth. He accepted the congratulatory hug Mark gave him, sighing heavily as they separated. “I always thought I’d be there for that.” 

You were due in March and Chris hated the fact that he won't be there for the first nine months of his child’s life, moments and milestones he’ll never get back. He doesn’t like leaving this all on you. He knows you can do it but you shouldn’t have to. 

“I can’t pretend this isn’t hard but don’t think of it in terms of what you’re missing, look at what you’re gaining, what you have to look forward to when you come home.” Chris nodded, his smile trying to come back. “I didn’t even know you had a girlfriend,” Mark teased. 

“I don’t. Y/N, she’s…” Chris’ face lights up as he thinks about you, which does not go unnoticed by Mark. “We’ve been friends since we were kids. She’s always meant so much to me and now…” 

Mark gave Chris an honest smile as he spoke plainly, “And now you’re having a baby.” 

With a proud smile that stretched from ear to ear he affirmed, “Yeah… we are.” 

PART 2

[woahitslucyylu]

Some shoes.

Author’s Notes: I took a lot of time for myself, y’all and a bitch is back. It’s new year, love myself better vibes. I hope you enjoy this lovely late Christmas gift from Erik to everyone’s favorite baby mama, you. I’m going to spend the rest of this weekend catching up on comments and stories. If you think there’s something I should read, tag me! 

I love y’all so big! 

If you are interested in the timeline, this is before Thot-Ass Friends and Ass Out.

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

“Where are you at?” Tia’s voice echoed through the empty SUV as you merged onto the exit ramp. 

“Going to meet E. He said he needed me to pick up some things he bought. You know he has no self control.” 

Your eyes scanned the busy intersection - the city was spreading and you found yourself dreaming about luxury suburbia with two story houses and well-manicured yards. The tiny town home that you rented was slowly becoming too small for your family of three. Elisha was scooting around and EJ spent his days building cushion forts and using your coffee table as a race track. 

“He be doing the most for your spoiled ass.” Tia snickered as the light changed and you followed the GPS through the mid-day traffic. “Okay, call me when you’re done. I want to try that new taco spot on 57th.”

“Okay, I’m getting close. Bye, girl.” Your voice dropped off as you studied the residential streets, lined with greenery, following the soft voice directing you to turn left in 600 feet. “Where in the hell am I meeting him? I know he’s not bringing to a bitch’s house.” You whispered to yourself as you turned into The Preserve at Saddle Meadows. 

The neighboorhood felt warm as you slowed - gazing at the homes that towered with big windows and bright siding. 

“Your destination is approaching.” The melodic voice broke your day dreams as you spotted Erik’s black G Wagon in the drive way - his thick frame leaning against the bumper as you pulled into the drive of a two story Spanish influenced home. Archways surrounded the terra-cotted tiled porch and the cream stucco sparkled in the bright mid-day sun. 

“I know this isn’t a bitch’s house, Erik.” You shouted as you shut your door - walking around to meet him in front of the two car garage. “Shut the hell up. You always coming in loud with your big head.” His thick finger pushed against your forehead as he moved close - his cologne filling your nose and flooding your pussy. 

“E, stop.” You played back, smacking his hand away as he reached for you, “Where’s the stuff? I’m meeting Tia for tacos.” 

“Woah, slow down, mama. The stuff’s inside. Come on.” Turning on his heel, he strided to the porch, opening the heavy wooden door, dramatically gesturing for you to walk through. 

Your eyes grew wide - the inside was just as breathtaking with shiny wood floors and iron banisters. You dreamed of an open floor plan - to be able to cook and hear the kids as they played was a dream that you were working towards, taking double shifts and freelance work to save for the future you were building for yourself. 

“Where’s the furniture?” You suddenly noticed the emptiness - your voice echoing in the expanse as you wandered into the living room - your feet bouncing against the plush carpet. 

“You have to pick it out, baby girl.” 

“What?” You paused, turning to face him, as you stared at the tiled built ins and envisioned hidden toy storage and lots of plants. “I said you have to pick it out, ma. The appliances too - I ain’t know if you want gas or electric. I don’t know what you prefer when you whipping up those five star dinners for ya boy.” Erik moved beside you, fishing in his pockets for the keys - his muscular frame filling your presence as you savored his closeness. “Here.” The key chain held two identical keys. “Merry Christmas.” He leaned close, dropping his head as he kissed you softly - his lips massaging yours with tenderness. 

“Is this house yours?” You mumbled softly as you held the keys in your palm. “Nah, ma, it’s yours.” He brushed his thumb against your cheek, “I see how hard you work. You gave me two beautiful lives. I have to take care of you.” His hands groped your waist, sliding over your hips - his palms resting on your plump cheeks. “I don’t deserve you or my kids, but you deserve this.” 

You swallowed thickly, the words dry in your mouth, leaving you speechless as you leaned into him - your arms circling his waist and squeezing. “I feel bad now.” A coy smile spread over your face as you pulled back, gazing into his eyes. 

“Why?” 

“You got me a house. I got you some shoes. I’ll never hear the end of this.” 

[erensangel444]

pretty young thing

DO NOT INTERACT IF NOT 16+ thank you <3

miya atsumu x reader x milf!oc

possible part 2???

the way i want this fic to be my reality. is there any milfs or dilfs that want me because bae i’m right here :-)

this fic is atsumu + milf!oc x fem!reader, if you guys would want to see some gender neutral fics just let me know in my asks inbox! i’m open to any suggestions, if you want a fic that’s specifically tailored to you whether that be race-wise, gender-wise, any disabilities, etc,. just let me know!

likes/reblogs/comments are always appreciated:D

this fic has been proofread but if i missed something just let me know!

a/n: so for the milf original character(atsumu’s wife), i imagine her to be the mom from erased, because she is one fine mf. i would love to place my head in between her mommy milkers and [REDACTED]....horniness is a disease.

warnings: language(most of my fics do contain language), smut: cuckolding??, sharing of lingerie(but no gross mentions), kissing, mentions of sex, slight mentions of spit.

word count: 3.8k

summary: it’s always fun to be someone’s little plaything.

you were broke, and in desperate need of money. college tuition is no joke, and that was what motivated you to pull the paper strip from the poster on the lampost. you had always been told you were good with kids so you figured babysitting would be an easy way to get money. you slipped the piece of paper containing the phone number into your back pocket, throwing your hands into your coat pockets as you headed home. 

you had paced back and forth in your cramped kitchen, the slip of paper in between your fingers. before you could overthink anymore, your phone was in your hand as you dialed the number on the slip of paper. 

“hello?” a deep voice interrupted the ringing you heard on the other line. “um h-hi” you cringed at your slight voice crack, “i’m calling about the babysitting offer, i picked up one of the slips outside of a cafe,”. it was silent for a moment before the person on the other line spoke, “oh yeah the fliers, babe!” he yelled, causing you to pull the phone away from your ear slightly.

“got someone for the babysitting job,” “really!” you could hear soft cheer in the background, causing you to smile slightly. you could hear shuffling for a moment before someone began talking on the opposite end of the line, a woman this time. “hi! i’m his wife,” her voice was sweet and soft, “did you tell her our names?”. though you couldn’t see it, atsumu shook his head sheepishly behind the phone. 

“of course you didn’t, gotta come behind you and do all the hard work,” she grumbled jokingly, causing you to laugh softly. you swore you could hear a murmur of “last i checked you don’t mind being behind me sometimes,” a slight whine of “tsumu!” following in a chastising tone. 

“sorry about that,” she apologized before continuing. “you can call me mrs. miya, if the interview goes well then we’ll be getting very close!” “i’m y/n,” you offered up your name, bouncing back and forth on the heel of your foot due to how nervous you were. “would you like to come by sometime tomorrow? i’ll send you all the details,” mrs. miya offered. 

“that’d be great, thank you.”

their home was beautiful, arguably one of the of the prettiest one’s you’d seen. the stucco was a cream color, a beautiful walkway leading up to a set of dark oak doors. there were wall length glass windows looking into various rooms on the first floor of the house, green curtains slightly impairing the view into the home.

you stepped up the stairs of the walkway, ringing the doorbell. you opened the door to be met by a breathtaking man, but you internally shook your head at the thought. 

he was happily married. 

“hi, y/n?” he smiled. you nodded with a smile of your own, mr. miya opened the door further, motioning for you to come inside. you bowed your head slightly in thanks, stepping inside, mr. miya shutting the door behind you. you stood off to the side, the papers mrs. miya had told you to bring clutched tightly in your hands.

“follow me to the kitchen,” mr. miya smiled at you, to which you nodded in response, a soft smile on your face. their kitchen was beautiful, a dark oak wood floor accompanied by white walls. the cabinets were an olive green color, a few plants neatly hung from the ceiling. 

your train of thought was broken as a cheer of your name sounded from across the room, “y/n!”. you turned at the sound, mrs. miya standing up from her chair at the kitchen table. you walked over, mr. miya behind you, smiling at his wife. “nice to meet you,” you smiled. mrs. miya offered her hand, to which you obliged, shaking her hand.

“oh who am i kidding, i’m a hugger,” she pulled you in for a hug. “is this alright?” she whispered into your ear, her hand rubbing at the small of your back. the best you could do was hum out an affirmation, hoping the large gulp you had taken wasn’t noticeable. 

you pulled away, your cheeks feeling hot. mr. miya laughed softly from beside you, walking over to his wife, his arm falling to wrap around her waist as he spoke, “now what did we say about hugging strangers?”. mrs. miya just smiled in response, “i have a feeling she won’t be a stranger for too long, dear,”. 

they shared intimate eye contact for a moment, causing you to look down at your shoes. “y/n, sit, please,” mrs. miya offered. mr. miya rushed over to your side, pulling out a chair for you. you ushered out a soft thanks, sitting down. “so, we’ll get started with some simple questions, no pressure” mrs. miya started. you nodded in response, shuffling slightly in your chair. 

“any previous experience babysitting?”

the questions had lasted for about 40 minutes, the couple asking about your age, school experience, previous job occupancies, what you thought your wage should look like. the questionnaire had lasted barely an hour, but you had been at their home for three. 

you had spent two hours conversing with the couple, learning about their life, and them learning about yours. mrs. miya had told you the story of how she had met atsumu, the details causing you to laugh. “he fell in the fountain trying to serenade me,” she laughed. “hey, you promised not to tell anyone that part!” mr. miya whined jokingly, playfully elbowing his wife.

you smiled at the couple, enamored by how in love they were. “what about you?” mr. miya asked, causing you to tilt your head and hum in a questioning tone. “are you in a relationship?” he clarified. the question caused your cheeks to heat up, but you answered nonetheless, “no, i’m not dating anyone right now,” your voice had gotten quieter, “i just ended a relationship about 6 months ago, so i’ve been weary about getting back out there,”. 

you stopped there, worried you were boring the couple with the details of your love life, but when you looked up from fiddling with your hands, the pair of them showed that they were listening to you intently. “love’s hard,” mrs. miya said simply, reassuring you. you nodded in agreement before atsumu spoke up, “don’t stress about throwing yourself back into the dating field, you’ll know when your ready,” he bounced off of his wive’s words.

“hell,” mrs. miya spoke, the word sounding foreign coming from her lips, “maybe you’ll find someone when you’re not even looking for them,”

you’d had left their house that day with butterflies in your stomach, but you couldn’t figure out why. you had been over to babysit a couple times, and every time you arrived at their home, those butterflies reappeared. the butterflies magnified when atsumu caught you looking at him or his wife, or when their hands would brush against your body trying to get past you in the kitchen.

this was your fifth time babysitting, the miya’s home and the couple themselves becoming more familiar.

you rang the doorbell, playing with the rings on your fingers. hearing the doorknob turn, you looked up to be met by mrs. miya’s smiling face. “hi y/n!” she grinned, holding the door open for you to come inside. you smiled back, letting out a soft hello in response to her greeting.

you stepped inside their home, the feeling more familiar yet so strange at the same time. she led you to the kitchen as you walked behind her. they had explained that they were going to a work gala for mr. miya’s job. on your interview day, they had explained their professions, mr. miya being a professional volleyball player, and mrs. miya being a psychiatrist. 

you had known they were going to a work gala, meaning you knew they would be dressed to the tee. if you knew this, then why were your eyes raking over mrs. miya’s figure in the way they were? her hair was pinned up, gold earrings being flaunted. from what you had seen at the door, she had on red lipstick, matching the insatiable red of her dress. 

speaking of her dress, it hugged her figure so well. her hips were accentuated in the fabric, which fell down the entire length of her body. she had on gold heels to match her jewlery, her look being perfected. 

before you could admire her any longer, you stopped suddenly, mrs. miya slowing in front of you. atsumu was leaning on the wall near the entrance of the kitchen, smirking at you. “she looks stunning, huh?” his voice having an all too-knowing tone to it. 

you couldn’t help but blush, shame rushing through you. you had been caught ogling his wife, you couldn’t help but be embarrassed. “no need to get shy,” atsumu said softly, walking over to his wife who had now turned back to look at you. 

you had expected her face to exemplify an expression of disgust, and yet, that sweet, saccharine smile was still on her lips. “y-you look you beautiful mrs. miya,” you said shyly, “you too, sir,”. atsumu was donned in a tux, his hair gelled slightly and brushed back to either side. “thank you, y/n,” mrs. miya offered her appreciation for your kind words. 

atsumu was still staring at you, something unreadable behind his eyes. “you’re scaring the poor girl tsum’ say thank you,” mrs. miya chastised her husband. “thank you, y/n,” atsumu drawled. you couldn’t help but notice the way your name fell off his tongue, captivated by the way he could make it sound so desirable. 

“money’s on the table,” mrs. miya spoke, “haru’s on the couch watching adventure time,” mrs. miya chuckled, causing you to smile. “we’ll be back around 11,” atsumu said, grabbing his wife’s hand. mrs. miya said her goodbyes, her husband doing the same. 

you watched as mrs. miya placed a kiss on her child’s head, atsumu smiling down at his son. it was a heartwarming scene. “be sure to lock up,” atsumu said as he and his wife headed towards the door.

 he looked over his shoulder at you, smirking, before speaking once more, “thanks again for the compliments, y/n,”.

you had sat down next to haru and watched adventure time for a good hour. eventually, you had gotten up to make him mac and cheese. he was a sweet kid, his parents raising him with wonderful manners. you ran a bath for him after dinner, the boy begging to bring his toys in with him.

you obliged, adding bubbles to the bath and one too many teenage mutant ninja turtles. once he had dried off from his bath, he got dressed for bed, brushing his teeth. he said his goodnight, and made you promise that you would tell his parents that he said goodnight to them too. you smiled down at the boy, holding out your pinky. 

you switched off his lamp, “door closed or open?” you asked, “closed please,” he said softly. “alright, get some sleep,” you smiled at him, shutting his door. you had walked downstairs, sitting down on the living room couch. you mindlessly scrolled through your phone for a bit, double-tapping photos. you saw headlights flash through the window, the couple arriving home. 

you figured you’d wait for the doorbell to ring before unlocking the door, in order to show atsumu that you had locked up as he had said to. you sat for a minute more, confused on why the couple wasn’t already at the door. you figured they may have been sitting in the car talking, your attention falling back down to your phone.

30 minutes, and long one’s at that, had passed. you didn’t want to invade on their privacy, but you were tired and ready to go home. you peeked out the window, and the car was in the driveway. 

the windows were fogged, and the car seemed to have a slight shake to it. a hand slapped against the backseat window, and as your mind put 2 + 2 together, you quickly averted your eyes from the scene.

you couldn’t help the arousal that began to form in your lower area. you could feel your cheeks heat up as you sat back down on the couch, crossing your legs and rubbing your thighs together.

two minutes later, the doorbell rang. you rushed to the front door, taking a deep breath before unlocking the door. sex was written all over the both of them, atsumu’s gelled back hair now slightly falling over his forehead, his cheeks flushed a light pink. mrs. miya was in a similar state, her cheeks tinged a darker shade of pink then atsumu’s.

“sorry we’re so late,” atsumu smiled, his hand falling to the small of his wife’s back. he led her inside, walking to the kitchen and you followed. “how was haru?” mrs. miya asked, a slight breathlessness to her tone. “oh, um he was really great, he’s really well behaved,” you answered.

mrs. miya smiled at that, throwing her clutch down on to the table before sitting down. “water, hon?” atsumu asked from across the kitchen, mrs. miya nodding before letting her face fall into her hands. 

atsumu set a glass of water down in front of his wife, the woman muttering out a soft thank you. he opened the liquor cabinet, grabbing the bottle of bourbon and a crystallized cup. “bourbon, tsum?” mrs. miya scolded slightly, atsumu just shrugging in response. 

“i n-need to get this dress off,” mrs. miya said, seemingly growing slightly more unsettled. “atsumu’s drunk as a fish,” mrs. miya groaned, flailing her hands in the direction of her husband, “bet he wouldn’t even be able to find the zipper,”. 

she turned towards you, her voice softening, “would you mind coming up and unzipping me? sorry to keep you longer, i just need to get this dress off,” she huffed out a sigh. “of course, i don’t mind,” you said politely, following mrs. miya out of the kitchen. 

you turned back to see atsumu leaning against the counter, tipping his glass of bourbon towards you with a wolfish grin. 

mrs. miya took off her other earring, setting the gold piece down in her jewelry box. their bedroom was close to how you had expected, elegant but comfortable and homey. “sorry it was such a long night,” mrs. miya said, her back still turned towards you as she fiddled with the clasp of her necklace.

“it’s alright, i really don’t mind,” you watch the clasp of the necklace open and close a few more times before you offered, “did you want help?”. “yes,” mrs. miya sighed, “that’d be great, thank you,” she turned back to smile at you.

she had unpinned her hair, most likely in the car, brown locks falling over shoulder. her hand grabbed her hair, brushing it over her left shoulder. your finger pulled down on the little gold clasp, separating the link of the necklace.

you lifted it over mrs. miya’s head before setting it down beside the jewelry box. “thank you,” she smiled, “o-of course,” you replied meekly. “would you mind getting my dress now,” mrs. miya asked. “oh um, yes,” you cringed at your awkwardness, your hands falling to the neckline of her dress.

you grasped the zipper between your pointer finger and thumb, pulling down. you had to tug a little harder as you got further down the dress, but eventually the item of clothing pooled at mrs. miya’s feet. you forced yourself to look somewhere else, eyeing the photo of mrs. miya and her husband at the beach.

“can i ask you something?” she paused for a moment, “just between us girls,”. you hummed out an ‘mhm’, looking down at the ground now. “do you think atsumu will like this lingerie? i was on the fence about it when i bought it,”. at her words, you couldn’t help but let your eyes rake up her figure.

the lingerie was blush pink, and lace, acting as a subtle parallel to mrs. miya’s skin. you became more and more aware of how hot the room was becoming, had it always been this hot? you looked up, mrs. miya facing you now, her eyebrows raised in question. “so?” she asked plainly, that sweet smile still on her lips.

“i-it’s lovely, mr. miya will love it,” you stuttered, forcing your eyes away from her body. mrs. miya walked over to the full length mirror on the other side of the room, her hands brushing over her body. “i don’t know, i think i feel weird cause i’ve only seen it on me,” she hesitated before her smile grew and she clapped her hands together. 

“you have to try it on, i think i need to see it from another perspective,” her eyes were glinting in delight. “oh n-no, i couldn’t,” “please, i’d really appreciate it,”. you bit on your bottom lip before simply nodding. mrs. miya’s hands raised to the bra clasp but you stopped her before she could remove the bralette from her body, “i-i’ll! i’ll try it on the bathroom,” you quieted down towards the end of your sentence, your cheeks flushed with heat.

“oh okay,” she said, “walk right through the door, i’ll pass it through in just a second,”. you opened the barn door that led to the master bathroom, closing it behind you. you took a deep breath, rationalizing what was going on at the moment. a knock broke you from your rushing thoughts, “here you go,” mrs. miya’s soft voice sounded through the wood of the door.

you opened it, a green robe covering her body now, “i-i’ll put it on, and be-” your voice cracked slightly, “be out in just a second,”. mrs. miya nodded in understanding, smiling before you shut the barn door.

you unbuckled your jeans, folding them neatly before setting them on the countertop of the sink. you pulled your shirt over your head, folding it and placing it on top of your pants. you were embarrassed with the panties you had chosen to wear today, zebra stripes and hot pink hearts covering the fabric. you pulled your panties off, putting them under your jeans and out of sight. 

your bra came off next, and you flung it atop your clothes. you huffed out a deep breath, pulling the white lace panties onto your body. you couldn’t help but think that mrs. miya had just worn these, the thought sending shivers down your spine. you put the bralette on next, slipping it over your arms before clasping it in the middle.

you looked over your appearance in the mirror, shaking away any insecurities. you walked over to the barn door, pulling it open little by little. you could see mrs. miya’s head turn expectantly and once the door no longer covered your body, her eyes lit up. “wow,” she sighed, and you couldn’t help but want to curl in on yourself.

your embarrassment must of been visible, mrs. miya quickly reassuring you, “you look fucking amazing,”. the curse word sounded so foreign falling from her lips, yet you reveled in the harshness of the word coming from her lips. “t-thank you,” you said quietly. 

mrs. miya’s voice was cut off by the sound of the bedroom door opening. you quickly realized what that meant, but before you could even react atsumu’s eyes were locked on your face and falling down your figure. “got started without me, huh?”.

you felt like crying, embarrassed that mr. miya was seeing you like this. “atsumu!” his wife chastised. a single tear fell down your cheek, your throat burning and yet there was that hint of something you felt deep inside of you.

“i-i’m sorry y/n, we should’ve been more upfront with you,” mrs. miya said walking over to you, her hand brushing away the tear that had fallen down your cheek. more...upfront? what did she mean? 

atsumu could sense your confusion, that slight smirk still lingering in his expression, “what my wife is trying to say is that,” atsumu started, walking closer to you, “we think you deserve a reward, been so good tonight, waited here for so long too,”. mrs. miya’s hand that was on your cheek was now rubbing your shoulder. 

your hair had been tied up since earlier, and atsumu’s mouth latched onto the exposed skin of your neck, sucking on the skin. he pulled back slightly, admiring the reddish-purple mark blossoming on your body. he plunged in once more, leaving lingering kisses along your neck, your cheek, your jawline. mrs. miya was kissing your shoulder, her hands gripping your hips.

“atsumu stop for a moment,” atsumu grumbled, but pulled away nonetheless. mrs. miya grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at her, “is this alright? if you want to stop we can, we’ll forget it ever happened,”. your bottom lip was pulled between your teeth, your entire body feeling as though it was on fire.

“but if you want this, we need to hear it,” mrs. miya finished, her eyes glazing over your expression intently, searching for any hesitation. “w-want this,” you said quietly “want you both, please,” you whimpered. you heard atsumu chuckle lowly from behind you before your line of vision was shifting from mrs. miya to her husband.

“so fuckin’ pretty,” he said, his voice gravely. “we’ve been wantin’ to do this since the first fuckin’ day,”. next thing you knew atsumu’s lips were on yours, the distinct taste of bourbon flooding your senses. atsumu pulled away, a line of spit connecting your lips, before he moved back to your neck, sucking another hickey into your skin.

“so greedy tsumu’,” mrs. miya said, turning you to her once more before her lips locked with yours. her lips tasted sweet, her tongue slotting over yours and easily winning dominance. she pulled away flashing that sweet smile at you once more. they were going to be the death of you. mrs miya walked you back towards the bed, pushing you down onto the soft mattress.

“gonna be good for us, right?” she mumbled into the skin of your stomach, kissing down the length of your body. “look at her babe, she’s already fucking drooling,” you heard atsumu speak from above you, his body towering over yours.

mrs. miya pulled away from your skin for a moment, looking up at your desperate expression. “look so pretty,” she sighed, her hands playing with the waistband of the white lace panties. “gonna look so pretty when your full of tsumu’s cock too, huh?”. you whined at the thought, your hips thrusting up into nothing

“told ya we wouldn’t be strangers, tsumu,”

OKAY I KNOW KINDA A CLIFFHANGER ON THE SMUT I DONT MEAN TO EDGE YALL LIKE THAT :{  but i really wanted to get this out. maybe i’ll do a part 2 depending on how this part of the fic does??? thank you for reading love you<3