#thank you for the ask!!! i really do appreciate it!!

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | fake marriage au [18+]

in holy matriphony ch5. child's play

ᰔ pairing. fake marriage au - neighbor&realtor!gojo x nurse!reader (ft. choso x reader & suguru x reader)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is your extremely annoying next-door-neighbor who you're pretty sure is the most insufferable man you've ever met. given the fact that you exclusively work the night shift at a chaotic emergency dept, just got broken up with your boyfriend of seven years, and have been taking care of your sick mother ever since her multitude of diagnoses, yet somehow your neighbor is the main source of stress in your life should speak volumes. but when your mother's medical bills start to skyrocket to more than you can manage, and you learn that said neighbor of yours has the best private health insurance plan in the country, you ask him to enter a matrimonial agreement with you for the spousal benefits all in the name of saving a few hundred thousand dollars. but you'll have to see if suffering cohabitation w him is worth any amount of money.

ᰔ genre/tags. fluff, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), annoyances to lovers (that's more like it), small town romance, fake marriage, next door neighbors, lots of bickering, suburban shenanigans, slow burn, mutual pining, gojo likes to play house but you don't, hatred for the american healthcare system, gojo always forgets to mow the lawn, jealousy, an insane amount of profanity, mentions of cigarettes, depression/anxiety; btw gojo in this fic is in his mid 30s n reader is in her late 20s

ᰔ warnings. reader in this fic has a sick mother w alzheimer's & cancer so there is secondary medical angst!!

ᰔ chapter. 5/x

ᰔ words. 4.8k

a/n. helloo my ihm friends! long time no see. hope you're all doing well and thank you so much to everyone who sent me kind messages about the whole ihm gojo ex wife thing haha. i really appreciate it :) i feel more confident about my writing decisions now, and that's all thanks to you guys! anyways, i will be posting shorter chapters for ihm going forward, so sorry if some chapters have slightly abrupt endings or stuff like that. i guess my goal is to post shorter chapters but more frequently! we'll see how it works out. anyways, hope you enjoy this chapter and see you at the bottom!!

nav. ch1 :: ch2 :: ch3 :: ch4 :: ch5 :: ch6 (pending)

Ever since admitting your mother into hospice, things have been calmer inside your mind. After passing the initial wave of agony that came with no longer hearing her voice down the hall or seeing her silhouette in her bedroom as you walked past it, you realized that…a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. No longer setting alarms at the height of every other hour to remind your mother to take her medication, no longer viewing every interaction you had with her as some form of study you needed to jot down in a binder for her neurologist’s records, and no longer driving her to all of her chemotherapy appointments, only to leave them feeling like you purposefully just took your mother to a place where they sucked all the life out of her in exchange for the slim promise of giving it all back to her someday.

Maybe it was evident in the way your shoulders felt less tense as you rolled them back, tilting your neck to the side and no longer feeling the painful strain that tugs a wince onto your face. The other day, you caught yourself humming a song as you drove to work. Your skin, usually feeling cracked and dry from stress and exhaustion, now has a slight plumpness to it like before. A more youthful glow, like the version of yourself you were before your mother became sick. The version of you that so quickly deteriorated, and one you didn’t even know still existed somewhere within you. 

There has also been time for hobbies. Rarest of occasions, you find yourself sauteing some yellow and white peaches in a saucepan over medium heat in Gojo’s kitchen, humming that song once again that’s been stuck in your head. The sundress you’re wearing matches the pink of the syrup that pools at the bottom of the pan, and you feel like you’re living your cottage core dreams in this brief moment of reprieve you’ve allowed yourself to fall into.

The sound of slippers tapping down onto the hardwood floor startles you out of your gleeful trance, and you turn your neck to the right to see a pajama-clad messy-haired Gojo shuffling his feet across the open area into the kitchen with a dark black mug in his hand.

“Why aren’t you dressed??” you ask him in a panic.

“I’ll get dressed later,” he tells you dismissively as he grabs the glass pitcher of coffee from where the coffee machine was nestled up against one of the counter corners.

“You’re stressing me out. Your mom told us to be there in two hours,” you say, putting your hands on your hips in disapproval as you hear the sizzle of the peaches in the saucepan. 

He entirely ignores you, choosing to instead drag his gaze down the form of your body. “Woooow, twice this month I get to see you in a cute dress,” he comments, pouring coffee into his mug but his eyes are still on you, “lucky me.”

“Oh Shut. Up,” you sneer at him with a harsh roll of your eyes, “your fake flattery might work on the lonely middle-aged women you seduce to make a living, but it won’t work on me.”

His shoulders push back before he slumps them slightly, his brow lifting with confusion. “It’s not fake though? I mean it. You look really nice right now.”

You point an accusatory sugar-syrup coated wooden spatula at him. “You’ve just been conditioned by the patriarchy to get a boner at the sight of a woman in a kitchen.”

“What–...no–...why do you always have to say stuff like that whenever I compliment you? Can’t you just accept it?”

You cross your arms over your chest. “I refuse to be flattered by an insolent man like you.”

He sighs, setting his coffee mug down on the counter, and you watch the way the fringe of his hair hangs over his forehead as he gazes into the contents, swirling it around with a loose grip on the handle. “Is this how it’s going to be everyday? I try to be nice, and you–...well, you know, are you.”

“Well who else should I be?”

His eyes lift up to meet yours, the slightest of a cheeky grin on his face as his eyes wander down the form of you again. “I don’t know. Someone a little…softer? Like, you’ve got this really pretty dress on, and then you’re telling me off about patriarchy-induced boners. It’s a little, uh, contradictory?”

You gasp. “You’re trying to control me. I knew it. You are poisoned by the patriarchy.”

“What?”

Your eyes narrow at him. “You have this image of a perfect and cute little wife, who’s gonna wear pretty dresses all the time, and bake stuff in the kitchen, and get all blushy when you tell her she looks beautiful, and you expect her to have this soft little personality that never argues with you or disagrees with you…ALL BECAUSE OF THE PATRIARCHY!!!”

“...I–...Okay, you’ve lost me.”

You let out a hmph! noise. “Can’t even discern his own brainwashing. Sad.”

“All of this just because I tried to tell you that you look nice?”

“I know what your ulterior motives are, you creep.”

His eyes spark a little at that, the corner of his mouth tugging up into a cheeky grin as he sets the coffee mug down onto the marble counter and he straightens his spine. You blink, watching with confusion as he crosses the distance between the two of you, to where you’re taking a small few steps backwards until your lower back presses against the edge of the island countertop. He cages you into the surface with his frame, followed by the palms of his hands sliding over the marble on both sides of you, and you feel his forearms press against the curve of your waist as he traps you in with no way out.

“S-Satoru,” you stutter, looking up at him with wide eyes, “what are you doing?”

“What do you think I’m doing?” he says, his voice deeper with a nonchalance that has you shiver, his gaze dropping to your lips when you part them slightly.

“T-The patriar–” you squeak out, but he suddenly dips his head down to kiss you.

Your breath hitches in your throat, eyes immediately closing when he moves his lips against yours, one of his strong arms wrapping around your waist to pull you closer to him and your hesitation is something that only lasts a brief second before you find yourself kissing him back. Some noise leaves his throat, deep and raw and sounding pleasantly surprised as he captures your lips more fervidly now, his hands smoothing down to hold your hips and his teeth slightly nip at your bottom lip. 

You grab a fistful of his shirt, unsure of whether you want to pull him closer to you or push him away, but the moan that you mumble against his lips only makes his grip on your hips even stronger, fingers digging into the softness through the thin fabric of your dress. 

The oven suddenly starts beeping, startling you and you pull away from the kiss with a gasp, eyes rounded as you look up at him, but his are lidded and dilated as his gaze remains glued to your lips. 

With a heaving chest, you try to push him away by a weak fist to his sternum but he’s unrelenting.

“You taste sweet,” he says, like some comment he noted in his head but accidentally voiced out loud.

“I–...” you inhale sharply, “I just ate three macerated peaches.”

“Uh-huh,” he barely acknowledges before leaning in to get another taste, but you push him away harsher this time.

His hands let go of your hips entirely, finally breaking out of that kiss-induced trance he was in, but he still remains close to you in proximity, so much so to where you can feel the heat from his body. It’s comforting almost, radiating through the soft cotton of his long sleeve shirt, and you find yourself subconsciously leaning towards him before you snap out of it too, and rock your weight back against the island countertop.

You cross your arms over your chest, hoping the flush to your cheeks isn’t showing. “Oh okay so we just casually kiss now?”

He shoves his hands into his plaid pajama pant pockets, leaning away from you slightly. “For as long as I can get away with it, yeah.”

“You are breaking the rules.”

“You never said no kissing.”

“I said no touching.”

“Ehhh kissing isn’t really touching, though, is it?”

“You sound stupid.”

“I always sound stupid to you.”

The oven starts beeping again, and you realize it’s long been preheated to the setting you had placed earlier. You slip away from him with haste, feeling his gaze on you as you press a button on the oven to turn the alarm off, and you stare at the handle for a moment or two to calm the beating of your heart down. 

Your eyes catch sight of something on the side of the fridge. A little magnet made of rubber that has the word London on it as well as the design of the Westminster Cathedral with golden accents. You recall that Gojo went on a trip to London recently, and that he didn’t bring you back any souvenirs from there like he did for your other neighbors. And you want to pretend, you want to shove it down, that incessantly childish feeling that wonders why he didn’t bring you anything back. You want to continue to pretend like it doesn’t hurt your feelings. Something so miniscule and small. But you–...well, you can’t.

You spin around to face him. “Do you hate me?” you bluntly ask.

He blinks at you. “Huh?”

“Do you, what, I don’t know, think I’m annoying or something?”

He shrugs with his hands still in his pockets. “I mean, yeah, I do think you’re annoying sometimes. But in a silly way. Like we’re just pals horsin’ around, y’know?”

You snarl at him, putting your hands on your hips and narrowing your gaze until he’s hardly even visible anymore. “No. I actually find you annoying. Like, wanna-run-you-over-with-a-bus annoying. You just have horrendous social awareness and think that everyone loves you.”

“You actually don’t like me?” he asks, like he can’t even believe that someone wouldn’t.

“Yes,” you say, “now get out of my way.” You make an attempt to push past him, purposefully knocking your shoulder into him to assert dominance but he is unfortunately much bigger than you and so all it does is make you stumble ungracefully from the recoil.

He quickly grabs your arm to steady you, and you glare up at him before yanking yourself away and then step backwards until your back hits the fridge.

He studies your demeanor for a second before taking a deep inhale, and then lets it all go in a heaving sigh. “What do I have to do to get you to lighten up a bit?” he asks.

“You really want to know?” you sneer at him.

“Yes,” he says with a slight hint of frustration in his tone.

You cross your arms. “Pay for the fucking fence.”

He blinks at you, confusion replacing whatever frustration was previously decorating his tone. “What?”

“The fence,” you reiterate with a step forwards towards him, “the one I built six months ago. The one where you laughed in my face when I told you to help pay for it.”

He leans forward. “Yeah. Because I never wanted that fence built. Like I said, it fucked up the roots on my avocado tree. You should’ve asked me before building it. In fact, it’s illegal to build a fence without joint consent of both neighboring property owne–”

“Oh my god, okay, see? This is why I can’t stand you,” you snarl at him and make another move to get past him but he easily steps in front of you to keep you from going anywhere.

With a sigh, he relents. “Fine, I’ll pay for the fence.”

You try to keep the twitching muscles of your face still as you resolutely stare up at him, pressing your lips into a thin line. Through a strained tone, you say, “No. I don’t want you to pay for it anymore.”

He lifts a brow, utterly bewildered at this point. “Huh?”

“Now it just feels like pity. And I don’t want your pity money.”

“Two seconds ago, you did.”

“Yeah, well, whatever. That was two seconds ago.”

“So…let me get this straight, you don’t want me to pitch in?”

“No. I want you to have wanted to pitch in SIX MONTHS AGO.”

“Okay but what the fuck am I supposed to do about that now?”

“NOTHING!!!” you finally snap at him, the shrill to your voice startling him slightly to where you see his shoulders jump, and his eyes are now rounded blue as he looks at you. “There’s nothing you can do about it, there’s nothing you can do to get me to ‘lighten up’ or ‘act softer’ or whatever the fuck kind of damage control you aim to achieve with me due to your pestering incessant need to be liked by every fucking person you come across. So just deal with the fact that I hate you and let me do it in peace.”

He’s silent for what feels like a long time as he blinks at you, his bottom lip pushing up slightly in a way that suggests he’s almost impressed by your little outburst, then he takes a step forward, and in that one large stride, he’s closed any distance between the two of you. Your back is up against the frigid steel of the fridge, your heels tucked under the warm rubber at the foot of it, and you’re looking up at Gojo as he towers over you, his hands still annoyingly and relaxedly shoved into his pockets.

“Do you think it’s gonna be a problem that I think you’re kinda hot when you’re mad?” he asks you.

A small puff of air leaves your lips, like you just can’t believe the audacity, but also having him this close to you suddenly made it a little harder to breathe. “C–...Can you just be fucking serious for one second?”

His head dips down, the fringe of his hair tickling your forehead, tip of his nose slightly brushing against yours, but his gaze never falls to your lips. “You think I’m not being stupid fuckin’ serious when I say that you’re hot?”

“S–” your breath hitches in your throat, and his gaze finally falls to the lick you pass over your lips, “Satoru–”

Like God himself answered to your (cognitively dissonant) prayers, the bell rings, and Gojo leans himself away from you, straightening his spine so he can glance over his shoulder towards the door, a slight look of irritation on his face through the furrow of his brow.

You blink up at him. “A–...Are you expecting someone?”

He rubs the back of his neck. “No. Don’t think so.” He sighs before shuffling around the kitchen island and across the dining hall towards the entryway of the house, and you peer at the sight from across the hall.

When he opens the door, you see Sana standing outside, dressed in mom jeans and a t-shirt with her black Coach purse slung around her shoulder, arms crossed, and you barely register the fact that she looks pissed.

“Sana?” Gojo says, “what’s up.”

She entirely ignores him when she catches sight of you, pushing right past him and into the family room that you were currently finding solace in.

“You,” she points at you, storming right up to your personal space, “what the hell did you say to Juno when you were babysitting her?!”

“H-Huh??” you squeak out, taking a step backwards. “What are you talking about?”

“You told her to fight kids at school?!” she snarls at you, and your eyes widen.

“What?” you say, your face twisting with confusion, “I–...I never said that. I just said that she should stand up for herself if she needs to.”

Sana inhales deeply with rage, leaning back and jutting her hip out as she crosses her arms again. “Yeah, well, I had to pick her up early from school today because the principal called and told me she shoved a little girl on the playground during recess, and now she’s facing suspension.”

Gojo approaches suddenly from your periphery, standing in front of you as he faces Sana. You stand on your tiptoes to peer at her over his shoulder. “What? Why would Juno do something like that?

You hear Sana start to tap her foot impatiently against the hardwood floor, and then she turns her head away from Gojo as a slight hmph! noise leaves her throat. “The why is irrelevant.”

You poke your head out from behind Gojo and glare at her, but then Gojo turns around suddenly to look at you.

“y/n,” he says, “what’s going on?”

“I–” you start, glancing at Sana again who now has a solemn look on her face with pursed lips. You glance back at Gojo, who’s looking at you with confusion and anticipation. A heat spreads down your neck from the attention of the both of them on you, and you’re not sure what the smart thing to say is, so you figure you’ll just tell the truth as it is. “...I just didn’t want her getting bullied and thinking she can’t stick up for herself.”

At that, you see Gojo’s shoulders stiffen. “Bullied?” he repeats after you, then quickly turns towards Sana, “what does she mean, bullied? Juno’s getting bullied at school?”

Sana faces him full-on, raising a stern pointed finger between the two of them “No. Satoru. Stop. You always do this. This has nothing to do with you, so don’t even start. It’s not a big deal, let’s not make it one.”

“The fuck do you mean it’s not a big deal? She’s getting bullied at school, and you want her to just suck it up?” he asks, venom dripping from his tone. 

“It’s for her benefit!” Sana exclaims. “Jun and I have spent months trying to get her into this school! We don’t want her getting kicked out.”

“Y’know, I’m–” you stutter, “I’m gonna–...I’m just gonna go upstairs,” you say, “this seems like a family matter. I think you guys should probably just settle this on your ow–”

“No,” Gojo says, pointing to the couch that you were standing in front of, “sit down.”

You sit.

Gojo turns to face Sana again, and although you can’t see his face, you imagine he’s pissed off from the way Sana’s shoulders drop slightly and her sharp expression is cut into a more sheepish one.

“Who cares if Juno is suspended for sticking up for herself? It’s the teachers’ fault for not making sure she’s safe,” he says.

“Shoving other kids is not the solution.”

“Well if you fuck around, then you find out. Kids are too soft these days.”

“This is not the 90s, Satoru.”

You watch the back and forth between the two of them for the better part of an entire minute, feeling uneasy in the hostile environment of the room, but there’s a sense of underlying familiarity between the two, one that is recognizable amongst family. And you feel rather foreign, but then remember that, technically speaking, now that you’re married to Gojo, this is your family too.

Amongst the arguing of the adults, none of you noticed that Juno had gotten out of the car in the driveway and was now standing in the doorframe of the front entrance. She looks scared and guilty, fidgeting with her fingers in front of her, and you notice her scrapes and bruises that you tended to last week were now mostly healed. 

Gojo catches sight of her, and you see his shoulders relax. “Juno, c’mere.”

With the permission, she instantly runs towards him and into his arms from where he was crouched down to the floor in order to welcome her, and then she starts sobbing.

“I’m–hic,” she cries, “I’m so–hic–I’m so sowwyyy Uncle Toru…I’m–hic–I’m sorry mommyyyy.” 

You see Sana sigh and she makes a move to brush Juno’s tear-dampened hair out of her face when Gojo pulls her away from his shoulder by a delicate hold of her bony little shoulders.

“Juno. Listen. If people are being mean to you, then you do exactly as your auntie y/n said. You stand up for yourself. And if that doesn’t work, then you cuss at them and threaten to shove their faces into the dirt until they run away with their tails between their legs. Do you understand me?” Gojo tells her.

Sana gives you a pointed look.

“Oh, I–” you put your hands up in front of you, “I didn’t say any of that last part.”

“Do you understand me?” Gojo repeats again, and Juno nods her head slowly before she falls back into him and soaks his shirt with tears. “I’m soowwwwwyyyyyy.”

Gojo pats her back a few times to comfort her, and your heart breaks for the little girl. It’s bad enough to be bullied at school, but then to be reprimanded by your mother the one time you stand up for yourself…you can imagine how emotionally exhausting that would be for a five-year-old. 

Juno sniffles, rubbing her snot all over the cotton of Gojo’s shirt, and then pulls her face away to rub at her eye with a weakly closed fist. “I–hic–I just…I just wanted him to feel–hic–the same hurt.”

“Huh? Who?” Gojo asks.

“The boy,” Juno says, “the one that shoved me today.”

“It was a boy?!?!?!” Gojo yells. “Alright. That’s it. I’m grabbing my bat.”

“Satoru.” Sana deadpans.

Sana and Gojo continue to bicker about the ethics of threatening five-year-old boys with baseball bats, going back and forth about how Gojo wasn’t actually going to do anything but just wanted to instill fear (he’s lying), while Sana isn’t exactly sold on a single pacifist thing that he says, and you sigh, because you realize you’ve become invested in one of, what you feel like will become many, of their family quarrels.

Juno sneaks around Gojo’s legs and comes up to you while the arguing is taking place in the background, and she gently taps your knee as you’re seated on the couch. “Auntie y/n,” she whispers.

You rub an eye crustie from her face and then hold her hand in yours. “Yes?”

“Thank you.”

“Mm? For what?”

She smiles at you, her cheeks pink and flush from crying but rounded now in glee. “My mommy and daddy spoke a lot today at home for first time in long time because of me. Because I listen’ded to you. Thank you.”

Your eyes narrow. “What do you mean by that, sweetheart?”

Why wouldn’t Sana and Jun be on normal talking terms? What does Juno mean that it’s been a long time? What exactly was going on at home?

“Juno,” Sana’s voice interrupts your thoughts, her arms crossed across her chest, “c’mon. Let’s go.” She points a stern finger at Gojo. “Seriously. I mean it. No baseball bats or rodent traps involved. I’ll talk to the teachers and sort something out.” She glances at you, that strict look on her face now dissolving into one of pure exhaustion. One you can imagine only a mother can face. “See you later at dinner, you two.”

Juno runs up to her mom and grabs onto her outreached hand, and you see Gojo ruffle her hair as she walks past him, her giggles ringing in the air, and then he sees them out the door. 

The air is awkward, at least to you, the second he closes the door, and when he turns around to face you, your body stiffens up.

He leans back onto the front door, crossing his arms over his chest. “Thanks,” he says, “for telling Juno to stick up for herself.”

You blink at him. “Well. I don’t feel too great about it at the moment, to be honest.”

He sighs. “I just think that Jun and Sana are raising her to be…kinda meek. I wish they’d teach her to be more confident and take up space.”

“Mhm,” you nod. Because you agree. Little girls need to learn how to be that way at a young age, because the world is seldom very kind to them.

“Well, what you said to her is what I would’ve said to her anyways,” he says.

You roll your eyes, standing up from the couch and heading back into the kitchen to presume your work on your peach cobbler. “I never told her to shove kids’ faces into the dirt. But, uh, sure, I guess so.”

You see Gojo enter the kitchen too in your periphery, but you don’t give him any glance or look or attention. From what you can see as you stir around your macerated peaches in a Pyrex bowl, he’s leaning against the island counter about three feet away from you, his hands shoved in his pockets, and he’s watching you. A slight warmth radiates in your cheeks, but you attempt to ignore the nerves by being hypnotized by the pink syrup that pools at the bottom of the bowl.

My mommy and daddy spoke a lot today at home for first time in long time because of me. Because I listen’ded to you. Thank you.

An unsettling feeling takes over your senses. It could be the past few years you’ve spent walking on eggshells around your mother, or the way you’ve become so keen to her energy as a way of staying on top of any shift in her symptoms, any single sign of disease progression, any clue that she wasn’t getting better. Any clue that she wasn’t doing okay. And you feel a sense of dread, because that skill, you realize, has now made you aware of similar circumstances in the people around you.

Not to mention, you are a child of divorce. You know what that fear feels like.

You just want to know if Juno feels safe at home.

“Hey, um…” you start, turning slightly to finally face Gojo, your eyes hesitantly flickering up to meet his gaze, “when was the last time you saw your brother-in-law? And with Sana?”

He raises a brow at you. “I just saw them last weekend for one of Juno’s dance recitals.”

“Ah…I see,” you say. You purse your lips together. 

Right. Kids say things all the time. They believe in Santa Claus and think that blueberry pancakes are called blubbery pancakes. And they sometimes read too into things, and they sometimes read too little. Surely, things must be okay. Maybe Sana and Jun had had a little argument with some stubbornly thawing cold shoulders, a demeanor that was noticed by their child, and now things have resumed to normal. That was normal. Part of every family. “That’s good to know…” 

You turn away from Gojo to stare back down into the bowl of macerated peaches again. With a furrowed brow, you close your eyes tightly to try to shake the chilly feeling in your bones, and you feel better when you open them again. The slightly numb sensation in your hand dissipates and you have enough dexterity to mix the peaches around in the bowl.

“I wonder what news they want to share with us over dinner,” you say, to quell the awkward silence.

“Hm?” Gojo hums, and you see him turn around face the counter now, hovering over the bowl of raw crumble topping you had mixed together, prodding at it with the wooden spoon. “Oh, they’re moving.”

Your head snaps to look at him. “W-What?”

“Yeah,” he nonchalantly affirms, scooping up a spoonful of the crumble. “They wanted to up-size, and move a little closer to the school that Juno’s at. I found them a nice place about an hour from here on the outskirts of the city. They just signed the papers a couple weeks ago.” And then he shoves the spoon into his mouth.

“Oh…wow,” you say. “Okay…”

“Damn,” Gojo says with surprise laced in his tone, "this is really good.” He’s staring into the bowl in awe and then scoops up some more crumble with a spoon.

You blink at him, irritated that he’s eating all your ingredients without even asking, and before you’ve even finished your dessert. It’s like he was born to piss you off.

You walk up to him and yank the bowl away, “Gimme that.” Then you pull it into the divot of your waist possessively and glare at him. 

He sighs, and then says something out loud that you’re sure he meant to keep in his head:

“I’ll get used to it.”

.

.

.

[end of chapter 5]

a/n. it feels so strange to post such a short chapter bahaha hopefully the ending isn't too abrupt. but hope you enjoyed! i'm so sorry ab the slow burn in this series aaa but i can try to assure you that it'll all be worth it hopefully lol i'm really excited for what i have planned for this series!! alsooo sorry if there are errors or anything, i'm trying to spend less time editing since it really stalls me n leads to writer's block lol. hope to see you in the next one :) much love! - ellie

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[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (44/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Let's get this party started!

Warnings: 18+ (mentions of previous smut), alcohol consumption, slight jealousy, a kiss

Word Count: 3.6k

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A/N: we love girls girls. happy Sunday to everyone! feedback is appreciated!

Your little heels click on the asphalt of the streets of Monaco as Kika and you walk towards the club, arms hooked and cheeks warm from the wine. Cold wind blows in your faces. 

“I was so happy when Charles invited us to come with you,” Kika smiles and lays her head on your shoulder, which is certainly quite uncomfortable due to your uneven pace. But she doesn't seem to care. 

You rest your cheek against her top of her head. "I didn't even know that you were coming tonight until a few hours ago," you say. 

“He apparently only messaged Pierre today and asked,” the Portuguese woman says, lifting her head from your shoulder. "Very spontaneous. But all the better that it worked.”

You smile at her. "That's true.”

Together you turn a corner and immediately the club on the other side of the street catches your eye. Neon signs, which somehow don't fit with the rest of the city's atmosphere, draw attention to the building and the closer you get, the louder the music seems to get, penetrating through the walls. A few people are standing in front of the double doors, guarded by security guards dressed in black, discussing admission. 

When you see the clipboards in the hands of the broad-built men, you stop abruptly, causing Kika to almost trip and bump into you. 

“Are you okay? What's wrong?” she asks, looking at you in confusion. 

Nervously, you nod in the direction of the club. ”They have clipboards.”

Kika looks at the bouncers and then back at you. “No shit, Sherlock. That's where the guest list is,” she replies and tries to pull you a little further. “Why are you stopping? Have you changed your mind? Don't you want to party?”

“Yes, I do,” you reply hesitantly. “But how do we get in there if they have a guest list?”

A grin spreads across Kika's beautiful face before she puts her arm around you and pushes you forward. “Do you really doubt that we'll get in?” she asks, and when she catches your nervous glance, she pulls you closer. “You were invited by a Formula 1 driver, querida. You're the last person who needs to worry.”

As you cross the street and stand behind the people who are still arguing with the bouncers, you realize how different your life seems to be now. 

Ten days ago, you were worried about how you would pay your rent if you didn't find a job – and now you're spending nights on yachts, your best friend is a model and you're partying with Formula 1 drivers in Monaco's most chic clubs. And you're even living with one of them.

And you love him too. 

The bouncers don't seem to be giving in, and the more unyielding they look, the more annoyed the men in their black suits appear. As people try to negotiate their entry and wave banknotes in their hands, the men look past them and nod to you. 

Without hesitation, Kika pulls you through the crowd and comes to a stop in front of the entrance doors. She is about to open her mouth when one of the bouncers takes a step to the side and smiles at you. “Good evening, ladies,” he says in a deep voice, holding the door open for you. “Mr. Norris is expecting you.”

“Thank you very much,” Kika replies with a broad smile, quickly pulling you along behind her so that you can only say a quiet ‘thank you’ to the two men before the club's double doors close behind you and you are enveloped in dim light, warm air and music that gets louder with every step you take. 

“See? That wasn't so hard,” your friend grins, and together you walk down a short hallway before entering a large room. To your left are a few seating areas on an ampore, some open and others roped off. To your right is a long bar stretching across the room, with lots of people already gathered around it. And right in front of you – there's the dance floor. 

At the back is the DJ booth, currently manned by a woman who seems to know exactly what the crowd wants to hear. With precision and skill, she flows from one song to the next without you really noticing, and the audience is eating out of her hands. 

“Hello, you two beauties,” someone suddenly says behind you, and when you turn around, you see Lando's face. He's wearing a white shirt, the top buttons casually undone so that part of his chest can be seen. With arms outstretched, he hugs Kika first before pulling you close and planting a kiss on your cheek. “How are you? How was Christmas?” he asks, taking each of your hands to pull you to the seating areas on the left. He briefly lets go of Kika's hand to untie one of the ribbons before letting you go ahead. 

“It was great,” Kika replies and takes off her long jacket before dropping onto one of the dark couches. She crosses her legs. "But I think our girl here had the most fun," she grins, raising her eyebrows. You give her a dirty look. 

Lando turns to you with raised eyebrows. ”Did you two fuck?”

“That's exactly what I asked!” Kika laughs and claps her hands joyfully. 

You feel the heat rising to your face, and it's not because you're still wearing your coat. Tensioned, you take it off and lay it over the back of the couch. “We didn't,” you answer curtly and roll your eyes. 

Kika and Lando exchange a meaningful look that you try to ignore. 

“Where are the boys, anyway?“ the Brit finally asks, rubbing his hands together as if he can't wait to see his friends again. 

“They dropped us off one street over so they could find a parking lot and so we wouldn't all be seen together,” Kika replies, reaching for the drinks menu on the small table in front of her. She begins to flip through it. 

“Very good.” Lando turns to you. "Today, only guests are invited who I and Martin know personally and trust so much that no one has to worry about any photos getting out," he smiles, putting his arm around your shoulders. 

You look up at him. ”Really?”

He nods. “So you don't need to worry. And neither does Charles.” He gently pulls you close before letting you go again. “So, girls. What can I get you to drink? Wine, cocktails, shots?”

“I'd like a strawberry margarita,” Kika replies, leaning back on the couch. 

“A piña colada, please.”

“All right. I'll be right back.“ Without turning back to you, he leaves and heads towards the bar, where he is immediately greeted and hugged by a few people, while you first make yourselves comfortable in your seating area. 

“Do you know this Martin guy?” you ask the Portuguese woman, who looks over at the crowd. 

She nods briefly. “Martin is really nice. And he's a good DJ,” she replies, and you notice how her gaze sticks to the female DJ. “He just doesn't look as good as she does.”

You can't suppress a grin. ”He doesn't have to look good as a DJ, does he? He just has to be good at what he does.”

“That's right,” Kika agrees with you before turning to face you. She points with her thumb over her shoulder and towards the DJ booth. ”But she's definitely hotter.”

Before you can say anything, Lando returns with a tray and sets it down in front of you. Your two cocktails and more glasses are on it, but there are also small shot glasses filled with red liquid. He hands you your drinks. 

“There we are,” Pierre greets all of you and briefly embraces Lando. Charles is standing behind him and smiles at you. 

“I'm glad you all made it,” the Brit smiles, giving the Monegasque a quick hug before everyone sits down. 

Charles takes a seat next to you, so close that he can press his leg against yours. “Hi,” he smiles gently. “Everything okay?” You return his smile and nod before taking a sip of your cocktail. His gaze flickers briefly from your eyes to your lips, which wrap around the straw. “Piña Colada?”

“Mh-hmm.” You hold the straw out to him and watch as he takes a sip. "Do you like it?”

“I do,’ he admits. ”But somehow I prefer the Nightmare Colada.”

Warmth rises to your cheeks at his words and the thought of the night when you got drunk on his boat. How you poured out your hearts. 

“To a great evening,” Lando raises his voice and hands everyone a shot glass. Carefully, each of you takes one, careful not to spill any of the red liquid. ”Cheers!”

The drinks that make their way to your table over the next two hours taste so fantastically good that Kika and you doubt that there is much alcohol in them. The cocktails taste fantastic and the music puts everyone in a good mood, so you leave your table and hit the dance floor. 

Your group dances to the beat that the DJ is playing like tipsy teenagers. Kika and you hold hands and dance together, causing the boys' eyes to almost pop out of their heads. The Portuguese woman presses her front against yours, her hands on your hips while yours are on her shoulders. And when she leans forward with pouting lips, you can't help but press a friendly kiss on her lips. You hear someone whistle – it's definitely Pierre – and when you both pull away from each other, you have to laugh. 

Kika puts her arm around your shoulders and the other around Charles. “I can't believe I kissed this beauty here before you did, Leclerc,” she grins. 

Charles looks at you with rosy cheeks, but his words are directed at Kika. “Is she a good kisser?”

“The best kisser I ever had,” the brunette replies with a grin before letting go of you and throwing her arms around her boyfriend. 

Charles and you look at each other uncertainly. 

Well, why haven't you kissed each other yet?

The thought is haunting your mind, but you can't answer the question. 

Doesn't Charles want to kiss you? You've definitely done things that are definitely not PG-rated. You can almost feel his spent between your thighs and his lips on your neck, the tip of his cock nudging against your clit and – 

Why haven't you kissed each other?

The Monegasque seems to notice your thoughts, but before he can say anything, Kika grabs your hand and pulls you towards the bar. You lean against the counter and wait for one of the bartenders to notice you when your friend takes your hand. 

“Is everything okay?” She asks, raising her eyebrows in concern. 

“Why do you ask?” you reply with a counter question. 

When a bartender reaches you, Kika orders your drinks. "I didn't want it to be weird between you and Charles. I'm sorry.”

You smile weakly at her and give her a quick hug. ’It's all right. We won't let this ruin our evening, okay?”

“You know you can always talk to me, right?” She asks, tilting her head. ‘You can call me day or night and I'll come to you. I promise.”

Your smile grows wider. "I'm already aware of that.”

“And I really love you, you know that?“ She puts her hands on your upper arms and hugs you tightly. Apparently, Kika gets emotional when she's drunk. 

“I love you too,” you return her embrace, and when the bartender puts your drinks in front of you, you both toast. 

“To the coolest girls, aka us,” she grins. As you both take a sip, someone taps her on the shoulder. Your best friend turns around and apparently she knows the young woman standing behind her, because she pulls her into a fleeting embrace before introducing you. ”Querida, this is Elena. She is also a model.”

In front of you stands a breathtaking beauty. With her brown hair, dark eyes and dark complexion, she looks as if she has just flown in from vacation. She is wearing a black and white dress that highlights her figure and accentuates exactly the right places to make her look flawless. 

You smile at her and introduce yourself as well. “Nice to meet you,” you say and extend your hand, but Elena kisses you on the left and then on the right cheek. 

“It's nice to meet you, too,” she replies with a smile before approaching you. ”Wait. Wipe below your eyebrows. You have some mascara on there.”

Without questioning her remark, you do as she says, and apparently it's good, because both women look at you with satisfaction afterwards. “Thank you,” you say. “That's very nice.”

Elena waves it off. ‘Don't worry. I'd want someone to tell me that too." She leans against the bar. ”You already have your drinks, right? Should I order shots for us?” she asks, but before either of you can answer, she is already talking to the bartender, who quickly prepares a cocktail and sets down three shot glasses in front of her. "Here you go," she says, handing each of you one of the glasses. 

After you've clinked glasses and emptied the small glasses, Kika fishes her cell phone out of her purse. ”Should we take a picture? I'm already drunk, but I definitely want a few more, and I don't think they'll get any better as the evening goes on,” she giggles, tapping someone on the shoulder to take a photo of you. First one of Kika and you, and then one of the three of you. 

“What's your name on Instagram?” Elena asks you, also digging out her phone so you can type your username into the search bar. When your profile pops up, she immediately clicks the follow button. 

Your phone lights up and the notification pops up on the lock screen, and when you tap it, you confirm her request and follow her right back. 

Her profile has a very aesthetic and artistic touch. Every picture is exactly where it should be. The colors all match and at the top of her biography is actually her full name: Elena Montpellier – one million followers – model at Bijou Management agency. 

“I didn't know that Lando had invited you,” Kika says to Elena, who just shrugs. 

“I'm here with friends,“ she replies as the three of you return to your seating area. "A friend of mine knows Martin and asked me if I wanted to come. And as if I'd stay at home when Martin is playing here in the club.”

Confused, you look from one beauty to the other. "So who is this Martin?” you ask hesitantly, afraid that Elena will laugh at you. 

But she doesn't. Quite the opposite. She slides closer to you and tells you about Martin, who is apparently a world-famous DJ. On her cell phone, she shows you videos of his shows and the crowds in front of which he usually performs, but in none of the sequences can you see his face. But suddenly she puts her cell phone down and motions for you to look up. “Speak of the devil.”

Your men join you and, like you, they have someone new with them. The face looks incredibly familiar. He kisses each of the girls on the cheek before introducing himself to you. And then it clicks. 

“Oh my God,” you gasp before he can say a word. ‘You're Martin Garrix.”

“That's me,’ he replies, visibly confused, glancing briefly at Lando, who puts his arm around your shoulder – skilfully ignoring Charles' scowl. 

“My friend here hasn't been in this industry for very long,“ he explains, gently pulling you over to his side. "This is all still pretty new.”

Martin looks back at you from Lando. ’Then I'm glad you're here today,” he smiles. “How did you end up with these guys, if you don't mind me asking?”

You're about to open your mouth to answer him, but Charles is faster. “She's my best friend,” he replies, standing next to you, his arm around your waist. He glances at Lando, who quickly removes his arm from your shoulder and catches your uncertain glance. 

“Okay, cool,” Martin simply replies. ”I still have about half an hour before I have to go to the desk. So, what's going on in your lives?”

While everyone is chatting, you hold back and watch. Pierre and Lando are talking, while Charles, Elena and Martin have moved closer together and the latter is showing something on his cell phone to the other two. You lean back into the couch and sip on your cocktail, Kika leaning on you. 

“I'm sorry he introduced you as his best friend,” she says, only audible to you. 

When you shrug, her head wobbles. “It's okay. I've made my peace with it,” you reply with a half-truth. 

Of course, you would prefer to be more than just his best friend – after all, you share a bed and the images of his expression when he came and painted your thighs refuse to leave you – but if his friendship is all you get from him, then that's that. 

“Please take care of yourself.” Kika raises her head and looks at you anxiously. ”I don't want you to get hurt. You've already been through so much.”

You gently press a kiss on her forehead. “I appreciate your concern.” Your gaze flickers over to Charles, who is now talking only to Elena. He shows her something on his phone and they both have to laugh. The woman leans forward a little to get a better look at the screen, but holds her neckline of the dress so that you can't see inside. 

Charles eyes move from his screen to you, without looking at Elena once. 

You smile at him, but before he can return it, the woman next to him says something and his attention is back to her, as if you weren't there. Maybe he just wants to be polite, after all, Pascale has taught him well and Charles is not one who just -

“Hi,” someone interrupts your train of thought and when you look up, Martin is standing in front of you. "I'm going to the DJ booth now and I thought you might like to join me," he suggests. ”As a kind of welcome and an apology for being so strange just now.”

You raise your eyebrows in wonder. “Actually, I should be the one to apologize. I'm not quite into the ‘famous people know other famous people’ thing yet. I'm sorry.”

Martin waves it off. “Don't worry. It takes some getting used to. But maybe it will help if you support me at the DJ booth.” He holds out his hand. 

“I've never done this before. So I can't guarantee anything,” you smile, which makes him laugh. 

“I'll show you everything. And if necessary, you can just stand next to me and look beautiful, but that shouldn't be a problem.“ 

“All right.” Without hesitation, you put your hand in his and he helps you to your feet. You take a quick glance at Kika, who grins at you and pushes the rest of your cocktail into your free hand, wishing you lots of fun. 

Your eyes flicker over to Charles, whose eyes are already glued to you. He doesn't seem to notice Elena at all, she talks and talks and apparently shows him something without realizing that his attention is not on her right now. He looks from your face to your hand, which is still holding Martin's, so that he can guide you through the crowd in a moment. 

It doesn't feel right to hold another man's hand, even if it's just for a moment. It should be Charles' hand holding yours. Charles' fingers entwined with yours. But Charles is sitting there with Elena, knee to knee. 

“Are you okay?” Martin asks, looking from you to Charles, who can't take his eyes off the two of you. 

You swallow and smile at him. “I'm fine.”

“Are you sure?” the DJ asks implausibly. “Charles looks at me as if he wants to kill me. You're just friends, aren't you?”

With your eyes fixed on Charles, you answer him. "Best friends," you correct him with the words of the Monegasque, before turning to Martin. ”Shall we?”

"With pleasure.”

As the two of you leave the seating area and you don't turn around to catch the eye of your best friend, Charles clenches his jaw. 

He already knows the feeling that is welling up inside of him, but last time it was Lando who triggered it and he had to work on himself not to see the Brit as competition. Which is complete nonsense, because Charles knows that Lando would never come between the two of you, not after he called the Monegasque and put him in his place while he was in Italy. 

And Charles knows that he has nothing to worry about. He is the man you go home with later. He is the man you share your bed with at night. He is the man who will later push up your dress and is allowed to touch you where you need him most. 

He knows all of this. And yet there is nothing he can do about it, except feel increasingly jealous with every step you take away from him.

[bisexualbaker]

Before Covid, it was not unusual that I was unable to resist the siren song of Black Friday sales that really are too good to be true; to try and make up for things a bit on my end, what I started doing was making up Thank You cards to hand to any store staff person I interacted with. I ask you a question, even just to point me in the direction of something? Boom, you get a card. You check me out at the register? Boom, you get a card.

Just something really simple from a cheap 10 pack of thank-you cards, or a template I'd printed out at home, with a short message along the lines of, "I know that things can be very stressful on days like today, and I wanted you to know that your efforts are appreciated. Thank you for being here to help me out."

Again, it's not something I've done since before Covid, but if you know ahead of time that you're going to be at a store on a really busy and stressful day? IDK, it probably can't hurt.

People always gloss over how mentally damaging it can be to work in retail. I fucking hate that whenever I say “I could never work in retail again” someone has to reply “You snowflake millennials can’t take a starter job because you have to INTERACT with other people” No. Fuck you. I’ve worked as a planetarium host. I’ve worked as a public speaker. I’ve worked as a tutor and as a student teacher. I can work with people. I can work with crowds. Retail was fucking different. Retail was being treated as a subhuman. Retail was being treated so poorly that you have anxiety attacks before work. Having to work retail was a factor in my last suicide attempt. If I hear you say one fucking word about retail workers playing the victim I will personally break every bone in your body. Fuck You.

[yuvany]

୨୧ LET ME TIE A BOW AROUND IT

// OT7 ENHYPEN when you want to tie a bow on them

─── ( on 𝓅𝑜𝒾𝓃𝓉) marking them as yours, but not the way most people'd expect !! 𝒇 ! reader ┊ CONTENT: fluff + est relashionship + nicknames + kisses ┊ WORD COUNT : 1181

reblogs + feedback always appreciated !!

𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆 - around his wrist

You were playing with his hands, your fingers gently grazing his knuckles in a way that made him feel at home and at ease. The way you carefully, but also affectionately massaged his hands could lull him to sleep any second if it weren't for you aburptly stopping. "Babe, what's wrong?" He asked, his voice sounding groggy as if he had just woken up from sleep. "Nothing, I was just reminded of something." You murmur as you awkwardly hold his hand in yours. "And what's that, pretty girl?" Heeseung sits up straight as he plays with your fingers. "I'll be right back." You kiss his cheek, leaving a hot spot on his face before running over to your room. You returned not long after with a roll of pink satin strands in your grasp. Heeseung watches as you return to your seat and pull out enough ribbon to wrap around his wrist with a smile.

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐉𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐆 - on his clothes

Jay was a big guy on fashion. He always came to you whenever he wanted an opionin on something, and something he walways wanted approval on was his outfits. "Sugar, what do you think of this?" He asked, posing for you as if it were a fashion show. "looks absolutely lovey." You reply. Today though, your comments did not persua him that his outfit did not lack something cruical. "Are you sure? Because it feels really empty, and i don't know what's missing." You shurg your shoulders at this, knowing that you can't do more than what you've already done. While Jay squints at the mirror, you get an idea and rush over to your room as you grab a string of ribbon and run back. "I have an idea." You walk over to him and tie the silky material like a ribbon on his pocket. "This is exactly what I was missing." He gives you a big kiss on the head.

𝐒𝐈𝐌 ����𝐀𝐄𝐘𝐔𝐍 - on his fingers

His fingers ran up and down your arm as he mindlessly scrolled through the content that was on his phone. You laid beside him, your eyes glue to the screen, but the feeling of his warm fingers against your skin managed to divert your attention. For a moment, all you could think of was how pretty his hands were as your eyes trailed his moving hands. They were comforting but also very attractive. Something about them just fished you in. "What'chu looking at?" Jake asks, his breath hittig your nape. "Nothing." You blurt out quickly. "I know you like my fingers, yeah?" He teases, and you groan. "So what?" "So tie a bow around them. I've seen the videos you repost on tiktok." He says, his fingers tapping your arm. "right." you murmur and crawl out of his arms to grab the satin ribbon you've kept in your room to the point they were on the werge of rotting. "You just managed to make them prettier, honey." He says, admiring the accessories.

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐍 - around his bicep

"You know, you've got great arms, babe." You pointed out to your boyfriend while on a wak home. "thanks, I take great pride in these." He releases your arms around his as he flexes his biceps through his jacket. "Like what you see, hmm?" He coos, and you just roll your eyes with a chuckle before continuing to walk without him. Sunghoon sees the uninterest in you and rushes to catch up with you. "Wait for me!" "Hurry up! I'm freezing!" It's these small banters that make everyday bright, and it was always known that you were joking, so he did not take anything to heart. You and him walked around the craft store when a roll of pink ribbon caught you eye. Sunghoon walked over to you and raised an eyebrow at your findings. "Let me borrow you for a second." You pulled out a string of ribbon and tied it around his bicep. "Let me take a quick picture." "Whatever you say, princess." He hums.

𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐎𝐎 - in his hair

Sunoo had kindly asked you to massage his scalp as he felt that he had been a hard worker for the past week and deserved a reward. Through feign objections, deep down you did want to play with his hair - if anything, this was one of may things that you always looked forward to. You sat yourself down on the couch and let Sunoo lay his head on your lap. Your fingers slowly crawling up his head while the TV caught your attention. The muted lights and comfort of you thighs, must've soothed him to sleep. You heard the soft snores and looked down at him to confirm that he was indeed asleep. Recently, you were wrapping presents and the red ribbons were just an arm away. You slowly grabbed it, making sure not to wake him up. It was a challenge, but at least you were finally done. You only hoped they wouldn't slide off when he wakes up.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐖𝐎𝐍 - around his waist

Christmas was soon, and Jungwon would annually ask what you wanted for this holiday. At the moment, you were sprawled on the cool floor of the livingroom. You see your boyfriend, Jungwon, slowly peek his head in you field of vision. "have you thought of something for christmas yet?" He asked, sitting down next to you as you rise from your laying position. "Not really, have you?" you asked and he shook his head. "i wouldn't want you to buy me something, having you by my side is more than I could ask for." Jungwon smiled as he pressed a light kiss to your ear. "then I can say the same for you, no? I just enjoy having you here." You attempt to lean agaisnt his shoulder, but it seeems like he's already run off to somewhere. Later, he comes back, asking, "can you help me tie this?" He points to his waist. "Why, babe?" You asked. "So that I can be your christmas present."

𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐌𝐔𝐑𝐀 𝐑𝐈𝐊𝐈 - around his neck

It's been a long day of practice for Riki at the dance studio. He comes home all sweaty and aching all over his body. You see this and hurry over by his side. You offer your shoulder for him to lean on but he jokes that you'd be crushed, in which you scold him for saying such nonsense while being in his state. "Go take a shower, you stink, bby." You say, pinching your nose bridge. Riki rolls his eyes, but does as you command. A few minutes pass and the sound of the shower continues to echo through the house, and you start to believe that he might have falled asleep, until he steps out with his hair wet. "Damn, my neck hurts." He complains. "You want me to tie a bow?" You tease, but he replies with a nod and you take him seriously. Now, he is sitting with a scawing tie around his neck.

TAGLIST : @dollyhoon @itjengirl @saeivra @orimuraa @pshwrldd

[darlingdaisyfarm]

hi!! just wanna say you are my fav gravity falls author and im so obsessed with your fics for stan 🙏🙏 could i please have a stan x fem!reader smut where stan just REALLY likes tits. like a LOT. you have full creative freedom to go wherever you want with this idea i just wholeheartedly believe stan is a tit man <3 thank u and plz never delete this account youre the coolest 💞

Stan Pines is obsessed with you and your breasts ♡ (headcanons + blurb)

author note: hii, angel!! thank you sm for this sweet message, i'm literally melting and giggling and smiling rn!!! i can't even tell you how much this made my day, you're so kind and your words honestly mean the world to me 🤍 

i had so much fun with this idea, so here’s something for you bc ur wish is my command! i hope it’s what u expected. and thank you for supporting me! ♡

I need this grumpy old man so bad, guys send me more asks bout him also comments and/or reblogs are always appreciated, kisses u💋

nsfw, fem reader

♡ Stan is absolutely shamelessly obsessed with tits. your tits, specifically. big, small, somewhere in between, it doesn’t matter! he’s a hungry fucking man. he fucking loves breasts. worships them. adores them. can’t keep his damn eyes (or hands, or mouth) off them. “you’re gonna kill me with these things, doll, fuckin’ hell, look at ‘em.”

♡ the first time you caught him staring, you were a little shy about it, but he didn’t even try to deny it. “what? they’re right there! whaddya want me to do, not look? it’s like puttin’ a steak in front of a starving man and tellin’ him not to eat!” and you made the mistake of saying, “you could touch them if you wanted to.”

♡ because now his hands are always on you. always. you’re trying to cook? his big hands are sliding up your shirt, squeezing, kneading, thumbs brushing over your nipples, he’s testing just how fast he can make that little gasp slip from your lips. and god, all of that is being done with that smug grin on his face. “what? i’m helpin’.” sure, Stan. sure

♡ I wanna develop idea about cooking more, so: as i said, Stan can’t keep his hands off you when you’re cooking. for him it’s just an excuse to get his hands on your body. expect him to come up behind you, press his broad chest into your back, let his hands rest in your waist as his lips ghost over your neck, muttering “damn, you look so pretty, baby, you sure you don’t wanna skip dinner and come straight to bed?” when he’s rubbing his growing bulge against you while you’re stirring the pot, literally humping you in the middle of the kitchen. It’s hard not to laugh at how desperate he is

♡ the type of man who’ll insist he’s innocent even when he’s shamelessly and obviously staring. you could be fully dressed, wearing the baggiest clothes known to man and this filthy old bastard is still eye-fucking you. “what? can’t help it, doll, you’re beautiful.” no shame. zero!

♡ of course Stan loves to bury his face in your chest. it’s his happy place there. his hands sliding up your sides as he presses his face between your breasts, groaning, “fuckin’ heaven, toots. yer like a damn pillow, but better, so soft, so warm.” while you let your fingers run through his hair. It’s more about being intimate and soft though

♡ “goddamn, look at these beauties. best fuckin’ view in the world, ain’t it?”

♡ he’s a sucker for leaving marks on your breasts. bite marks, hickeys, little bruises from his teeth and fingers

♡ uhh. . . hear me out, him stuffing dollar bills into your bra as a joke (or no). “figure they’re safer here than my wallet anyway.”

♡ Stan loves when you wear anything that lets him see your nipples, especially when they’re hard (from cold or because you’re horny?), he goes crazy when thin shirt or a dress hugs your body. “goddamn, sweetie, could stare at those for hours.”

♡ his guilty pleasure is watching you put lotion on after a shower. you’re sitting on the edge of the bed, smoothing the cream over your arms, shoulders and chest and that old man is drooling

♡ Stan is so domestic, he loves the way you look in the morning, your breasts barely covered by his tank top that you stole. you stretch, yawning, your nipples peeking through the thin fabric and he’s already pulling you back into bed. “don’t care what we had planned today, baby. yer stayin’ right here with me.”

♡ Stanley gets so distracted when you’re undressing in front of him. doesn’t matter if it’s casual or if you’re trying to tease him, once your top comes off, his eyes are immediately glued to you while his cock already twitching to life in his pants. “jesus christ, woman, yer tryin’ to kill me. c’mere and let me get my hands on ya.”

♡ and when he finally gets you laid out on the bed, his hands worshiping every inch of you, oh, he takes his sweet time. dragging his thumbs over the stiff peaks of your nubs, leaning down to wrap his lips around one, sucking gently before giving it a teasing bite. he’s grinning against your skin when you gasp his name, one hand slipping down to spread your thighs apart while he gets comfortable between them. “love when you make these sounds. what’d i do to deserve this, huh?”

♡ oh, his tongue too. it’s wet and warm, circling slow before he flicks the nub just to watch your back arch. his free hand squeezes your other breast, pinching and tugging lightly on the nipple. he groans from how heavenly you taste. “softest damn tits I’ve ever had my hands on. christ, baby, I love you so much.”

♡ if you let him, he’ll press his cock between your breasts, his hands squishing them together as he ruts into the softness, groaning like a goddamn mess. “fuck, baby— mhmm, your so fuckin’ soft, look at this, huh? takin’ me so good, atta girl.”

♡ more thoughts about breasts fuck. i personally think Stan would love it? because there’s something about the sight of his heavy cock sliding between your breasts, the way you press them together for him, making a perfect, soft little channel for him to fuck into like a needy old man he is. he gasps, praises you, worships you whole as he watches himself disappear between them, his tip slick and glistening with precum every time it peaks out

♡ “fuck, doll, keep squeezin’ ’em like that. jesus, yer gonna make me cum just from lookin’ at ya.” and he does, oh, he does. he spills his seed all over your chest. and when he’s finished, Stan isn’t shy about making a mess, watching his cum drip down your breasts

♡ when he’s drunk, Stan gets even more handsy than usual

♡ you get him worked up sometimes by accident. like, when you’re reaching for something high up on a shelf and your shirt rides up, giving him the perfect view of your waist, those soft curves that drive him absolutely crazy. Stan will mumble something like “god, babe—gimme a second, I gotta go fix somethin’ in the back room. . . you know how it is with my old bones.” but it’s all a damn lie because he just needs to take a breather after staring at your body for the last five minutes

♡ Stan absolutely loves when you’re riding him, leaning over with your tits pressed into his face. he doesn’t care if it’s just for a few seconds or longer, he wants to feel them on his lips. he’ll lift his head slightly to suck on your cute nipples or trail hot kisses down your cleavage, his hands gripping your ass as he pushes his hips up to meet you. “sh-shit, baby, lemme just. . .”

♡ you lean over the counter while talking to him, doesn’t matter if you’re talking about what’s for dinner or how the vending machine ate your dollar, his eyes are locked on your chest only, already undressing you in his mind. he’ll mutter something gruff like, “yeah, uh-huh”

♡ loves to make you squirm. Stan’s a teasing bastard and he knows exactly what he’s doing when he brushes his thumb over your sensitive nipple slowly, watching it pebble under his touch. “sensitive today, huh? what’s the matter, sweetheart? thought ya liked it when i played with these pretty little nubs of yours.” and then he pinches, just to hear you gasp and watch you press your thighs together 

♡ i swear, Stan will make excuses to get you on his lap, just so he can slide his hands under your clothes and play with you while you sit there all flustered, giggling silly. “ain’t no law against touchin’ my girl, is there? c’mon, lemme have my fun, been thinkin’ about these all damn day.”

♡ as I mentioned, he’s a sucker for when you’re on top, bouncing on his cock while his big hands squeeze your waist, holding you so tenderly in his arms despite how hard and rough he bucks his hips into you, his mouth is latched onto your nipples. the way your breasts move drives him insane

♡ during lazy, slow sex, Stan loves lying on his side with you pressed against him, one hand massaging your breast as he thrusts into you slowly from behind. his lips are at your ear, whispering filthy things about how soft and warm you feel

♡ but when it’s rough, he’s gripping your breasts so hard you’ll have finger-shaped bruises the next day, pinching your nipples just to watch you arch your back and tremble under him, “you like that, huh? that’s right, my good fucking girl,” and every word he says he punctuates with a thrust. “can’t get enough of me touchin’ you, can ya?”

♡ reminder: Stan doesn’t just love your breasts because they’re sexy, though, yeah, they are. he loves them because they’re yours. soft, warm, comforting, just like you. and if he can bury his face in them and forget about the rest of the world for a little while? that’s just the cherry on top! a nice bonus!

♡ bonus: little blurb 

sight of you in his suit jacket, oh god. that thing swallows you whole but it’s too big for you so it hangs off your shoulders, exposing your skin, letting him see your thighs as well. Stan’s jacket, smelling like cigars, is over you in a way that makes his throat go dry. and underneath that beautiful little bra you knew would make his head spin, it’s lace and soft cups hugging you in ways he wished his hands were right now. your cleavage drawing his attention like a magnet. no, it’s too goddamn much for Stan to handle

he’s slouched on the armchair, legs spread wide, trying to keep himself from losing control. his eyes latch onto the soft lace of your bra, the way it cups your tits just beautiful enough to tease him. he looks so needy already and you’ve barely touched him

“Jesus christ, doll.” sounds like he’s choking on his own breath. “yer doin’ this on purpose, parading around in my jacket, showin’ off these tits like some goddamn pin-up doll, huh.” his lips curl into a smirk

perfect, just exact reaction you waited. you bite your lip, stepping closer, swaying your hips for him. you play it coy, of course. shifting the jacket like it’s just slipping off, letting one strap of your bra peek out more. “what? this old thing?” you smile like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing

and then he’s got his hands on you in an instant, dragging you into his lap because he can’t stand another second of his pretty girl being out of reach. his palms feels rough as they grip your hips, tugging you down until your thighs straddle his.

“you tryin’ to kill me, toots? walkin’ around like that, wearin’ my jacket.”  

your knees settle on either side of him, and his hands waste no time sliding up your thighs, over your hips, and straight to your waist, holding you close to him because this man is always starved for physical contact. his thumbs dip under the edge of the jacket, brushing the bare skin just above your bra

“Staaanley,” you breathe, your lips hovering just above his. your hands tangling in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan.

“No, no, no, don’t you ‘stan’ me, pretty,” he mutters, and one of his hands slips behind your back to unclasp your bra with a flick of his fingers, the other cupping your breast like he’s been dying to touch you all day. “you don’t get to tease me like that, wearin’ this fuckin’ outfit, and then say my name like some innocent little thing. you know exactly what you’re doin’, don’tcha?”

his thumb brushes over your nipple and then his lips follow, placing wet and hot kisses along your breast, sucking gently before biting down to make you gasp.  

“That’s it,” he groans against your skin. “wanna hear all those pretty little sounds you make, baby. fuck, you’ve got me harder than a goddamn rock.”  

he’s saying true because you feel the evidence of that pressing against your core, even through your panties. his free hand slides between your thighs, fingers pressing against the damp fabric and you whimper when he rubs slow circles over your needy clit.  

Stan grins as he pushes the lace aside. “you’re fuckin’ soaked. all this from me touchin’ your tits? jesus, doll, yer even dirtier than i thought.”

his fingers tease your wet entrance, rubbing over your folds before dipping inside, and your head falls against his shoulder, moaning as he pumps them slow and deep.  

“C’mon, baby,” Stanley brushes his lips over your ear as he fucks you with his fingers, his other hand still kneading your breast. “tell me who you belong to. say my name, and i’ll give you everything you want. everything. I’ll fuck you so good.”

you moan his name, digging your nails into his shoulders 

“Yes, that’s it,” his hand moves faster. “gonna make you scream for me, sweetheart. make sure you never forget who you belong to.”

[crushpunky]

drew tells a story about actress!reader

masterlist | actress!reader masterlist

this one’s a bit short, but it was suggested and i thought it was really cute so yk i had to write it. based off of drew’s recent esquire interview <3

“Your audition tape for Queer was a slam dunk, can you tell us what you did for the tape?” Drew read the question card.

“Oh, this is actually a funny story.” Drew laughed to himself, crossing his legs. “The first one I had my good friend Rudy Pankow help me tape it. I usually have my girlfriend help me, but she was shooting at the time.”

“One of the scenes was me in bed, I believe, and so Rudy came to my apartment,” Drew explained, speaking dramatically with his hands, “and I had my camera and tripod set up and I was laying in the bed, kinda sort-of framing myself and he came in was like… ‘so what are we doing’?”

Drew laughed, “and I told him, ‘just trust me, ok, I need your help’. Then, as if it couldn’t get any more suspicious, my wonderful girlfriend, y/n, gets back from shooting and walks into our room to find me and Rudy on our bed with the camera set up.”

“I was like, ‘babe I promise this is not what it looks like, I’m just filming an audition’, but she was already like on the floor, crying and laughing.” Drew grinned at the memory, the site of y/n’s smile and adorable laughter playing in his mind.

“But, I appreciate him for helping me with that… and y/n for not freaking out at the strange site she walked in on.” Drew laughed, flipping to the next card.

“Oh, speak of the devil, your good friend y/n y/ln was quoted saying, ‘Drew is probably the scariest sweetheart you’ll ever meet’,” Drew blushed as he read, “what is it like finding the balance between ‘scary’ and ‘sweetheart’ roles?”

The quote was from an interview when someone asked y/n if she ever felt intimidated or even scared working opposite Drew as the big bad Rafe Cameron on Outer Banks. While the scenes between their characters on OBX would certainly get intense at times, it wasn’t very often she was “scared” of Drew. After all, she knew her boyfriend better than anyone else and knew the big heart hiding behind his imposing exterior.

“Wow, I’d like to thank my ‘good friend’ y/n y/ln for that wonderful quote.” Drew grinned, scratching his jaw bashfully. “Well I certainly like to challenge myself, and y’know depending on where I am, that could come in the form of more intense roles or more grounded or more kinda… soft? I don’t know. Y/n says I need to be in a rom com, so maybe that’ll be the next step after this.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Meet the Family 3

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your boss needs a last-minute favour for the holidays.(petite!reader)

Characters: Lloyd Hansen

Note: I'm feeling very Little Lies about this.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

"So this is the reason you missed Thanksgiving," a butter knife jabs in your direction as you poke at the white turkey meat; this? You look up then at Lloyd as he nearly chokes. 

"Uh, yeah," he coughs behind his fist and swallows, "we were out of the country..." 

"Yes, why would you bother to stay. No use in seeing your mother at the holidays, or the rest of your family," she reproaches. 

"Mom," he groans. 

"For ten years," William adds from his wife's side. "Now you show your face and you look as if you're eating rotten apples." 

"No," Lloyd argues. "It's just... I'm busy and I don't get a lot of time away from work." 

"We all have obligations," Gwenyth argues. 

"Well, I took her away so I could propose," he explains as he presses his fork into the whipped potatoes. "And it worked out perfect, right? Cause now I can bring her to meet everyone." 

Gwenyth hums flatly, "I suppose." She clicks her tongue and takes a healthy gulp of wine. 

"So, Pixie," Lillian drawls from further down, "what do you do for work? Oh let me guess. A librarian?" 

You don't let the suggestion bother you. You don't see it as an insult even if she says it like one. You shake your head. 

"No, I--" you begin and Lloyd stomps your foot so you bite down on your voice.  

"She is a corporate consultant. International corporation," he explains.  

"Oh, wow, sounds busy," Gwenyth remarks. 

"Yes, how will you have time for children?" Lillian challenges. 

"I'm sure they'll find time to make them," Benson chortles over his snifter.  

"Ben, please," William rebukes. 

"We're focusing on the wedding before all that," Lloyd says. 

You peer around as you chew your cheeks in frustration. You're annoyed by how they speak of you as if you're not even there, and so intimately. Yet, you don't have much to say for yourself. This whole facade is tiresome and you really don't care what they think about a made-up job. Or marriage, for that matter. 

"That will be done with quickly," Gwenyth sniffs. "And she will need to quit that job if she wants to do her duty as your wife." 

"I can handle a job and a husband," you blurt out. 

The table quiets as if stunned that you can speak. You blink and Lloyd puts his fork down and touches your arm, "sweet pea--" 

"I highly doubt you'd be marrying him for any other reason than that nest egg promised to him," Lillian scoffs. "You don't need to play a saint with us, darling. Marriage is a transaction in more ways than one; affection, money, sex--" 

"Lilly," William warns and she laughs. 

"Well?" She shrugs. "You do know, the wedding only guarantees a twenty percent payout. He needs an heir to get all of it." She pets her stomach smugly and smiles. "I can assure you it's well worth it. Once you meet Lorelai, you'll see." 

"Oh? Maybe when you meet her, you'll consider being a mother too," Lloyd retorts. 

"Excuse me?" Lillian snarls. "I love my daughter." 

"Of course you so," he sneers. "I'm sure she feels all that love right now as she enjoys her turkey and carrots with the nanny." 

"I can't have her around adults and alcohol. You can't possibly understand," she snaps. "And maybe it's better that you never do. I could never imagine you as a father, especially when you are such a child." 

"Takes one to know one," Lloyd growls. 

"Enough," William barks. "Both of you." 

Ransom laughs loudly at the end of the table. Lloyd shifts and Lillian rolls her eyes. You sigh at your plate. You miss your family. For the first time in years, you truly miss them. 

"What the hell are you laughing at, Hugh? The only reason you're here is because your grandpappy exiled you." 

Linda gasps, "He's not exiled--" 

"Oh, right, of course not, Lin, that's why you're here breaking bread with the peasants. That's what you called us at great grandmother's wake--" 

"Lloyd, watch your mouth," William snarls. "Better yet, shut it." 

Lloyd recoils in his chair and stiffens. His features sharpen then he lowers his chin and picks up his fork. His jaw is stone as he stirs the gravy into his potatoes. You wouldn't call him humbled, more whipped like a dog. These people make you feel something for him you never thought you could; sympathy. 

"I don't care about money that much," you say. "It can't buy respect. Besides, I would never marry a man without a prenup. Whatever Lloyd has will remain his." You push your shoulders back as a yawn tickles in your throat. "At this point, he can keep you lot as well." 

You stand up and take the cloth napkin from your lap. You fold it neatly, "Gwenyth, you can tell whoever cooked dinner that it was delicious. I appreciate you all having me but I'm going to go find a hotel and some peace." You step around the chair and push it into the table, "happy holidays." 

You turn, your insides jittering. What are you doing? Where did that come from? You could say you're tired and not thinking straight, but honestly, you're just so repulsed by these people that your head could explode. They're lucky they only got a a few pieces of shrapnel. 

You march out without looking back. Your cheeks tinge hotly with self-awareness. You've messed it all up. After years of harnessing your emotions under Hansen's thumb, you finally snapped. You blew it all. 

"What she said," another chair scrapes as Lloyd speaks. "Mom, dad, good night." 

You enter the hall and head for the entry way. You hear him beside you. You're still foggy with disbelief. It isn't until you sit to put on your boots that you notice Lloyd. 

"I know, I'm done. Fired." You pull on your leather booties. "I'll take the severance and figure it out." 

"I didn't say so," he says as he grabs a coat from the closet. 

"Um..." 

"You're completely right. We can't stay here. They're all a bunch of pricks and they wonder why I didn't come home for ten years," he pulls on his coat as he speaks. He pushes back his hair then smooths his mustache. "We're better off at the hotel. We'll sleep better there--" 

"We? Lloyd, please. Stay with your family. I need space," you stand and reach past him for your jacket. "Besides, I booked a single queen and it's Christmas Eve." 

"Queen's big enough. You're tiny--" 

"Okay, no, no," you hiss. "It's not happening. Stay--" 

"But I don't want to," he whines. 

"Mr. Hansen," you say. "You're out of your mind." 

"Well, after your blow up, I don't think I'm welcome," he puts his hand on his hip. "So this is your last chance to save your job. You made the mess, you clean it up." 

"Me?" You exclaim. 

He hushes you and step closer, "Pix, you already made a scene, let's not do the encore. I'm gonna grab my bags, alright?" 

"You can't be serious." You say. 

"Hey, I gotta play the loyal husband--" 

"And why exactly is that necessary? Why couldn't you get one of those Tinder girls?" 

"Woah, woah, come on, someone will hear you," he covers your mouth with his hand and you turn your face away with a blech. "Go warm up the car. We'll talk on the ride to the hotel." 

You stare at him. He watches you, as uncertain as you've ever seen him. In the silence, you can hear the din in the other room. 

"Always was such a baby," Lillian laughs venomously. 

"He could've chosen someone without an iron spine," Gwenyth adds. 

You grimace and throw your hands up, "fine, get your things." 

"You're the best," he grabs your shoulders but before he can kiss you, you put your hand up to pinch his nose. He recoils and rubs the tip, "ow." 

"No more of that," you say as you pull your keys out of your pocket. "Thank god I only had one glass of wine." 

You stomp out the front door. The frigid winter air hits you like a bus. Once one even ground, the swirling snow flecks onto your shoulders and hair. Great, now you get to drive in the snow with an unwanted passenger. 

You get in the driver seat and push the ignition. You turn on the heater and the heated seats. At least Hansen pays enough for the add-ons. Still, you’re not sure there’s any compensation equal to what you just went through. 

You look over as the front door opens and closes. Lloyd rolls a giant suitcase with him, another smaller bag strapped on top, and a third in his other hand. You don’t move as you watch him descend the steps, easing the wheels over the edge one-by-one. 

He comes down the long walk and jerks as his loafers slip on the icy pavement. It would be funny if you weren’t so damn exhausted. You steadies himself and continues on. You should get out and help him. You don’t. 

You pop the trunk with the button. He loads in his bags as you check the rear view. He comes around the passenger side and pulls the door open. He lets out an obnoxious ‘brrrr’ as he drops into the seat next to you. You shift gears as he shuts the door. 

“Ugh, I feel so much better getting out of there,” he says as he adjusts the seat, making room for his long legs. 

“Why?” 

“Um, why not? My family is the worst--” 

“No, why did you drag me into this?” You ask as you lean into the wheel and squint over it. The dark, the snow, the unplowed roads, it’s like the universe can’t stop throwing you obstacles. 

“You want the real answer or the nice answer?” He replies. 

“Mr. Hansen,” you growl. 

“Right, I had no other choice.” 

“No other choice?” You repeat. 

“Look, those long-legged beauties back home, they’re fun, but they don’t got much else going on. I needed someone who could play along,” he explains. 

“Play along?” 

“Yeah, I mean, you’re smart so--” 

“I’m smart...” 

“I wouldn’t hire you if you weren’t--” 

“Jeez, wow, Mr. Hansen, thank you so much. You think I’m so smart, so you should know I’m smart enough to know better than to believe you. You think I’m desperate,” you turn slowly onto the next street. “You think I have nothing else going on.” 

“No, that’s not--” he shifts in his seat. 

“It’s exactly what you think,” you huff. “Well, I do. I have a flight in...” you pause and check the time on the dash, “five hours so when we get to the hotel, I’m going to sleep and you’re going to let me. Then I’m going to catch my flight and the curtain can be pulled on this whole theatre.” 

“Your words, not mine. I don’t think you’re desperate.” 

You don’t respond. You’re tired. He just can’t leave things alone. He always has to say something. You wonder if he was truly left to his own thoughts, if his head would combust. 

“I’m actually impressed,” you says, “you held your own.” 

“Sir,” you utter. 

“It was good. Entertaining. I mean, all these years, you never once talked back to me but wow, that was... majestic, really. You didn’t even wait to see my mother’s face. Or my sister’s.” 

“Your family is weird,” you blurt out. “Sorry, uh, I didn’t mean--” 

“I mean, yeah, we probably are but I don’t really have anything to compare it to,” he says. 

You nod. He has a point. Yet, while that horde of entitled brats might explain his personality, it can’t excuse it. 

The hotel’s marquee shines like a beacon as you steer into the lot. You yawn and shut off the engine. You let yourself out and drag your feet around to the trunk. You take out your carry-on as Lloyd hovers at the other side. 

“All of your stuff, out,” you say. “I’m going straight to the airport in the morning. Checkout is ten so as long your gone by then, I don’t care what you do.” 

He’s quiet but he obeys. He takes his bags out and sets them on the ground. He pulls the rolling bag and slings his smallest bag on his shoulder. You snap the trunk shut and turn, shuffling across the icy tarmac. 

You enter through the automatic doors and cross the desolate lobby. You check in with your ID but as you look for your credit card, Lloyd flicks his between his fingers and offers it up to the clerk. 

“It’s on me,” he insists. 

You won’t argue. You really don’t trust him to leave by checkout. As you head for the elevators, he takes a deep breath. He doesn’t speak until you’re behind the sliding doors of the compartment. 

“You know, I’m still your boss so you can’t just order me around,” he says. 

You glance over at him. “Right, won’t happen again, sir.” 

“It could have been worse, you know? I could’ve actually had you come all the way out here just to drop off some gifts. If you think about it, you got a free dinner and some wine--” 

“Yeah, it was a great time,” you say dryly. “Mr. Hansen, I’m too tired to lie any more. Tonight was one of the worst nights of my life so no, I don’t think it could be worse.” 

The doors open and you stride out. You swipe the card at the door corresponding to the number written in the folio and let yourself in. He follows closely, nearly running over your heels with his suitcase. 

You take your bag to the bed and take out the cotton pajamas stuffed inside just for tonight. You bring them with you into the bedroom, doing your best to ignore your guest. Lloyd wanders along the wall and finds his way to the mini fridge. 

You’re in no rush to change, only to get to bed. You trade your dress and stockings for the cotton two-piece and emerge. You shove your bag and clothes beside the night table and slide under the blankets. You pull them up to your shoulders. 

“They got wine, tequila, beer--” 

“I’m going to sleep,” you insist. 

“The alcohol will help.” 

“No, it will make waking up even harder.” 

“After tonight, I think you need a shot.” 

“Mr. Hansen,” you grumble and cover your head. 

“Fine, more for me.” He snickers. 

You’re happy he can’t see the irritation on your face. You might just be better off to let him drink whatever. Eventually, he’ll have to pass out. At least, you can only hope he does. 

[mykuup]

Λ𝘋 𝘓𝘐𝘉𝘐𝘛𝘝𝘔 (toward pleasure) PART II

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My Masterlist | PART I

Summary : After your night at the palace, you return to your life and to your husband. But if rumors and whispers are tough to cease, it's even impossible to stop an emperor.

wc : 4.1k

Warnings : No spoiler from the movie // angst // fluff // mention of cheating // mention of violence // threat with a dagger // possesive!Geta // soft!Geta // married!reader // afab reader (but no description)

A/n : You asked, I delivered 😎 Ty ty ty ty for your appreciation for Ad Libitum pt I !! I never thought you would love it that bad! I really hope this part II will satisfy your appetite. Sorry I took my time but I'm also working on another story for our beloved emperor.

Please, interact with this I would love to see your reaction to this ending! (Also it makes me happy to see that you enjoyed my work 💜)

Sorry if you spot any mistake

Taglist : @byronking @stardancerluv @preparedfruit @userchai @helsa3942 @preparedfruit @analves @silentwhisper666 @deliciousfestsalad @saphirmoraitie @justnobodynothingmore @claudialioncourtdulac @phobobobophobia @koshkahhhh @noblenighttime @moon-390

Dalia was the first to work this morning. She had already prepared pressed fruit juice and arranged bread and cheese plates with a watered-down wine carafe. As she walked in the long corridors to bring it to Caracalla’s quarters, she noticed a half-naked woman heading out of Geta’s bedroom. Dalia saw how her hair was tangled and how she was handing her dress to hide her modesty, walking hurriedly towards the empress’s quarters. It wasn’t hard to understand the whole situation. A wide, evil smile enlightened her as she returned to the kitchen. She had to tell everyone that Geta spent the night with a concubine.

You exhale in relief as you enter the empress’s quarters. The walk of shame from Geta’s bedroom to this little chamber where you had changed earlier, happened without crossing anyone. Well, you thought you heard something but it was just your foggy mind playing tricks as no one was around. You tried to stay silent as much as possible as you were changing to your original dress. Images of Geta’s chocolate eyes were on your mind on repeat and guilt flooded your entire being.

How did you end up in this whole situation? You were happy, living a peaceful life with your husband. Speaking of, how could you explain this to him? Well, do you really want him to know? You weren’t a liar, he knew you had spent your childhood in this palace and that your parents were still working there. And even though you spoke to him about how you used to play with the young emperors when you were a child, he knew you weren’t friends with them. You never were. Your mind was racing so you didn’t notice the soft ruffles of Julia’s nightgown and you were startled when she cleared her throat. You turn to look at her and she instantly notices the turmoil inside you. She stepped closer and hugged you.

‘Rome will always be grateful for what you’ve done,’ she said softly as she pulled off. ‘I’ll be sure to send you a gift to thank you.’

You shake your head. ‘I don’t need any gift or reward Your Highness,’ your voice was firm. ‘I just want to go back to my life as if nothing ever happened here.’

Julia’s heart shattered. She really liked you and she genuinely thought you would be the perfect partner for her son. But she couldn’t say that. She respected your choice, and the fact that you already endangered your marriage for her made her keep her thoughts to herself.

As you walked away, she couldn’t fight asking you a question.

‘Are you feeling alright?’ You turned back to look at her, arching a brow. ‘Was he gentle with you?’ You could see in her eyes she was genuinely concerned to know if her son hurt you in any way possible.

But what Geta did to you tonight was totally opposite from hurting you. Memories of the tenderness he showed you invade your mind again and you smile.

‘He was the best lover I ever had,’ you simply answered before you left. You didn’t want to lie to her, and even though it was hard for you to admit it, this simple statement was the pure truth. Never the few men you had known worshipped you the way Geta did. Even your husband, who was caring and in love with you, never showed you how you truly deserved to be loved…

When you finally reach your little cottage, you spend your entire day thinking about what you did and how your life is now going to be different.

The sun rising casted soft lights through the heavy curtains seams, softly warming Geta’s face. Half awake, he shifted under the blankets and reached out for you. But all he could feel under his fingers was the coldness of the empty linen sheets. He rose abruptly, looking for you in his quarters. But you were nowhere to be found. He hastily put on his robes and stormed out of his bedroom, reaching directly to his mom’s. He crossed paths with several servants on his way and almost missed their whispers and giggles. Something was happening but he couldn’t mind less as his panic started to rise.

‘It was you right?!’ he asked without any form or greeting. His mom's eyes went wide as she wasn’t expecting to see her son this early. In front of her silence, Geta spoke again. ‘You did this, didn’t you? And now she’s gone!’ Different feelings were colliding in Geta’s heart and mind. 

Panic, fear, rage, and desperation.

The empress saw the distress in her son’s eyes and tried to reach for him. But Geta stepped back. ‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘Wh—what have you done?!’ His voice trembling, betraying him. Julia tried to reach for her son again, hugging him as he let her approach this time. His fists and jaw were clenched tight as his mind was clouded.

‘I’m sorry,’ Julia whispered, trying to soothe her son. ‘Don’t be mad at her. I was the one asking—’ Geta pulled out from his mom’s embrace, eyes wide.

‘What. Have. You. Done.’ his tone was as cold as ice as rage flooded his entire being. Julia stepped back and stumbled over her chair and then the little table as Geta was slowly walking toward her, a menacing look in his eyes.

But Julia knew otherwise. She was the empress of Rome and even though her sons were now ruling, she understood the importance of the citizens’ opinion. She stood in front of her son, her feet firmly on the ground. ‘I asked her to make you a man so you can satisfy your future wife and rule this city as you are destined to,’ her voice calm but firm.

‘You… you were ashamed of me…’ Geta realized, disgust and disappointment in his voice. Julia’s heart falls on her stomach at the statement.

‘I’ll never be ashamed of you. You’re my son, my beloved son,’ she added as she cupped his face. ‘But those rumors were deteriorating faith citizens had in you so—’ Geta cuts her off.

‘So what? You’ll make a public announcement saying I shared my bed with a woman?!’ The young emperor was annoyed that this was his mother’s plan. Of course, he knew about the rumors, it was the first thing he talked about to you last night. But a part of him wanted to believe you were there because you actually cared about him. He even hoped you would love him. But it was foolish of him to even think of it. 

‘In a few days, you will meet the Princess of Galatia (modern Turkey).’ Geta froze in place. ‘Her father and yours were old friends. We agreed this would be the best option as she’s still young and you needed to be experimented for her.’

Geta's eyes went wide, his pupils fully blown out, and no brown was left. Veins could be seen on his forehead and neck as his jaw clenched tight, his teeth almost shattering at the strength. His pale complexion was long gone, deep red now adorning his face. A single tear fell from the corner of his eye as rage consumed him.

‘Where is she?’ He managed to speak, his fingers bruising his mother’s skin as he held her by the shoulders. ‘They will arrive soon—’

‘NO!’ Geta screamed, cutting his mom’s off. ‘WHERE IS SHE?!’ And Julia figured out he was talking about you. ‘Please she—’ But the look he gave her sent a thrill down her spine. He made it clear she would not dare to make him repeat himself.

Julia gulped, now a bit afraid of her son. ‘She’s gone, Geta. You can’t have her… she’s married.’ Her last words felt like a punch in the guts. Geta let go of his mother and, without a word, as she thought, he walked away. When he reached the big wooden door to exit his mother’s quarters, he stopped.

‘I am the emperor,’ his voice surprisingly calm and steady. ‘I can have whatever I want.’

A few days have passed since you ran off the palace. Your husband was back from the countryside with new fabrics to sell at the market. It had been two weeks since he last saw you so when he noticed you were home, waiting for him, he couldn’t stop himself. He was too excited.

‘I missed you so much,’ he said as he was kissing your lips and caressing your body under his. You shivered as your mind was elsewhere. As you closed your eyes, flashes of deep brown eyes flooded. You could hear his voice whispering praises. You imagined it was him kissing you right now. You snapped your eyes open, ashamed of thinking about someone else while your husband was making love to you. But it didn’t felt the same anymore. He tasted different, his touch wasn’t enough. Even when he dived inside of you, your pussy was aching, not feeling full enough. You hated yourself right now. And the feeling lingered as your life kept going.

Guilt, shame, and irritation followed you for days. Your husband noticed something and tried his best to understand what was going on but you shut yourself, not letting him in. You didn’t wanted to hurt him, even though you knew you already had and he had no clue.

At the end of the week, Rome was celebrating. It was announced that the royal family of Galatia was there. Games would be played in the arena and tons of merchants were in the flooded streets to sell pastries, exotic fruits, and other things to the citizens and guests. To get a better chance at selling more, your husband asked you to accompany him.

As you were behind your stand, you caught a woman staring at you. You didn’t pay attention at first but then you noticed she was talking to other women around her. All of them looking at you and giggling. As you stared back, you recognized their outfit and then, it snapped at you. They were all servants at the palace. And the way one of them looked at you with a devilish smile, you understood. That night when you were towering back to the empress’s quarters, you heard something. You heard footsteps but saw no one. But this girl, you knew she saw you.

It couldn’t be otherwise.

You wanted to do something. But what? Confronting them could pull out the truth and your husband would know. The worst thing would be for the entire city to know that you, a married woman, ended up in the virgin emperor’s bed. It could bring shame to the entire royal family and you would be sent to exile if not killed in a public place.

You felt sick, bile stinging in your throat. You had to do something, to find a solution. The servants scattered and you wondered how much time it would be left for you until the rumor spread and landed in Geta’s ears. You looked around you, it was late in the afternoon so you could pretend you needed some rest and go home alone and figure it all out there.

‘Are you alright dove?’ your husband asked you, worried in his voice as he looked at you. He saw the panic in your eyes, you couldn’t hide it.

‘I’m just… I don’t feel well. I think I need to rest.’ Your husband tilted his head, trying to understand your late behavior. But he remembered his father teaching him how women could be very mysterious creatures and that sometimes, a man should know when to let go.

‘Right, why don’t you go with Orina? Her husband told me she also wanted to leave the market early.’ You nodded as he kissed your forehead and you walked toward Orina. 

She was older than you, her husband was a spice seller. Convenient for you, she went to the marker with her horse. So you ride behind her until you both reach her house. She offered you to stay but you declined politely and walked toward your little house. The sun had disappeared when you pushed your cottage’s wooden door. You sigh, your mind racing with thoughts. You felt your headache growing and then an idea came out.

You had to disappear.

Julia did her best to not let her son comb through the entire city to find you. When the royal family of Galatia arrived, Geta was trapped. He had to stay at the palace for his guests but he was boiling inside. His mother’s plans felt like betrayal and in his rage, he thought for a second to punish his mom for this. Even when he was in the arena, watching the games, his mind was elsewhere. He was obsessed with you, the souvenir of your lips on his haunting his every thought. His mother tried to force him to get closer to Princess Nazenin, but Geta only stayed polite, his coldness toward her barely hiding. 

The fight down in the arena was almost finished when a servant sneaked in to whisper something to the king. His eyes went wide and his fist landed abruptly on the arm of his chair. Everybody was startled and turned around to look at him. Anger was written on his face as he first looked at Geta and then at the empress. 

‘You lied to us!’ he screamed and Julia rose from her throne. ‘Your Highness I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ her tone was desperate as she was lost, not knowing what was happening.

‘You told us we would come here to marry our children but it came to my ears that your son is already engaged to an insignificant whore?!’

Julia’s eyes went wide but it was nothing compared to Geta’s. He grabbed his dagger from his golden belt and aimed at the king, his blade stopping at his throat, dangerously close to cut through his skin. Everyone on the balcony was shocked and Geta spoke, his voice trembling with hate and rage.

‘Never call her that again.’ He took a look around, noticing everyone's reaction. Caracalla was bouncing on his throne, thrilled to see his brother kill someone. His mother was mortified, silently pleading for the king’s life. The princess was kneeling before him, also praying for the emperor to let her father go. And finally, he noticed the servant hiding behind a collum. He let go of the king, not even listening to the relief and complaints of what just happened and walked toward the servant.

‘Who told you that?’ Geta asked, gripping firmly at the collar of the servant’s tunic. She was so scared of him that nothing came out of her throat. ‘TELL ME! He shouted and the servant babbled her answer.

‘Da-Dalia, she saw the concubine at the market selling fabrics, and she—’ Geta didn't let her finish her explanation. He let her go and, without looking back, left the coliseum. He took a horse and rode to reach the marketplace. The streets were still full of people but he didn’t mind, hurrying the animal to go faster. When he saw the first fabric stand, he looked around to find you. But you were nowhere to be found. He noticed that the sellers were often couple or at least two for one stand. So when he found one with only a man behind his display, he reached for him.

‘You!’ Geta called, pointing at the man. The seller bowed before him and tried to hide his nervousness. ‘Are you alone?’ The man rose to look at the young emperor, not really sure why he could ask him such a question. ‘Don’t make me repeat myself,’ Geta’s impatience showed in his tone.

‘Yes, Your Highness I’m alone. My wife just left to get some rest—’

‘What’s her name?’ Geta cuts him off and confusion could be seen on the seller’s face. When he told Geta your name, the emperor saw red. He was your husband. How could you be with such a simple man when you deserved the entire world?! This man couldn’t even afford golden threads for his fabrics. Or worse, he couldn’t even protect you from those horrendous rumors. He could get rid of him so easily, but this would be for later. Right now, Geta needed to find you. ‘Where is she now?’

‘Home, she was—’

‘Where?!’ Your husband gave him the information and Geta didn’t waste a second, his horse galloping as fast as it could.

Your house wasn’t far from the city and when he saw the little cottage with two pine trees as your husband described it, Geta felt some relief for a short second.

But panic started to get over him as he saw no fire or candlelight from the little window. You weren’t there. He crossed the little bridge and hurried to your front garden. He climbed out from his horse, attached the leash to the wooden hedge, and started looking for you. At first, he tried to broke into your house but the door was locked and he could guess you weren’t inside anyway. But when he looked around, he noticed a little dot of light moving further on the unpaved path.

A candlelight. 

You were grabbing your cape tightly as you were walking away from Rome. You decided it was best for you to leave this place before it could go out of hand. You didn’t wanted your husband to be shamed, and you wanted to avoid your head to end up on a stick. But as you were running away from your life, you heard someone shout your name and heavy hooves hitting the ground. When you turned around, Geta was there, slowing his horse as he got closer to you. You let go of the little candle you were handling and started to run but he was faster, getting in your way.

‘Where do you think you’re going?!’ Geta said, his tone harsher than he intended. You took off your hood and looked at him, wondering how he ended up here. Why did he came after you after all these days? Wasn’t he supposed to get married to whatever child this royal family brings?

‘Your Highness you—’ 

‘Stop calling me like that,’ he cuts you off. ‘Stop pretending nothing happened between us.’ You swallow hard. Of course, you couldn’t act like he wasn’t on repeat in your mind. That is why you were leaving in the first place.

But your ego was also big and you didn’t wanted to show him how much you were affected by him.

‘This is the only way… Your Highness,’ you dared and turned back to walk away. Now you were getting on his nerves and he hated this attitude of yours. He grabbed you by the arm to stop you, bringing you close to him. You tried to set free in vain. He was strong, his grip already bruising your skin but not in a sweet way. You cried out, pleading for him to let you go. Geta grabbed your face with his other hand, making you look at him, his pupils all blown out.

‘My mom told me I can’t have you but I told her otherwise,’ he stated with gritted teeth. ‘So stop playing games. Let me take you back to the palace.’

‘I don’t care what you told to your mom. I’m married, you can’t have—’

‘STOP IT!’ Geta shouted, and you stopped fighting, stunned by his loud voice. ‘Stop telling me that I can’t have whatever I want. I am the emperor, I take what I please. Your husband? I can get rid of him so easily, you have no idea.’ Your body shivered. You couldn’t let him kill your husband, it was too extreme. Geta saw the panicked look in your eyes. His grip on you loosened but he made sure to keep you close, his arms now encircling your body gently. He offered you a smile to ease the tension between you and he spoke again, his voice soft and calm.

‘I almost killed a king for you today. And I would kill anyone if it’s the only way to have you by my side.’

His eyes locked on yours and you noticed how serious he was. Of course, he had to go for the most intense way. His gaze softened as you were still silent and he softly called out your name.

‘Please, come with me. I—I don’t even know how you did this to me. All I know is that I can’t live without you. I need you more than a starved man needs food I… I need you more than a fool needs guidance from the Gods.’

‘Geta please, we can’t—’ you tried but he cupped your face, his rings cold against your hot cheeks. ‘I would burn Rome and the entire world if you ask me to,’ he whispered, and you could feel his breath on your lips. ‘Please,’ his words only a gentle murmur now. His lips crushed on yours and you melt at his touch, your body entirely burning for him.

Everything around you disappeared as his embrace tightened around you. You hummed when he tried to play with your tongue, and your hands instinctively went to get tangled in his ginger locks. His hands were roaming on your body, making you feel safe, loved, and worshipped. You gently pulled out to get some air and you looked at him. Geta’s cheeks were all flushed, his deep brown eyes falling to your lips before locking his eyes in yours.

You took a deep breath, thinking about what you would say to him. But before you could say anything, he took out his golden-leaves crown to put it on your head and fell to his knees. His arms still encircling you, he looked at you one more time before nudging his face at your belly, his hot breath fanning over your core through your dress. He inhaled your scent and hummed in satisfaction before pulling away to lock his eyes into yours again.

‘Please, let me make you the greatest empress Rome has ever known.’

At this moment, it felt right to nod your head in approval. You couldn’t refuse him anything with the way he was staring at you. He never looked so desperate yet so hopeful. His grip around you was soft yet strong and you realized how madly in love Geta was. You cupped his face to bring him back close to yours as you sighed, still thinking about your decision.

‘Geta,’ you spoke softly as you got lost in his deep chocolate haze. ‘I—What will happen next?’

You were waiting for something, a reason to say no, or maybe something that doesn’t sound crazy. But the truth was that you wanted to be his as he stole your heart in the sweetest way possible. He might had a sixth sense because his answer reflected what you were thinking.

‘You stole my heart the moment I saw you in the palace. And for as long as I remember, you were the only one visiting me in my dreams. If you agree to go back to the palace with me, I promise you only glory and happiness. I want you to be the empress of Rome. I want you to be my wife. And I want you to be the mother of my children. Because you deserve the world, I will bring it to you, fighting and winning every battle I can to show you that I’m worthy of your love.’ He kissed you on the corner of your lips and added in a whisper. ‘That’s what will happen, I promise.’

Without thinking twice, you crushed your lips on his, gripping his robe to get him as close to you as possible. Your kiss was wild, full of hope and desires, the moon and stars the only witnesses of this raw love you showed him. When you pulled out to breathe, Geta’s eyes were full of spark and lust, mirroring yours. You both didn’t ride back to the palace, spending the night entangled in each other’s arms, making love under the moonlight.

When the morning sun rose up, and after putting back your clothes on, Geta offered you his help to get on the horse. ‘Your Highness,’ he said with a very distinguished tone. ‘Your throne awaits.’ You giggled at his sudden playfulness, surprising you with a new side of him you know you will be more than happy to discover. As you encircled your arms around his waist, he caressed your hand and softly ordered the horse to walk.

‘I can’t wait for Rome to see you, my empress. ’

[just-dreaming-marvel]

First Wedding Anniversary ~ Love That Burns

LOVE THAT BURNS MASTERLIST / EVERYDAY MOMENTS MASTERLIST

Word Count: 1,060ish

Summary: Your first wedding anniversary with Logan rolls around.

Notes: This fic goes with my series, Love That Burns! Please give it a read!

Reminder: I DO NOT do taglists. Please don’t ask. Please follow and interact! I appreciate any reblogs, likes, comments, and asks! 

Logan wasn't one for remembering dates, and you understood that. So you took it upon yourself to plan something for your first wedding anniversary. You were grateful that it was a Sunday and that Logan didn’t have to work. You kissed his bare shoulder before slipping out of the bed. You tugged one of Logan's flannels over you and headed for the kitchen. Turning on some music, you began to throw together a small breakfast for Logan.

Logan woke up almost as soon as the music turned on. He could hear the music, groaning in frustration that he couldn’t pull you into him to keep you in bed. You were already up and moving. With a sigh, Logan got out of bed, slipping some sweats on before heading for the kitchen. He found himself stopped in the nearest doorway, a smirk on his lips, as he watched you move to the music while cooking. He was so lucky to have you in his life. 

Slowly, he came up behind you and wrapped his arms around you. You let out a little squeal as Logan's movements surprised you.

“Morning,” he gruffly said as he buried his head in your neck.

“Morning,” you replied with a smile, still working. “You were supposed to stay in bed.”

“Can’t sleep with you being so loud out here.”

“Hey! I am not being that loud.”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.” He held a kiss to your neck, causing you to lean back into him. “Is there a reason you’re making me breakfast?”

You shrugged with a small smirk. “Maybe.”

“You really not gonna tell me?”

“Nope. Guess you’ll have to wait and see.”

Logan grunted disapprovingly before letting you go and beginning to help you. The two of you ate breakfast outside on the back patio, looking at the wonderful view of the mountains. Your plan needed Logan to go out for a while, so after breakfast, you waltzed up to him with a list.

“Do you mind running down to town for me?” You asked, giving him the best puppy dog eyes you could manage.

“What do you need from town?” He asked, wiping his hands dry from doing the dishes.

“Just a few items,” you handed him the list.

His brows rose at the sight. “A few items? There’s at least twenty on this list.”

You sighed, making sure it was dramatic. “If you can’t, I’ll just—“

“No, no, no, I’ll go.”

“Thank you!” You gave him a kiss.

He chuckled. “You're welcome. You sure you don't need to add anything else?”

“Nope!” You kissed his cheek before walking away. “Don't worry about rushing back!”

Logan’s brows pinched together. “Okay?” He could tell you were up to something, but it wasn't worth the fight. So Logan got dressed and headed out to gather your list from the stores in town.

As soon as Logan was gone, you got to work. The house needed to be cleaned, dinner needed to be made, the bedroom needed to be put together, and you needed to make sure that you were ready for the night.

~~~

Logan was completely done with the list when he passed by the flower shop. A few bouquets caught his eye, and he decided you deserved one. 

“Welcome,” the owner greeted as Logan entered the store.

“Thanks,” Logan mumbled, eyes scanning the various bouquets.

“Are you looking for anything specific?”

“No.”

"Celebrating anything? A birthday? An anniversary?”

Logan froze as the words left the owner's mouth. He was a terrible husband. It was your first wedding anniversary and he had completely forgotten. “Fuck.”

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry. That wasn’t—I forgot that it’s my wife and I’s anniversary.”

“Oh, how many years have you been together.”

“A lot of time. But it's our first wedding anniversary.”

“Well, I have a few bouquets ready to go if you want to take a look at them.”

“I’ll take them all.”

“What?"

“All of the bouquets you have ready. I want them.”

“You sure?"

“Positive.”

~~~

The house was clean. The table was set with dinner ready on it. The house was lit with candles and soft romantic music played through the house. You were anxiously waiting for Logan, wearing a new outfit specially picked out for this. You bit your lip as you heard the truck pull up. The sounds outside had you curious as they sounded rushed and almost frantic. You were about ready to head to the door when it burst open, and Logan came hurrying in with too many bouquets in his arms.

“Logan, what—"

“I’m sorry,” Logan quickly interrupted you. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I completely forgot it was our anniversary. I’m a terrible husband, and I—“

Your hand came up and pressed against his lips, stopping his rambling. You couldn’t help but smile at him with a light laugh. “Logan, honey, I know you. I know that you’re terrible with dates because of your memory issues, and I know that you'd never purposefully forget our anniversary. It’s why I took control of it.” 

Logan finally looked around, taking in the candles and your new outfit. His eyes caught sight of the set table and the dinner awaiting on it. You had pushed him out of the house to set this up. For him. 

“I should have remembered,” he muttered against your hand. 

You shook your head, stepping closer despite the flowers in his arms. “I remembered for the both of us. Plus, I wanted to do something special for you. You deserve good things too, Logan.”

Logan let the flowers fall to your feet before he took your wrist, kissing your palm before pulling your hand away from his mouth. “I only need one good thing, princess, and that’s you.” His other arm went around your waist and pulled you closer. “You are all I need.” The two of you shared a slow, loving kiss before Logan pulled away. “I love you so much, sweetheart. Thank you for doing this.”

“Logan, I love you. I wanted to make sure you knew that.”

Logan’s eyes softened with a vulnerability only reserved for you. “I don’t deserve someone as wonderful as you, sweetheart, but I'll keep trying.”

Your hands came up to gently hold Logan’s face. “You deserve everything, James, including me." You pulled him in for a brief kiss. “Happy anniversary, honey.”

"Happy anniversary, sweetheart.”

[hioriri]

megumi kissing you when you just applied lip gloss ✩

you just finished applying some lip gloss, preparing to go out on a date with megumi.

megumi walked over to you, giving you a small peck on the cheek.

"you look pretty," he smiled softly "actually, you always look pretty."

"thank you, gumi" on the inside, you're super happy. "can i have another kiss?"

megumi got closer, gently kissing you on the lips. his eyes slightly widened a little, realizing that he got some gloss on his lips now.

"??" he seemed puzzled. you couldn't seem to hold back your laughter at his confused expression.

now, his lips are tinted in a shade of very light, translucent pink, and a thin, sheer layer of gloss.

but, did he really care? no.

"can i get a kiss?" megumi asked

you giggled. "come here silly."

©hioriri / please do not copy, repost, or translate. likes and reblogs are accepted and appreciated!

[eff4freddie]

Sittin'

Joel Miller x F!Babysitter Reader No outbreak Joel Miller AU - Words: 10k

Rating: Explicit, Minors DNI

You're working your way through medical school, supporting yourself by taking the occasional babysitting gig. One local single Dad needs someone to look after his 10 year old daughter Sarah on nights when he's late back from the jobsite. And it's all fine and good until your neglectful boyfriend decides to crash the party. Warnings: small age gap (Joel is 32, reader is in medical school), reader is babysitting Sarah as a side hustle to support her studies, Sarah is cute, reader has a shit boyfriend, Joel is trying really hard to resist, exhibitionism, thigh-riding, praise, dirty talk, thigh-humping, oral (f receiving), fingering, general defiling of a perfectly good granite countertop, Joel has opinions about how a woman should be treated as is not afraid to demonstrate them.

A/N: My attempts at writing PWP almost always end up like 10k lol. Whatever, I like a good slow burn. If you enjoy, comments and reblogs are always appreciated. Thank you - Freddie x

It was a hot night, the latest in a long line. You knew you were lucky getting to spend some of your evenings over at the Millers, simply because it meant you got to sit under Mr Miller’s air conditioner, the box wedged firm into the window in the living room, little droplets of water condensing and running down the pane of glass underneath it. You’d put a dishtowel down to protect the carpet.

You knew you were lucky, too, because once Sarah went off to bed you could spread your books over Mr Miller’s kitchen table, listening to the buzzing of the fridge as you tried to memorise the functions of the lobes in the brain. In class, your biomedicine professor had blown up balloons and handed out sharpies, inviting her students to draw the lobes in the right place, and yours had popped when you pressed too hard on the occipital lobe, and your lab partner had laughed and said that it was ironic, but you couldn’t figure it: the motor cortex would have been ironic, this was just startling.

You cracked your neck, rolling your shoulders and looking over to the clock on the wall. Nearly 10:30 PM. Mr Miller would be coming back soon.

Sarah was a good kid, and some nights she stayed up to ‘help’ you study, mostly by pointing to pictures in your textbooks and asking you to explain them to her. She’d hated the full-page coloured illustration of the eye, but had been fascinated by the heart, trailing her finger along the arteries, into the chambers, tracing the pathway in and out again. You’d make a cardiologist of her, yet.

Tonight, she’d only made it to twenty minutes past eight, her eyes growing heavy as she turned the pages of your book. This one didn’t have as many pictures, and you could sense her fatigue in the stuffy air.

‘What kind of doctor do you want to be?’ she’d asked, and you’d pulled your hair up off your neck to try and get some air on your skin. You weren’t sure how to explain it without sounding gruesome, without giving her nightmares. She was only 10.

‘When people have emergencies and they have to go to the hospital right away, they need to see a doctor to patch them back up again…’ you’d said, and she’d stared at you with a tiresome expression on her face.

‘I’m not a baby,’ she said, disapproving. You smiled at her.

‘Trauma surgeon,’ you replied. She nodded her head, deeming your answer satisfactory, and taking herself up the stairs to bed.

She was one of the easiest kids you’d ever babysat for, and over the years you’d racked up quite a roster. You’d started in high school, first saving up enough for the prom dress right in the storefront window, and then later keeping yourself fed during your undergrad. When you’d moved to Austin you’d rented a studio apartment in the back garden of a little old lady, a woman who had revealed herself to be an excellent cook if militant about her hydrangeas. You’d letterboxed the neighbourhood and picked up a few odd jobs but nothing lasting, until the evening you’d got a call from a very frantic Mr Miller, who was so beside himself he only asked how quick you could get there and didn’t even ask about your rates.

It turned out Mr Miller got caught up at the jobsite some nights, staying back later than he expected with his little brother to finish framing, or guttering, or wiring. He was running out of favours with his neighbours, he’d explained, and Sarah was still too little to feed herself. You hadn’t minded, his deep southern drawl doing something to you even over the phone, such that you found yourself cancelling plans just to go and sit on his couch that very evening, textbook over your knees.

Some nights with Sarah tucked up fast asleep you’d stand and stare at the pictures of the two of them, her holding up a soccer trophy nearly twice her size, him standing with his hand in his pocket, his other over the shoulders of a younger man you assumed was Tommy. If you were feeling particularly bold, or were procrastinating especially hard, you’d extend a finger and run them up and down the strings of Joel’s guitar, resting sentinel against the windowsill. You imagined his fingers pushing into the fretboard, the strings indenting the flesh.

It wasn’t even that he was handsome, although he definitely was. He was a young father, doing it almost entirely alone, and on any other man that would have made for grumpy, for overly tired, for entitled. On Mr Miller it made for kindness, for a nurturing type of strength, corded tight under his skin. For a single dad always thinking about his daughter, only ever wanting the best for her. For a man focussed on doing right for his family, small as it was.

You rolled your shoulders, the pre-frontal cortex just about beating you for the night. Just as you were wondering if the Millers kept any ice cream in the freezer, you heard the key in the front door. You listened as Joel followed the same routine, first toeing off his boots, letting out a little grunt as the second one hit the floor. You heard him huff as he stretched his back, rolling his hips in a little circle to try and get some stretch into them, before dropping his keys on the table and padding, surprisingly light on his socked feet, into the kitchen.

‘Hey, Sweetheart,’ he said, his pet name for you emerging on only the second time you’d sat for him and still, even after this many months, causing your stomach to do a little flipper.

‘Evening, Mr Miller,’ you said, and he tutted at you, moving over to the fridge and extracting a beer.

‘Told ya not to call me that,’ he muttered, but you could see the grin behind it. ‘How was my girl tonight?’

‘Perfect, as always,’ you said, smiling at him as he poured you a glass of sweet tea from the jug in the fridge without bothering to ask if you wanted any. You accepted it gratefully, suddenly noticing how dry your throat had become.

‘She’s a good kid,’ he said. He sat down, heavy, in the chair opposite you. The ceiling lamp buzzed above you both, and the light bounced off the fine sheen of sweat accumulating on his arms, on his cheeks. He glowed, even if it was under a layer of exhaustion.

‘You look tired, Mr Miller,’ you said, and he cocked a little grin.

‘You sayin’ I look like shit, Sweetheart?’ he asked.

‘No, never,’ you said, instantly regretting how quickly, how fervently, you had responded. He continued to grin at you, lopsided, the dimple on his right cheek popping out to greet you.

‘What is it tonight?’ he asked, and you held up your book to him. ‘The bio-mech-an-ics-of-thought: phys-ee-ol-o-gee of the brain,’ he intoned, before letting out a low whistle. ‘I don’t know how you do it,’ he said.

‘It’s interesting,’ you defended, unsure why. ‘So long as there are diagrams,’ you added.

‘So that’s where the magic happens?’ he asked, gesturing to the illustrated image of the brain in the centre of the page you had been working from.

‘This is where thought happens,’ you nodded. ‘Kind of like…where decisions are made.’

‘Must be a woman’s brain,’ Joel deadpanned, taking a swig of his beer. ‘Can guarantee men make their decisions someplace else.’

You caught a glimpse of something dark in his eyes as he glanced over you. You blushed, swearing it was just the heat, and furious with yourself. This wasn’t like you; you weren’t some shrinking violet type. You’d had boyfriends, you’d had fun in college. You had no idea what it was about Mr Miller that made you immediately go all giggly, all girly, but whatever it was you wished it would fuck off.

The two of you lapsed into a comfortable silence. You were used to this from him, the way his mind seemed to drift, the way he seemed content enough to let it. Gently, so as not to jolt him out of his thoughts, you closed your book, gathered your pens together. Everything tucked away in your bag you were surprised when you looked up to see he was watching you.

‘Apparently Sarah’s taken an interest in science,’ he said after a moment, his warm eyes watching yours for a second. You felt a tingle of pride in your chest.

‘Oh yeah?’ you asked.

‘Mmhmm, apparently after she pushed Simon Strzelecki off the monkey bars, she offered to patch him up again.’

You grinned before you were able to catch yourself.

‘That’s…very, umm…’ you trailed off and he huffed out a little laugh.

‘It’s very Sarah,’ he agreed.

‘M’sorry, Mr Miller…’ you started, but Joel stood up, waving you off.

‘Don’t be, Strzelecki’s a little shit’f the highest order,’ he said. ‘You gonna let me give ya a lift this time?’ he asked, and this time you shook your head at him.

‘No, I can walk it.’

‘Y’know I don’t like ya walkin’ around out there on yer’own,’ he grumbled, and you felt the insane urge to reach your hand out to rest on his bicep, to ease his evident discomfort.

‘I can handle it,’ you said, instead.

Something stole over his face for a moment, a sharpness in his eyes. For a moment you gazed up at him, the furrow in his brow deepening, the muscles in his jaw twitching as his eyes roamed over your face. Standing this close to him you were reminded how tall, how broad he really was. You dropped your eyes to his arms, crossed over his chest, and imagined him holding you with them, circling them around your back as you leant, safe, into his skin. You blinked yourself back to reality, worried for a second he could read your thoughts.

‘Know you can handle it,’ he said, his voice low, ‘just don’t like it, is all.’

You did this every time, this stand-off. You worried one night you would waver.

‘G’night, Mr Miller,’ you said, over dry lips. He nodded, once, at you, still evidently displeased something dark, something haunted, passing over his features before he brought them back into line.

He stood on the front porch, light still on, until you rounded his driveway and disappeared past the oak tree by the front lawn.

--

Mick was a guy from your Tuesday morning bio class, and you only realised he was your boyfriend when he introduced you to a few of his friends that way. You’d just gone with it, because it had seemed easier, and he was nice if a little full of himself at times. He was the son of the one the big ranching families, had been almost guaranteed a position at whatever college he chose on the day of his birth, hadn’t ever really considered that money was something you saved, something you worked for.

But he would never let you pay for dinner, and often he showed up to class holding a coffee just for you. You’d been on your own for a long time, had been self-sufficient well before you had any business to, and it was kind of nice to let yourself be cared for, if that’s what this was.

On nights when you had to work he would pout and complain, and you told yourself it was because he cared about you, because he wanted you around, even if some part of you knew he just didn’t like to be alone. Every once and while he would ask if he could come with you, ‘feel you up on the couch like it’s eighth grade’, and it made you feel exactly fourteen years old, like this was a summer job you had failed to grow out of. It didn’t help that he more than once referred to your sitting job as ‘cute’. His mother had stayed at home the moment she fell pregnant with Mick’s older brother, and as far as you could tell was yet to leave. You never asked about a future with Mick, terrified of what kind of picture he would paint.

On one such evening, after he’d been particularly insistent that you blow off your job and come and hang out with him and his friends, he’d starting blowing up your phone just as Mr Miller sat down beside you, weary-boned and sleepy-eyed, at his kitchen table.

You ignored the calls, tried to carry on reading even as Mr Miller arched his brow at your insistently vibrating device. You huffed, knowing at some point Mick would get bored.

‘You’re popular tonight?’ Joel prompted after a while, making you lose your place in the paragraph you’d read over at least ten times already.

You huffed out a sigh, reaching out and scrolling through the stream of notifications. He’d started texting, sometimes just sending a single emoji, sometimes entire paragraphs about how badly you were letting him down. You felt an ache bloom behind your right eye socket, and you reached up to your temple to try and massage it away.

‘It’s my boyfriend,’ you told him, and with your eyes still closed you didn’t see him scowl. ‘He wants me to come out to some bar with him and his drunk friends.’

Joel considered this for a long moment. When you opened your eyes they blurred under the sudden light, and you blinked away sleep to see him clearly again.

‘You should be out with your friends, it’s a Friday night…’ he said, almost looking guilty for a moment, and you rushed to reassure him.

‘No, no trust me…this is better. They’re boring when they’re drunk. And also when they’re sober.’

Joel smiled, straining just slightly, at this.

‘He a good man?’ he asked, and you scoffed a little.

‘He’s barely a man at all,’ you said, automatically. Later you’d reflect on this moment, feel it turn you inside out and scold your skin with the heat of your own shame. For now, though, you were too tired, and it was too hot in the kitchen, for you to catch it.

Joel caught it, though. He cleared his throat.

‘We met at college, and he’s…well, he’s kind of set up for life. He doesn’t have to worry about grades, or proving himself. He’s almost guaranteed his residency.’ You were aware you were starting to sound bitter, and maybe you were just a little. Something about Mr Miller, sitting at his kitchen table late in the evening with a beer, muscles wrapped in a plaid, his soft brown eyes watching you carefully, made you think he’d understand.

‘He doesn’t make you feel good enough for him?’ he asked, after a while.

You considered this, eventually shrugging your shoulders. ‘I don’t know if he makes me feel anything,’ you said, truthfully.

Joel leaned forward, elbows on the table, his chin resting in his hand as he watched you, gazed at your face.

‘What do you want him to make you feel?’ he asked.

‘Seen,’ you said, without hesitation.

‘Just seen?’ he asked. His voice was deathly quiet now, almost entirely gravel. His eyes were burning, sharp. You watched as they darkened, stealing your breath out from under you.

‘Desired,’ you almost whispered. He dropped a hand to the table, his fingertips only inches from yours, resting casual on your textbook.

‘What man’s out there runnin’ round this town not desirin’ you?’ he asked, almost as though he couldn’t believe it, and you felt scorching heat on your cheeks, rushing down your sternum, pooling heavy in your core.

You blinked, terrified to move in case you broke whatever spell had befallen him. He turned thoughtful, his eyes dropping to the woodgrain of the table.

‘Y’been working a lot here…can’t imagine hanging out with me and a ten-year-old girl is the same as bein’ out there, living your youth…’

You felt something heavy shift in your belly, something essential curdle and erode.

‘I like it here, Mr Miller,’ you said, all big eyes and almost quivering lower lip. Joel moved away, sitting up straight and peeling the label off his beer.

‘Pretty thing like you, shouldn’t be spendin’ all night waitin’ on us,’ he said, almost to himself. You shook your head again, but he was closing off on you, you could see it in the way his shoulders were folding, the way his mouth was tugging down at the corners.

Without even considering it, operating almost entirely on instinct, you reached your hand out to rest on his bicep. You watched as his eyes drifted close, a long exhale through his nose. He grimaced, almost like you were hurting him, until he lifted his hand and held yours fast to him, wrapping his paw around you.

‘I really love spending time with Sarah,’ you said, just over a whisper, as he stared hard at the table. You could sense he was avoiding your gaze, and you wanted to say something to draw him to you, wanted to give him a little nugget of truth that he could take into himself, hold deep and quiet in his depths. ‘I love spending time with you,’ you said.

He raised his eyes to yours. His hand was so warm over yours, your cheeks so pink in the sleepless heat of the late evening. You saw his eyes fall to your lips and you slipped your hand from under his, reaching up to trace the contours of his jaw with your fingertips.

‘Baby…’ he whispered, ‘I been’ resistin’ you so long, don’t know if I can…’ and you pushed a finger to his lips. You didn’t want him to break whatever spell you were both suddenly under. Didn’t want him to take this from you both, whatever it was turning out to be.

‘Don’t argue,’ you instructed, quietly. With brows saddled, he nodded his head.

And he didn’t argue. Not when you moved your finger from his lips and traced it down over the hollow of his neck, over to his pulse where it thundered under your tough.

Didn’t argue when you leant forward, pressing your nose to his, giving him time to pull away, to move from your lips.

Didn’t argue when you pressed them to his, a little soft and quiet thing, earning you a wanting gasp from him, a prize you would hold in the cavity of your chest so long as your heart stayed beating.

Later, when you had gathered yourselves, when he had gazed at you and you had felt the want in him mixing with the regret, with the necessity of the un-having corrupting the want to take and take and take, you had simply gathered your books, tucking them quiet and neat into the bag at your feet. He didn’t argue with you about driving you home that night, suddenly quiet in a way that set your teeth on edge, and you felt an ache in your belly you couldn’t account for when he closed the door. You waited behind the trunk of the tree at the end of his driveway, counting the minutes he left the light on for you after you’d slipped from view, giving up when you got past 15.

--

You were unsettled. Joel hadn’t called for two weeks, and you were starting to worry that you’d ruined things, your silly little kiss bubbling corrosive at the base of your spine. You couldn’t help going over the whole evening again and again in your head.

You should have told him you preferred spending the nights at his house, that the way it smelt like play-dough and sometimes sawdust, sometimes pine, was so unique to the both of them that you felt your nerves settle the moment you stepped over the threshold. That the house was warm and quiet, that you could spread out your books and something essential to you, that in this space with them you felt more yourself than anywhere else on the planet, even locked away in your little studio apartment, even just you and your reflection in the bathroom mirror.

You wanted to tell him Sarah was funny, and smart, and kind, and being around her made you nostalgic for the childhood you never had but ached for, that you felt all that time with her she was giving you something precious and absent, something simple and something sweet. That there were nights you weren’t sure who was sitting who.

You wanted to tell him you didn’t expect anything from him, that it didn’t matter to you if nothing ever happened, if he regretted letting you kiss him, if it had just been that it was too awkward in the moment to say no. Just that you wanted to keep sitting for him, just that if all you got was a casual conversation at the end of the evening and an argument about driving home that would be enough for you, because it would have to be, and so you could make it so.

You begged off seeing Mick for the second Friday night in a row, wanting to be available in case Joel called. You felt silly but you could use the cash. Your textbooks were $400 a piece, and next semester you were taking three classes. Just feeding yourself was enough to stop your studies in their tracks.

Two things happened in the span of ten minutes. A knock at your door stirred you from your lecture notes, and your phone rang. By the time you had it in your hand you were holding Mick back from your face, your palm to his chest, as you craned your neck away from him to speak.

‘M’sorry, Sweetheart, it’s just…I know, it’s a Friday…’

‘It’s fine, Mr Miller,’ you said, ignoring the way Mick was making smoochy faces over your shoulder. ‘I don’t have any plans.’

When you got off the phone Mick was pouting again, and you sighed.

‘I thought I was your plans?’ he said, and you shrugged at him.

‘It’s good money for easy work, babe,’ you said, the nickname sitting heavy on your tongue.

‘I can give you money,’ he said, pulling you towards him by your belt loops and nipping at your jaw. You cringed away from him.

‘That would make me your whore, right?’ you said, and he grinned at you, wiggling his eyebrows.

‘Never seemed to bother you before…’ he said, and you bristled against him.

‘The fuck does that mean?’

“Oh, fuck me, babe, make me yours…” he imitated, his voice high in a general approximation of yours. You blushed, furiously. ‘You think good girls beg like little whores?’ he asked, and you knew he was kidding around, knew that he wasn’t smart enough to do it without outright insulting you, knew that you’d put up with this shit before so there was no reason why he wouldn’t assume he couldn’t get away with it now. You knew the way he spoke to you was basically your fault, and you couldn’t yell at him now that the precedent had been set. You felt yourself crumple, landing with a thump on the edge of your bed.

‘I’ll tell you what,’ he was saying, grinning at you like he’d won his prize. ‘You put the kid to bed, and I’ll come by and keep you happy ‘til Dad gets home.’

You hated the idea, the thought of Mick in that space you’d almost come to think of sacred making your stomach churn.

‘No,’ you said, and you watched as he arched his eyebrows in surprise. ‘You can’t come in…’

‘Say no more,’ he said, grinning again, and for whatever reason, you didn’t.

--

He arrived, just after 9 PM, already drunk. You winced as he parked his car in the driveway, right in Mr Miller’s spot, worried for a moment he was going to swipe the mailbox when he took the angle too fast. He skidded to a stop mere inches from Mr Miller’s garage door and you exhaled, realising you were bracing for the sound of splintering wood. He ambled over to where you stood on the front porch, tugging at your shirt sleeves in the cool night air.

‘Babe!’ he called, and you shushed him almost instantly. He was carrying a sixpack of beers, three of them already gone. His breath reeked and you wrinkled up your nose when he slung his arm over the back of your neck and pulled you in for a sloppy kiss.

‘This feels like high school,’ he said, and giggled.

‘This is my job, y’know,’ you corrected him, but he wasn’t hearing you, backing you up against the side of the house. You thumped into the brick, wind temporarily knocked from your lungs before he was on you, slipping his entire tongue into your ear in a way that made your skin crawl.

‘Easy…’ you said, and he ignored you, his hand not holding the beers rising up to paw at your breast over your shirt.

‘Mmm…such a tasty little slut,’ he said, and you closed your eyes. ‘Little naughty baby-sitter.’

‘Keep your voice down,’ you stage-whispered, not sure how well your voices wouldn’t carry over the breeze in Mr Miller’s cul-de-sac. He leant down, resting the beers on the front porch so that he could grope you with both hands.

He groaned as he rubbed his cock at your clothed centre. You moved your face to the side, letting your eyes slide closed again.

You tried to think of a romantic movie. Tried to remember some of the fragments of the romance novels your mother had kept stowed under the bed and that you snuck into the den to read to your giggling friends. Tried to imagine a different man, a stranger’s hands on your chest, a stranger’s fingers pinching at your nipples. Tried to imagine what it would feel like if they found the sweet spot, if they sent electric shocks into your belly, into your cunt. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to push the sound of Mick’s heavy breathing out of your mind, focusing instead on rough and calloused fingers, the scruff of a beard teasing along your skin. Heavy accent and sweet pine, a groaned little ‘Sweetheart…’ as he slipped your shirt up over your shoulders.

‘The fuck’s going on here?’ you heard a gruff voice as your eyes sprang open, pushing Mick from you hard enough that he stumbled, backwards, landing on the grass.

‘Mr Miller!’ you exclaimed, shame burning bright on your cheeks as you righted your clothes. ‘M’so sorry, he just dropped by…’ you started but Joel was striding up his driveway, as you realised with a new flash of guilt he’d had to park on the street.

‘Hey, man…’ Mick was saying, his hands up in front of his face. ‘Just checkin’ in on my girl…’

You cringed, this particular pet name always feeling more like ownership when it came from him.

Joel looked up at you, his brows saddled. ‘You OK, Sweetheart?’ he asked you, and you realised for the first time he wasn’t angry but concerned, his fists balled up like he was ready to spring to your defence.

‘It’s Mick,’ you explained, glancing down at him as he tried to climb to his feet, getting as far as his knees and settling there for a second to plan his next move. ‘He…he wanted to…’

‘Yeah, I saw what he wanted to,’ Joel huffed out, reaching down to pull Mick upright by the back of his shirt. ‘Saw the way you were bracing away from it too,’ he said, looking directly into Mick’s grinning face.

‘What else you see, old man?’ he asked, and Joel dropped him back onto his knees.

‘You got your keys?’ he asked him, and waiting for the younger man to root around in his pockets.

‘Don’t steal my ride,’ he said, handing them over and not noticing when Joel slipped them into his pocket.

‘M’going inside, and I’m gonna call you a taxi, and you’re getting in. She can drive your car back to you tomorrow mornin’…if she doesn’t decide to drive it off a cliff,’ he said, abandoning Mick on the front lawn and coming towards you, grabbing your wrist gentle but firm in his hand and pulling you inside. ‘C’mon, darlin’,’ he said, and you followed, almost entirely on autopilot.

‘I’m so sorry, Mr Miller,’ you started but he waved you away, placing a call for the taxi while keeping you fixed in your spot with his glare. When he was done, he rolled his shoulders, sighing.

‘You sit,’ he said, striding into the kitchen and emerging moments later with two glasses of sweet tea. You realised, as you lifted your hands to take your glass from him, that you were shivering.

‘I didn’t know he was going to do that,’ you said, and Joel shook his head. You felt the waves of disappointment rolling off him and you worried for a moment you might cry.

‘He always touch ya like that?’ he asked, palming at the back of his neck.

‘Like what?’ you asked, your cheeks burning again.

‘All…clumsy and…disrespectful,’ he said, quiet. He stared at the floor between you while you perched on the edge of the couch.

‘Well…’ you started, but you weren’t sure how you wanted to finish that sentence. Sometimes he doesn’t even bother to touch me at all, you thought.

Joel scoffed, his jaw squeezed tight. ‘Guys like that are all the same, Sweetheart, just…selfish. Even in the bedroom. No lady should be touched like she’s a piece of meat.’

You considered, for one crazy moment, if Joel wasn’t so much disappointed in you as he was in Mick’s prowess. Suddenly you had to stifle a giggle.

‘What’s so funny?’ Joel asked you, surprised.  

‘Just…I mean, they all go to such fancy schools, get all that college for basically free…’ you started, trailing off when you saw him starting to smile. ‘He can’t even boil an egg, and I don’t mean mine,’ you said, and he laughed then, free and loud, and the sound of it made a little fizzle of joy spark up your spine.

This was fun, you realised, shitting on your terrible boyfriend with the most handsome single Dad you’d ever laid your eyes on. This was really, really fun.

‘So, I take it he don’t make you breakfast in the mornin’,’ Joel joked, and you snorted. ‘What you eat for breakfast, anyway?’ he asked, turning to you now, his eyes crinkling at the corners. You swallowed. ‘No, wait,’ he said, ‘let me guess.’ He pretended to look you up and down, his brow arching as he considered. ‘You’re not a waffles kinda girl,’ he said, thoughtfully. You grinned and shook your head. You’d never liked the sponginess. ‘But you’re too fun for plain old oatmeal,’ he said, and you felt a blush crawling across your chest. ‘You’re a pancake princess,’ he decided, finally. ‘Am I right?’

You pretended to consider it for a second before nodding happily at him. ‘Maple syrup and berries,’ you agreed.

‘Maple syrup and berries,’ he said, grinning in his victory. He paused, something passing between you. Suddenly he shifted forward, his knees just barely brushing yours. You found yourself mirroring him, leaning in enough that you had to put your hand out to steady you, landing it on the cushion only inches from his thigh. You could feel his warm breath on your cheek when he whispered in your ear, ‘tart…but a little bit of sweet for m’sweetheart.’

You felt heat scorch its way up your chest, reduced to kindling beside him.

‘Bet he don’t kiss ya like ya should be,’ he said, and you thought for a second of Mick, grinning and drunk out of his mind on the front lawn. You wondered if the taxi had come for him yet, and had absolutely no interest in going out to check on him.

‘Mr Miller…’ you whispered, and he groaned, then, his eyes rolling back in his head.

‘Please, baby, when you call me that…’ he trailed off, eyes blown wide and you felt, then, the thundering in your chest. From this distance you could see his racing pulse in his neck, the same pace as yours.

‘Mr Miller…’ you said, again, staring now at his lips. You wanted to reach out and just take a little nibble.

And he was on you, grasping the back of your head and bringing it down to him, crashing his lips into yours as you gasped, swallowing the echo down into his throat. His tongue, scorching hot, exploring your mouth as he teased it open, the scruff of his beard tickling your cheeks.

‘Thought about you…’ you said, without even thinking, and Joel pulled back a second to appraise you; your swollen lips, your doe-eyes gazing up at him.

‘Say that again,’ he mumbled.

‘When he’d take me, I’d think about you,’ you said, and you watched as his eyes fell shut, taking the moment to glance down at his heaving chest, the aching bulge between his legs. ‘Thought about your hands on me, Mr Miller, about your mouth.’

‘Fuck, Sweetheart…’ he said, almost as if it pained him, before his eyes snapped back open to gaze at you.

‘Kiss me?’ you asked, sweet as you could for him while you tried with both hands to hang on to the moment, to stay here in it with him. You would need to remember this, every corner of the room, every detail. Would spend nights reconstructing his face in your mind, the way he was looking at you now, wanting and red-cheeked, dark eyes and a hot little huff as your words landed their blows on him.

‘Canna touch you, baby?’ he asked, and you were nodding, pulling him towards you as he slid his hands over your waist. Threading your hands through his hair he brought you over him, straddling him on the couch as he stared up at you, brows arching high, as if he couldn’t quite believe it was happening. You smiled at him, feeling like his prize, as you brought your hips down on him and watched his eyes ease shut, heard his breath stutter. He was big, you could feel it even as the seam of his jeans rubbed at your core. You could feel yourself aching for him, hot and pounding where you ground yourself down.

‘Fuck, Mr Miller…’ you gasped as you felt him push his cock up into you, his hands on your hips and pulling you down.

‘So beautiful, baby,’ he whispered, reaching up with one hand to cup your breast, squeezing the nipple between his fingers that, even through your shirt, shot lightning bolts to your cunt. You gasped, a high-pitched little sound you were sure you’d never made before, and he soaked it down into his skin, kept it held tight and precious in the core of him, to keep him warm on cold evenings.

You felt yourself shivering, even as his warm fingertips dropped to lift the hem of your tee and trace their way back up to your tits along the skin. His enormous hands almost completely captured it, and you felt small, then, and shy, but when you looked down into his warm, brown eyes you saw only safety there, only naked desire for your pleasure.

You let your hips roll, that building ache in your core. You’d only ever felt this alone, had never had another person bring it out of you, and you felt the sharp edges of it as you felt a shard of panic slice through your gut. No one had ever done this for you, before. You weren’t sure if your body would allow it, weren’t sure if you could let go enough to fall.

‘Hey…’ Joel said beneath you, his eyes roaming your face. ‘Relax, Sweetheart,’ he whispered, reaching his hand from your hip to your jaw, pulling you down to rest your forehead on his. ‘Just you n’me, baby,’ he whispered as you rocked on top of him. ‘You can take what you need,’ he promised. ‘I got you.’

‘Joel!’ you gasped, the shiver in your body now ratcheting up your spine, your thighs burning as you rolled your hips on his lap, his cock still tucked away in his jeans. ‘I don’t know if I…’

‘Sssh…’ he cooed, raising a thumb to your lips and slipping it between your teeth. You sucked instinctually, swirling your tongue over the tip and letting your eyes drift closed. ‘Just feel it, baby,’ he said, ‘don’t force it. Let it grow.’

Never in your life had you felt like this. You took his thumb between your teeth as you ground, the spark of fear in your belly engulfed by the roar of your desire. You could feel your hips stuttering, could hear yourself starting to pant.

‘Good girl…’ Joel encouraged, slipping his thumb from your mouth now and smearing it across your lips. ‘Right here for ya, baby,’ he said. ‘Wantchya to feel so good.’

You cried out, smacking your hand over your mouth to stifle your cries. He was going to kill you, and you would let him again and again, let him bring you back to life just to kill you this way all over again. You had no idea bodies were made to feel this good.

‘Oh!’ you gasped, all the warning you could muster as he grabbed your hips with both hands, slamming his bulge up into you as he pulled you down, the seam of his jeans rubbing hard into your clit. ‘Yes!’ you whispered, your body shuddering as you felt yourself crest, the pleasure roaring from your cunt to your chest, exploding out of your skin as you rolled, roiled, boiled on top of Mr Miller.

‘Jesus, there she is…’ he whispered, and you opened your eyes to gaze down at him, your breath still coming in gasps as he watched you, awe and desire on his face. ‘There she is,’ he said again, like a prayer, a benediction.

--

You woke slowly, the dappled light streaming in through the oak tree beside Joel’s window. It took you a moment to orient yourself, to remember that you were in his bed because he’d considered it too late for you to take yourself home, even if you had Mick’s car. Because the pleasure he’d wrung out of you on his couch had left you boneless, because the idea of ripping yourself from his smell, from his heat, was unthinkable in that moment.

You stretched, noting that the other side of the bed remained made, that he had spent the night on the couch. You remembered that you had wanted to ask him to stay, that the words had formed on your lips, and that in that moment you saw the regret on his face, the longing to tuck himself in beside you and pull you into his chest, let the weight of the night take him and you with him, but that he wouldn’t allow it, that he was holding back. You weren’t sure why, but you assumed out of decency, out of respect. Out of some vague employee-boss professionalism you would both cling to in an attempt to paper over the grasping maw of desire opening up between you.

You had wanted him, and you had denied him, allowed him to deny you. You rolled to your back in a frustrated huff, surrounded by the scent of him, of his cologne and the scent of his skin imbued in the sheets beneath you.

After a while you heard noises in the kitchen and you left your cocoon, pulling your clothes on and padding down the stairs constructing a cover story for Sarah as to why you were still there. When you rounded the corner, though, you saw only Joel –in a pair of sweatpants and nothing else, standing at the stove.

‘Hey, Sweetheart,’ he said casually, as if you hadn’t come on his lap less than twelve hours before, ‘Sarah’s headed off to soccer practice, so you and me’ll have to take care of all these.’

He gestured over his shoulder to the kitchen table, where a stack of cooling pancakes stood proud. You felt a shiver of shock run though you at the sight of them, turning to Joel with the curl of tears tickling the back of your eyes. ‘No berries, sorry darlin’,’ he said, without looking up. ‘But we got enough syrup to make it up to ya, I hope.’

You weren’t sure anyone had ever done anything like this for you. You wanted to sob, wanted to walk over to the table and pick up the pancakes in your fists and mash them into your skin, wanted to drown them in syrup and eat until your belly distended, wanted to force feed them into Joel. Instead, you stepped forward, your arms opening all of their own accord, wrapping yourself around his back like a Koala. He huffed out a surprised laugh, growing serious when he turned you in his arms to face him, seeing the gathering tears at your waterline.

‘Hey, what’s this?’ he asked, and you grinned, watery, up at him.

‘No-one has ever…’ you started, catching your words before they spilled too much of the truth. Understanding passed over Joel’s face.

‘Oh, my sweet girl…’ he said, and you glowed for a minute, the words reaching down into your chest and igniting something long extinguished.

He leaned down towards you, pressed his nose to yours, his forehead resting gently on yours. You inhaled him, his scent and the sweet smell of the pancakes on the stove, tried to imprint the memory deep in your DNA.

‘What the fuck is this?’ an angry voice sounded from behind you, and you snapped away from Joel, taking several steps back. Mick, still in his same clothes from the night before, stood furious in Joel’s kitchen.

‘The fuck, you let yourself in?’ Joel asked, matching Mick’s anger with his own. ‘This is a private residence, man.’

‘That’s my girlfriend, man,’ Mick spat, his face twisting into an ugly mask you weren’t sure you’d ever noticed on him before. ‘The fuck you doing feeling her up? You stealin’ my car and my girl?’

‘Mick…’ you started but he was ignoring you, advancing on Joel. You stepped towards him, hands up to placate, but Joel was suddenly beside you, tucking you behind him and shielding you with his broad chest.

‘Back up, buddy,’ Joel said, a whispered warning.

‘Me, back up?’ Mick seethed, about to go on before Joel interrupted him.

‘Yeah, you back up. You need to sit your arse down and learn yourself somethin’,’ he said, advancing on Mick so that the younger man took several steps backwards, heading towards the kitchen table. You wondered if anyone had ever actually stood up to him, if usually his wealth was enough to make people cower. He backed into a kitchen chair, slamming down into it with a thud as he stared up at Joel, the older man red faced and pointing a finger at his chest. ‘You think that little display last night was any way to treat a woman?’ he grit out. You watched as Mick shook his head no. ‘You think she enjoyed that, being pawed at in the dark like a fuckin’ street walker?’ he asked.

‘She looked pretty whorish a few seconds ago,’ Mick responded, petulant and stupid. You could see by the way Joel braced his shoulders, his back expanding in resplendent fury, that Mick had made the wrong fucking choice.

‘Ya little shit,’ Joel said, stepping back from Mick and towards you. He held his arm to you, beckoning you into his chest and you went to him, tucking yourself against his side.

‘You have a woman like this, you fuckin’ cherish her,’ Joel muttered, tracing his fingertips along your side and making you shiver. ‘Look at these pretty little tits,’ he said, moving to cup them as you blushed, tucking your face into his neck. You heard Mick’s sharp intake of breath, mirroring your own as Joel rolled your nipples through your shirt. ‘The way you were grabbin’ at ‘em last night, you think that felt good? You make her groan like this?’ he asked, applying just the right amount of pressure on the sensitive nubs, eliciting a moan from you, unbidden.

‘Listen, man, this is…’ Mick started but Joel cut him off with just a look, stern and disapproving, before his face shifted back to adoration when he turned to you.

‘Let’s show him, baby?’ he asked, his brows saddled high. You knew you were safe with him, that at any moment you could call it off, but you wanted this. You wanted Mick to see what Joel could do to you, the sounds you could make. Wanted him to feel small and insignificant in the presence of a real man, of real pleasure. Wanting him to see what money couldn’t buy.

You nodded your head at Joel and watched as the grin bloomed over his face. ‘M’good girl,’ he said, quiet enough that only you could hear it, and you felt the bolt of want shoot down into your core. Your cunt already aching, already dripping for him.

‘Show me where,’ he said, stepping back as you surveyed the space. You nodded towards the kitchen island, the bench just above your hip height. Joel nodded, lifting you up easily to perch on the edge, your body facing Mick as he sat, frozen, at the table in front of you.

‘Slip these off, baby,’ Joel said, tugging at your sweatpants and you lifted your hips as he slipped them, your panties along with them, out from underneath you. The granite countertop cold on the top of your thighs you revelled in the sensation of it, the hard, cold surface so different to Joel’s hot body as he hovered at your side.

‘Show him,’ he said, tapping you on the knee. You spread your legs, hooking one thigh over the edge of the counter and the other widening out to your side, your cunt unfolding before the two men in front of you. You watched as Mick’s face turned pink, sweat appearing on his brow. You turned to look at Joel, the hunger in his eyes as he devoured every inch of your skin. He reached over, running his fingertips over the inside of your thigh, moving closer to you, leaning over your body to whisper into your ear.

‘You’re dripping onto my countertop, baby,’ he said, and you could hear the glee in it, the wanting.

‘For you, Joel,’ you clarified. ‘Not him.’

‘Nah, never for him, I reckon,’ Joel agreed, his fingers slipping further towards your slit. You felt totally exposed and wanton, whorish, as Mick had put it, and your cunt was pulsing, aching from the desire of it. You felt like a priceless piece of art admired in a big city museum, like a stripper opening up her legs for hoards of braying men, like a girlfriend letting her disappointing boyfriend know in no uncertain terms he would no longer neglect her. You felt power coursing through your veins and into your cunt, your slick pooling on the top of your thighs as the most beautiful man you had ever seen stood beside you and teased the pleasure from every nerve.

‘Fuck…’ you whimpered as Joel’s fingers landed light and dexterous on your clit, the little bundle of nerves sending the pleasure roaring through your core and into your chest. You bucked your hips, nearly slipping from the countertop, Joel coming forward again to brace you against his chest.

‘God, look how much she wants it,’ Joel said over your head to Mick. ‘Bet you’ve never made her jump like that.’ You opened your eyes, not even having realised they’d closed, to watch Mick swallow hard and heavy. You beamed back at Joel, letting the pride in his face radiate warmth down upon you.

‘So good f’me, so good t’me,’ he said, spreading your lips apart with his fingers and pushing a fingertip inside. You gasped, shock on your face at the intensity of the need for him burning where he touched.

‘Please…’ you whimpered, just wanting more and just wanting him to never stop, just wanting him to reach inside you, to wring the pleasure out of you, to make you come so hard you forgot your own name.

‘Sshh…’ he cooed to you, ‘your boyfriend needs to concentrate so he can learn.’

You emitted a squeal of frustration, bucking your hips on his hand to try and draw him in, earning you only a chuckle from Joel.

‘Ok baby, m’sorry. Just like teasin’ ya,’ he grinned at you, before sliding two fat, rough fingers hard into your cunt.

For a second you lost touch with reality, your head flying back to the ceiling as sensations strong enough to take your breath roared from your cunt. The stretch was delicious, the heel of Joel’s hand rubbing hard at your clit as his fingers reached deep inside you, opening you up for him, your slick gathering in his palm.

‘Look how wet she gets,’ Joel noted, over his shoulder to Mick. ‘Such a shiny little cunt when she’s drippin’ like this. You ever work her up like this?’

You heard Mick grunt, a pleading note of displeasure, and you sighed as Joel started pumping, stoking the fire in your cunt that threatened to eviscerate you and everyone within the vicinity.

‘Joel!’ you gasped, rolling your hips again, trying to shove him deeper into your greedy little cunt as it grasped at him.  

‘Could lick ‘er up, whatchyu reckon?’ Joel asked, already getting down on his knees as you groaned, certain now he was going to send you into the stratosphere. ‘Can I, baby?’ he asked, and you nodded, frantic, unable to form words.

‘Bet she tastes sweet,’ Joel said to Mick, who was inching closer in his chair, peering over Joel’s shoulder as your cunt swallowed his thick fingers. ‘Like watermelon on a hot summer day. You ever taste her, Mick?’ he asked. You watched as the shame bloomed over Mick’s face. Joel scoffed. ‘Course not, ya fuckin piss weak little prick,’ he spat before turning, diving in to lick a fat stripe at your folds, settling in to lap at your clit as his fingers worked you.

You screamed, sucking in huge lung-fulls of breath just to let them keen out of you, your hips slamming shut on Joel’s head as he sucked at you, every nerve ending screaming now as you felt the blooming heat of release.

‘Oh, he’s gonna make me…’ you said to Mick over Joel’s shoulder, watching you with owlish eyes.

‘Don’t talk to him,’ Joel admonished you, pulling your focus down to him as he perched between your legs, ‘you talk to me,’ he said.

‘Sorry, Mr Miller,’ you said, watching as his eyes rolled shut, a shiver passing over his shoulders.

‘Be the death of me…’ he muttered, returning his attentions to your pulsing cunt. You gripped his hair, rolling your hips on his face and rocking into him, chasing the release now gathering at the base of your spine.

‘Jesus…oh, fuck…’ you cried, trying desperately to warn him, your eyes slamming shut only to open in shock as he found new ways to wring the pleasure from you.

Joel worked you up, his tongue never fatiguing, setting up the perfect rhythm to hold you just on the edge. You could feel your sweat pooling on your skin, the heat in your cunt spreading down your legs, the pull of the knot in your belly.

To your utter dismay Joel stopped, lifting his face to address Mick at his shoulder. ‘You ever make her squirm like this?’ he asked, and you cried for him, then, scrabbling to grip his shoulders, his chin, to push him back to your desperate cunt. He laughed, nipping at your fingertips as they passed by. ‘Look at her graspin’ for me. You seein’ this? This is what real pleasure looks like.’

You cracked open an eye, the room spinning around you as you fought to regain control of your limbs. You saw the look of shame embedded deep into Mick’s face now, the sight of it somehow intensifying your pleasure, the building pressure in your cunt.

‘Fuck me,’ you gasped, turning your attention back to Joel, his eyebrows shooting up. ‘Show him how to fuck,’ you groaned, pushing off the countertop and spinning up onto your toes, laying chest down on the granite now hot to the touch from your writhing body on top of it. You spread your legs a little, knowing that your puffy little cunt lips would be revealed to them both, and you heard them both groan, Joel’s chesty moan full of grit, Mick’s high pitched and brimming with regret.

‘Don’t do this, man…’ he pleaded, and you heard Joel’s little scoff.

‘That’s the thing, buddy, the lady always gets what she wants.’

You felt him come to stand behind you, heard the rustle of his sweats as he pulled his cock over the waistband. It took everything in you not to turn and admire it, knowing in that moment you would have plenty of opportunity.

‘Fuck, she’s got me weepin’,’ Joel said, and you heard the unmistakable sound of skin on skin as he wrapped his hand around himself and tugged. ‘Got me harder than a railroad spike, this little cunt…’ he muttered. You whined, swivelling your hips to try and entice him, begging him to move faster as the walls of your cunt fluttered for him. You heard him sigh, a happy little sound. ‘Ok, baby, I’m here,’ he said, running a hand up your spine to hold you gentle and firm at the back of your neck, the head of his cock nudging at your cunt. ‘Gotta be gentle with my sweet little pussy,’ he said to you, leaning over you to place a chaste kiss in the cup of your shoulder blade.

‘Please, let him see it stretch me,’ you said, and you felt Joel shudder, notching himself at your entrance.

‘Keep talkin’ like that and I’ll chain him up in the basement, make him watch me fuck you every day,’ he muttered, pushing gently at first, the tip enough to make you gasp.

He was big, you realised. All of this time working you up he’d been leading to his moment, preparing to tease you open. ‘Oh, shit…’ you gasped as he pushed.

‘You ok, baby?’ he asked, pausing until you nodded, frantic, hands gripping at the edge of the counter for purchase as you pushed back into him, sliding in a few extra inches, as Joel moaned.

You were dimly aware that Mick was moving, coming to stand in front of you, a look of sorrow and unabashed heat on his face.

‘Please, can I?’ he asked, rubbing himself through his pants and you swatted him away.

‘No, fuck you,’ you said, emboldened by Joel’s desire for you, by his cock currently splitting your folds. ‘You never get this pussy again,’ you hissed at him, and you felt a bloom of pride at the look of hurt crossing his face just as Joel cheered from behind you.

‘That’s my beautiful girl!’ he gasped, bringing a finger to your clit and rubbing tight circles into it, making you gasp as you let your head fall, resting on the countertop. ‘So good f’me.’

The burn in your cunt from the way he stretched you abated, the pleasure Joel was giving you from your clit causing more slick to gather, your cunt grasping him again, your walls fluttering as you felt the ache turn to sweet pleasure, to a blooming rapture.

You lost touch with the ground, Joel’s harsh thrusts pushing you further up the counter, completely at his mercy as your legs hung useless beneath you, hands braced against the granite to give him purchase. In this moment, spread out on his cock, your cunt open and dripping for him, the pleasure ripping the words from your brain, gasps racking your throat, you felt completely under Joel’s spell, his touch, his heat. Mind-numb, thoroughly fucked out, gripped in this moment between the build up and the threshold of release.

‘Oh, you’re gonna make me…’ you warned but Joel had you, was there already with you.

‘I know, baby, I know,’ he grunted between thrusts. ‘Can feel it, can feel that sweet little cunt grippin’ me.’

You cried out, nodding your head furiously, entirely at his mercy now. ‘Yes, yes…Joel, it’s gonna…’

‘Let it go, baby,’ he moaned, and you felt none of the panic, none of the terror at your impending release, wrapped up safe in Joel’s body, in his groans of rapture, in the pull of the knot as it threatened to snap entirely.  

‘Watch me make her come,’ he spat out over your head, and you were only dimly aware of what he was saying as your release sped towards you.

You writhed, your breath stolen from you by the roar of the wildfire across your chest. The push of your orgasm slipping you under, crashing your body into the shore, rolling and quaking underneath it as indescribable lust coursed through your veins.

‘Oh, fuck, there she goes,’ Joel spluttered, his hips stuttering as he started to deepen his thrusts. ‘Gonna fill up ya girl,’ he grit out, his final movements sloppy and desperate as he approached the edge.

‘Do it, baby,’ you whimpered beneath him, words finally able to escape the cage of your throat. ‘Need you.’

He did, then, his come exploding into you and washing you clean, cleansing you of Mick, of all your disappointments, of all your fears. You looked back over your shoulder at him as he crested, his eyebrows saddled and his eyes trained on you, a look of reverence and hunger, of sweet shock, as though he couldn’t believe how good it felt either, as if everything for him was also slotting into place, as if he knew in this moment he would never let anyone separate you, would never let anyone take you from his side, that in his moment you were his just as much as he was yours, that this was a forging of something solid and essential, something vital and something precious, something that was just for you.

--

You didn’t remember Mick leaving. Didn’t care to say goodbye.

Joel had peeled you off the counter and carried you upstairs, drawn you a bath and lowered you gently into the water, sat beside you and washed your body as you lulled in and out of a light sleep.

Drying you off he wrapped you up in his clothes, swamping you in cotton and his scent, before promising to make you a fresh batch of pancakes. You hadn’t let him, whimpering when he tried to leave your side, pulling him down beside you on the bed and wrapping his arms around you.

Later you would figure out lunch, and then Sarah, and then the rest of your lives. For now, you had each other, and cool sheets, and the light patter of rain as a welcome cool breeze blew new life over the garden beneath Joel’s window.

[halfwayhearted]

hopeless romantic pedri trying his best to approach y/n but is afraid thinking she’s into someone else

A Tu Vera — Pedri González.

Pairing: Pedri González x Fem!Reader

Summary: He’s unsure about your feelings and struggles to interpret your actions, but your birthday gesture gives him the chance to hope that he’s wrong. That you do, in fact, like him.

Word Count: 1.10K+

Disclaimer/s — Nothing, it’s really just comfort, slight fluff?

A/N: So basically… I used the term approach as in like, he felt nervous to approach reader about the… situation? FUCK IDK I struggled horribly yet couldn’t stop writing but whatever! ALSO. HIS BIRTHDAY HELLO. 22, bless the hell up! 🎉🐾🤍

The day you’ve been waiting for has finally come.

It was Pedri’s twenty-second birthday today. You had told him beforehand that you would stop by later on because he needed to stay and practice for his upcoming game tomorrow, and you didn’t want to interrupt his time spent with his family.

Some time had passed when your phone buzzed with a message from him saying that he was, well, alone, so you could be on your way to him.

And you were! Your gift for him sat delicately on your passenger seat. Did you have to stop yourself from spending a lot on him? Yes! But this was Pedri; why wouldn’t you go all out for him?

As you pull up, your eyebrows furrow in confusion when you see him standing on the porch, his gaze locking onto your car. You quickly get out and call out to him, “Hello, why the hell are you outside?”

Now he’s looking at you as if you’ve just asked the most stupidest question in the world. “You were on your way. Of course I’d be waiting outside.” He retorted, slowly making his way toward you.

“Right,” you smile and wrap your arms around him once you’re within reach. “Happy birthday!”

The man returns your hug almost immediately. He hums against you in appreciation, nestling his nose into the crook of your neck. The action easily causes your cheeks to flush ever-so-slightly.

“I’ve got your gift in my car. Want to open now?”

“Yeah,” he breathed, pulling away to his dismay.

Though his answer elicits a smile to spread across your lips… oh. He suddenly doesn’t feel upset about having to break the hug so early anymore.

Grabbing his arm, you gently tug him with you as you quickly reach the car door. “Okay, first things first: unfortunately, I can’t stay long. Secondly, feel free to let me know if you don’t like whatever’s in here; I kept the receipt just in case!”

“Doubtful, but I got it,” he shrugged with a grin.

Sliding your hand under the bag, you lean forward to get a better grip on it. Then, you turn to face him, holding it out for him to take, and he does.

With the gift now in his arms, you walk side by side to the chairs he has already set up outside, due to his family coming over earlier. Once the two of you are seated, you turn towards him and motion for him to open it, but he just keeps his gaze fixed on your face. You feel sick. “Go on.”

Adjusting the bag on his lap, Pedri pries it open, a breathy laugh escaping his lips when he sees how overly decorated it is. He takes out the card first, about to open it when you speak, “You can just read that later or something. Keep going, c’mon!”

He smiles, removing the blue and red wrapping paper to reveal the blue Nike hoodie inside. “You like hoodies, and you like the color blue, so…!”

It was the simplest thing, yet it had him fighting the urge to overthink the entire situation. You were observant, he knew that. He needed to stop.

“Thank you,” he says with a toothy-grin. “Really.”

“Of course. There’s one last thing at the bottom.”

The brunette lets out another laugh and removes more wrapping paper. His eyes widen slightly when he catches sight of the next gift, making you bite your bottom lip in nervous anticipation.

His gaze slowly trails up to lock with yours, and you tilt your head. “Do you like it? I noticed you were running low the other day, plus I know—”

Pedri interjects, “I do, and I was. It’s—this is a lot.”

“Don’t worry about that,” you assure. “Now you won’t have to worry about getting another one!”

The box suddenly feels heavy in his hands, the strip of the brand ‘Prada’ staring right at him. He nods slowly, “No, I won’t. Thank you. Wow.”

“Wow, huh? So, I take it you liked everything?”

Obviously, was he kidding? No, were you kidding?“Really? What gave you that idea? Yes, I loved it.”

With a chuckle, you nudge his foot with yours, eyes rolling in feigned annoyance, “Hey, I can easily take it back. Tell me how your day was?”

“It was good. I had a good practice, had a small dinner with my family, and now I’m with you.”

I’m with you? What? He could’ve cursed under his breath if you weren’t right here. He knew he shouldn’t have said that. If he thought it sounded weird, you probably thought it was even worse.

He’s quick to take it back, “I didn’t—I’m sorry.”

“What? It’s okay,” you tell him with a quirk of your brow. “Sorry, what are you even apologizing for?”

He looks confused. “You’re with him, aren’t you?”

“Him?” You repeated. “I’m not seeing anybody.”

Not seeing anybody? “What about the guy with the blonde hair? The one you hung out with a lot.”

That’s when the person he’s talking about flickers through your mind, and now you’re smiling from ear-to-ear, “Oh. I’m not with him. I don’t like him.”

“Then who?” He blurts out, instantly regretting his words. He didn’t even actually know if you liked anyone to begin with. What was he doing?

You blow out a breath and stand up from your seat, with him following suit. “You’re serious?”

Stick with it. “I’m serious. You don’t have to—”

You refrain from letting your grin widen, nudging your head toward your car. He understands that you’re silently asking for him to walk you to it.

“Well! If it’s need-to-know,” you trail off, rounding your car and spinning on your heel to look at him once you reach the door. Your gaze flickers down to his lips for just a second, but that second is all he really needs for his breath to hitch in his throat.

To his semi-surprise, you reached up and placed a kiss on his cheek, sparing him one last knowing glance while you opened the door and got inside.

“Let me know if that answers your question. And, Pedri?” You pause; he hums. “Happy birthday.”

He stands there in silence. He had been so wrong. You weren’t with the person he thought you were with, and he should have realized that when you showed up at his house this late, knowing full well you have to wake up early for your job tomorrow.

Pedri had been utterly mistaken, and he couldn’t have been happier to be as wrong as he was.

Likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated ^_^.

DT(s) — @planetpedri + @gadriezmannsgirl + @spidybaby + @iovepoem + @joaoflms ! ౨ৎ

[jccatstudios]

the soc community is so blessed by your work! every time i see your art and chapters from the comic adaptation i'm amazed! thanks for everything you do!

-- @bazkrekkerbrokemyshin (can't send asks from a side blog)

Thank you!!! I really appreciate being here and finding this lovely community, even if I’m like eight years late to the party haha

Thanks for sticking around and looking forward to new updates. I haven’t figured out everything about the next installment yet, but more info will come soon!

Little preview of the new chapter :)

[waywardstation]

Choo-choo! We've almost reached the likes goal on the reblog game!

Please be mindful of future likes for this game!

Now then get ready for departure soon! All Aboard!

For this post

Thank you everyone so, so, so, SOOOO MUCH!!! I set an incredibly difficult goal for this honestly, and yet you all helped it be reached!! I appreciate it so much, thank you!!

Unfortunately however, the next part is not finished yet. I was planning to have it finished and ready weeks ago, but I became severely sick and have been unable to finish it to have it ready for this wonderful moment :( I’m so sorry. And I am still pretty bad off, and I’m unsure how much longer it’ll be like this for me.

But!! It was still pretty far along when I had to stop. A lot of it is done. And I have tried to make it up to everyone by making the part extra long. And it is becoming more lighthearted and about comfort now, the next choice to make falls into that ^^

ONCE AGAIN THANK YOU EVERYONE!! It means a lot to me to see that people are actually commenting on the comic and celebrating that it has reached its goal. It means a lot to see that people care!! I am so excited to get the next part out to you guys and to continue on this once again!! ^^ <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

[genderqueerdykes]

howdy, this may be a stupid question but I saw a post of yours talking about how men can be lesbians and I'm just a little confused? can some men be lesbians just because they identify with the label? and If people of any gender can be lesbians what does being a lesbian mean? my understanding may be flawed so I would really appreciate help in understanding :3

hello there! not a stupid question!

yep, men can be lesbians simply by identifying with the label, that's all there really is to it! that's how every queer identity except intersex works, in fact! in recent years, we've begun welcoming non binary people into lesbian and gay spaces- so why can't we open the doors to other people? this can be for a variety of reasons why a man would identify as a lesbian, transmascs and trans men who started in the lesbian community and still feel a connection to that identity, bi/multigender men, genderqueer men, genderfluid men, intersex men, bi and pan men who feel like their attraction is gay and lesbian instead of gay and straight, lesbian trans women who are also men, the sky is really the limit!

it's a bit complicated to define what terms like "gay" and "lesbian" truly mean, because they don't exist in a static vacuum that can encompass everyone in that given community. every lesbian has a different definition of what lesbian means. many lesbians believe that it strictly means cis women being attracted to cis women, which is definitely not how lesbianism works at all. no two queer people will ever define a queer term the same way. a lesbian is anyone who identifies as one. it can be a queer woman, non binary person, or man, or a gender well beyond that. or no gender at all.

for example, there's a loooooonnnngggg history of trans women who are also gay. many trans women still identify as gay and with the gay community even well after transitioning and not identifying as a man anymore. this has been a well documented experience since the dawn of the modern queer community in the United States, so why can't we extend the same to men and lesbianism?

when i say i'm a lesbian, i mean a lot of things. i do experience queer attraction to women ofc, but for me, lesbianism is about community and expression. it's about my love for other lesbians, dykes and sapphics, not just women. i'm a lesbian-oriented person. i resonate with the community, history, and culture. i feel right at home hearing about other lesbians' struggles and experiences with gender, expression, identity and sexuality. i see myself in other lesbians, dykes, and sapphics, and just because i'm (partially) a man doesn't mean i have to give all of that up!

i hope that makes sense! most queer identities don't have a concrete definition when you get down to brass tacks. for example "genderqueer" is not something that's easily defined at all. people love to argue about what it "really" means but there's no one answer to that. the same goes for lesbianism. the experience is too broad to be able to be defined simply by saying a lesbian is is a woman attracted to women. identity and lived experience is too varied and complex for that

feel free to have any more questions you may have! if you'd like, i highly recommend looking into the life and works of Leslie Feinberg, a transmasculine butch lesbian revolutionary and queer activist who had to transition into manhood in order to feel like hirself as a butch lesbian. zie identified as multigender and never gave up hir lesbian identity, even after living as a man for many years. it was vital to hir butch lesbian identity :) thanks for stopping by, i appreciate you asking!

[velvrei]

sparks on the mat

pairing: axel kovacevic x reader

just a little blurb nothing much :)

word count: under 1k words

…

the gym buzzed with the excitement of the sekai takai.

the air smelled faintly of sweat and polished wooden floors, and the echoes of kiais from sparring competitors bounced off the walls.

you adjusted your belt nervously, the knot slightly crooked but holding firm. it was one of your first tournaments, and you were painfully aware of how much you stood out among the seasoned competitors.

still, you had made it this far, and you were determined to give it your best.

across the gym, axel stretched casually near the mats.

his bright red hair caught the light, messy but oddly fitting for someone who carried himself with such confidence. he wore his iron dragon suit, ready for his match.

the announcer’s voice crackled over the pa system. “next match: y/n l/n versus axel kovacevic, round 3.”

your heart skipped a beat. “great,” you muttered, wiping their palms on their gi.

“my first match, and it’s against someone who looks like they’ve been doing this since birth.”

as you approached the mat, axel turned to meet them with a friendly grin. “hey, first sekai takai?” he asked, offering a hand.

“is it that obvious?” you replied, shaking his hand. his grip was firm but not intimidating.

“just a little,” he teased. “but don’t worry. first matches are always the hardest. just focus on breathing, and you’ll be fine.”

you chuckled nervously. “thanks. i’ll try not to embarrass myself too much.”

you bowed to each other and took your stances as the referee called for the match to begin.

your nerves were on high alert, but axel’s earlier kindness helped ease the tension.

the match started slow, with axel testing your defenses with light jabs and kicks.

you blocked clumsily but managed to hold your ground. after a few exchanges, axel feinted left and aimed a kick at your torso, but you reacted instinctively, sidestepping and landing a light tap to his shoulder.

the referee called, “point!”

axel stepped back, visibly impressed. “nice one! that was quick.”

you blinked, surprised at your own success. “really? i mean—thanks!”

the match continued, with axel clearly holding back just enough to keep things competitive but encouraging. you managed to score another point before axel ultimately won, but by the end, you were both smiling through your exhaustion.

after the match, axel walked over, offering a fist bump. “you’ve got so much potential, y/n. keep at it, and you’ll be moving up in no time.”

you returned the gesture, grinning. “thanks, axel. and, uh, good luck with the rest of the tournament. i’ll be rooting for you.”

axel’s grin widened. “appreciate it. maybe we’ll spar again someday. you’re pretty fun to fight.”

as he walked away, you couldn’t help but feel a new spark of confidence. they weren’t just some rookie out of their depth anymore—they were someone axel thought was fun.

maybe the sekai takai wasn’t so bad after all!

…

hope you guys found this cute, it’s incredibly generic but 🙏

taglist: @karmaswitch