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#Granite City kitchen
aftmartwork · 1 year
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Enclosed - Transitional Kitchen Small transitional l-shaped kitchen with a limestone floor and stainless steel appliances, an undermount sink, beaded inset cabinets, white cabinets, granite countertops, and a beige backsplash.
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gunillamixtapes · 1 year
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Enclosed Kitchen
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lovealesia · 1 year
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Dining Kitchen in Salt Lake City
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flseur · 4 months
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꒰ 𐙚 holiday sex — jjk men ꒱
⟡ synopsis : winter dates that jjk men would take you on, and what happens after them !
⟡ characters : satoru gojo, kento nanami, suguru geto
⟡ content warning : nsfw ( 18+ ), fem!reader, size kink, standing doggy, overstimulation, soft to rough sex, creampie, cunnilingus, fingering, teasing, praising, squirting
౨ৎ note : this started off as a genshin fic but i turned into a jjk one bc i haven’t posted anything for it in a bit
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୨୧ SATORU GOJO
❥₊ ⊹ with his apartment being right near a canal, during the winter time it was bound to be frozen over. and one of satoru’s favourite things to do, ever since he was a child, was ice skating.
so when the months got colder, and the ice was thick enough to skate on, he was excited to have you celebrate that tradition with him. he made you sit on a bench while he tied your skates and made sure that your jacket was tightly done up before taking you by the hand, leading you on the ice.
his nose and cheeks were flushed red due to the cold weather the two of you were once outside in, but also because of the feeling of your warm cunt wrapped around his cock.
he had you bent over the granite top of his kitchen counter, the idea of the hot chocolates you once craved long forgotten with how satoru was bullying your velveteen walls.
your slick messily coated his length, dripping down his balls as he pulled soft mewls from your throat. the thrusts of his cock were delicious paired with the feeling of his large hands grabbing at the soft skin of your hips, pulling them back to meet his thrusts halfway.
"a-ah! satoru! s'big..." your words slur, your mind was too focused on the searing pleasure your boyfriend was giving you instead of forming a full sentence.
satoru curses at the sounds of your moans, your sobs only spurring him on more. he watches the fat of your ass move each time his thick cock grinds into your pussy. his pace was unrelenting and his thrusts were calculated, each one hitting that gooey spot inside of you.
you were so perfect. pretty face with crystalline tears running down the apples of your cheeks, back sinfully arched, clothes discarded, and your cunt that satoru swore was made just for him was milking him dry.
"so perfect, baby..." he groans, "you're so fucking perfect." then one of the hands that was on your hip slithered to where the two of you were connected. his lithe fingers feathered above your clit, teasing you lightly.
"don't tease..." you sigh. your breath hitches then fades into a moan when you feel his digits begin to rub circles on the bundle of nerves.
it was all too much. satoru was too much. the feeling of his cock dragging through your walls, him playing with your clit, and his moans. he invaded your every sense and you swore you could feel him everywhere all at once.
"ohmygod... g'nna cum, fuck!" you cry out, body spasming and pussy convulsing as white, hot pleasure shoots across your abdomen. your legs were about to give out due to the overwhelming amount of pleasure but satoru's strong grip on your hips is tight and his cock is still pistoning in and out of your sopping cunt.
"give me one more, baby... one more..."
୨୧ KENTO NANAMI
❥₊ ⊹ what started off as kento travelling overseas to new york for a business trip, turned more into a vacation with you accompanying him on it.
he at first was very adamant about focusing on doing the paperwork for his up and coming meeting for the company’s clientele. but when it comes to you, his workaholic demeanour faltered fairly quickly.
he let you drag him down the snowy-covered concrete paths of new york to look at the different stores, hand in hand. you stopped at different shops and bought a few gifts for friends for the holiday season, then you pulled him over to some little cafe in an old brownstone building to grab warm apple ciders, hoping it would satiate your sweet tooth.
and as the sun sets, casting the beautiful city in an orange haze, the two of you decide to make your way back to the hotel you were staying at. as the two of you unlock the door to your room, you can't help but give your husband a sweet smile. and kento can't help but kiss it off of your face.
those sweet kisses turned into something more. winter coats discarded and your clothes soon following after them, as you've now found yourself underneath kento, moaning and swallowing back loud sobs as his cock stretched out your little hole.
kento peppered open-mouth kisses on your neck as he shallowly thrusts inside your pussy. "fuck… sweetheart... stop squeezing so tight..." he groans.
"you feel s'good, kento..." you moan, fingers lacing themselves through his blonde hair, tugging at the roots.
his thrusts sped up, fucking into you at a rougher pace and you cry out.
he pulls away from your neck to look at you, god you were so beautiful. kento brings one of his large hands down to your abdomen and presses down on it, watching your eyes roll back into your head. the strained moans he was pulling from your throat were heaven-sent.
your pussy pulsed around his cock, dragging him further in. kento's head lolled back as he felt you squeeze him tight again. the hand that was once on your abdomen creeps down and rubs fast circles on your puffy clit.
he couldn't hold back his moans as he continued to fuck you senseless. you felt so good but hell, he looked so fucking hot right now, you could cum just at the sight of him.
his usual stoic facial expression was completely gone and replaced with one overwhelmed with pleasure. his skin was flushed pink all over, hair messily pushed out of his face and his abs, covered in a sheen of sweat, contracted with every rut into your messy pussy.
your orgasm washed over you with little to no warning, you grabbed at kento's broad shoulders as you shook from the intensity of it, nails digging into the skin and he groans.
"o-oh fuck! kento!" you cried out. "cum inside! please cum inside!" you were begging him to fill you up, to make you mess. and that was all he needed to hear to have him spiral into his own orgasm. kento's thrusts became irregular as his hips stuttered, eventually stilling inside of you.
"shit..." he cursed as he came, his cock twitching inside of your dripping cunt. "you're so messy..." he chuckled, pulling out watching his cum dripping out of your hole.
"says you..." you mumble, hiding a smile, "you look like shit for a serious businessman."
"haha." kento gives a sarcastic laugh then lays down on your chest, pressing kisses to your jawline.
୨୧ SUGURU GETO
❥₊ ⊹ as winter comes each year, the weather gets colder which meant that it was finally the perfect time to stay inside. so when you looked outside of your apartment and seen it snowing, you decided that it was the perfect time for you and your boyfriend, suguru, to do some holiday festivities.
"oh wow!" you gasp, looking at his gingerbread house. “a-are the windows supposed to look like they’ve been broken into?”
suguru snorts at your question, “they’re supposed to be curtains. and this,” he points at two blobs of icing that you were assuming to be snow piles, “is us. see?”
“really?” you ask, trying your hardest not to laugh. his effort at trying to make this cute made your heart swell, but he wasn’t exactly the best at executing it.
“no, i’m just fucking with you,” he laughs. “i forgot to put the metal thing on the icing bag so it just spilled out there.”
“you mean the piping tip?”
“yeah, that thing.” he smiles.
you giggle at him then yawn lightly. “do you want to go watch that christmas movie now?” you ask.
suguru nods his head, you could tell that he was getting a bit bored with decorating the gingerbread houses. so, the two of you quickly cleaned up then head to the couch.
though soon enough, you weren't paying much attention to the movie. suguru had peeled your clothes off of you, leaving searing kisses in his wake, completely distracting you from the film. as he reached lower and lower, you felt your breath hitch when he was face to face with your cunt.
"need me this badly, baby?" he teases, bringing up a teasing finger to your folds, collecting your arousal on the tip of it.
and who were you to ignore him? you did need him, especially when he was looking up at you behind those long black eyelashes, and his pink lips so close to where you wanted him most.
"y-yes..." you stutter, "please.."
suguru smirks then leans in and licks a stripe from your hole to your clit. his lips wrap around your bundle of nerves as one of his digits pushes into your pussy, thrusting in and out.
you choke back a sob when he adds a second, then a third finger into your aching cunt, hips grinding down onto his face. he hums against your clit, pulling back to watch you.
your face was contorted in pleasure, one hand grabbing at the cushion of the couch while the other grabbed at your own breast, pinching and tweaking your pert nipple. you were making it harder and harder for suguru to ignore the ache of his cock, begging to be freed from the confines of his boxers.
he brings his mouth back to your pussy, flattening his tongue and then swirling your clit around with it as his fingers continue to pump inside you at an unapologetic pace.
"just like that! mph!" you cry out, arching your back. you were so dizzy, the feeling of suguru's tongue in between your folds was driving you crazy.
the taste of your arousal was intoxicating to him, he wanted you to cum so badly. but he wanted you to cum, everywhere.
as your moans become higher pitched, suguru knew you were going to come soon. he angled his fingers to hit that spongy spot inside of you, your eyes rolled backwards as you orgasmed with a strangled cry.
"i-i'm cumming! oh! fuck!" you hiccup, hips spasming against suguru's face as you squirt. your arousal coats his hand, upper arm, lower half of his face and suguru drank it all in.
"that's it, princess... make a mess on my face." he mumbles, fingers still pistoning inside your pussy. you felt yourself being hurrled into your second orgasm and it was coming quickly.
"suguru! can't! is t'much! oh my fucking god!" you sob, gasping as you cum for a second time. white flashes blurred your vision as your head spun, hips sputtering and your pussy clenched around his fingers as you ride out your orgasm.
"good girl." suguru praises you, finally removing his soaked digits from your sopping pussy. he presses a kiss to your clit before coming up to kiss your temple. "you did so good for me, baby.”
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flseur © all rights reserved, do not repost, take inspo from my layouts or themes, translate, or claim as your own.
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keisins · 17 days
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gojo satoru x reader. fwb!au. angst to comfort/fluff
kind of a sequel to this
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You’ve been ghosted.
To be fair, you had kind of expected this. Key work: kind of. You try to not let your heart constrict itself into an organ of loathe, depression and hatred for the past 3 weeks.
Unfortunately, the agony still sits on your granite kitchen counter three weeks later. It’s in the box of his stuff he had the nerve to leave behind, along with all the thread-like semblance of hope you had for your future together. (How foolish of you, really.)
The kitchen itself, however, is empty. The living room you’re standing in — also empty. Your family and friends who came to help you move your stuff to your new apartment left a few minutes ago. They’re on their way there first to pick up some food before all of you move more heavy boxes into the place. And you’re grateful.
Grateful that you have people in your life that don’t ghost you, even if you can count them on a hand. People that care. That are consistent in your life. That aren’t curse-bound.
God, you hated him for the first week. Hated how even though you tried to make his habitual appearances not a part of your routine, you find yourself missing the white hair that tickles your neck when you search for a fresh set of pajamas, the clingy hands that harbor not-so-innocent touches as you put on skin care, and even sometimes, in the morning when you didn’t have the heart to kick him out the last night, the most amateur brewing of coffee you’ve ever had because who needs coffee when you have Gojo Satoru to keep you energized.
You shake your head to rid your thoughts. You take a deep breath in, ready to say goodbye to the place, goodbye to the memories, ready to let the box be discarded away just like he has done to you.
And just as you almost let go, you feel it.
You feel him. You don’t turn. You can’t. Because it cannot be real. You know what’s real and it’s not tender kisses and hands intertwined, it’s a job in a new city, in a new position. Life is not Gojo Satoru, it’s a new apartment.
Yet, there in your old apartment, you come to life upon hearing his voice.
“I see you’ve changed the place.”
His joke comes soft and light, as if to not scare you. Because he has to know that you are livid. He keeps his distance. Though, everything in Satoru is compelled to hold you. He thinks your name must be carved into his bones, with the way it urges his joints to reach for you, always always drawn to you.
You still haven’t turned. Still in shock, because this has to be a hallucination. Some sick joke from the universe, maybe. He calls your name, but before he can close his mouth, you turn around and ask harshly, “What are you doing here?”
Tears are already brimming at your eyes. You find yourself looking at him for the first time in a long time and it makes your heart ache. You could hear him out, but there is something in you that doesn’t want to. You had been raised with impatient needs, always in a rush to satisfy the ones who claimed to love you. Love is patient, love is kind, and you want it so bad to not be love.
A moment of silence passes by as Gojo bores into you, until his heart caves and takes a big step toward you, tests the water by taking your hand in his.
And you cry, weakly shrugging away, before he’s pulling you into the warmest embrace of your life.
“I’m sorry.” He catches sight of the box on the counter and can only guess what it could be. He’s been so selfish with his love for you, that he had forgotten about the treachery that so greatly tries to seep through his infinity. Gojo hadn’t accounted for it, didn’t ever in his life think he could feel afford to be humbled. But, as he stands there with you falling apart in his arms, he feels intimidated. “I’m so sorry.”
“I hate you.” Are you okay? How have you been? Where did you go? He hums softly, still caging you with his arms. You dare to ask, because to love is to be vulnerable, “Where were you?”
He holds you tighter, his eyes threatening to drop some tears of their own. He laughs and you can hear how watery it is when he tells you, “A box.”
You pull away, brows furrowed as you look up at him. He wipes away a falling tear on your cheek before pulling you into him again, desperate for you to not see him cry.
“I’ll explain later… Just let me hold you right now.”
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forthelostones · 27 days
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𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ➺ 𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐣𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐲 #2
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anderson construction and landscaping had been parked outside your door since you returned home from university. as if the summer couldn't get any hotter, the business owner works overtime in your area. anderson is collecting new, loyal clients of your neighbors, cementing her permanence in your life for the next few months. what's to come of your girlish crush when she keeps showing up?
𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜. 18+ (mdni); age-gap, young!reader, older!abby, butch!abby, slow-burn, suggestive language, thoughts of infidelity, ellie ft, smoking/drinking, mentions of parents, nickname: sweetheart, and modern au.
𝚊𝚗. everyone wow thank you so much for the love on for your eyes only! it means so much. here’s something a little different, hope you enjoy. any requests don’t hesitate to drop ‘em, xx jstar.
♫ 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝. distraction by kehlani ♫
palestinians still need e-sims!!! click the link to figure out how you can donate.
The overly generous housewife commissioned me another large project, to which I simply could not decline. Summertime is when business is the best and she just became my second client in this particular neighborhood. It was a carbon copy of the nearby cities split by four-way stops and freeways. The demands were never unique or fresh, causing me a great deal of creative fatigue when I had to order identical materials from my supplier. I pressed the half-empty bottle of frosty Sam Adams against my neck, soothing the battering I received from the sun this afternoon. There was a cacophony of Casio watch alarms indicating that lunch was over. All my workers were so ecstatic to finish up today’s task and celebrated with loud audible sighs.
“Men can be such pigs,” I whispered, consolidating their empty glasses sticky with sugar. 
“Men and children,” She adds, catching me off guard. 
I smile over to her blankly, having very little experience with either. 
“Yes, my little one over there used to be a slobbering mess.” 
I glance over my shoulder to see her daughter sucking on a lemon wedge. Her dark pink lips are tacky with citrus and teeth white against the sunny flesh shedding onto her mouth’s crevasses. I trace the thin maroon-shaded line on the outside of her lips. I find my tongue gliding over my own, thinking of how the lemon would taste between us both. Her eyes jut open once she realizes I am looking at her, eyelashes feathery and light under the sun. Then she just stares at the ground, scraping the sole of her worn Converse against the driveway pavement, attempting to conceal her smile. 
“Have any?” She asks. 
“Any kids? Ah, no. I don’t.” 
She invites me into her home with my hands full of expensive glassware. She screams out to her daughter to bring in the remaining to which she obliges silently, the wedge now dry between her teeth. I wait before walking through the mysterious door and let her guide me — once again with no words. I watched her hips wobble, compressed in spandex, as she walked in front of me. Blinking myself out of the curve of her behind, I stepped up the concrete steps into the kitchen area. Once the daughter placed the glasses on the granite island, she discarded her lemon by spitting it directly into the bin, before lifting the cups out of my hands. 
“Thank you, sweetheart.” I hummed naturally. 
“So we’re good for a consultation tomorrow Abigail?” 
I stalked the daughter's movements as she traveled to the dishwasher on the other side of the kitchen. She hunched over to load the dishwasher, ass drawing me back in as she bent down into a squat to adjust something on the rack. 
“Abigail?” Her mother probed. 
“Yes, ma’am, sorry I was just going through my schedule in my mind.” I laughed nervously. 
“Don’t you have an assistant for all that stuff?” 
“No ma’am, not yet. But we’re good for a consultation at 7:00 am?” 
“Yes, my husband will be here and it’ll be a nice affair. Darling, why don’t you give Abigail all of our numbers. It will be necessary once she starts coming by regularly to fix your bathroom and the deck.” 
Her daughter bounced on her heels and closed the washer, turning to me, worrying her lip in her mouth. She looked between her mother and me, confused at the declaration of plans.
“I didn’t know… uh… renovations to my bathroom, okay.” She said.
“You’ve been complaining about it, so we’re getting it fixed, see Abigail out.” 
She wipes her hands on her shorts and leaves wet smears on the material, the handprints incasing her plump thighs. The girl guides me back to the entrance we came in, her mother wishing me farewell as I step out of the kitchen and back into the garage. I turn to her, still perched on the top of the concrete step, her breasts now eye-level. They glimmer like diamonds just before I tilt my head back and meet her reticent eyes. She holds out her hand, palm upward, demanding something. 
“Phone?” She says. 
“Oh right, uh I think I left it in the truck,” I say patting my pockets. “Why don’t you just take mine down?” 
She removes her phone from her waistband and opens the contact page allowing me to type in my information. I look up at her and she nods at my name on the screen. I huff and start strutting out of the wide garage door. Just as my boot touches the line between the shaded concrete of the garage and driveway, I hear her sweet voice shimmer. “See ya, Ms. Anderson.” 
“Bye.” I wave as the heat from outside embraces me and a collection of warmth bottles inside of me from hearing my name so velvety on her lips. 
꒰ঌ ໒꒱
My neck and forehead were drenched as I rolled over to throw my legs over the couch. The tightness in my lower back that could only be saved by major corrective massaging was throbbing violently. My body stiffened from using this old couch as my bed again, the third time this week. My actual bedroom was a few steps away from the front door but I never make it there. Under my left leg was another thriller book whose name is now obsolete and could explain why I was sweaty and anxious throughout the night. I thumbed the pages and set them on the massive pile of manila folders that accumulated on the coffee table. I put my finger under my glasses and rubbed my eyes clear. What a mess my house has become. The sun wasn’t even up yet and I question why I still do any of this. This a question I ask myself every day actually. I touch the screen of my phone that I forgot to put on charge last night, again, and see all the notifications accumulated after 7:00 pm. 
Payments due, meetings, consultations, etc., are all semi-organized in a calendar system I have yet to perfect.
11:00 PM: See you in the morning, Ms. Anderson :) 
I felt my mouth open slightly. I was pathetic, smiling at a simple text. How long had it been since a notification on my phone was from a woman? I opened the message to type but it’s far too late to reply… right? I liked the message, saved her number as the address, and placed my phone down on the counter. I picked up my tube of toothpaste and noticed how thin it became. I will need to run to the store after work today, another thing to add to the list of shit I didn’t want to do. I used all my might to pop out the last bulb of paste. 
Today was supposed to be an easy day, do the consultation, and oversee the the porch while I put up ads for an assistant I desperately needed. After slicking my hair I walked back into the living room where piles of paperwork overwhelmed the space. I needed an assistant and quickly if I was going to continue to expand my business. 
Two cups of black coffee today as I discovered my creamer was congealed and rotten beyond belief. Another thing I need to do is go grocery shopping. I searched for my keys under the folders stacked on my coffee table. It was already 6:30 a.m. and by my standards, I was running late. Once every piece of paper was misplaced and out of order, I recalled my keys' presence on the loop of my cargos. I pressed my head against my seat and let out a sigh before turning on my truck and an audiobook, A Certain Hunger. Another fucking day. 
My truck hummed as I parked on the street in front of the plain light blue house. I winced at my final sip of bitter caffeine while pulling the keys out of the ignition and attaching them to my belt loop. I dig in my back seat for my work bag and drag it with me to the front door. After I knocked, a man of my height opened the door to welcome me in. 
“Abigail,” He said unamused by my presence. 
“Good morning,” I replied. 
“So, this deck came with the house and it’s very outdated and my wife would like to…” 
His voice faded into a tornado of my own thoughts. It was usually the same customers, who had a ten-year-old porch or deck, wanted it to look modern and have the money to waste on it. I shouldn’t complain because I'm willing to take what they’re willing to cough up. 
“Let me show you the bathroom we want to redo.” 
I followed him up the hardwood steps that opened into a mezzanine that split into three directions. One I assumed was a bathroom, a master suite, and a baby pink painted door with a crown-shaped sign that said: ‘The Princess’ Room'. I found myself cracking a smile. He knocked on the door before entering, to which his restless daughter opened her eyes and pulled the duvet over her chest.
“Dad.” She groaned, catching a glimpse of me just before retreating completely under the blanket. 
The view I caught of her face was soft and her lips were perfectly swollen to take into my mouth. I clear my throat and push the thought down just before nearly tripping over one of the many boxes cascading around the room. The bathroom was bright with shades of pink I had never seen before. 
“We just want something black, gold, something mature for the college grad.” He tried to smile but shrugged as if his wife told him to say those exact words. 
“Great, I can draft something up and give you a quote.” 
“Nice, I do have to run, my rude daughter will see you out.” 
His hand briefly gripped my shoulder as he walked past me. I looked over to the bed and placed my thumbs into my belt loops as she peeked from the covers. Her bare shoulders indicated that she was in no position to walk me out. I followed the deep line of her collarbone and blinked heavily. I swallowed as my cheeks became flushed and marched out of the room before finding my way back into my truck in a blur. I placed my hand on my chest and imagined my skin was hers. How it would feel under my hands after a long day and possibly how she would feel on mine too. There was a deeper ache in me that needed to be satisfied. The safety of knowing my body belonged to someone else would soothe my mind. I would finally get some release if— 
A knock on my window jolted me back into reality. She was standing on the other side of the glass with her hand above her eyebrows trying to shield herself from the early morning sun. Her body is now covered in an all-white cotton sleepwear set that was hastily thrown on. I linger on the movement of her breasts and the outline of her hips as her hand gently catapults the most delicate parts of her body into a wave. The fabric held no regard for a woman’s eye like mine. The silhouette of her dark nipples and sloping v-line at the waistband of her flowing shorts pulled at a string that hadn’t been yanked in a long time. I felt a thrum deep below my belt. I turn the key to roll the window and she smiles slightly, lips slathered in a pinkish gloss that caught my attention immediately. 
“Hi,” She mutters. 
“Morning.” I reply. 
“Um, sorry I wasn’t—”  
“You’re good. So, Princess?” 
I regretted saying it until her smile grew into a chuckling laughter that echoed down the silent street. I grinned with her as her skin glistened from the pure sunlight, uninterrupted of any lingering elements. 
“To be fair, we’ve lived in this house forever.” She adds. 
“Uh-huh, well, no worries all that pink will be gone.” I glance down to her mouth and she retracts her lips to make them vibrate with a pop. 
“In a way, I’ll miss it but it's time for something new.” 
Those words hung in my mind and the cadence in which said it, implying something more than just new tiles and a coat of white paint. 
“Right, have a nice day,” I say. 
“Oh and Abby,” She adds, leaning into the window with her perfect fingers on the windowsill. “Can you tell me when you’re coming so I can at least be dressed?” 
Before I could get a word in she was already heading back through the front door of her house. 
꒰ঌ ໒꒱
I sat on the sidewalk with my laptop and lawn chair, writing out a description for an assistant. I had been so used to doing everything on my own when I started but now I need to switch my methods before I can’t do it anymore. The team was getting along well with the porch and we were almost done, one week in advance, but I can’t count too much on their loud mouths to stay on task. It felt nice to sit in the sun and give my body a rest, I needed more of this. But now I was just staring at the cursor on the screen wondering what I needed an assistant to do.
As a woman who owns her own company…
(DELETE) 
I am looking for someone who is …
(DELETE) 
In need of an Administrative Assistant who can help with my everyday business needs. This includes filing records, sending invoices to clients, being the main contact for clients, and other tasks as assigned. If you are applying, provide a resume listing previous experience relevant to this job. Set hours of 30 per week may include, working in an office, on the job site, and traveling with me. Pay starts at $19.00 per hour. Please send your interest to [email protected]. Thank you. 
I triple-checked my grammar to ensure there were no errors and posted it to all the job-hiring websites I could think of. I exhaled knowing the mess of my life would soon become organized with the assistance of someone more qualified than me to sort it out. I close my warm laptop walk around to the driver's seat and place it into my bag. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice someone watching me from the sidewalk. 
As I lift my gaze I notice my stalker. She walks over to me, fully dressed in bright yellow athleisure and a smile. “I realized something.” She says, hands on the fat of her hips. I pause as I notice the contrast of the sunflower yellow against her skin. If I didn't know, I would mistaken her for the sun.
“And that is?” 
“You told my dad you were going to mock-up something but never got what I wanted it to be. Doesn’t there have to be a meeting of some sort so you know what style I like?” 
“I thought your style was black and gold?” 
She stood just a foot away from me and I cast her body in my shadow, relieving her from the sun. I hovered over her but if she only knew how yielding I felt around her this persona would vanish.
“It is but I want to have some say in the creative process.” She tilts her head, milking me for every ounce of consideration.
“Of course. So, a design meeting?” 
I cross my arms and not in a subtle way. It wasn’t an intentional distraction, just a habit. 
“Yes.” She said, holding her eye contact with me. 
“Fine. Cool,” I say and she chuckles. 
A woman my age shouldn’t be saying cool. 
“How does this work then?” 
I open the door and bend over the seat to grab my notebook with pages crumbled and falling out. 
“We schedule a meeting, I doodle a bit, and we come to an agreement. Will cost you extra though, most clients just trust my first design.” I shrug. 
“Oh,” 
“Is that okay with you?” 
“Of course. How does tomorrow sound?” 
“Oh coo— great. Tomorrow at … 3 pm?” I said, avoiding her gaze that has yet to leave my body. 
“I can do that.” 
“You can stop by my office tomorrow then, I will send you the address.” 
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nhlclover · 11 months
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fallin' all in you | matthew knies
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summary: the morning after with your boyfriend
warnings: some semi-nsfw content, sexual themes, mentions of sex
note: this became a lot more sexual than i intended lol but i actually love this one and i love him.
word count: 0.7k
There wasn’t anything much better than waking up in the same bed as my boyfriend. Our work schedules often conflicted, with me working long and odd hours and him being out of town so often, so we jumped at the rare opportunities we could spend with one another. Following the Leafs' win last night, we wasted no time in getting back to Matthew's apartment, our clothing being discarded not long after the front door had shut.
When I awoke in the morning, I was tangled in Matthew’s cotton sheets. I reached around for him, but only felt the mattress. I opened my eyes, finding him on the other side of the bed. Matthew was lying on his stomach, one arm draped over the edge of the bed. The morning sun beamed through the windows in his condo that he refused to buy curtains for because “we’re so high up no one can see us anyways”. The sun hit his unclothed back, making his skin seem a shade of pure gold.
I leaned over, tracing his toned back softly with my nails. He didn’t even stir. The idea popped into my head quickly, sliding out from under the sheets, grabbing Matthew’s shirt from atop the dresser that I had removed and flung across the room last night. I slipped out of the room, softly shutting the door behind me.
I went to the kitchen, pulling out the frying pan and pancake mix from the cabinet. I scavenged his pantry and fridge for toppings to add to the pancakes. He had chocolate chips but little fruit so I had to improvise by using frozen fruit typically used for smoothies. I mixed together the batter, decorating each individual pancake with some toppings.
“Is that my shirt?”
I jumped at the sound of Matthew's morning voice coming from behind me. I turned around, seeing him leaning against the counter. He now donned a pair of loose-fitting boxers that hung low on his hips, exposing his v-line and happy trail that I remembered tracing the night before.
“First item of clothing I saw.” I shrugged, turning back around and flipping the pancake in the pan. “Somebody tore my shit off when we were in the living room.”
Matthew looked to the couch where, in fact, my white jeans and the Knies Maple Leafs jersey sat discarded. He chuckles, his laugh coming out gravely. I hear his bare feet padding across the floor, getting closer to me until I feel his arms rope around my waist, pressing soft kisses into my jaw. I tilt my head away, giving him better access. He chuckles again, his laugh vibrating against my skin.
Matthew pulls me away from the stove, turning me in his arms to face him. He leaned down, softly connecting our lips. His lips are just as warm as the morning sun that was beating down on the city of Toronto. He snaked his hands down to my legs, picked me up off the ground and walked me to the island, placing me on it. Matthew's shirt had ridden up on me, coming above my hips so my bare legs were sat against the cool granite countertops.
He looks down, seeing that I had on no pants and instead the same white lace underwear that led to the discarded clothing the night before. He groaned, leaning his head back and smiling. I slowly let my legs spread a little wider, intentionally teasing him.
“Are you trying to turn me on right now? Cause' it's working.” He says, his hands gripping my thighs. I giggle, his thumbs now tracing uneven circles into the inside of my thighs.
“How about round two?” He asks in a low voice.
I lean forward, nearing my lips to his before hopping off the counter and pushing past him to the stove. “After, because you’ve just caused my pancake to burn.” I say, taking the spatula and scraping away at the well-overcooked pancake on the pan.
“You are an incredible tease.” He says.
I snort at him. “You better get to work on frying the bacon or else no second round.” I warn.
He laughs and shakes his head in disbelief, a small smirk toying at his lips. He passes behind me, slapping my ass on the way by.
“Yes ma’am.” He says, getting the bacon from the fridge.
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dr-aculaaa · 6 months
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Northern Sky
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1990’s Steve Harrington x fem!Reader
a fic from the Saturday Night series
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Sunday Morning, not that long ago, you and Steve told your girls how you met- but here’s the other half of the story that you’ll never tell: sharing a brown bagged peach schnapps and stumbling into your room after getting lost on the way back to the hotel. You’ll have to see if Munson’s Hunch is right…
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word count: 12.5k
warnings: 18+ mature content minors dni - Family life at the beginning and end, but Steve and Reader are in their late 20s for majority of the story. time jumps from 2009 & 1994, unspecified location (but inspired by upstate NY, (long-haired) Steve and Reader live in the city) meet-cute, mentions of drugs/alcohol, drunk in public, smoking, getting lost, public urination, some character background, drunk smut- hand kinks, there do be boobies, slow heavy petting & (f) oral, morning afters, hangovers, music references, the L words (lesbians & love)
A/N: I meant to post this last Saturday but I … added instead of edited. Welp. + And!!! it’s honestly insane that seven months ago I wrote the first Sunday Morning fic- that was only supposed to be a blurb- now I’m out here ten fics later in this silly universe I made. As always, fem!Reader is alt-coded, and this is purely written for self indulgence.
Enjoy <3
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Early Fall, 2009
The last plate is set in the bottom rack, the dishwasher is forcefully shut with a thud of the seal, ready to be started, out of sight and out of mind until tomorrow morning.
Dishes were done, the kitchen was cleaned, and you finally felt like you could breathe.
The Harrington house is quiet except for the sounds of large appliances humming and the descending creaking of wood as your husband returns from upstairs, putting down the youngest with perfect timing to catch your finger scrolling in clicking circles on the little iPod dock kept on the granite counters.
“Don’t change that song-” Steve pops in, arm reaching out as he strides across the tile in gray cotton socks. “Don’t change that song.”
“-but it’s such a slow song,” you don’t look at him, scrolling through the alphabetically listed artists, “I want to listen to my music for once today.”
All day it’s been whatever chart-topping pop your daughters wanted in the car during pick up and drop off- usually some Disney boy band or Nepo-Daughter of a country artist from your twenties- whatever supposedly “enhancing” Little Einstein music for the youngest developing mind in your house, and your husband’s evening selection of his mellow Tim Buckley-like acoustic folk-rock that filled in the silence between dinner conversation and utensils against stoneware sets.
Before you can press the white circle button in the center of that little block and shuffle some Concrete Blonde, needing some Johnette Napolitano after the day you had, your husband’s bigger hand envelops yours, taking you for a little spin that has you reluctantly pulling back with a little groan in your throat. He brings you close to him, his hand at the small of your back as he looks at you with a surprised look of disbelief behind black browline glasses, “Whaaaat- what happened? My wife doesn’t wanna dance with me?”
His weight shifts from foot to foot in a small swaying waltz as he holds you close as you sigh, “Can we dance to my music? Can I have a turn?”
Steve looks at you with a tilt back of his head, “Can we dance to this one song first, please?”
A surrendering drop of your head you come to a settlement, just getting through those three minutes then you can listen to your nostalgic post-punk as you finish some client work and Steve grades the last of his student’s papers before bed. You mumble an agreement to the compromise, resting your head against him as your arm goes over his bicep, hand curling over behind his shoulder.
Though it was a casual Saturday, not needing to wear a tie or loafers, Steve’s version of “casual” consisted of an untucked button up shirt that was colored that same hue of a smashed blueberry stain you scrubbed out of your tableware linen.
Another silent sigh through your nose, you can’t even shut your brain off long enough to just sway with your husband, tuning back in to catch his soft humming along,
Would you love me for my money?
Would you love me for my head?
Would you love me through the winter?
Would you love me 'til I'm dead?
Steve is not a singer, these past fourteen years only privately performing for an audience of one; your ticket to the show: that golden band around your finger that was brought to his lips behind your head, making you feel some sense of content and let go of some of that tension you kept in your shoulders as mustache hairs tickled your knuckles.
Another dry kiss, you turn, watching him love on your hand for a second more before you lift your head.
Something in the air sparked an olfactory recollection, making you take a deep sniffing inhales until you find the source:
Steve’s hand.
It smelled sweet- warm and cozy, a comforting smell you haven’t had the pleasure of in a few years.
You interlock fingers with his, bringing the hand closer, nose to back of palm for another gentle sniff with eyes softly shutting as you try to pinpoint that certain aroma.
With another deep inhale that you feel in the muscles of your chest, “Honey?” Steve watches you take yet another inquisitive inhale.
You look at him, not understanding the connection, but keep his knuckles under the tip of your nose,
“Why do your hands smell like lavender?” you ask, a smile hidden behind the back of his palm, that little line forming between your brows as they knit.
Steve chuckles, a little twitch of a nod, “It’s from when I was putting Leo down. He ran out of lotion after bath but I found some under the sink.”
“Oh no, daddy” you make a small pout, now remembering the exact smell -Aveeno calming comfort- “that’s from when Winnie was a baby. Is that okay to still use? It’s probably old.”
Steve’s lip thrills, “it’s fine, probably…”
You go back to smelling his hand, another deep inhale that makes your brain all soft like cashmere and sweet like honey,
“I used to put this on her every night and read her the Little Prince.”
“Oh no,” Steve remembers little Winnie, with a less dramatic pout but still a small whine recollecting her onesies of bunnies and dainty pink roses.
“Da Yittle Pince,” he imitates her former toddler voice, that beloved book carrying on, but her voice was now more articulate and clear that you sometimes forget you were having a conversation with a five year old.
Another chuckle at how it wasn’t that long ago as it seemed, Steve started swaying you a bit more, finishing the song with a twirl on your toes as he raised your hand to give him spin. There was no one watching, yet the act made you bashful, giggling now rather than sighing over there still being things you needed to do before the night could end.
That’s just what Steve did- he made you feel good.
“Ohp-” your husband’s head then turns to the archway of the kitchen, the sound of a small sniffle and little wet hazel eyes being rubbed harshly from the light.
“Mommy, look, someone’s out of bed.”
For as long as she’ll come scurrying into your arms, you’ll always give a small gasp and a coo towards your whimsical wallflower.
“My Sweet Winnie,” you beckon her with open arms, still standing with Steve in the middle of the kitchen as you hoist her up, that head of chestnut hair a complete mess from the way she took out her bedtime scrunchie even after Steve brushed her hair.
Winnie tucks her head into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, little runny nose to your clavicle as she hides away with squeezed shut eyes from the bright light.
“What’s wrong, baby?” You pull down her Hello Kitty pajama shirt, rubbing her back as Steve goes to smooth down her hair already frizzy from the pillow.
Winnie heaves, having cried the entire journey to the kitchen from her bed. She must’ve gone to your room to look for one of you, her usual antics in waking up suddenly and booking it instead of laying back down.
Steve kisses her warm pajama shoulder as you still hold her. She was still short for her age, a lot denser than she looked, as you held her up with forearms crossed under her bottom.
Steve’s palm soothes his daughter’s back, “Why are you crying, Win?”
“Too daaark.” Her little voice starts to crack with another sob as hot tears stain your shirt with tiny heaves.
You were used to these situations with Gwendolyn Marie- you and Steve knew early on she was a bit more of the sensitive type than her older sister, needing a little extra patience with her when the tears started to flow.
“Oh, no,” Steve starts to rub her shoulder as you start swaying her like you and Steve previously were in this spot, “-did Lovey Star turn off? I’m sorry, baby, you must’ve been so scared.”
Winnie doesn’t respond, but instead let’s put another choking whimper on your shirt.
“It’s okay, baby, you’re okay now,” you try to shush her gently.
Upstairs, her sister Celeste may be able to ignore the cries of younger siblings, but the smallest sound seemed to wake the smallest Harrington.
“Want Daddy to take you back to bed-?” You begin to peel the little one’s body off yours, only to have her squeeze her arms and legs around your figure in absolute refusal, a raspy cry out that had the two of you shushing her with a panic to soothe her sudden wail at being taken away from your hold.
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, you don’t want that, I understand.” you shush the side of her head, being able to smell that bath time coconut shampoo from her heated scalp as her body temperature rose from anguish. “Mommy will put you back to bed, okay? Mommy will help you go back to sleep.”
Incessant whining sounds try at your calm composure, as Winnie reaches out for her father to join the two of you upstairs.
“I’m right behind you, baby,” he takes her little hand, rubbing his thumb over the back of her palm to assure her that he was following the two of you out of the kitchen and to her bed with a mountain of stuffed animals.
You sit her down lavender sheets, fixing the bed while Steve adjusts the toy night light the two of you bought specifically for this nyctophobia phase. Sitting cross legged on her bed, she sits in your lap as you try to tame that passed down Harrington hair, watching as her father holds the small screwdriver between his teeth as he replaces the batteries that suddenly gave out. Winnie sits quietly, her head gently tugged at from you gathering all her long locks, careful as you begin a braid to keep the hair out of her face while she sleeps.
A sensitive girl with a sensitive scalp, you were in the danger zone in case she were to yelp, consequently awakening the sixteen month old just at the other end of the hall.
“Yay, Daddy fixed Lovey Star,” you quietly cheer to make the little flushed apples of her cheeks glow at the assurance she now felt from the light purple glow that filled her bedroom with the main light now turned off. With your back against the cool wall as you lay in her bed, Winnie goes to lay her head on the pillow, hugging her little nutbrown hare plush to her chest as her little back curls against your front. You watch for a few moments as she makes the baby bunny hop on her father’s stomach, talking to the big nutbrown hare, the other half of the pair, being puppeteered by Steve as they quote the story together in quiet whispers.
"I love you as high as I can reach, " said Little Nutbrown Hare.
"I love you as high as I can reach, " said Big Nutbrown Hare.
It calms Winnie, little sleepy giggles coming from the middle of your two lounging bodies on the small mattress as you watch as her eyelids grow heavy.
In record time too- usually she was rather difficult to put down for the night.
But you spoke too soon, her little voice speaking up in the dreamy illuminated darkness of purple hues on purple painted walls.
“Mommy?” She calls for you without turning to look back.
“Mhm?” you answer, letting her know you’re listening as you tuck back those long strands of baby hair at her forehead and temples that didn’t quite reach the braid at the back of her head. Your girls have such thick hair- all from Steve- you usually could tell from the sweat that gathered on their hairline if they were asleep or not. You’ve acquired that awareness after more than a decade of sharing a bed with Mr. Radiator himself, propped up on his elbow, feeling his warmth from where you were on the bed, his palm smoothing over your bicep, tucking your daughter away as she continued to speak.
“What were you guys doing in the kitchen?” she speaks through a squished cheek.
A push of air in a light chuckle escapes your nose, putting your hand on her stomach as you rub ever so gently to try and help her fall asleep.
“It looked like you were dancing. Romance Dancing.”
“Romance Dancing,” you and Steve repeat, trying not to chuckle at how cute she viewed your (supposed) alone time.
“What’s Romance Dancing, sweetie?” you softly ask above a whisper, watching her eyes resist the weight of sleep on long eyelashes.
Winnie mumbles something, not strong enough to lift up her eyelids anymore- something about how it’s what “true loves” do like in the animated movies she’s seen countless times with her older sister in your rather impressive VHS collection.
It’s something she’s seen you and Steve done before, many times.
After the sounds of little snores follow, Steve has a chuckle to himself, making you lift from your bent wrist the held up your head.
“What’s so funny?” You whisper, just barely audible, as you want in on the humor too. You have a feeling that it involves the phrase, ‘Romance Dancing.’
“I’m just thinking about the song back downstairs,” Steve nods, his voice deliciously thick in a low whisper as you converse over your child’s sleeping body.
“-that was the first song we ever Romance Dance’d to.”
Early Spring, 1994
It’s well past midnight when the reception concludes, the last of the invited guests to the Buckley-Wheeler ceremony were leaving the venue, packing into cars and heading to their hotels.
The air still has a chill from the long winter that previously swept across the grounds, feeling it in the form of raised shivers on your exposed skin as you stand in the cool of the night and stare off at the still waters of the dark lake right down the hill where the party was held.
Your face hurts.
You can’t stop smiling for some reason, your body feeling warm and fuzzy from that high with that perfect stranger earlier, still making you feel all… floaty.
The air nipping at your skin counteracts the desire to slip away into a warm carmel daydream about what happened tonight after sharing cake.
That young man with the long brunette hair guided you to the dancefloor, how easy your bodies just swayed with the other- no bitter awkwardness making your mouth run dry like junior prom, how painful your first dance was with Raphael DeGuzman who only asked you because everyone else had a dance partner and he thought you were a decent wallflower to pick.
Not with Steve though- he danced with your hand in his, mindful of your heels and exposed black painted toes that peeked out from the tips of your shoes- it all felt like you were on a cloud; he had years of dance experience under his belt.
Unbeknownst to you at the time, Prom Royalty and a formal dance student from his mother signing him up as a young single child to get him out of the house.
You’ve exchanged your bids of good nights as the conversations from other invitees pulled you away.
“I’ll catch you later,” and “see you around” said on hesitant tongues as you parted, pulled away by separate parties- a reminder you came from two different worlds.
Everyone at this party knew Steve, young and old. They all laughed and bickered like family, like he was the oldest brother talking to younger college graduate siblings on what their plans were next. You watched as he cheered with clinked beers, sipping and laughing with a young man with a mullet of tight curls, “Yeah, it’s getting pretty long, isn’t it?” He refers to his hair, a hand combing back overgrown walnut and cinnamon that fell to his dress shirt shoulders like waves of silk. That golden ring on his pinkie catches your eye, curling golden brown locks at his temple behind an ear as he nods at a joke of a jab, looking down at black leather loafers as a giant of a man comments that it’s longer than his daughter’s.
You laugh to yourself as he glances to you across the floor, caught in the talk of hockey scores that lightens the previous topic about the brides’ hassle to register as domestic partners. The Rangers finally ending their Cup drought, Gretzky’s high stick, and Mario Lemieux’s chemotherapy with twenty missed games have Steve’s eyes signaling an S.O.S.
You tip your beer with a little shrug, offering smiling sympathy as you can’t seem to slip away from a conversation about 35mm with a Pentax MX owner you mistakened to be a k100 around their neck.
-
“Oh, pretty ladyyy,” calls a man with sweat defined chestnut curls from the small parking lot, “-need a lift?”
Crossing your arms as heels click across the asphalt, you smile at your feet from the sight of Steve, a reddened visage from practically carrying all of Eddie’s weight into Dustin’s car.
The last you saw of Eddie, he was still face down on the table. There’s a large red splotch on his forehead, evidence that tells you he had been asleep this whole time, finally woken up as the party was now over.
Steve turns his head over his shoulder, a double take he originally wanted to pay no mind until he caught you in passing.
You were by yourself, leaving this party the same way you arrived.
“Hey,” Steve smiles, unconsciously losing his supporting grip around his drunken friend’s waist, putting a hand in front of a bulbous nose hidden behind a wild mane that kept making suggestive whispers about “the pretty lady” to the side of his face.
“Hi,” you join the group clown-car loading into the white four-door Jeep Wrangler.
“Ask her if she wants to sit on your lap,” Eddie tries to be discreet in his unwanted and uncalled for wingman duties, a harsh whisper that you could hear from where you were standing.
“Stop it-” hazel eyes glare at Eddie, making him snort and tuck away into Steve’s shoulder with a laugh at how that seemed to make him blush.
“Do you- do you want a ride?” Steve offers, simultaneously trying to get Eddie into the backseat.
“I bet she wants to ride somethin’, cowboy,” Eddie snides from the corner of his mouth before hitting his head on the roof of the car, misjudging his ducking head, groaning in his hands as he goes to sit.
“Oh, uhm,” you watch as Steve shuts the door on Eddie’s face to give you a little bit more privacy. He leans his back against the glass, blocking Eddie out of sight from the way he was trying to still be involved in the conversation with his drunken rambles
“I kind of wanted to walk back to the hotel,” a small raise of your chin to catch a quick glimpse above,
“It’s such a lovely night.”
Stars- you wanted to mention. All you wanted to do was look up at the stars on the short walk back, you’ve never seen them so clear like this after living in the city for so long. The way they glimmered in the blackened sky, you thought about how you took something as small as just looking up at the big sky for granted.
Steve watches as your glittery smokey lids that matched the atmosphere come back down for eyes to meet with his once more, “Plus it looks like there’s no room in there?” You motion to the way a girl with fiery red hair and a young man with twists over a high fade push Eddie against the door to make more room in the backseat. “Thanks for the offer, though.” you laugh lightheartedly, watching the chaos in the car as Dustin turns around to bicker with Eddie about legroom from the driver’s seat. A real family circus, you admired, though the stars were calling to you.
Reluctantly, you wish Steve a good night, a gentle stroke of his arm before fingers curl under his elbow and you say it was a pleasure meeting him tonight.
“It was nice meeting you, too,” you pass by the opened driver’s window with a wave, smiling at Dustin who was swatting away at, who you could probably guess, messing with the stereo in the dash. “-Sorry for stealing Steve away earlier.”
“Hey, now, no worries-” He gives you a friendly shrug and a crinkled smile that makes his eyes disappear, “-you have a good night, yeah?”
As you make your way to the sidewalk, the three Amigos watch you from the Jeep.
From the side view mirror, Dustin watches Steve give the inner part of his bottom lip a subtle bite, a small silent sigh pushing through his nose in contemplation as he watches you walk away.
“So?” Dustin smirks, a little too smug for the likings of his older-brother-like friend. “You gonna go after her or...”
Steve slowly blinks in an eye roll with his amused scoff at how so painfully obvious he was being at the fact that he liked you, nodding his head and digging into the pocket of his dress pants for the extra hotel key to the room he shared with Eddie, placing them in the younger man’s turned open palm that hung off the side of the car.
“Thanks.” Steve tells Dustin, a pat of his shoulder before pointing a stern finger at the amused upwards curled face of the metalhead poking through the window and the driver’s seat headrest.
“Be good,” he warns.
“Woof.” Eddie sarcastically barks at Steve before settling back, nestling into the free room of the four door, crossing his arms with a dumb smile as he watches Steve scurry over to the sidewalk.
“Hey-” Steve’s voice makes your neck whip, watching him catch up and join you on the sidewalk. “-mind if I tag along?” He carries his jacket draped over his shoulder, two fingers hooking into the collar that make him look so effortlessly cool.
“Sure,” you smile, a flutter in the lower half of your stomach that warms your cheeks from his midnight company.
“I’d like that.”
You don’t ask Steve why he changed his mind and ran across the parking lot, you’re just thrilled he did.
The sounds of heels and dress shoes drag and click across the concrete as Steve watches as you dig through your purse, simultaneously adjusting the low halter neckline of your dress with your thumb, making his eyes shift to the street in a sense of modesty.
“Do you have a cigarette?” You make his head turn back to you, giving up your short-lived search for a pack you could’ve sworn you had, cursing the favor cute fashion over function with your patent leather mini purse.
He pats down his thighs, checking the pockets in the front in the back, only having his wallet on him. Steve didn’t even have a lighter, he used yours back at the party when you lit that shared joint.
You shrug it off, a wave of your hand at his apologies, fixing your purse strap above high lace gloved arms, and pointing to that convenience store just around the corner. He follows you in, that familiar electric chime every time you enter a Seven Eleven welcoming you over your heads.
With flickering LED lights that turned the top of Steve’s hair russet, you take in the smell of midnight mopped floor cleaner in an old stale water bucket, listening to the humming of drink fridges behind your back as you approach the register.
Standing before the counter decorated with lottery tickets, gum and candy bars, “How cute,” Steve says to the golden lucky cat, his chest close to your arm as he reaches over to touch its little paw with his finger.
“Aww,” you notice, “I love maneki nekos.”
“Bonita gecko?” Steve’s brows curve in inquisition, though he turns to smile at you, “-but that’s a cat?”
You weren’t expecting that response, trying not to let out an offending snort as you wanted to push his shoulder that was close to yours, but the older woman behind the counter approached from the back before you could answer Steve.
“Hi,” you greet her back with a smile, “Virginia Slims, please? The one-twentys”
“Granny cigarettes?” Steve chuckles, making you narrow your eyes playfully, a little light nudge of your elbow to his torso,
“Don’t you judge me, bonita gecko.”
With a wide step to the nearby shelves to your backs, Steve reaches over you once more to
put down a small brown and flat glass bottle next to your slid over pack of cigarettes, a twelve ounce bottle of Hiram Walker peach schnapps.
The kind that’s easily sealed in lapels.
The kind you would drink and get stupid with on prom night.
It’s a classic.
Steve knows it.
“Here,” he then offers to pay, folding his jacket over his arm and reaching into his pack pocket to bring out cash and an ID- an ID you notice, with a much younger Steve against a teal background, shorter hair, and blue and pink ink that matched your own that stayed in your purse.
He lived here, you note, suddenly trying to fight that little shimmer of hope in your chest. Everyone else at the ceremony talked about travels from out of state- Nancy and Robin even discussed moving from their one bedroom apartment on the Lower East Side to somewhere in New England for better work. For a better place to live that didn’t cost them an arm and a leg, to actually own a house.
“Anything else?” The short woman with almond eyes nods at your items and breaks you from your thoughts.
“Ah…” you scan over the counter then back at Steve who looks at you with lifted brows.
‘Anything, go ahead,’ his shrugging body language said.
Anything… you take him up on that.
“Two Wild Cherries scratchers?” You turn back to the woman, smiling at Steve’s stifling laughter, his chin falling to his chest making soft long hair fall back to his face.
“One for me and one for my friend here.”
“Oh,” the woman smiles, her aged hands reaching under the clear counter to rip off two Lotto cards. “Do… you and your friend need anything else?” She adds, scanning the two cards before she tries in a nonchalant yet suggestive motion to the small hanging display of contraceptives to her left.
“A-Ah-?” you choke, kindly and awkwardly smiling at her offer. “That’s-” you catch Steve as he turns to bashfully rubs his neck and looks away after his forced cough over a laugh.
Heat creeps up the sides of your neck and cheeks, holding out your hand to receive the change and give it back to Steve while grabbing your items. “That’ll be all, thank you.”
Stepping back into the night, you take a deep breath of the night air, cooling you down after your body still buzzes in reticent reaction to what just happened. Though, that doesn’t stop the coy smile stretching your lipstick as you open the pack,
“Want a granny cigarette?” You offer with a smirk.
“Nah, I shouldn’t…” Steve sways with a smile in a turn away, only to turn back to you with a shrug that makes you let out an airy chuckle.
“-but yeah, sure- I’ll take one.”
Steve watches you take another twiggy white stick out from the pack, holding it between your lips as you bring that flickering flame from your plastic opaque Bic and light both ends.
The plume of smoke off your dark painted lips drift up to dissipate into the night, trading the cigarette for a few sips of liquor as Steve began to warm his body with the artificial peach.
There was unfortunately no winnings off your dollar-scratchers, not even a single dollar payback nor a voucher for another card.
Oh well.
The two of you continue to walk and talk, and drink and fill the empty streets with sounds of your dress shoes and laughter as lips touch through the passed brown bottle.
His warmth encased your shoulders, keeping you safe in the waterside dropping temperatures without even laying a hand on your tempting skin. Steve gave you his jacket earlier, yes, letting you indulge your senses in his bergamot, amberwood, and vanilla masculine musk.
Steve tells you about his previous dog walker job before starting at that new moving company with his roommate, that long haired metalhead, and your mind can’t seem to let go of what he said before slamming face down on the table when Steve went to grab cake.
“Big boy’s got determination written all over his face. You kiss‘m tonight ‘n he’s gonna be followin’ you around like the sun shines right outta that cute rump of yours,” Eddie’s drunk slurring echoes at the back of your head.
“He's already putting his jacket on you like you're wearing his dumb old letterman.”
You were wearing Steve’s jacket on you like you were proudly wearing his dumb old letterman, walking around this small arbory town colored amber from mid-century iron lamp posts.
There’s a chill up your spine that counteracts the fiery warmth you feel in your belly and thighs that make your clicking heels now stagger and scuff on the concrete outside the small cemetery outside the passing chapel. It’s just you, Steve, and the ghosts haunting these sleepy streets right now.
Now with free hands, you watch as Steve speaks with his hands- one hand making that liquor bottle look smaller than it actually was, while the other pushes back his air and cup and pushes the air with long, thick fingers.
The devil washes himself on your peach lingering tongue, taking all your willpower to suppress him and not say those four damned words that always get you biblical amounts of trouble.
I like your hands,
you suck on a breath to express, only for Steve to speak and slice through the silence.
“I…
really have to pee,” he sighs, making both of your laughs echo down the passing alleyway.
Standing still was not a good idea, feeling your weight in those heels you’ve been wearing for too long. With your back turned to keep a lookout and give privacy to Steve’s liquid waste of property defacement, you bite your lip and stare off at Orion as Steve unbuckles his own belt.
Star light, Star bright, you take your mind off the sounds of trickling stream against brick and a sigh that makes you want to laugh, First star I see tonight, I wish I may wish I might I might, Have this wish I wish tonight.
“That's Mars,” Steve returns with the sound of his zipper pulling up, his head close to yours from behind to follow your gaze line.
“What?” You bring your chin down from quick stargazing.
“Were you just making a wish on a star?”
“Uhm,”
“-because that's Mars,” Steve smiles without judgment, his Midwest starry-sky filled suburban upbringing counteracting your countless nights slept in the city. “You just wished on a planet.”
“Figures.” You sigh, a shake of your head and a grin of momentary embarrassment that watches Steve step over to a nearby stone fountain.
“Sorry,” he chuckles, “-didn’t mean to spoil it for you, but I’m sure it could still count.”
Steve dips his hand in the water, accidentally getting a few drops of himself on his hand when he relieved his bladder, looking over his shoulder.
“That’s kinda cute, though.”
“-And that’s kinda gross,” you retort, watching him wash his hands in the cycling water of the coin filled fountain before shaking them out and drying them on his thighs.
Steve’s lip thrills as he playfully dismisses your laughing at his improper sanitation. “It’s fine, probably.”
“Steve, no,” the two of you go back to walking down the street, “-now your pee hands are covered in random water bacteria.”
“It’s fine!” Steve laughs, his rosy cheeks reddening more to his ears.
“Whatever, Piss Hands McGee, you better not touch anything else until we get to the hotel.”
Steve looks at you from behind long locks that had fallen to his face, a sort of “Happy Now?” look on his face as he shrugs with both of those large hands stuffed in his pockets.
-
As the two of you turn yet another empty street corner, you let out a big sigh through puffed out cheeks as Steve asks more about what you do besides being a part-time officer on the Pee Patrol.
“Um, well, I’m a freelance photographer…
Weddings and quinces, mitzvahs of both bars and bats, really. Lots of… coming of age parties, you wouldn’t believe.
But, actually…”
Steve notes how you start to sound pretty pleased with yourself, lips pressing together as you try to sound modest.
“I just did a Dinosaur Jr show last month. That’s how I paid for this outfit and my train ticket out here.”
“That’s-” Steve’s dark brows lift, trying to share the excitement, “That’s really cool- like that kids show about that singing purple dinosaur?”
How that makes you laugh with your head thrown back and a nudge to his arm that obediently stayed glued to his sides.
“You’re so cute.
No, it’s a band. Like… you know Sonic Youth? The Breeders, Mudhoney….?”
Steve confesses that he hasn’t listened to those bands, and you appreciate the honesty. It was sort of endearing that his hair was long solely because of fashion and not cynicism towards big corporations expressed through social alienation. Though he matched the look of the blended punk and metal genre, and made sense given his roommate’s outward persona, Steve’s taste in music was pretty mellow.
“What’s your favorite band?” You asked next.
To then follow up with the real thinker and not whatever cart topper he brought with him into adulthood from the previous decade-
“But who do you really like?”
Toad the Wet Sprocket, he answers, and it’s cute that he likes the jangly California rock and mixes it with his soft spot for Boys Entering Anarchic States Towards Internal Excellence- which you didn’t realize was an acronym for the trio that were headlining Lollapalooza with the Smashing Pumpkins, another group Steve liked. His affinity for Sweet Sweet was, well… sweet, the way you pretended not to remember, making him harmonize the chorus for you before he blushed from the way you were looking at him.
“Oh- I also really, really, like the Cranberries” he adds, a nodding of his head making chin length bangs sway as he emphasizes.
You don’t mean to gasp the way you did, but inhibitions thrown out the window and anything to take your mind off the way your toes were being squeezed in these shoes, you took that little rush and planted a seed telling Steve,
“I love the Cranberries.”
They’re playing at the Beacon Theater in December, he adds, already with plans on buying tickets.
“It’s really close to my neighborhood, I could practically walk to the show.”
You watch as Steve bites a bit of dry skin off his bottom lip, eyes flickering as he makes a plan in his head.
“Do you… would you-? Would you want to go with me?”
“In December?” Your brows lift and he nods to confirm, still keeping his lip between incisors in a small nervous chew.
“Do you usually plan out first dates five months ahead of time?”
Steve shrugs, letting go of his flesh, “I mean- it doesn’t have to be the first one… it’s not like we can’t see each other in between, right?”
And the way he looks at you, you swear you see that dog you keep running into on Queensboro Plaza on the way to work, begging for that toasted sesame bun you usually swipe at the bakery in the morning.
“Unless-” “-Well”
The two of you cut each other off, flustered vowels in a word waltz to let the other one speak.
“I’d have to pretty much rise the entire length of the seven line to get there….” you watch as those flickering puppy eyes glimmer with hope and a silent plea to say yes, please say yes, I want to be there when you hear Dolores O'Riordan live and in person for the first time.
“-but there’s nothing I’d love more.”
-
“What are you thinking about?” Then wedges Steve again through another bout of silence after the excitement, personally filling the quiet with each dragged drunken step in your head to a beat from a song previously heard tonight when Steve held you, being two slow dancers to a Nick Drake song he seemingly already knew the words to.
“How did they make that sound?” Your buzzed thoughts fill the air without specifics, vague until you tell Steve the ringing melody in your ear.
“Y’know, like in the song, there were these teeny bells chiming.”
Steve nods, a little “o” on his lips before they form into a crack of a smile to know you were thinking about your dance.
“A Celeste,” he plainly tells you.
“What?”
“A Celeste? It’s like this- It’s literally just a bell-piano instead of how normal ones use strings. They’re metallophones, like a glockenspiel? That’s why they sound all bright and pretty like that.”
You tilt your head at Steve, the way he seems to surprise you with every conversation you’ve had tonight.
How he turns away whenever he gets into detail like he’s ready to be corrected or told off by someone.
But it’s just you and him right now, no one to butt in the conversation or add their two cents, and you didn’t even know what a Celeste really was until tonight.
“Are you a music guy?” You then ask, wanting to build more onto this idea of what kind of person this stranger might be, and Steve shakes his head.
“I played piano when I was a kid but- Nah, not really.”
He’s humble, you note. He doesn’t talk to you about music with a higher level of entitled or pretentious authority. It made sense- he told you he was going back to school in the fall for a degree in secondary education.
“I really liked how the name sounds, y’know?” He starts to smile, nodding at the way he liked the name sounding when he said it.
“Celeste.
-That’s how I’ve remembered it after all these years. I always thought it would be a pretty name for-” Steve stops himself, catching you looking at him with the tiniest of awestruck from the small twinge in your chest that can’t be helped from the alcohol still running through your body.
“... for a little girl one day.” He shrinks in on himself just a bit, sharing thoughts never expressed with someone else, but your smile lifts him back up, telling him it’s a lovely, perfect name for a little girl, actually.
Absolutely heavenly.
“Wanna know what else I’m thinkin’ about?” you then add after a moment of catching glances as you make another left turn.
Steve looks at you after a small shake of his head, getting those long hairs away from the side of his face as he looks at you with undivided attention.
You stop in your step, turning on your toes and making Steve halt on the concrete as well, turning so the approaching lamp post illuminated his features from high above.
You pause to suck in a breath, your chest feeling tight from the way he’s looking at you, that soft silk hair you just want to tuck away behind his ear and out of his face as he stands underneath the northern sky.
““How I’m gonna ask if… if you want to come back up to my room with me.”
“Oh.” That bitten lower lip slightly falls.
“and… stay the night?”
“Oh.”
“If we can find the hotel first,” you then take haste steps that hurt a little bit to keep moving with determined clicks like Dorothy to get home so these butterflies in your tummy don’t make you fall apart here on the concrete.
“-Because Steve, we’re lost. Definitely lost.”
“We’re not lost,” he then grins like a fool, hands in his pocket that became sweaty in his pocket come out to breathe, tucking back his hair with a run over with his palms when you weren’t looking, as to not be called Piss Hands McGee again.
“It’s a fifteen minute walk but we’ve been out for, like, almost two hours.” You don’t mean to whine, but your feet are starting to really, really hurt.
‘Yeah, okay… We’re lost.’ Steve keeps to himself, scanning the surroundings with a harsh squint and really, really wishing he didn’t leave his glasses at the hotel room, where Eddie was most likely asleep in Steve’s bed instead of his own.
“There’s that weird horse sculpture again,” he points out, “I think we need to turn left then we’ll be right at the hotel.”
Steve watches you wince slightly, shifting weight from one foot to the other to relieve some sort of pain.
“Think you can make it?”
But before you can answer, he’s already getting down to squat slightly right in front of you, making you laugh in awkward confusion.
“Actually, y’know what, here,”
You have half a mind to tap his bottom with your foot to make him stand back up straight, “what the hell are you doing?”
Giddy up, the look he gives you over his shoulder says.
Again, you shake your head no. “I’ll brace myself for the walk, it’s fine.”
“Just hop on,” again, he encourages you, now with slight annoyance at your persistence in your stubborn denial.
“No,” you laugh in disbelief that he’s not letting you refuse. “-I’m not going to get on your back. I’ll break your back.”
Steve stands up straight now, his head slightly tilted back, making your lips tightly press together as you try not to childishly laugh at his sudden change in demeanor than the easy-going guy you spoke to all night.
“You’re not gonna break my back.
C’mon, don’t wanna risk blisters now, do we?”
-
The absence of his heat on your front as you demount, the smell of the metal elevator filling your nose instead of his cologne as you ascend up to your floor-
It was well into the night, even the silence echoed throughout the sleeping rooms, every little sound making you a little self conscious as you know your feet are heavily dragging from being so close to your door. You held your breath with each step down the carpeted hall.
“Sorry about the mess-” You then speak over your shoulder, unlocking the door and walking in to flick the lights on, only illuminating half of the room with one bed and makeup scattered on the desk. You hope Steve doesn’t notice your suitcase that seemed to look more like it exploded than unpacked.
"It’s cool," he assures you, trying not to be too obvious he was taking in the smell of the room. Feminine. That sweet floral and fruity pink pepper he smelled on you earlier, the night air too open to smell your perfume.
It was a mess, but at least it was girl-messy. The way you always packed a million things on your trips, thinking you’ll need triple the items of the days you’re gone.
Steve thinks its cute, getting this behind-the-scenes exclusive into your performance of womanhood as he steps into the bathroom to properly wash his hands with soap, becoming utterly infatuated with all the little products you have, reading what cream was for what, what lotion went where, what went in your hair- reading them all as he thoroughly sudsed his hands until they smelled like the complimentary powdery goat milk and lemongrass that made his hands feel all tight when they dried.
Taking off your arm-length lace gloves and picking the necklace clasp that held your favorite pendant, you listen to the squeaks of the faucet shutting off, the sound of plastic flicking off of the bright bathroom light that leaves the room just a little darker.
He comes out and you stand there, looking at each other in side eyed glances at opposing sides of the bed, unsure of what steps to take next and advance the night.
“Uhm-” you beckon the young man, “-do you think you could,” you start to motion to the metal clasp that you just can’t seem to get a grip on, slipping from your fumbling fingers each time you try to pry it open.
“Oh, yeah- sure thing,” he stands behind you without hesitation, the warmth from the side of his palm just below your neck makes your head drop in a float, as he lingers. He’s squinting, needing those damn glasses again, but gets the clasp, letting the thin gold chain slide off your clavicle.
His hands hover over your shoulders, palms open over exposed skin from the low-dip back of your dress to absorb the warmth as if you were tempting chaos burning at his fingertips.
"Hey... can I-.. um..." he swallows through that thickening in his throat
“Yes?” you turn to look at him with softened eyes, voice in a near whisper at the surprise at how suddenly close we were. The light from the single bedside lamp makes shadows on his perfect nose and over a soft jawline that becomes defined- it all makes your heart stop for a moment, forgetting how to breathe from how close you had him.
He’s so handsome, just as you saw him outside the venue struggling to stand from the pain that was making him tense. Steve looked in pain, though not a physical pain from jolted nerve endings, but an anguish from urgency to do something, anything as he had you this close.
This personal.
This private behind closed doors,
all to himself.
Steve’s long hair developed a slight dishevelment from the prolonged evening, the lamp behind him making a soft halo glow around his devilish thoughts, as you anticipate for him to speak more.
All he could think about was how gorgeous you looked right now, a visage so full of wonder, patient and sanguine in the low light. A voice so soft and sweet for him, there's so much he wants to say to you right now, but it's all jumbled up in his head.
He can see you staring at him, a beg in your eyes for him to part lips and push the words off his tongue.
You watch that knob at the center of his throat bob, sucking in a deep breath before exhaling the question he’s been wanting to ask you all night:
"Can I kiss you now?"
Shared like a confession in the less than a foot of distance between mouths, eyes flicker between his full lips and deep hazel eyes that trap you in his gaze.
Steve leans in, proceeding as you stand still though not denying him of his starry night wish.
Eyes flutter shut, that pain in Steve’s chest transferred to yours as he gently, like butterfly’s wings against a thorned rose, places his lips upon your cheek in a delicate kiss.
With your hands finding placement on his torso, Steve watches through heavy lids how your eyelashes flutter while his hands on each side of your neck slithers up your face, holding you as the hearts of his palms meet with the corners of your jaw.
Steve pulls you to him, wanting you to be as close to him as possible, wanting to feel you breathe his own name on his lips that press against the other with delicate handling of this first to tread through uncharted waters.
Another kiss, and then another, they become deeper- pulling away bringing the other with you, two magnets trying to follow along with each push and pull before smashing faces with a natural need for the other.
His heart was racing, you could feel it pound close to yours, with hands rubbing under his soft shirt and under his collarbone, your lipstick kisses trailing down his jaw and neck that caused a momentary seize of breath.
Steve kept his hold on you, beginning to take your body with him backwards blindly, relying wholly on the trust of the bed hitting the back of his legs- Until you’re unexpectedly fumbling over a wide open suitcase in the half lit room.
It makes the two of you yelp, catching each other with white knuckle grips on fabrics, a twist in the air, and a laugh that sends you to sit on the bed still unmade from the Do Not Disturb sign that is still hung on your door.
Steve caught his footing, though knees fell to the floor before the foot of the high firm mattress.
With fingers burying themselves in warm caramel rivers, you levitate this midnight worshiper of your femininity with kisses through this adrenaline rush.
Spit shined lips tremble as Steve’s hands roam up and down the lengths of your thighs and he pulls away, lifting one leg up at a time with a hand curling under your ankle to bring each foot up and undo the small buckle that wrapped around it.
Your dirty sole against his heart leaves a dark charcoal smudge, but Steve doesn’t care right now. He’s captivated by the skin of his current deity, keeping her foot defined and en pointe for him as he removed both high heels.
Hot blood throughout your anatomy sends an urge to fuzzy growing gray matter, wanting to reach out and grab that stubbly chin of his to make Steve look back up at you from this angle, but you find yourself stuck like a rabbit in his pupil-blown headlights as he starts to climb up your figure in a prowling conquer.
Steve’s hands dig into the mattress at your sides, bringing his knee forward to separate yours that found themselves rubbing together as his eyes flickered over your features.
He hovers over your figure for a moment; you watch him meticulously plan his next course of action, which parts of you to kiss first, where to drag his tongue and make you mewl underneath him.
From the way you placed your hands on his sides, he knew kissing the pretty lines on your neck would orchestrate pleasured sighs, interrupted by hitched gasps from the way his thigh placed itself high between your legs. Steve felt the direct heat from under your dress against his pants, another firm press that had you with an arched back and a moan onto his liquor perfumed tongue.
This onslaught of casual dominance left your steadfast bedroom state of mind feeble, succumbing to the way his voice rumbled against your neck in mumbled praises you couldn’t quite comprehend- but you didn’t give a damn, not resisting as one of his hands managed to pin crossed wrists over your head after an attempt to remove his shirt that he didn’t notice you were unbuttoning.
You made Steve forget who he was for a moment, forgetting his body was riddled with old memories where new skin merged with mutilated flesh. How he desperately wants to press naked skin to yours, wanting to feel your softness all over his stigmatas like a balm that would soothe healed wounds that now only ache from diffidence.
Though he leaves his white undershirt on, standing on his knees with you laid breathless between his legs, watching him carelessly invert his sleeves as he peeled off the white button up, Steve gave you some satisfaction in wanting your fresh manicure to scratch down his shoulders.
Your nails dig into his broad muscles, making Steve hiss in his heavy exhale as he held the weight of your breast in his warm palm that snuck in through the sides of your halter dress, halting the hot passion as you feel Steve chuckle against your skin,
“What are these?” his rumbly voice inquires, his thumb gliding over a rather unusually smooth surface on the center of your bosom.
You try to reel your mind back from the intense heavy petting just now, voice cracking a dry “what?” as you try to fathom the sudden impediment.
Steve attempts to clear his throat, lifting his weight off yours slightly to look you in the face as he gives another squeeze to your bust,
“What’s on your…. ?”
“-Oh my god,” you sit up, making Steve get off you to sit and watch as you let out a nervous breath of a chuckle, turning away to peel off the soft petal shaped silicone stuck to your chest with frantic shakes of your head.
“It’s just a fashion… thingy.
I-It’s weird -they’re weird.”
“Hey, it’s cool-”
“They’re weird, sorry,”
you reiterate, not knowing why you’re suddenly apologizing through stutters as Steve just smiled at you with a small lick of his kiss bruised bottom lip.
“Don’t worry about it,” he nudges your shoulder with his chest as your face reads recoilment on oneself.
“They’re not weird,” he assures with a smile and shrugging tone as one of his fingers vertically feather over your shoulder, sending chills down your spine as you involuntarily tilt your head for him to trace the traps before fingers find the knot at the nape of your neck.
You face the man after warmth crawled up your neck and cheeks previously suckled, who just now watched you remove the adhesives and toss them carelessly, hopefully, into your luggage.
Senses slightly sobered after the lustful rush, you can’t help but laugh at yourself-
Laughing together at how your lipstick got all over the lower half of Steve’s face, how he transferred the alluring paint from your lips down to your chest, even staining your thumb as you swipe it across his wet bottom lip.
He goes to lean his head against yours, watching you take his bigger hands to hold on your lap, a thumb caressing over the faint hairs on his knuckles as you slowly play with his fingers. He trims his nails, you note, smiling internally and keeping the comparison to yourself, with a bad habit of anxiously biting your own through occasional stress induced relapses.
Steve then watches as you begin to compare our hand sizes, your delicate fingers feathering up his palm like you were about to tell him his future across slightly sweaty palms.
His fingers were long, you watched as they entrapped yours like the slow curling teeth of a carnivorous plant that wanted to keep you in his grasp. Though Steve’s hands were still a touch soft, they were edged with a roughness acquired from new labor by means of odd jobs since moving away from home.
"I like your hands,” you hear, the words being said for you in whispers.
How that makes you chuckle softly, rather sarcastically even, on the recollection of moments you caught yourself staring at his hands; the way the veins slightly protrude when he holds or grips something, you noted that Steve had firm, strong hands, yet they were soft and treated you with the perfect balance of fierce maneuver simultaneously handling you with Fabergé delicacy.
“You like my hands?” you whisper back.
Steve hums to confirm, “Mhm,” then takes your hand to his chin, lips dancing Jeté in soft and gentle kisses upon the inside of your knuckles and fingertips.
You watch those pearls in his smile reveal themselves in self amusement as you pull back your hand, but taking his along in a guided maneuver to the bottom hemline of your dress that now bunches just below your waist.
“I like yours, Steve,” you emphasize; a sultry in your voice that brings him closer before further expression escapes through small groans and destitute exhales for his touch.
“I like yours a lot.”
Steve gets the picture.
Your subtly unequivocal, from the way you turn to sit on the side of your hip, wedging his hand further up your inner thigh until the back of his knuckles graze over the front mound of your black panties,
“I want them to touch me here.”
His wrist under your dress turns to hold your needy core in the entirety of his palm.
How plush and warm, Steve thinks to himself, the thick pad of his middle finger pressing against the dainty fabric covered crevice. He could feel you entirely, how each of his rubs made you moan into his ear with pleads for him to keep going as you tuck yourself away in his good-smelling neck.
“We should’ve taken that nice old woman’s offer,” he mumbles a lighthearted chuckle of a snide against the side of your head, making you bite the inside of your bottom lip as vigor in his pressured movement increases.
Mumbling before prying your heavy lidded eyes open from the building pressure between your thighs, you give Steve’s neck a kiss.
“Mm, m’sorry,
I know you wanna go for a ride, Cowboy,” you quote his heavy metal friend from hours ago, bringing an instant blush to his cheeks at the remembrance of a less than subtle crude comment.
He stammers slightly, a little embarrassed you heard that, but the way you kept gently rocking your hips, the thought fades to insignificance.
-But I want you to keep touching me, please, make me feel good, you make me feel so good- over and over, you plead for the night not to end there.
Steve affirms through his kiss and a cease of his touch, not to stop, but to lift his palm from the patch of sticky sweet mess pooling in the fabric.
You watch as he brings those fingertips to his lips, a quiet suck to taste your sweet arousal that seeped through your panties.
“Then just lay back,” he smirks
“I’ll make you feel good.”
-
You seem to float down as you gently fall back on the cool white linen.
Cheek to your bare shoulder, fingertips feathering over the rising and falling round tops of your bare chest, you watch Steve’s pants drop to the floor, next to your dress.
Your head finds comfort through the sinking cushion in the hotel down pillow, as Steve’s head from up above your figure spins just like the exorcist from the way his hands roam all over the terrain of your body in admiration after disregarding underwear.
On his knees he sits between your legs, wide open palms smooth over and down the erogenous zones of your pelvis and inner thighs, causing you to clench around nothing as calloused thumbs just barely brush over your needy sex.
Through his praising exhales Steve hovers over your laid figure once more, kissing down your stomach as he descends to your lower half. His face hides behind hair fallen over your navel, the long locks sweeping over the soft skin of your lower stomach, the tips dragging down as he situates himself to face your honey-slicked tender flesh.
You make Steve’s shining lower lip drop from the sight of you, feeling the sweeping cool of his breath.
Placing a hand to your bare mound, the heat and light pressure already have your eyes blissfully closing as he settles onto his stomach, having a full view of you laid out right before him in all perfectness.
Steve’s fingers parting lower lips make a shudder escape past smeared berry tinted ones that turns to a small whine.
Your own fingers weave through his hair to see his dark lowered gaze flicker in desire. How warm his scalp feels from blood rushing hot throughout his body, it urges him to finally taste the entirety of you.
With his shoulders to the back of your thighs, Steve holds you open for him. That following second he hesitates no more, making you feel a sudden lightning storm chorusing through dopamine rushed veins- stunning your body as thigh muscles tense and you hold your breath in your throat from the tip of his tongue starting in teasing upwards flicks.
His eyes look up and forward, groaning against skin from the sight of your chest moving in rapid expansion and deflate through moans as you begin to grasp your own peaked breast.
That sensitive bundle of nerves start to drag across the bridge of Steve’s nose as he plunges deeper between your sex, not getting enough of your warmth and taste on his lapping tongue.
The sounds in the hotel room are soft at first, comprised of the gentle and broken gasps that turn into your moaning whines and curses as his tongue drags up and down your entrance. It feels relentless, like he knew exactly how to work your body, to then insert a finger that feels your sporadic pulses as it begins to curl and pump with another added digit.
A tight suction from his lips latching onto your center of pleasure,
“Fu-uck-!”
You cry at the intensity, scratching his scalp as your inner thighs press against the shells of his ears. Steve proudly grins to himself between your legs, saliva running down his chin going unseen as you keep him there.
Hips involuntarily lifting from the mattress,
Steve’s hand digs into the doughy flesh of your shaking thigh. With his hips against the mattress, he can’t help but release you from his mouth groan as he grinds his lower half, achingly hard while hands and mouth remain busy. The sounds he lets out fill your ears like music alongside your breaths of shortened and haste notes, feeling that fiery coiling tension in your lower half as his head rests on your inner thigh to press the wet lower half of his face in encouragement to your climax as you babble and begin to lose composure.
“C’mon sweet girl, just let it go,” Steve nibbles on the soft flesh closest to him, making your back arch as both hands now grip the sheets.
“Gonna feel so good, just cum for me.”
You feel him release his wrap around your thigh, slithering a hand under yours to feel interwoven fingers tighten as you finish on his tongue that pushed you over the edge.
All you remember in that moment before Steve had you throbbing on him knuckles deep, was that everything suddenly stopped.
Time stopped, your breathing stopped.
Steve finally stopped, only after you rode out your climax on his flattened tongue, your whole body dropping as you didn't hold back. You couldn’t-
you didn't have the strength to keep your moan at a reasonable volume, releasing an octave exactly like the women you’ve seen in pornographic films.
After a moment of feeling the pluses throughout your body, all the way to the sore spots on your toes, it registers in your brain that the high pitched moan indeed came from you, making hands with tingling fingers suddenly jolt up.
“Why are you covering your face?” he asks with a chuckle, wiping that heavy lidded smirk with the front and back of his hand.
“Nothing -I’m just,” you come back down from your ascension with breathy laughs. Your legs all flat, the sweat built under the back of your knees making contact with the dry sheets.
You still feel that rush swarming throughout your blood, feeling like an insane person as you begin to fully, wholesomely, laugh.
“-I’m just…. smiling so stupid right now.”
“Yeah, I see that-” Steve begins in playful inquisition, knowing why, but just wanting to hear you say it, “-how come you’re smiling?”
You snort, giving his shoulder a push with the ball of your foot,
“-because I can’t believe -how hard- I just came-” you sighed and chuckled into your palm, laughing more though the apples of your cheeks started to slightly twinge.
Steve pulls at his underwear, adjusting the wet fabric splotch that stuck to his skin as he too, smiles like a fool at your climaxes.
Laughing.
Laughing during sex?
How Steve never realized how much he needed that in his life, wanting to hear your laugh over again, thinking about the sound of everything as the back of his knuckle caresses your inner soft skin.
“What are you doing?” You bite your lower lip, catching him trying to spread your legs to open for him once more.
“You wanna eat me out again?”
Though his jaw slightly aches, Steve’s gaze shifts up and down, a tilt in his head as they meet with yours.
“Anything to see your face like that again, honey.”
Honey.
How the sweet name makes you giggle, bashfully attempting to hide halfaway in the lumpy pillow
“C’mere” You whisper, now with a rasp, your heart skipping a beat as he gazes at you fondly with those deep hazels
“What is it?” Steve tucks his locks behind his ears before slowly crawling to hover over your figure.
“Just c’mere,” you lazily shake your head, nothing wrong, just needing a momentary break in closeness. “- I wanna hold you first.”
Steve gently lowers weight on top of yours, arms bending at your sides that prop him up slightly before melting- completely relishing in your tender touch of fingers curling with each gentle stroke on the sweat spot between shoulder blades.
You swear this boy purrs from the way you massage and smooth over the parts of his scalp you scratched and pulled on tonight before wrapping an arm over the tops of his shoulders.
A hooking reach, your fingers find his sideburns, giving the bristly hairs a gentle scratching caress before tucking back disheveled hair.
“Steve?”
“Mhm?”
“Are you sure you’re not seeing anyone?”
“What?” He lifts his head, eyes dancing across your features wondering what the sudden pondering enticed.
“I mean, I was just thinking….” Steve watches as you lick your lips, only the bottom of your top row showing as you’re only half serious in your joke.
“You eat pussy like that and…
you’re single.
How?”
Steve chuckles with a small blush from the truth of his love life (and in general, those small town boy mannerism blushing at the word “pussy”) bashfully shrugging as he gives you the same answer he did earlier right.
“Just haven’t found my person.”
-
Just haven’t found my person, echoes in your brain as Steve falls asleep first while holding your back to his furnace of a chest. You let him borrow some stretchy sweats, replacing those splotch stained underwear for him to sleep comfortably in your rented bed.
Your poor tired body just can’t succumb to slumber just yet- the alcohol, the sex, not to mention an entire day’s worth of celebration for your mutual friend- until a rumbly voice speaks at the back of your head from your spooning position,
“Is it weird that I’m glad I forgot a lighter?”
His arm tightens around the warmth in your chest as he holds you, smiling to yourself as your thumb brushes small circles through the soft dark hair.
You remember that pout under his cupid’s bow, your face rushed hot thinking how a kiss from those lips would be like an arrow to the heart, and now you had proof.
Seeing all of that tragedy and disdain on such a beautiful creature making your stomach drop when you first saw him, your tone going soft after embarrassingly staring a little too long as he tried to steady his overwhelmed pulse with an offering to share a joint from a loose plastic baggy.
“So freaking weird, dude.” You giggle, the cool of the pillow contrasting your warm cheeks as you feel him nuzzle his nose into the back of your head as he lets out an airy chuckle across the nape of your neck.
With buzzing eyelids and warmth sweeping your spine, you listen to his steady breathing until you drift off to sleep not too long after.
You know you fall in love too soon, you know you fall in love hard.
It may be the exhaustion making your brain turn into your favorite wool sweater,
but you know you’d give this boy your heart,
even if it was just for one night.
That’s why it hurt- A piercing, tight pain in your chest like an impaling arrow- as just for a second, you woke up alone.
Everything felt still during that moment.
You listened to the sounds of your hotel room, to see if Steve could be in the bathroom.
The evidence of his side of the bed being cold and the borrowed sweatpants folded on the nearby stiff accent chair said otherwise.
Curling in on yourself under the comforter as you try to block out the mourning dove coos and cardinal song in the sugar maples and spiced elms that surround this Holiday Inn, a sudden turning of room keys alerting a false alarm.
Steve was still here.
He was here, and from the smell that wafted to the center of the room from the small hallway entrance, he brought up complimentary breakfast.
No tears fell, but the pressure from behind your eyes doesn’t go away as you close your eyes and pretend to be asleep as he places the items on the nearby desk of scattered cosmetics.
It’s a different pain, also caused by Steve, but not entirely faulting him on your throbbing champagne and schnapps hangover- he was facing his own consequences of body aches and light sensitivity, you could tell from the fumbling sounds of a small box of overpriced off-brand blue ibuprofen being opened as he stands next to the source of that combination savory-sweet and roasted hickory smell from the two cups of coffee he managed to balance on his way to the fourth floor.
They’re then placed on the nearby side table, the dark roast bringing a sense of comfort close to the sensation of Steve’s warmth returning to your bed as he sits close to your curled body.
He sees the little crease between your brows as you keep your eyes forcefully shut, and chuckles to himself, able to tell you were awake from the way your lips twitched in refusal of a helpless smile feeling him hover close to your face.
“C’mon,” Steve’s thick morning voice coos, gently placing a soft kiss on your cheekbone, just below your eyelashes that still had faint remnants of makeup after your quick removal last night .
It makes your visage scrunch in reaction, feeling another kiss, coffee scented from washing down Advil, on your nose.
“Open your eyes, let me see you.”
With a groan you hook an arm over his jacket covered shoulder, sneaking your hand in the collar to feel Steve was only wearing his white tank top underneath.
“Mm,” you mumble in teasing contemplation against the skin of his neck as you fiddle with the thin gold chain hidden on his nape. “No.”
You tuck into that warm juncture, able to feel the amusement in his throat from the vibrations against your cheek.
“Why not?”
“Morning breath,” you give a partial truth, still in exaggeration as this sudden allowance of clinginess seemed to soothe your headache.
“You’re cute if you think that’ll stop me,” Steve counters with a drop of his head into your arm, the faint scruff on his unshaven chin and upper lip pressing into your shoulder for a lingering kiss.
“Why don’t we-…” His nose rests just atop of your warm skin, a deep inhale before he speaks again in a proposition that would for sure get you out of bed that sends a rush through his nerves.
‘ take a shower together?’
He wants to say,
But instead gulps the impulsive thought of showing you trauma plastering his torso on only the second day of knowing you.
Steve inhales a cooling breath through his nose to calm his thumping chest at the thought- and kisses your shoulder again, deciding instead on the lure of freshly made waffles he brought from downstairs that made the room smell like buttery vanilla and syrupy sweet maple.
“Why don’t we eat before breakfast gets cold?” He then smiles softly,
“I brought you up a coffee.”
Early Fall, 2009
“Steve-” You harshly whisper over your daughter, who fell asleep twenty minutes ago, but the two of you stayed in her bed to make sure she stayed asleep.
“Steve-” you can’t help but chuckle at the sounds of his soft snoring matching the faint ones coming from the five year old. “-you gotta wake up now.”
His eyes shot wide open, a snort in his snore that made you chuckle as he finally heard you and watched you try to slip out of the bed.
Laying down was an absolute mistake for Steve, trying not to groan out loud as he gave a little stretch after abruptly waking up from you nudging his shoulder.
“Come on big daddy, let’s get up.
You’re gonna break your back.”
Steve already felt his neck hurting from using a stuffed animal as a pillow, though he smiled through the act of pulling up the covers and brushing aside those baby hairs in her face before placing a gentle kiss on her forehead and hopes it’s nothing but sweet dreams for his youngest girl.
Let her dream of fairy wings and bluebells, petit fours and tea shared with Alice in Wonderland as she clings to her well-loved Cheshire plushie.
Steve meets with you in the hallway, closing the door until there’s nothing but a centimeter crack between the latchbolt and the strike plate.
He gives you a look, a rather exhausted look that you mutually shared. You wanted to get things done tonight, but this setback threw you off course for the rest of the evening.
This was your Saturday night now.
“Hey,” Steve calls over from the other side of your bedroom as you begin to remove jewelry onto your vanity, as he’s starting to take off his untucked, no undershirt, button up. You turn to catch him just as he tosses the solid colored garment into the wicker laundry basket. He stands near the double paper floor lamps of your master bedroom, the only source of light this late hour.
He placed his glasses down earlier, you not noticing, so finding him with that devilish half-lidded smirk reminded you of a vision from nearly fifteen years ago.
Steve then approaches you, and you can’t help but giddily smile like a fool at the sight of him shirtless- his body now with slightly fuller, dark curls that went from his chest, down to his stomach where twenty year old scars have been loved on and started to fade from care.
“-wanna take a shower together?”
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eyesthatroll · 1 year
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..rice pudding? | jake seresin
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pairing: jake "hangman" seresin x fem!reader
warnings: pretty much just fluff, lowercase intended not really edited.
word count: 0.8k
summary: the next morning after you spent the night at jake's apartment for the first time
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"i didn't know you could cook?" you say, the smell of pancakes and bacon invading your senses as you padded into the kitchen, still clad in your night clothes.
jake is shirtless, a pair of black nike sweats hanging dangerously low on his hips, the waistband of his calvin klein boxers just barely in view.
he turns to you, the sunlight shining through the window above the kitchen sink, reflecting beautifully against his sleepy eyes and tousled hair.
memories from last night of you tugging on those dirty blonde locks flash through your mind, and you feel your cheeks warm.
"there's a lot you don't know about me, darlin'" he teases, sending a playful wink your way before turning back to the stove.
you take a seat on the middle barstool at the granite island.
it was your first time spending the night at jake's apartment, and to be honest, you had expected to wake up before him and slip out the door, just to avoid any potential awkwardness. of course, you'd shoot him a text saying that you had a great night, and create a fake excuse of why you had to leave so soon. you really did like jake, and you weren't a total asshole to leave without a word.
but to your surprise, you woke up to an empty bed. an empty bed, and the sound of jake singing along to 'so caught up' by the tuskey brothers, downstairs. you’d stayed in bed for a few minutes before getting up, just enjoying the feeling of being enveloped by the intoxicating smell of jake.
though, in hindsight, you should have accounted for the fact that jake is a navy man, and that he probably wakes up early, if not earlier than you, on a regular basis.
the clink of a plate being sat in front of you brings you out of your head.
"what'cha thinkin' about?"
"you." you answer truthfully.
his ears tinge pink, and he lets out a chuckle before speaking. "let's see if there's somethin' on that plate you like."
you look down at the full plate of food. pancakes, eggs, bacon, and.. some sort of rice pudding?
you pick up your fork and warily dip it in the rice whatever it is.
jake laughs. "you've never had grits?"
"no, what is that?"
"you are such a city girl." he teases, shaking his head. "grits are like.. i don't know how to explain it.. like.. corn porridge."
your browns furrowed in confusion.
"what does it taste like?"
"just take a bite and try it, you weirdo."
slowly, you move the fork to your mouth.
the texture is strange at first, but it surprisingly taste good. very good.
jake looks at you with anticipation. "well?"
your lips lift into a grin. "that's really fucking good, jake."
"yeah?"
you go in for another bite. "when i die, bury me in this stuff."
jake laughs, absolutely enamored by your reaction to trying grits for the first time.
"i'm serious, i want this in my casket."
"if i'm still around, i'll do my best to make sure it happens."
the two of you spend the next half hour laughing, eating, feeding off of each others energy.
despite the big ego and slight superiority complex, jake is actually really great, and you could feel yourself falling in love with him in the future.
you had offered to do this dishes, you felt it was only right since jake did the cooking, but he insisted that he would get to them later.
which made you happy, because while you would've done them without complaining, you hated doing the dishes.
"what're your plans for the day?" he asks, opening the front door for you.
"uh, i don't think i have any, maybe some laundry and cleaning?"
jake nods. "well, if you're bored later tonight, a few co-workers and i are gonna go to the bar. you should come, i'd like for you to come-if you want?"
you fought the urge to squeal like a little girl. "yeah, that sounds fun. message me the details?"
"i will."
you go in for a hug, but jake wraps his arms around you and pulls you in for a kiss.
his lips are warm and soft, almost silken against your own, and unlike last night, the kiss is slow, passionate, allowing you to live in the moment and appreciate him and the way he feels.
jake's light stubble tickles against your chin, and you smile into the kiss, breaking apart for a gasp of air. "see you later, jake."
-
a/n;
i like this for now, but i'm sure if i re-read it in the next few days i'll hate it. anyways, any constructive criticism or advice is always welcome, i'm pretty new to writing so any tips you have are greatly appreciated. thanks:)
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faithinus · 1 year
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Quality Time
Joe Quinn x Reader 🤍
Summary: Reader is long distance with Joe while he is working on a big project. He becomes more distant over time and reader is growing tired of the communication issues. Angst ensues. 
Disclaimers: Some arguing, suggested alcohol misuse, discussions of mental health, and classic relationship hurt. Also some fluffy domestic!boyfriend!Joe simply because I wanted to :))))
Word count: 3.6K
__________________________________________
“That place had the best carbonara in the city no doubt.” You made a mental note to move the aforementioned restaurant to the top of your list of rustic Italian favorites. 
“I can barely move now. I can’t believe we finished all those courses.” Joe clutched his stomach with one hand and threw his head back dramatically.
 Hand in hand with Joe, you strolled around the block. Walks after dinner were so peaceful. You and Joe were the kind of couple that didn’t have to say much. The feeling of intertwined fingers. The sound of two pairs of shoes clicking on the sidewalk. It was more than enough. 
You and Joe had made a habit of trying a new restaurant every week or so. It was fun to be tourists in your own city and keep a running list of the best dishes. You relished finding a hole in the wall, those that were yet to be overhyped by internet reviews. The hidden gems could still be claimed as your little secret. 
With Joe’s newfound fame, it was hard to get away from the media sometimes. You loved seeing his face on TV, social media, and god he looked good in print, but you enjoyed him most sitting right in front of you. Undivided attention was the love language of your relationship. Date night was a golden opportunity to turn your phones on silent and just forget about the masses. Not having to cook or clean up made the night feel luxurious. Something about a corner booth allowed you shut out the rest of the world. 
Your steps fell into a rhythm and you looked up at the sky. Too many city lights drowned out the stars. The only notable shape was a waning moon.
“We should go somewhere in the country,” you whispered. “I wish we could see the stars.”
Joe hummed in agreement.
“I wonder which constellations there are this time of year.” You tilted your head and squint your eyes, but it was no help.
Joe didn’t answer. While you were busy looking at the moon, he was lost looking at you.
__________________________________________
“One more day” you sighed. 
Joe left to film a new project tomorrow and there was a certain heaviness in the air. It’s conflicting to feel proud and unhappy at the same time. This movie was a huge win for Joe’s career, but also a stressful undertaking. In two years, you had never been away from him for more than a month at a time. That was about to change. 
You sat on top of the kitchen counter, legs hanging over the edge. Joe stood steady, feet planted next to you on the granite. He reached up to the ceiling to unscrew the main light fixture. Household appliances never failed to break at the worst times. You were disappointed but not surprised that your final hours together were spent doing last minute projects around the house. 
“I know, darling. As soon as we finish this we can do anything you want... hold this please.” He passed a light bulb down to you. 
As much as you didn’t like having to do chores on your last day together, there was something comforting about it. It was so domestic. You loved being a homeowner with Joe. You got to take care of something and make it your own. Even if everything went wrong, you were a team.
“It’s okay, Joe. I kinda like this.”
He looked down at you, eyebrows raised like you had just said something untoward. “What do you mean you like this? Our light keeps flickering like a haunted mansion.” 
“No, I just like your company. Besides, you look hot when you work,” you said matter-of-factly. 
“Is that right?”
It was. When you were sitting at Joe’s feet, you had an entirely new view of him. Based on the way his chest moved, you could tell that his breath slowed when he was focused. His jaw tensed in concentration. Joe’s hands looked stupidly angelic toying with the glass fixture. When he lifted his arms over his head, the hem of his shirt raised just enough above his hips. How alluring.
Joe’s hand reached down to you, palm open, signaling for you to hand the light bulb back to him. 
You started to pass it to him but paused with your hand halfway to his. “You should tell photographers what a great angle this is for you,” you teased.
Joe rolled his eyes and laughed softly. “If all you are going to do is sit there and ogle at me, does that make me your sexy electrician?”
“Only if I can be your sexy assistant.”
“Deal.” 
__________________________________________
Five weeks had passed since Joe left. You were at the halfway mark and already completely over the long-distance setup. Being alone isn’t inherently lonely. Independence can be freeing, but there is a difference between independence and separation. 
Joe is the kind of person that makes you feel both his presence and his absence.
There was no one to welcome you home from work. You almost made the mistake of announcing your presence as you walked through the front door. By the time you opened your mouth, you remembered no one was going to respond. When you sat down to watch TV, the couch felt alarmingly empty. Suddenly, you regretted turning down Joe’s request for a pet. 
No one played music and waltzed around the kitchen with you. No one snuck up behind you and set their chin on your shoulder while you heated oil in the saucepan. Pouring a glass of wine alone felt more like medicating than celebrating. 
In an effort to cheer yourself up, you took a group of friends out to a restaurant you tried with Joe. Turns out five star carbonara tastes different in the company of different people.
At first, Joe was adjusting seamlessly to long distance communication. He acted the same as he would if he was only gone for a week or two. You two were texting throughout the day and speaking on video calls every night. The third week on set got really busy, but Joe still talked to you before bed without fail. Seeing his face, even through a screen, was reassurance that everything was going to be fine. 
At the end of the first month, contact became more sporadic. Joe didn’t pick up when you called one night. The only plausible explanation was that he running a little late, so you waited patiently for his reply. You smiled thinking of how apologetic he would be when he finally got home. Another two hours passed. StiIl, you gave Joe the benefit of the doubt. He was working so hard and you couldn’t blame him for conditions out of his control. Surely he would shoot you a text any minute now, telling you how wild his day had been. 
Your notifications stayed painfully dry as time passed. You fell asleep with your phone still resting in your palm. 
Vibrations against the mattress are what woke you the next morning. Still bundled up between the sheets, you picked up. A black screen was staring back at you instead of what you hoped would be another pair of sleepy eyes.
“Joe, I can’t see you.”  
“Sorry love, we are rushing to grab breakfast! Don’t want to give you motion sickness!” he chuckled and closed a car door on the other end.
Joe’s use of the word we elicited immediate disappointment. The lack of privacy made you feel less free to speak. You shifted uncomfortably, moving away from the sight of the phone camera. Maybe no one else was watching, but you didn’t want to risk it. Laying in bed with deep bags under your eyes wasn’t the ideal way to meet Joe’s co stars for the first time. 
The calls went on like that for a few days. He was always running out the door, pastry halfway in his mouth, spewing apologies on the way. A handful of cast and crew were in the background. You never spoke longer than the length of a car ride.
Joe kept calling with his camera off.
This week you couldn’t get ahold of him, despite your best efforts. Every time you called you received the same answers:
Long hours on set tonight. Miss you Xx
Early call time tomorrow! Sorry love! 
Hair and makeup needs me at 4:00am... Mornings aren’t gonna work this week
You laid in bed staring at the messages. Your eyes watered from the blue light burning your eyes. That or you just wanted a really good excuse to tear up. The most recent sent text mocked you:
Got a minute to chat?
And below it, [text read thirty minutes ago].
__________________________________________
You didn’t see the photos until the next day when you were sat on your lunch break. Each one looked harmless on its own, but there were SO many. You paused with a fork lifted halfway to your mouth, shocked at the length of the Twitter thread you were reading. 
In light of the lack of direct communication, you had secretly hoped that searching Joe’s name on socials would give you a glimpse of what he was up to. However, you didn’t expect Twitter to serve you an explanation for Joe’s absence on a silver platter. It was too easy. 
The posts started out as photos of Joe entering a bar of some kind. They were a bit blurry from being taken by a passerby across the street. Yet, they were definitely of him. The white dress shirt and chocolate brown slacks from the photo were a simple, signature lineup that you loved on Joe. It was no surprise that he packed them.
Most of the people surrounding Joe were recognizable as other members of the cast. The photo descriptions made it clear that the intent wasn’t even to capture Joe. He was collateral damage of the media frenzy. The account owner gained a large following for being a fan of his female co star. The tall, stylish brunette was the focus of most shots. A few frames later, Joe stepped outside with her for a smoke. 
As you kept scrolling, the inconsistencies between photos became more apparent. For starters, Joe was wearing at least six different shirts. You swiped back forth to compare the different posts. The familiar woman was wearing a ruched skirt in one image, a pair of black pants in another, and a tan jumpsuit in the next. This was either an event that required many outfit changes, or these were taken across several nights. 
The setting transitioned back and forth between the same bar or outside of a flat. Joe was featured punching in an entry code to a gate, clutching a long paper bag in his other hand. 
It’s not that Joe isn’t allowed to drink. He’s a legal adult by a landslide, but sheesh, what happened to the early call times and late nights?
You scrolled through the photos until you could piece together a decent enough timeline. What a shame social media was telling you more about your partner’s whereabouts than your partner himself. You opened the images from last night again and swiped to the end.
Unlike the rest of the photos, there was one set taken from inside of the bar. The quality was noticeably distorted from the dim lighting. The owner must have held their phone at an odd angle to conceal their spywork. Joe had his arm around the familiar co star. One hand was on her opposite shoulder and the other held a shot glass. 
Even in still photos, you caught on to Joe’s posture. There was a certain way he stood when he was incredibly drunk and trying to play it off. She was in heels, yet looked small next to him. You missed that feeling and longed from him to envelope you. Although, maybe now it was the floor that you wished would swallow you whole. 
As you swiped, the images showed the progression of Joe leaning in to whisper something in her ear. The very last photo zoomed in on the woman, head thrown back in laughter.
Nope. 
You shut your phone and tossed it onto the table. You weren’t going to allow your mind to go there. You took any suspicious, intrusive thoughts and shoved them to the far back of your brain. 
Let’s examine the facts. Anybody that knows Joe knows what a professional he is. Any interaction between cast members HAD to be strictly friendly. 
Just an ounce of self reflection confirmed that foul play between co stars was out of the question. However, just because Joe wasn’t a cheater didn’t mean you weren’t being neglected. 
How many times over the past few weeks did he send you a work related excuse and then head out to socialize? 
It was so unlike him to ignore you, but it was even more out of character to lie to you.
You reached out and unlocked the phone again. Your fingers flipped back and forth between apps, eyes darting to compare text messages to the dates on tweets. The frantic behavior was emulating crazy girlfriend energy and you knew it, but you trusted your intuition more than anything else. 
The photos of Joe carrying liquor into the apartment building jumped out. They were taken last Friday around eleven. 
You double checked the only message you received from Joe that day:
Long hours on set tonight. Miss you Xx
sent: 10:35pm
________________________________________
We need to talk. Please call as soon as you can.
It was the first text you fired off after you left work. 
You typed and deleted about five different paragraphs but settled on two sentences. Not calling Joe right away took an immense amount of self control. However, a) if this week had been any sign, there was no chance he would pick up during work hours, and b) leaving him a voicemail of accusations risked saying something you didn’t mean. 
Joe must of sensed your urgency, because your phone was ringing by the time you reached your car. 
“Hi love. I need to run in a few minutes. Is something wrong?” The term of endearment that was normally so comforting now sounded out of place.
Joe’s phone was lying face up. All you could see was a beige ceiling and an aura of light. He fumbled with objects on the other side of the room. You shut the drivers side door and paused, debating on whether it was a good idea to have this conversation while sitting in a parking lot. 
“Yes, Joe.” You spoke slowly, trying not to to get ahead of yourself. “I need to see your face. I don’t want you to lie to me anymore.” Something inside of you hoped that once Joe looked you in the eyes, he wouldn’t be able to hold back.
The rummaging stopped. “What on earth are you talking about?”
“Sit down and look at me.”
Footsteps drew closer to the microphone, and static cracked as Joe grabbed the phone from his bed. His face came in to view, mouth slightly open, brows furrowed in shock. You were never this short with him.
Joe sank down to the floor, back against a wall. “What is going on? You’re scaring me.” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
“I know why you’ve been ignoring me. I also know how this sounds,” you said hesitantly. “But I’ve seen the photos of you online. You visit the same bar over and over. You were at the same flat nearly every night this week.”
“Are you tracking my every move?” he accused. “You know I’m nearly 30 years old and can handle myself-”
“You said you were at work,” you cut him off. “That’s the problem, Joe. You told me you had late nights filming or needed to go to bed for early call times. When in reality, you care more about your social life than me right now.”
“I can explain-”
“Let me finish. You are allowed to socialize, but you aren’t allowed to lie to me about it. Why are you avoiding me?”
“It’s not a lie. I-”
“Don’t feed me that shit. If you are going to deny it, then I am done. Do whatever you want, but do it without me,” you hissed. The sudden burst of emotion surprised yourself and your face went hot. 
“Listen to me for one second!” Joe’s voice cracking in the speaker caught you off guard. You couldn’t recall any other time he has raised his voice at you. He brought a hand up to his forehead and through his hair. Joe had a habit of doing that to self-sooth.
He cleared his throat. “I didn’t tell you the truth, because I just didn’t want to burden you with it. Okay? You just have to trust me.”
“You don’t want to burden me with your drinking habits?” you scoffed. You and Joe told each other everything. Him dodging your questions was so out of line with his usual transparency. It worked you up into a rage. 
You were met with a long, heavy silence on the other end. You raised your eyebrows and gestured for him to continue. 
No response.
“Fine, don’t talk,” you shrugged. “But I can’t let this go without a better explanation. You deserve all you have going for you, and for the record, I tried my best to make this work.” 
Even the suggestion of letting this discussion end unresolved felt like a hit to the chest. They were your own words, yet the seriousness of their implications knocked the wind out of you. 
“I can’t believe you won’t trust me!” Joe tossed his hands up in exhaustion. It was clear at this point that you were not going to allow him to sweep this under the rug. 
“I can’t believe you lied!” you hissed in return. “I have been so goddamn lonely because you won’t give me the time of day anymore. Can you imagine how that feels? To have your partner avoid you and deny it? To be given no explanation?” Your voice shook and salt crept down into your mouth. 
All you ever wanted was his honesty, and for the first time ever, he couldn’t give you that. The corners of your mouth shook as you tried not to let your emotions get the best of you. 
Joe’s eyes caught on your wet cheeks. There was a sigh of recognition on the other end of the line. 
“Im sorry... I didn’t mean to make you upset,” his tone softened and he averted his gaze. Joe was never able to watch you cry. 
You suddenly remembered you were still sitting in the parking lot with only your car windows to separate you from the outside world. You rushed to wipe the tears away with your sleeves. 
“This role... it’s so heavy.” Joe looked up at the ceiling like he was searching for the strength to speak. He took in a sharp breath.
“The scenes get extremely dark. I spend so much time getting into the troubled mind of this character, and it makes me feel like a different person.” Joe brought a nervous hand up to his neck.
“I wake up every day and have to act out disturbing things. I got so good at it that I started to feel the pain even when no one was recording. To me, you are a bubble of safety. So, the last thing I wanted to do is bring that nightmarish mentality into our relationship.” His voice was breathless and full of fear at how you might react. 
“Joe... I didn’t realize-”
“Don’t. Don’t apologize. Instead of telling you, I suppose I turned to vices. You are right. I’ve been drinking more than usual... smoking too, to be fair,” his voice trailed off shamefully. “I know how it looks, but I just wanted a way to escape without weighing you down. Turns out I’ve done a really shit job of coping.” He looked up at you to gauge a reaction. This time it’s his turn to blink back tears, and for what it’s worth, you could tell he was fighting. 
“It’s okay,” you said softly. 
“It’s not.” Joe shook his head slowly. “I should’ve realized how lonely it would make you feel.” The way his voice caught in his throat was so sad that it nearly erased all of your anger. 
“I would’ve understood.” You stared back at him sympathetically. “I want to know how you are feeling. That’s part of my job description in this relationship, you know.” 
Joe looked down at the floor, but you noticed the corners of his lips turn upward ever so slightly. It was the first time during the call that either of you saw the light at the end of the tunnel.
“Do you atleast have someone that will look after you?” you asked.
Joe swiped at his screen and it paused. His image went blurry. “I’m writing myself two reminders,” he said.  You heard the sound of thumbs tapping.
“For what?”
“First, to reach out to the support staff on set. Second, to call you again tonight.” His words were confident and reassuring. They were full of everything you have been missing over the past few weeks. 
“I think that’s a great idea.” Your shoulders dropped as you exhaled tension you didn’t even realize you were holding in. 
Joe will be gone for a while longer, but somehow it felt like he just returned home. 
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Pairing: Hawks x Reader
Rating: Explicit
Tags/Warnings: smut with a sprinkle of angst for flavor, plot only if you squint, implications of mating cycles
Final Word Count: 2k
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The night was cool against the heat of Keigo's flesh. As he glided purposefully over the city, the lights of alabaster skyscrapers twinkled in and out, creating the illusion that he was soaring through a sky of closer stars. If he could, he would snatch the lights and keep them in his pocket to give to his mate, his lover— but in the absence of that, the ruby necklace he'd picked up on the way would have to do. 
You loved rubies, he knew. Garnets were your very favorite, but rubies were a close second. The precious stones reminded you of his wings, you always said.
… not that you would necessarily appreciate the reminder, now that things were less good between the two of you. 
Keigo put the thought out of his mind. Birds of his kind, he knew, thought nothing of the distance between mates. He didn't have to share a nest  or even a city with you to love you, care for you, protect you— and his body was talking to him, calling out with the desperate cry of springtime. It was time for him to be near you again. 
A thick, heavy droplet of blood dropped onto one of his lashes. Nonplussed, Keigo blinked it away. Unsurprisingly, his forehead still burned from the scrape it had taken; a villain he was fighting had violently slammed his head against the concrete curb, leaving road rash and a splitting headache in his wake. Soon, though, that would no longer matter. 
Soon, he would be with you. 
It was a quiet flight to your penthouse apartment— well, technically his penthouse apartment that he paid for with ridiculous amounts of money from his overtime hours. Or, he used to pay for it until he bought the building just to gift it to you last year when he had to make the move from your city to his next assignment. He hadn't wanted you to worry about a nest. You should always have one, a place to call home, and this way you could have one that you liked, one that was familiar to you. Keigo hadn't understood why you were so reluctant to accept the gift. He hadn't bought it for himself. He'd bought it for you. 
It's too much, Keigo, you'd told him, worry in your eyes. It's— it's just too much.
At first, it felt like you had rejected him instead of the building— like you had looked at him and found him to be too much. The rejection had hurt like a gaping wound until he realized what you meant. You'd thought he was trying to establish some kind of control over you, creating some false sense of obligation. Keigo had never wanted that. He had only ever wanted you. 
Your apartment was dark as he entered it, replacing your spare key beneath your doormat. He'd tried to tell you to move it— really, it was for your own safety, anyone could find it there— but you stood firm on your stance that if someone wanted into your home badly enough, they'd find a way in with or without a key, and Keigo found himself unable to argue with that logic. Although, he supposed as he passed by the pristine granite countertops of your kitchen, he shouldn't complain when it benefited him in this way. 
The carpet of your living room was soft beneath the weight of his boots. Keigo moved silently through it, stepping around the odds and ends that made their way into your floor during your busy work week. For a moment, he was tempted to snag something from the floor to keep with him— a pen, or a small hair tie—but only just managed to refrain, knowing there were more important things to be done first.
Finally, he reached your room. Your bedroom door was left open just a crack; moonlight from the hallway window fell over it, giving the white of the doorframe a luminescent glow. Slowly, quietly, Keigo pushed inside, and was greeted with the greatest reward he could fathom. 
You were sleeping peacefully, your lashes kissing your cheeks. You must have fallen asleep unintentionally— your phone was still in your hand, playing something soft and sweet. Keigo smiled. You were as beautiful now as you ever had been, and the love that lived always just beneath the surface of his skin rose to his cheeks in the form of a flush. 
Here, watching you, surrounded by your scent, Keigo was in heaven. 
Keigo didn't want to wake you. You looked tired, worn; it would be selfish to disturb your rest. Even so, the pull of your even breathing was too much for him to resist. With shaking hands and slow motions, he sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. When you did not stir, he moved closer, shifting to his hands and knees, crawling towards you, head low, heart penitent. Using his wings for balance, he moved one knee over your hips, straddling you. Shaded under the umbrage of his wings, he could barely make out your features— dissatisfied with this, he moved them, and your hair fluttered in the draft the motion made.
At last, you woke. 
In your sleep, your shirt had wrinkled and risen enough to show a sliver of skin. That sliver broadened as you stretched, unwary— but then your eyes were blinking open, and you nearly screamed when you realized you were not alone. 
"Sh," Keigo shushed, placing a gloved hand over your mouth. "It's just me, dove. Just me."
Your body relaxed with recognition, but your eyes were worried. 
"Keigo…" you tilted your head, eyeing him. "What happened? Are you alright?"
"Fine," he said, stroking the soft skin of your cheek. "Just fine."
A single crimson drop of blood rolled off of his nose, dripping onto your cheek. Immediately, he wiped it away, but it left a reddish stain, marring your flesh. 
"You're hurt."
It wasn't a question, and Keigo had no answer. He pulled at his collar, allowing cool air to reach his heated skin, and a groan escaped him unbidden. 
"Hang on." You squinted up at him, then glanced to the calendar you kept on your nightstand. "What's the date?"
Keigo barely heard you. A hunger in his belly was speaking to him, urgent, insistent. Tentatively, he rolled his hips, then groaned low in his chest at the sensation of pressing against warm, yielding flesh. He tried the motion once more, felt the relief it gave him, then decided his pants were hindering the experience. He went to unbutton them, intent on chasing the feeling he desperately needed, but a smaller hand on his own stopped him. 
"Keigo," you said, looking up at him. "It's early, but— you're— you're having your cycle, aren't you?"
Something about that phrase was deeply familiar. He knew it in his bones. Even so, his body could not catch his mind; he made no reply other than to whine, desperate to be allowed to resume his task. 
"Oh, baby." You stroked his hands with your thumbs, watching him with a mix of uncertainty and concern. "We— we really shouldn't, you know. Not when— not when things are— when you're so—"
Keigo didn't process your words so much as your tone, but he gathered your meaning anyway. Hurt, he whined once more, but kept himself still aside from the tremors that wracked his body. 
"I don't want you to be in pain, I just— if— if you want you can— I mean, maybe it's better if you go to someone else."
Those words hit Keigo like a punch to the face. You didn't seem to notice, lost in your own world as you continued to babble. 
"I mean, really, I don't mind. I don't want you to have to feel obligated to come to me for this, especially when we have all these issues—"
Desperate, incapable of handlong much more rejection, Keigo managed to respond. 
"Don't… want someone… else. Only you."
You looked up at him once more. The uncertainty in your eyes faded as your gaze softened, and you said,
"Okay. Okay. Whatever you need, then, baby. I'll give you whatever you need."
So saying, you released his hands, and with panicked elation, he nearly tore his pants in an effort to get them off. Desperate, stumbling, he pulled them all the way off, the heat that flared under his skin proving to be too much as he struggled— and then your hands were there besides his own, helping him, and suddenly his pants and shirt were both gone, leaving him only in his boxers. 
"Easy," you soothed him. "Easy Keigo." 
Your hands— soft and warm against him— nudged against his belly, raking through the fine blond hair there. Your touch was a balm; everywhere your skin pressed against his, the heat receded. Keening, he rocked his hips against you, maneuvering you onto your back. With your legs wrapped around him, almost all of you was touching almost all of him, and as he kissed you deeply, he thought he had never wanted anyone more. 
"Breathe," you reminded him between kisses, your hands tangled in the waves of his hair. "Breathe for me, baby."
Your voice was too calm, too even. Keigo needed you to be as desperate for him as he was for you. Eager, he pressed kisses to your jaw, down your throat; his hands played with your nipples through your shirt, the pads of his fingers coaxing them to hardness as he left bruising from your neck to your collarbone. 
"Don't worry about me," you told him as he moved one hand to rest on your stomach, feeling the softness of your flesh against his touch. "Find relief for yourself first."
If he'd have had the words, he'd have told you that touching you, feeling you, pulling pleasure from your body was his relief— but words escaped him as he tasted the salt of your skin, grinding his cock against you. 
"Please," he murmured against you, not quite knowing why. "Please, I need—"
Without waiting for him to finish, you responded. Your hands grabbed the hem of your sleep shirt, pulling it over your head. Your body now bare save for your panties, he kissed from your clavicle down to the soft curve of your breast. Arching into his touch, you let out a sigh, and Keigo knew that this was the beginning of what would make you cry out into the darkness of midnight. 
"Keigo." Your voice was tremulous, needy as your hands tightened in his hair. "Keigo— oh."
His wandering hands had finally found purpose between your thighs, pushing into the familiar dampness of your cotton underwear. Your scent was strongest here; if he had been less desperate, he might have moved lower, placed his nose between your folds and lost himself there. As it was, though, his body had an altogether different need, which beckoned all the louder as he pushed your panties aside, dragging the pad of a large, calloused finger through your sex. 
"Yes," you encouraged him, moving your hips to meet the strokes of his fingers. "You feel so good. I want you inside me, Keigo."
He shuddered, cock twitching as you pushed his boxers down over the curve of his ass, freeing his erection to the open air. As your hand wrapped around him, he pulled your panties down, then accidentally ripped them as he tried to wiggle them from beneath your hips. Never one to leave a job half-done, he ripped them the rest of the way, tossing them aside as you let your legs fall open for him, your sex wet and ready. 
"Nngh," Keigo grunted, burying his face in your neck as his cockhead breached your entrance. "F-fuck."
Wet heat enveloped him. In mindless ecstacy, he rutted into you, inhaling the scent at your neck; in response, you keened, back arching into him as your hands caressed his back. A few moments later, and your hands were in his feathers, stroking them with gentle fingers, and Keigo lost himself entirely to the feeling of being of one body, one soul with you. 
The bedroom filled with the sounds of coupling. The slap of his balls and the low, rumbling sound that came unbidden from deep within in his chest commingled with your sharp breaths, soft moans, and satin swears, blending and balancing into a sweet euphony that no symphony could ever capture. 
"I love you," he heard himself saying above the sound of them. "I love you."
You didn't reply. You didn't have to. The trembling of your body, the transcending of your soul into something more than yourself, more than him, more than this bedroom and more than anything was answer enough for the love in his heart. You arched against him, and with a great cry, you fell away, having reached the pinnacle of your pleasure. 
"Come in me, Keigo," you told him, voice wrecked as you stroked his wings. "I'm on the pill. I want it. Come for me."
His body, unwilling to deny you anything, jerked forward. His orgasm came sudden and swift, like a bolt of lightning striking an open field. He came and came and came, gasping and groaning, fighting for air in the aftermath of incomparable intensity. 
"That's it," you soothed him, hands twisting in his hair as he collapsed against you. "Rest, now. We can talk in the morning."
Keigo tried to fight it. There was so much that needed to be said, so much that he couldn't think to do or say— but his body made the decision for him. Like a stone through glass, he fell from consciousness, thinking of glittering rubies and the softness of your flesh, willing, wanting. 
In the morning, he knew, it would be the same as it ever had. He would love you, and you would love him. Whatever else existed was outside of that, and could wait forever if it had to. 
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hometoursandotherstuff · 11 months
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The 1980 Whitaker house, designed and built by architect Richard Whitaker, is an architectural and engineering masterpiece. The main house is set atop granite boulders, and offers spectacular 360 degree panoramic Lake Tahoe views from every room. Lake Tahoe, Tahoe City, California, 3bd. 3ba. $2.270M,
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Look at the rock formation framed in the wall. It can also be seen through a sliding wall in the den. 
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Look at the unusual light fixture over the dining table. There’s also a view of the rock wall from here, too. 
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I’m surprised that the kitchen is so tight in this home, though. Looks like you could bend over to load the dishwasher and hit your but into the stove. 
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I’m a bit confused by this structure. 
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It appears to be a stand-alone bd., so it must be a guest suite. I don’t see that it’s connected to the rest of the house. However, it has a huge deck, beautiful views and a lovely curved ceiling.
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This bd. also has a nice big en suite. 
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And, look at this deck.
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This house continues down the mountain. Isn’t this amazing? 
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So, down here is a huge main bd. with a loft. 
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Plus, a full kitchen. I don’t know. This house is beautiful, very different, but it’s so disjointed.
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Rooftop deck with a gorgeous view of Lake Tahoe.
https://www.redfin.com/CA/Tahoe-City/1455-N-Lake-Blvd-96145/home/19535107?
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turtleinsoup · 12 days
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I!! Wanted to talk about that!! @faiakishi Like my headcanons for their lair!!
Because I imagine their new kitchen is so over-the-top high-tech, it‘s just one accident away from becoming sentient.
Like, they had to move & leave their childhood home behind & it broke all of their hearts a little so I imagine Donnie went over the top on spoiling Mikey by making him the GREATEST™ kitchen imaginable. (While he also build an extra trainings dummy for Raph & bumped up the security to 1000 & did generally everything to avoid looking at shelldon‘s broken body)
It’s all proudly unnecessary. Like they have two ovens with steam assist; warming drawers; a walkable fridge; citrus extractor & shake maker custom build in; the kind of coffee maker where you can play GTA5 on; under-cupboard/under-counter lighting; the most seamless invisible induction hob (phone-controllable ofc) so Mikey can up- & downsize his stovetops, but the whole surface is just polished black granite-
Its all clean lines, reflective surfaces in a purple scheme. But Mikey is Mikey so he uses nearly exclusively orange-y lights and has all his appliances in an elegant sorta messiness. Whatever hidden city fruits and spices he got are just out and about, witchy herbs just hanging next to the pans and knives; He uses most appliances in a different way than they were designed for, but he is genuinely an incredible cook ofc
I imagine the rest of the lair is balancing between secretly pretty high-tech (build in floor-heating in some places, reinforced walls & security cams) and absolutely dog-shit (leaking/loud pipes in one of the bathrooms, moldy walls in the lower tunnels, cockroaches, an absolutely criminally dirty ventilation system in some rooms)
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struggling-intuit · 7 months
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sooooo bang chan sugar daddy?
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subject || bang chan
title || of his sugar daddy tendencies
kai || rover
warnings || EW MINORS, SHOO; gn!reader, manipulative!chan, chan takes advantage of reader's naivete, penetration, anxiety about sugaring, coercion, isolation, other yandere themes, pseudo-stockholm maybe, chan gives you what you've always wanted but is it?
A/N: This is a work of fiction. My headcanon has no bearing on the very real existence of its subject. Please skip this reading if you are uncomfortable with any warning found above. Otherwise, enjoy this bit of dark fantasy.
Chan's definitely on his findom shit, but it goes both ways.
Well, it actually goes one way, his way, but he's got an Olympic gold medal in pretending that you have as much control in this relationship as he does.
Spoiler, you don't, but it's cute you think otherwise.
Chris really struggles with boundaries and also restraint, so expect him to be casually dropping life-altering gifts on your head: luxury cars, a vacation home in the Maldives, and more shit you never asked for, maybe didn't even want, but who are you to turn down the sugar? Especially not his sugar, what if he leaves you?
Just take the car, baby.
The apartment he bought you in the city also came out of nowhere. That was the first major purchase he'd gifted you, just a month and a half into your arrangement.
Imagine your surprise when he showed up with luggage. Just for visiting, he'd said, but is it really visiting if you're getting all your mail forwarded to this address?
Don't make a fuss, the bitter medicine only makes the sugar sweeter.
He wanted to keep an eye on you anyway, he's looking out for you, and all you do is complain. Appreciate what he's given you for once.
It'll probably occur to you one day when you're bent over the kitchen table, skull pressed hard against the custom granite countertop by Chan's giant hand as he ruins you from behind, that you never fucking wanted this.
So you'd been in a hard place? So you'd taken a bit of his money? He'd paid you back in spades by taking all of you.
Now that you're thinking about it, you haven't seen anyone else in months. He's just kept you cooped up here, a lovely little vase for his endless shelf. A poor little baby to spend his sugar on.
But you have to ask yourself. Is it so bad?
click here for main masterlist
and here for skz masterlist
keep them asks coming :)
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fandom-chic · 2 years
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Happy Little Family: Chapter 2
Summary: When Vought asks the unthinkable, you are forced to play house with certified psychopath Soldier Boy. Your life (and dignity) may be at stake, but something about him draws you in.
Pairing: Soldier Boy x Y/N
Chapter 1
You place a cardboard box filled with some of your greatest possessions on your new wood floor with an oomph. Soldier Boy said he would carry some of your boxes for you but in the name of feminism and hating his guts, you decided to carry your crap. Besides, there was an elevator, so what was there to complain about? You take your hand to your forehead and wipe off the light sheen of sweat forming on your brow as you hear footsteps enter the doorway. 
“Looking tired there,” Ben says, carrying a small box of things while Vought employees followed in a perfect line with his items. “Like you could use some help.”
You glare over in his direction, “I told you I am fine and do not need your, or should I say, Vought’s help getting my shit from point A to point B.” He chuckles as he places his box on the granite countertop of your kitchen.
“Whatever you say, sweetheart.” At that, he throws his arms up to feign defeat before heading back to grab another hilariously small box. One would think that with his absurd amount of strength, he would be able to carry more than a vase from the moving van. In your brief minute of silence, you take in the surroundings of your new home (or prison).
To say it was beautiful was an understatement. With windows instead of walls, brand new hardwood floors, and granite everything, you must admit that this might be the nicest apartment you have ever stepped into. You give yourself a mini tour, noting that the lone bedroom was already set up with no other place to make your room. Great. At least you got your own bathroom.
You sign before heading out the door to haul more boxes inside. After a few hours, the apartment somewhat resembled your old apartment. With pictures of your life scattered around and your favorite throw pillows littering the couch, it was indistinguishably yours. You think that with an apartment like this, maybe this situation will not be absolutely miserable. Your thoughts quickly come to a halt as you feel an arm wrap around your waist.
“Better than your shit apartment, right?” He says, pulling you in. You go rigid.
“Sure.” You say to change the subject. He can sense it.
“You’re treating this like you’re under house arrest.”
“Who says I’m not.” You look at him to see his nostrils enlarge and his lip twitch.
“Lighten the fuck up, doll. You act like you’re some martyr when you’re really walking away from this shit with millions of dollars.” He takes his arm off of you and points his finger into your chest. “And that money can leave in a second if I want it to, and so will your job.” You gulp and nod, evading his glare. He smirks and walks away. 
You feel your legs bring you to your couch, and you collapse. There was no way you were going into the bedroom with him. No fucking way. Curling up on your side, you feel a tear run down your cheek. You were helpless.
You feel like it all couldn’t get worse until you hear your phone ring. You walk to your landline and pick it up.
“Hello?”
“(Y/N)?” You did not recognize the voice.
“Yes, who is this?”
“Katie, I am your PR manager.” You sigh.
“Got it; what’s up, Katie?” You could almost feel her grin from this side of the phone.
“Tonight is the night to unveil the new power couple, Soldier Boy and (Y/N). Girl next door turned lover of the world’s most powerful hero.” 
“Tonight?” You stutter.
“Of course! I got you two reservations to Per Se in Columbus Circle for 7:00. Hottest restaurant in the city. Your dress was laid out on the bed by your movers today. Looking forward to the headlines tomorrow.” At that, the dial tone starts playing. You sigh and trudge to the bedroom. 
As you open the door, you cannot help but hear grunting. Your eyes are so transfixed on the elegance of your new bedroom that it takes you a minute to notice Ben on the bed, pleasuring himself, to say the least.
“Fuck, dude!” You scream and avert your gaze. 
“What, you want to join in?” He says. His voice reminds you of poison.
“Hell no! Do that shit somewhere else.” You demand as you finally hear the noises stop.
“This is my fucking bedroom; where else would you want me to do it?” He had a point there. It was his room.
“I-I… the bathroom! We have two of them.” You stutter, looking back at him to see him roll his eyes. 
“You’re high fucking maintenance. If I were you, I would chill the fuck out and enjoy the experience. I mean,” His gaze darkens, “Every woman in America wishes they were walking into this sight.”
You couldn’t deny that he had a point there. Although your despise for this man could be felt from miles away, you could not deny that this man was beautiful. His long locks cascaded onto his cheeks like they were styled in such a manner. His arms were so strong looking that he could break you in half without breaking a sweat. You could not help your eyes from traveling across his chest to his abs to a bit lower down. You feel your eyebrows raise and your fingers tingle as you imagine what it could be like to maybe one day- 
“Fine.” You get yourself out of your trance, “I’ll chill the fuck out. I’ll start that by letting you know we have a date tonight. Per Se. 7:00.” You walk over to the bed and take a seat next to him, your dress dangling off the edge. You face him, your noses almost touching. “And I’ll show you why every man in America will want to very soon fuck Soldier Boy’s new girlfriend.” At that, you swipe the dress and rush into the bathroom. Before shutting the door, you look back and notice a cheeky grin on his face. 
It took you not too long to get ready. The dress fits you nicely. It was a long slinky black dress with a slit up the side. Your makeup was simple but striking, and your hair had a slight curl. You had to admit, you looked pretty damn hot. You walk out and see it is 6:45.
“He is going to be late.” You mutter to yourself. Walking over to the fridge to see if there was anything alcoholic to consume. Seconds after that thought was finished, you see Ben enter the kitchen dressed as dapper as could be. You were not only stunned by the fact that he was on time but by how… normal he looked. Without the goofy super suit, he looked like a handsome stranger you would stumble upon on a night out. 
“You look great.” You feel yourself say. He smirks.
“You sound surprised.” 
“I’ve never seen you wear anything but that super suit, and well…” You blush, thinking back to your rendezvous this afternoon. You are surprised to hear him laugh.
“I do own more clothes than just the costume, you know?” Was he flirting? His eyes then flicker across you. You could see in his gaze his thoughts were not so different from yours. Especially when you noticed his eyes stop on your chest, lingering there for a minute longer than expected.
“We should get going.” You say. He looks at you and nods before you both exit. 
The restaurant was nicer than any you had ever stepped into. As you two stepped in, you could sense every head turn to look at your date. Mouths gaped, and eyes followed as the host led you to your table. The table was located right in the window. It seemed almost too obvious that this date was staged. As you two take a seat, Soldier Boy looks back and admires the fan's stares. 
“You’re loving this.” You say, he turns toward you.
“Who wouldn’t? I’m basically a God to these cocksuckers.” Of course, he responds like that. Unsure how to answer, your head goes into the menu. Everything looked amazing; however, thoughts of your future employment stuck in the back of your mind. You had to make this date look good.
“So… tell me about yourself.” You say awkwardly. He snorted sarcastically.
“Is that what you’re asking?” You shrug.
“This is the first date, and I don’t know you.” He looks surprised at that.
“Have you not seen my movie?” You shake your head. He rolls his eyes, ready to relay a monologue you’re sure he’s said many times, “I was a poor kid from Philly. I realized I had powers at a young age, and from there, I was a hero to Southern Philly. Fighting crime and making the streets a little safer. I was then picked up by Vought, fought Hitler, and became America’s favorite hero.” He chuckled to himself, and you could not help but stare in awe.
“Wow, that is quite a backstory.”
“Want to know a secret?” He raises his eyebrows as the waiter puts two salads in front of you both. “It’s all bullshit.”
“What?” You question.
“I was born filthy fucking rich to a Dad who hated my guts. Got whatever the fuck I wanted, and he gave zero shits about how much of an asshole I was. So I joined Mr. Vought’s experiment. He still didn’t care, and now I’m Soldier Boy.” He shoves a leaf in his mouth. “Does that answer your question?”
“I guess it does.” You twirl an onion on your fork. “Doesn’t surprise me, though.”
“Whatcha mean?” He asks.
“You’re too much of an asshole for that first story to be remotely true.” You could see his knuckles clench around his fork. You were nervous about his next move before you noticed a flash. You look out the voyeuristic window to see paparazzi surrounding the restaurant. Ben smiles and waves, and you give an awkward grin.
“Smile for the cameras, sweetheart. It’s your fucking job.” He whispers under his breath. His words force a smile across your face as you wave. At that, you feel Ben start to rise from his chair.
“Where are you going?”
“We’re leaving.” He says, grabbing his coat. “They got their pictures. We leave.” He drops a couple of hundred dollars on the table and starts to walk out. You follow behind him before you notice him grab your hand. You look down and notice his fingers lace with yours. Before you could ask questions, cameras were flashing in your face. You had seen this in the movies, but it was way more overwhelming in real life. You feel yourself instinctively grab Ben’s arm. Instead of pulling away, he pulls you in his arms and shields you from the flashes. Weirdly enough, you feel safe. You both speed walk to your car that is waiting patiently for you. As you both are about to enter the car, you feel an arm grab your arm and yank. You stumble away from Ben.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” A man says to you. He was obviously with the media. “You are a nobody, and you’re with fucking Soldier Boy? Whose dick did you suck to get this gig?” You gawked at her in disbelief, and your legs froze.
“Hey, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Before you could acknowledge who was saying that, Ben steps in front of you, facing your defamer. 
“You’re with a fucking slut.” The man says, getting right back in Ben’s face. Before you regain your legs and begin to move toward the car, you hear a fist make contact with someone’s cheek. Your eyes widen, and the cameraman hits the ground. Before you can react, you are ushered into the car and driven away. The first few minutes are deadly silent.
“You didn’t have to do that.” You whisper.
“I did, though; that asshole grabbed you and threatened you. No one does that to any girl of mine.” He grumbles.
“I’m not even your girl.” He faces you.
“As far as the world is concerned, you are, and I have to protect what is mine.” You feel a blush rise on your cheeks. The silence remains for two more beats.
“Thank you.” You place a hand on top of his. 
“It’s what I do.” He says. You look away from him to let yourself smile.
Taglist: @globetrotter28 @bowlegsandbiceps @bxdbxtxh15
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astravv · 3 months
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one of your girls pt 2 || alhaitham x stripper! reader || multi-part
a/n : sorry this took so long to get out but now it’s finally here!! might be more parts, not entirely positive yet..
-
i pressed the elevator button for my floor. the elevator takes a minute as i stand there awkwardly, in complete silence, constantly scanning my surroundings.
the elevator stops with a squeak, and the doors pull open loudly. no one is inside, so i step in and push my floor number, five. the elevator shuts and starts heading up to my apartment floor. i watch as the elevator reaches each other floors with a loud beep. as soon as i get to floor five, the doors open and i step out. i have tunnel vision on my way back to my apartment. the door is right in front of me, but just out of reach.
then my arm is grabbed, i’m pulled back and i turn around to see the drunken guy behind me, grinning.
“didn’t know you live in these apartments,” he hiccups, “why don’t you say.. i take you back to my place?”
“in your dreams.” i snap back, he digs his nails into my arm as i try to pull it away.
“i’m your customer, don’t you do whatever i want? can’t i have my way with you?” he continues.
“dude, fuck off, i’m not a prostitute!” i yank my arm back but his grip seems to be getting stronger on it, I throw down my bag and try to push his arm off me, but he just grabs the other one.
i try to kick him, but he immediately dodges.
“i took some self defense classes as a kid, your dumb tricks won’t work on me.” he groans. “now come on.”
i cry out as he yanks me across the hallway. all of a sudden the elevator opens and someone comes out and pushes him away from me, completely confusing him.
“get your hands off her.” a familiar voice snaps.
i look up to be met with my boss’ angry facial expression. he starts to beat the shit out of the guy who previously had his hands on me.
“how did you know?” i questioned, getting up and dusting myself off. i watched the man scramble off in fear of my boss.
“boss intuition kicked in.” he lets out a low chuckle. i roll my eyes.
“let me walk you to your door,” he puts his hand on the small of my back and starts pushing me in the direction of where i was going.
“i got it seriously..” i say softly, but he just keeps walking with me until i get to my door safely, which was only a door down. alhaitham scans the area for any other weird creeps as i get my door unlocked.
it takes me longer to find my key, i don’t do good under pressure. i have a million keys on my keychain too, so finding the house key was extra hard. my hands trembled as i slid one of the keys into the lock.
“maybe this was a good thing i walked you to your door, you take so long to find the right key.” alhaitham blurts out.
i let out a anxious laugh and finally manage to open my door. i walk in and turn around to be met with his serious and solemn face.
“do you wanna come in?” i question. not that i want him to come in and have hot tea, but it just seemed rude shutting the door in his face.
“sure.” he answers, walking into my apartment. i shut the door and lock it, turning around to follow alhaitham to the couch. he takes a seat and looks up at me.
“uh, do you want some tea?” i ask.
“please.” he leans back on my couch and gets all comfortable. i give him an awkward smile and walk to the kitchen.
i start the stove and place a tea kettle full of water on top of it. the same thought seems to run through my head. my boss is in my apartment, he followed me to my apartment. in my home, the kitchen has an open arch where the breakfast bar is, so i have a perfect view of the living room, and the skyline of the city. i can’t help but keep looking back from alhaitham on my couch, scrolling on his phone and the teapot on the stove.
i tap my fingers on the countertops, the nails i just got done at a salon a few days ago, sounding perfect as they tap onto the granite countertops.
it feels like this is taking forever.
i grab two teabags from a glass box on my counter as the tea kettle starts to whistle. I pull the kettle carefully off and open it to let the steam out. i grab two mugs and pour the extremely hot water in, i also carefully slide the teabags into both cups and a small stir.
i carefully pick up both mugs and walk over to alhaitham. i set down both mugs and take a seat beside him.
we are silent for a minute while alhaitham grabs his mugs and takes a sip.
“it’s hot.” i murmur.
“yes, i like it boiling hot.” alhaitham replies.
“right.” i look over to my side and just sigh a bit. “so.”
“so what? are we gonna talk about how you almost got assaulted?” alhaitham grumbles, his voice gets louder though, so he seems mad.
“i had that under control, he was just a weirdo, and if you didn’t show up i would’ve actually been able to defend myself. he caught me off guard.” i snap back.
“i don’t want one of my best moneymakers getting kidnapped or dying. that would not be good, at all.” alhaitham’s words are harsh when they come out of his mouth. he just thinks of me as a moneymaker.
“okay. that’s how you see me? a moneymaker? not a real human being with thoughts and feelings?” i shake my head profusely. “all men truly are dogs!”
“that’s.. not true.” alhaitham says, lowering his voice a bit.
“no, get out of my house.” i stand up and look him into his eyes.
“but,” he starts.
“get out of my house!” i scream. he sets his tea down and gets up, heading straight for the door.
“i’ll see you next time you work.” alhaitham mumbles as he opens the door. he exits and shuts the door behind him. i can’t help but kick my couch a few times out of anger.
“or maybe never!” i scream out after him. “fuck you, alhaitham.”
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