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violetsaffron5 · 2 years

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Infinity

5 | Morning After

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x f!Reader

Morning after with Gojo, and meet Geto.

Words: 3417

cw/an: Get walked in on, Geto's an ass, Gojo being cocky & stealing panties

Waking in the morning, you stretch out, wiggling your hands and toes, as a smile spreads across your lips. Turning over, you expect to see Satoru lying on his side of the bed, but it’s empty and sheets hastily thrown around.

Sitting up, you take the time to look around the room. Obviously, by the bed, it’s his bedroom – or at least you hope. You would seriously be wondering if he brought you to some random room and left you here on your own if the room didn’t have his things scattered about.

Looking around, his room matches his side of the bed. Disheveled. Clothes overflowing from the laundry basket next to the dresser, a few manga and books strewn around. He seems like the kind of guy that would have a TV in his room, but as far as you can tell, that’s lacking.

There’s also no personal photos hung up or placed on the wall, dresser, or nightstands. Just simple decorations akin to a personal decorator using.

Standing, you bounce on the tips of your toes noting how good you feel. It must be a perk from being able to take so much energy from Satoru. There hasn’t been a time where you’ve felt this alive. No sore or achy muscles, no slight twinge of a hunger that’s still present.

You feel… satisfied. For the first time in as long as you can remember.

On the other side of the dresser is a door, which is cracked open, so you noisily peek inside. It’s a large walk-in closet with more clothes than you could imagine and an island filled with ties, watches, and other expensive looking items. At least it’s clean in there.

You hum to yourself and gently close the door, making your way to the other door, the bathroom. Inside has a large walk-in shower and a bathtub, both big enough to fit at least ten people. You wonder briefly if he’s ever had that many in at one time but quickly shake those thoughts away, not really wanting to know the answer to that question.

On the marble counter with his and hers sinks, you notice a packaged toothbrush and a hastily scribbled note with your name on it.

After brushing your teeth, you check yourself in the mirror, lifting his shirt to your nose. It still smells like him; citrus and pine, which makes you smile.

Walking out of his bedroom, you see it’s at the end of a long hallway, the doors to the other rooms shut. You decide not to open them, trying not to be a pest since you’re a guest in his home and you already looked around his bedroom and bathroom.

Satoru’s in the kitchen standing at the stove, making something, shirtless with only gray sweatpants on. You stand at the end of the stairs watching him, wondering how he’s able to make gray sweatpants look effortlessly sexy.

He turns, grinning wide as he eyes you from head to toe, liking the way you look in his oversized shirt. He also can’t wait to get it off you before he needs to leave for his mission, but unfortunately that’s going to have to wait because even though you filled one hunger last night, you hadn’t actually eaten anything since yesterday morning. And neither has he.

“Like what you see? You can take a picture.” He teases, turning from the stove to place several plates of food on the kitchen island.

“Sorry,” you mutter quickly, realizing you’d been staring for some time, “this is just so incredibly weird to me. How do you feel?”

“Like I just ran a very dirty marathon,” your smile is contagious as you take a seat across from him. He slides a plate of food across the island, determined to keep some distance, at least for now.

As you’re eating, you take the time to look over the rest of his space. A large open kitchen, filled with stainless steel appliances and marble countertops. The living room is large, maybe even larger than the kitchen with floor length windows leading out to a patio with a gorgeous view of the Tokyo skyline.

There are abstract paintings on the wall, judging by the size of his place, he clearly has money, and a place like this is sure to come with its own personal decorator.

“You know, you’re pretty attentive in bed. I didn’t expect that.” You point your fork at him while nodding after taking a bite.

“Yeah, well, I have a strict ladies first policy,” he flashes his eyebrows.

“Do you cook like this for all your women, or am I special?”

His kitchen is messy, with eggs, milk and bowls laying around from cooking this morning. And maybe you shouldn’t be too surprised, based on the sight of his bedroom, but you are. He could have cleaned as he cooked, but to each their own, you suppose.

“You’re certainly something, Infinity.” He teases while you groan and roll your eyes, getting out of the seat to put the plate in his sink.

You don’t make it far before he cages you in, hands splayed on his counter, on either side of your waist, leaning in closer and closer with a salacious grin, eyes looking over your face, like he’s trying to memorize every feature, every pore.

And then you’re facing the counter, before you’ve so much as registered the heat of his body on your front. He’s so incredibly close now, lips ghosting past the fabric of his shirt on your shoulder, up your neck to your ear.

It feels as if he’s pressed up against you, even with his cologne infiltrating your senses you know he’s not. It’s lacking the warmth his body had last night.

“Has anyone fucked you as good as I have?” He whispers in the shell of your ear, a shiver making its way between your legs.

He pushes into you now, the overwhelming force dissipating, his hard length pushing into your ass as his hand slides between your legs, running a finger between your folds.

Trying your best to concentrate, you shake your head and gasp, leaning into his shoulder as he presses gently on your clit, letting out a low chuckle.

“Are you always this wet?” He purrs, eyes lidded with lust as he kisses along your jaw, wondering if this is special, just for him.

He should give you some kudos for being able to distract him so effortlessly because he didn’t register the lone person walking down the corridor to his apartment, let alone his front door opening.

“Fuck,” Satoru groans quietly, taking a deep breath resting his forehead against your shoulder, “really, just walking in, Suguru?”

“How was I supposed to know you had someone here?”

“You couldn’t feel her?” Satoru sighs, adjusting himself before pulling away.

“You couldn’t tell I was coming down the hall?” The man retorts as you adjust yourself and feel your cheeks heat in embarrassment of getting caught, quite literally with a hand between your legs.

The man is tall, almost as tall as Satoru with his black hair pulled into a bun with a small section left out, dangling in front of his face. He’s in a black uniform similar to what you’ve seen Satoru in before, but with baggier pants.

Looking at Satoru, you hope there’s some sort of explanation, but receive nothing. In fact, he doesn’t even look horrified like you do, he’s standing with his hands in his pocket, bickering with who you assume is his friend, without a care in the world.

That’s fine, you’re humiliated enough for the both of you.

“You cooked?” Geto questions with a raised eyebrow, looking around at the mess in the kitchen as you excuse yourself to go get dressed.

Satoru shrugs, leaning against the kitchen counter, crossing his arms, “neither one of us had eaten since yesterday morning. I was hungry.”

“Quit acting like a love sick bitch over some girl you just met.” Geto scoffs, “she’s not even one of us.”

Satoru narrows his eyes at his friend's comment and clicks his tongue. As far as he’s aware, the two of you haven’t met, aside from just now, so he’s not entirely sure about this disdain Geto already feels towards you.

As you make your way back down the stairs, the man looks to you with a gentle closed eye smile, extending his hand to you.

“Sorry for the interruption. I’m Geto Suguru.”

You smile back, and shake his hand, introducing yourself as well before awkwardly turning to Satoru.

“Have you, uhm,” you look to Geto, pursing your lips before turning back to Satoru, and whisper “have you seen my panties?”

When you went upstairs, you found your clothes laying on the chair in the corner of his room, evident he had tidied up, at least a little, before you woke up.

He chuckles at your question, “no, babe, but I’ll let you know if they turn up.”

You turn and smile at Suguru, giving him a small wave goodbye as you walk to the door with Satoru, ready to leave. Geto nods and waves back before walking to the couch, turning on the TV.

“Thought your panty stealing days were over in high school,” Suguru chuckles as Satoru walks back in through the door.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He smirks before going upstairs to get dressed.

After leaving Satoru’s apartment in the morning, your day was fairly uneventful. You gathered the documents you needed to bring with you to the school on Monday and got ready for your last shift at the club.

Now, you stand behind the curtain in a gold string shot bikini as a little farewell gift to your regulars, and as a way to make as many tips as possible. The outfit leaves very little to the imagination; you might as well be naked on stage right now.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please put your hands together for Infinity! She has been number one in our private dancer line up 7 weeks in a row. And unfortunately, tonight is her last, so be sure to get one while you can!”

In the middle of doing your routine, you see a certain white-haired sorcerer sitting in the front row, once again. This time, leaned forward, elbows on his knees, lips parted slightly, watching you intently on stage.

After the routine, you continue on with your nightly rituals of going to the bar for a drink and making rounds in the club until you decide you’re ready to leave for the night. A part of you had hoped Satoru would follow you to the bar like he did the previous night, but he didn't. Rather, when you looked to where he was sitting during your routine, he was gone, unable to see his white hair anywhere.

Once you’re done, you decide to count your bills and head to the back when one of the managers flags you down.

“That man, there,” he points to the chair Satoru was sitting at which now has a head of white hair back at it, “paid good money to have a private dance with you tonight. Make it worth his time.”

“Of course,” you smile and go to the back to put the money up. Curious, you count what he handed you. This time it’s more than enough to pay rent and bills for the next several months.

“What the fuck, Satoru?” You whisper to yourself as you put it away. Clearly sorcerers make a good amount of money, which is something to look forward to.

Looking in the mirror, you make slight adjustments to your hair and outfit and head back out. Of course Satoru went to your manager to pay, rather than to you. All so you have to be the one to walk up to him to initiate the conversation.

Cocky bastard.

Walking behind him, you trace your fingers gently over his shoulders, feeling how silky his suit jacket is.

“Hey, there, big guy. Have I seen you around here before?” You tease falling into his lap, earning him scornful looks from the other men.

“Once. But you’re so busy and popular, I don’t expect you to remember.” He teases back, running a hand up your calf to your thighs, your body responding automatically to his touch.

“You’re not allowed to touch me,” you whisper, running your nose along his cheek, until you get to the shell of his ear, “unless I ask for it.”

“My apologies miss,” he grins as he holds his hands up defensively.

Across from him, you recognize Geto, and finally take the time to get a good look at him.

He has a jawline sharp enough to cut through the thickest steel, feline-like eyes, and a smirk plastered on his face that’s sure to make you weak in the knees, if you were standing.

He’s unbelievably attractive with his gauged ears, nose ring and dark, mischievous eyes.

These two are the most handsome men you’ve probably ever seen in your life. And fuck if Nanami isn’t up there right alongside them.

“Good to see you again,” he greets with a pleasant smile and nod of his head before taking a sip of his drink, watching you over the rim of his glass.

Similar to Satoru, Geto’s arms are toned and defined, only where Satoru has no tattoos, you can see the outline of what looks like a tail on Geto’s forearm, exposed from the rolled-up sleeves of his white button up shirt.

You smile as you wrap an arm around Satoru’s shoulder and continue with your act, “a little birdie told me you wanted a private dance. Seems you paid enough for me to dance all night long. Is it for the both of you?” You run a finger along Satoru’s equally sharp jawline.

“Just me. Didn’t want anyone else to have the pleasure,” he says coolly, taking off his glasses so he can get a full unimpeded view of the outfit you’re wearing.

“Oh~, are we jealous?” You goad, flashing your eyebrows.

“I don’t get jealous,” you swear you can hear Geto chuckling, but when you look over, his attention is elsewhere, on one of the dancers walking around, “also, I brought you a little something,” he leans over and grabs a small bag, handing it to you.

It’s nothing special, just a black gift bag with light blue tissue paper. You look at him with an arched brow and questioning look. Looking inside, you see an outfit, your face not hiding your confusion as you pull it out.

“Uniform for Monday,” he clarifies, as you give a mix between a scoff and chuckle in response.

“Had to bring it here while I’m working?” You ask incredulously.

“Well, we were interrupted earlier. There’s more in the bag.”

Narrowing your eyes, you remove all the tissue paper and completely take out the uniform. At the bottom of the bag sits a box of plan b.

“Wow. Kind of surprised to see this in here, since you seemed pretty into trying to get me pregnant last night.”

He frowns, “that was the sex talking.”

“Yeah, whatever, fake breeder. Besides, I already took one.”

He shrugs as he takes the bag back and puts it on the ground, before placing his palms back to your hips, “gave me an excuse to come back and ask you to come over after work.”

You think about it for a minute, while watching Geto smile and interact with Charlotte, a tall thin stripper with blue hair, he was watching around the club earlier.

You kiss your teeth and turn back to Satoru, “can I use your big ass shower?” Might as well try to sweeten the deal.

“If I say no, are you going to come over?”

“Nope.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes while Geto chuckles, clearly listening in on the conversation after Charlotte heads to the back.

“Just using me for my stuff,” he complains with a pout.

You shrug, “didn’t get to use it last time.”

“Fine. I’ll let you use the expensive shampoo too.” He says wryly.

You stand and grab his hand to lead him back to the dance room, “I’ll think about it.”

Satoru texted you his address before he left the club in case you decided to go over after work. You debated for a while, just going home, or going to his place but ultimately decided to go see him.

Now you stand in front of his apartment building, looking up from the street.

You sigh and make your way to the door, planning on having to be buzzed in, but a doorman opens the way for you, “the elevator is this way.”

Of course he would tell them he’s having a guest over this late at night, so there’s no question as to who you are and what you’re doing there.

The lobby is luxurious, definitely making you feel out of place, never having been in a place this expensive before. There’s a chandelier in the center of the lobby and the vases, statues and pictures all look like they’re worth more than your apartment.

At his door, you pause and think over your options again.

On one hand, this is new territory, being able to see someone you’ve slept with again. Is there any harm in indulging? Being a little selfish to experience something new?

On the other, he’s about to be your coworker, who you’ve already slept with, and that’s a new type of relationship you’re not entirely sure how to navigate.

Sighing, you pinch the bridge of your nose as the door opens. Satoru cocks his head with an amused smile.

“Were you just going to stand there all night?”

“I was just… I don’t know. Shut up.”

He laughs and allows you in, taking off your shoes and placing them on the rack by the door before looking around. The apartment is as you remembered. Large open floor plan with living room and kitchen, stairs going up to the bedrooms. A balcony with what you know will be a gorgeous view even though you haven’t been out there yet.

Satoru gets out two glasses and grabs the open bottle of wine on the counter, pouring its contents into each cup before handing you one, looking you over.

“To be honest, I was hoping you were going to show up in that outfit you had on at the club.”

You smile and shake your head, accepting the drink from him. You were going to wear it, but the material was so thin, when you were getting dressed, the straps broke.

He pouts slightly before changing the subject, “so… can I get Chastity’s number? I should have gotten it while I was at the club earlier.”

“Sure, if I can get Geto’s number.” You retort, watching him carefully as you take a drink.

“You’re not his type. Besides, he went home with Charlotte,” He answers quickly, a flash of annoyance crossing his features. But as quickly as the expression came, it went. “Anyway, what kind of movies do you like?”

That’s a subject change if you’ve ever experienced one.

“We’ll get to know each other at work. Come on, take a shower with me.”

“Oh, right to getting naked. Got it.” He grins, eyes bright with amusement.

“Is there a problem with that? Thought you wanted to fuck, so let’s fuck.”

You walk off towards his room, shedding your clothes along the way. And how is he supposed to say no to that? So he dutifully follows behind with a smirk and a quick “yes, ma’am.”

Staying true to his word, he let you use the expensive shampoo and body washes, with names you can’t pronounce; they smell sweet, like pineapples, which was a nice surprise.

Of course, when you were done washing your hair and body, he has you trapped between him and the wall with your legs around his waist. The shower head rains water onto you, making it hard to keep your ankles locked; his own hands on your ass and hip holding you up, losing their grip as he continuously pumps into you.

After a particularly hard thrust, your legs slip from around him, causing you both to almost fall over as he catches you, hips never stopping, smiling, and giggling between kisses as you both work to maintain your footing again.

@z33sblog, @Thisbicc

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theratartist-2815 · 2 months

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wrote sum stuff for a scott pilgrim oc of mine

said writing continued under the cut, check tags for tws

i am snapped awake by a jolt of electricity, exploding through my veins and putting a jumpstart to my heart. it felt like a kick from a mule whenever my heart started pounding, like an old train engine suddenly forced to carry freight after not being in use for so long.

it was cold. i was cold. my eyes flew open as i sat up like i had been pulled by some otherworldly force. i looked around. it was dark. two men in glasses cheered, round and square framed.

"HES ALIVE!" the one in the circular frames cried, his clothes and glasses covered in blood. thats when i became aware of my own body, completely bare against the cold stainless steel metal operating table.

i only saw more blood, and fresh stitches on my abdomen where i had been operated on. my brain flickered to life, though nothing about myself i knew. it was confusing. i was dazed, momentarily.

i realized i had tubes attached to me, in my arms and on the back of my neck. thats when the adrenaline rush hit, and it hit hard. the men were still cheering as i ripped the tubes from my body, getting up off of the table, stumbling as i struggled to walk.

the man in the circular glasses didnt notice me get up, so i ran. however, the one with the sharp rectangular ones noticed and tried to subdue me.

i felt my arm move back, then barrel towards the mans face like a bullet. it hit him smack on the nose, with a small crack. the punch i threw was almost like muscle memory. memory that my brain didnt have.

i think i broke his nose, but i definitely broke his glasses. he fell to the ground, in agony. he called for the man in the circular frames.

midas.

that name i wont forget. thats because i knew what that name was from. greek mythology. the king of phyrgia, who could turn anything to gold, haven been blessed by dionysus.

thats when i put two and two together, as i ran up the stairs, my bare feet smacking against cold concrete. i had just been brought back from the cold clutches of death.

ironic his name was midas, then. he brought me back to life. no touch of gold, a touch of life. though i could sense judging by the cold dark basement i had to run up from, the intentions of this were.. dubious at best. i dont want to think about the worst.

when i reached the top step, there was a ladder i had to climb to reach a trap door. mustve been correct in my judgement this place had less than humane intentions, as it was locked up tight. i began to scale the ladder as i heard footsteps pattering from the stairwell below. just as i heard the mans voice, i was up and out of the trapdoor.

i was now in an office of some sort, where i noticed a trash chute. in that split second, i decided to jump in, knowing it was either escape into the trash or be caught and used for god knows what from these men.

i opened the trash chute, sliding inside. i was barreling down, my bare skin freezing against the cold metal. then, just as i got the feeling my body would never stop hurtling downward, i hit the bottom of the trashcan with a loud metallic pang.

i mustve been unlucky, it mustve been trash day recently. my entire body ached. from the sudden jolt to life, the stitches my body had, and from hitting the empty garbage bin. i had to lay there for a second, breathing heavily.

soon, i crawled out of the garbage. i knew theyd be looking for me. i was in a dark alleyway. it smelled awful, i mustve been wrong about trash day, because the other bins themselves were full. did they switch them out? oh well, it didnt matter. i stumbled out, searching for something to cover up.

i managed to find some clothes, though dirty, ruined, and too small on me, which smelled of garbage. but it was better than nothing. i had to get the hang of walking, even though my newly awakened muscles begged me not to. i felt like i was about to collapse.

i saw a building in the distance, cars all around it. there was flashing multicolored lights coming from the windows, and i could feel the baseline from here. a party. perfect. i needed help, before i passed out in the alleyway and woke up in that mysterious laboratory again.

i shuffled my way towards the building, making a beeline for the doors. i felt like a zombie. i definitely looked like a zombie too. i passed by a graveyard on the way. i thought it was ironic, though, i could barely form thoughts that were coherent that werrent about the current situation at hand.

i pushed my way through the doors when i got there, hobbling to my destination, though i didnt exactly have one. i received weird looks from the people at the party as i shuffled along aimlessly, in no particular direction.

i bumped into two people, men, who looked scarily alike each other. i ignored it, and kept walking. i also bumped into a man wearing all black, but i ignored him too. i pushed through a crowd, bumping into various people.

there was a woman wearing round glasses, like midas, with her hair up in a ponytail. she snapped at me to watch where i was going, but i ignored her. i bumped into another person, a man with scruffy brown hair and close shaven beard. he looked slightly nervous, but i didnt pay attention to it.

i pushed through, bumping into several people along the way. an unkempt man in a beanie, a girl with shoulder length, straight black hair, a clearly drunk man in a sweater and messy black hair, holding a martini.. i also slightly remember a guy with long brown hair and a sort of creepy smile i didnt like. but none of that mattered when i broke through the other end of the crowd.

i made my way to a table, with various things to eat on it. thats where i saw him. a guy, about my age, holding a plastic cup with punch inside of it. he looked just as confused as i am, with his light brown hair swept over his head. he wasnt wearing anything remarkable, just a tshirt and jeans. but this was the guy i decided i was going to ask for help from.

i opened my mouth to speak, but i just held my mouth open. he looked confused. i tried again, only to realize that my voice was gone. i was worried. had i just lost my voice, or had they taken my vocal chords out entirely? i tried once more. i managed to mumble the word "help," albeit pretty quiet for the scenario.

unfortunately, that was all i could attempt to say. i felt my eyes getting heavy, knees week, vision blurring. my hearing became dampened as i felt myself hit the floor with a soft thud. the last thing i remember was seeing the footsteps of people walking towards me and the anxious chatter from the crowd, before my eyes fully shut and i became unconscious.

#scott pilgrim vs the world #scott pilgrim takes off #scott pilgrim #scott pilgrim gideon #scott pilgram takes off #scott pilgrim anime #scott pilgrim oc #scott pilgram #oc #spto oc #writing #oc writing #tw blood mention #tw alchohol mention #cw

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wafflebloggies · 1 year

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3. all sorts of storms

back - next What’s wrong with me?

Antonio stood in the bathroom, gripping the sink in both hands. Black spirals unrolled through the running water and down the plughole. A long dark diagonal gash ran across his dripping face, from his scrunched brow right down to the opposite cheek. It was leaking again already, rivulets of black fluid slipping down his nose and navigating the trickier terrain of his beard. The towel he’d been using to try and stop the flow lay on the floor, half-sodden with glistening ink.

It’s the glasses. Has to be. Shouldn’t keep secrets. That’s not being GOOD, Antonio. That’s being-

-BAD.

When Mark had pushed him down the stairs, that night- almost a week ago now- it hadn’t bothered him too much, and he certainly hadn’t taken it personally. Humans tended to be more than slightly inconvenienced by such things, tended to incur things like broken necks and severe internal injuries, but when you had no real internals to injure, you were more likely to bounce. Then, too, he’d asked for it, he’d pushed, poked, practically begged Mark to do it. It would have been pretty silly, to get his feelings all hurt over it afterwards. It was only attempted murder, one deliberate step up from accidental manslaughter. And that…

Well, that had been exactly the point, hadn’t it?

So it really hadn’t been that much of a biggie for Antonio at all, but it had split his face nearly in two- his human face, which wasn’t supposed to do that sort of thing unless he wanted it to. And of course it had healed up almost at once, but apparently it hadn’t forgotten about it, at least not as easily as he had. He didn’t know what people were usually supposed to do, when their faces were better at holding grudges than they were. He didn’t suppose it was a problem that people usually encountered.

He splashed another double palmful of cold water on his face. For just a moment, his path seemed starkly, blessedly clear. It would be okay. He would tell the new Mark about the glasses and say sorry and everything would go back to normal again and everything would be-

they are not his they are MARK’S.

He looked up, astonished, and caught his own eyes before they slid away ashamed, amazed to find himself having such a thought, small but bright, red-hot and sharp in his mind. He stared down into the basin, at the black goop dripping into the running water and sluicing down the plughole in a busy little whirlpool, the stainless-steel ring staring back up at him like a shiny unblinking eye.

Antonio had never felt anger before. The only equivalent he had ever felt was a much more specific emotion called Mark-is-being-Difficult. It was a fidgety, stressy feeling that got stronger when Mark wasn’t where he was supposed to be or wasn’t doing what he was supposed to do, a feeling that twisted and turned in him like a hot wire when Mark fumbled his lines or dug in his heels or looked at Antonio with that particular Mark-face of dull, obstinate revulsion and refused to say anything at all. It had usually been pretty easy for Antonio to make the feeling of Mark-is-being-Difficult go away, exactly because it was so specific, so neatly tied to cause-and-effect. It would always stop when Mark stopped being difficult, or more accurately, when Antonio stopped Mark being difficult.

By any means necessary.

“Turn that frown upside-down,” he told his reflection, in a forceful, sing-song voice. Saying it out loud helped, a little. He’d said it enough times to Mark – the real Mark – for it to have the ring of something that needed to be taken seriously. In Mark’s case, Antonio offering it as a helpful little bit of pointed advice just before hitting RECORD had usually been enough to prompt a kind of a sort of a sickly half-smirk that lasted for at least the first couple of takes.

It suddenly occurred to Antonio that he would never have to say it again, never see that strained fake smile in response again, and the concept seemed to seriously upset the bug in his middle, because it spread out all of its sharp bits at once and flooded his chest with ice and bile.

Something was badly wrong somewhere, and it seemed to be anchored in his chest but crawling slowly everywhere else, and what really frightened Antonio was that if he knew it then surely, surely, the Muse knew it too. What if the Muse and the new Mark did know that something was wrong with him? What if they knew, and that was why everything felt like a cracked piece of glass, all jagged and twisted-up and dangerous to touch?

He huffed out hard through his nose and forced himself to look in the mirror, full and unflinching, and concentrated, and slowly as he watched the black gash began to thin out and pull together, turn ashy and fade away like a plane-line in the sky. As it settled, his insides slowly settled too, until at last he could splash the sink clean and wipe his face dry on the only clean patch of towel left, and study himself under the light and see nothing except maybe, maybe, a very faint pale line, a tiny bit lighter than his skin.

He looked at the towel in his hands. It was utterly shot, and since he didn’t feel at all like having to explain its soaked and splattered existence, there was nothing for it but to dump it in the trashcan outside. Tomorrow morning was garbage day, he remembered, and his luck made him smile- almost as wide as normal.

“See?” he said, firmly. “It’ll all be A-okay. Everything’s coming up Antonio.”

“Are you a friend of Mark’s?”

Antonio parked the trashcan neatly up against the Mayhew mailbox, and looked up, dusting his hands. Mrs. Hernandez was marooned in her slippers halfway down her front walk, quite dwarfed by her own big green recycling bin, which was somewhat slewed on the path behind her, one wheel sticking in the air, one wheel in the gravel.

He smiled across at her. “Hey there, Mrs. Hernandez. Having problems?”

“Oh, the blessed thing gets heavier every week,” she called, tugging at the bin’s cumbersome handle with all of her might, to absolutely no perceptible effect. Antonio jogged across the road and came up alongside her, hefting the problem wheel back onto the path.

“My daughter usually gives me a hand, but she- oh my Lord, don’t hurt yourself!”

“I got it,” he assured her, and easily trundled the recycling bin around her and down to the kerb. He could just as easily have pitched the whole thing right across the street, sticky wheel and all, but he contented himself with shoring it up against her neat coral-painted mailbox, securely wedged so it couldn’t tip over in the night. She watched him, cocking her head on one side, her brightly-beaded pince-nez glinting in the pale setting sunlight.

“I’ve seen you before, haven’t I?” she asked, as he turned back to her.

“I’m Antonio,” he said, offering his hand, politely. Her papery little paw was very light, very small in his. “I’m just over giving Mark a hand sorting through some stuff.”

“Oh, now, that’s nice,” said Mrs. Hernandez, approvingly. One of her lenses was much stronger than the other, and the magnification, along with her sharp, beaky nose, made her look like an unusually colourful species of little-owl with a squint. “Poor boy, it’s so hard going over everything after… well, you know. When my husband passed, it took me and the kids months to get anything done, there was so much of his stuff we didn’t know what to do with.”

“I think he’s getting on top of it, Mrs. Hernandez.”

“Please, call me Elaine.” She glanced past him, across the street, then smiled up at him. “My daughter usually comes over Wednesdays, but she’s on call tonight. Have you got time to come in for some tea?”

Antonio had a polite excuse all ready to go, but something made him pause. He couldn’t have said exactly what it was, or why he felt a strange reluctance at the idea of turning around and heading back inside. He thought about the spore and the cellar stairs and his leaking face, and then he thought about the new Mark’s big sharp empty grin, and a petulant, wormy little barb of a thought at the bottom of it all inched up into his mind and whispered, what’s the hurry?

He smiled back at her. “You know what? I’d love to.”

The really interesting thing about the inside of Mrs. Hernandez’s house, from Antonio’s point of view, was how different it was from Mark’s. Architecturally they were the same, like every other house on the street. The floor-plan, windows, rooms, all were the same in points of space and size, but there the similarities ended. Everything was little and brittle and bright, and sitting opposite Mrs. Hernandez on a violently-patterned cut-velvet sofa, Antonio felt that he might at any second cause a catastrophic domino effect of small tables and spindly tasselled lamps that would bury them both.

A cat had been sprawled half-asleep in Mrs. Hernandez’s armchair, resembling nothing so much as a badly-laundered angora cushion. As soon as it had seen Antonio, it had raised itself into a bristling arch, rheumy yellow eyes wide, ears flat, and with his first few steps into the room it had retreated with surprising speed to the top of the dresser, which had so many decorative plates on it that it looked like a very symmetrically barnacled reef.

Mrs. Hernandez asked him about himself, how he knew Mark, her rabid curiosity for anything new to the street bubbling under the surface of her eager, reedy chirp of a voice. He navigated the conversation easily, frank and light and charming, fielded her questions with cheerful, candid answers. Yes, he was from out of town. Yes, he and Mark went waaay back. College, he was careful to specify, careful not to tread on the toes of a history she might know inconveniently well. Yes, it was so sad about Mark’s mom. No, he’d never met her.

“She was so lovely,” said Mrs. Hernandez, offering Antonio an extremely hefty scone on a tiny, delicate plate. “Everyone’s friend, anyone who needed anything, she’d find them out somehow. Always up and doing. I couldn’t believe it when I heard she was so ill. She was such a powerhouse, you’d never think something like that could happen to her. She fought it so hard, but…” She shook her head, fishing in her many knitted pockets for a tissue.

“These things are just so unfair,” said Antonio, sympathetically. While she dabbled at her eyes, he dropped the scone gently behind his heel and back-kicked it under the sofa.

“And then the Williams boy, too, it’s just been one thing after another. And such a shock, you just feel so helpless when something like that happens right on your doorstep. It makes you almost afraid to sleep in your own bed.”

Antonio looked up at the cat, which was still watching his every move. As he locked eyes with it, it let out a rising warning rumble, tail puffing out like a tatty grey bottle-brush.

“Melia!” admonished Mrs. Hernandez. “Never mind her, she’s all sorts of cranky in her old age.”

“It’s okay,” said Antonio. “I’m used to cats. My mom loves them.”

“I took some posters, of course, I remember I gave them to Esme to put up at the clinic, but nothing ever came of it. I expect it’s a cold case now, or whatever they call it. Such a terrible thing- those two boys were always thick as thieves, I hardly ever saw one without the other.” She looked up at him, her mascara a little smeary and caught in silty little deposits in the corners of her crows’ feet, leaned across and patted his hand.

“You seem like a nice boy, I’m glad Mark has a good friend like you looking out for him.” Her enlarged eyes were wet and earnest. “I’m sure he could do with someone to cheer him up, you know, bring him out of his shell.”

“Well, you can count on me for that, Mrs. Hernandez,” said Antonio, brightly. “I’m a fun guy.”

“I was worried, I feel like I barely ever see him out of the house these days, and he never answered- oh, the kettle. I’ll be right back.”

She bustled out, tucking the tissue into a colourful sleeve as she went. Antonio sat still, looking at the overwhelming multitude of knick-knacks around him. Compared to the relatively uncluttered beachwood quiet of this room’s twin across the street, it felt a bit like being stuck in a very homey birdcage, or at the bottom of a well full of macramé chair-covers and cloth elephants on strings.

Humans just did this, he knew that well enough. Although most of what made them, them, was stuffed into one three-pound lump of pinkish goo, they had an extraordinary impact on their own spaces. Mrs. Hernandez’s life- her family, her history, her interests, her hobbies- filled her two-story home. The kitchen doorway was veiled with a rainbow waterfall of strung plastic beads. A highly-airbrushed Mary stared at Antonio from the place of honour beside the big TV, looking mildly reproachful and exposing a flaming heart which appeared to have been emphasized with glitter-glue.

In the same way, Cecile Mayhew’s life still filled the home she’d left behind. Antonio had never met her, that much was true, but in a way he could have said he did know her; the books she read, the art she liked and the watercolours she painted. Her neat little garden, her collections of music and magazines, her competent but somewhat unadventurous ideas of ranch-style décor, her fierce love for her son.

Eventually, it would all be gone. Eventually, there would be nothing in the house that suggested a person called Cecile Mayhew had ever lived there. It struck Antonio all at once that if somebody with no prior knowledge were to step into Mark’s room the way it was now, they would see very little evidence that anybody had ever lived there, let alone who that person had been. Mark had been as good as erased from his own space, his own home.

Antonio started to feel as if coming over here had been a mistake. He did not feel any better for it. If anything, he felt worse, in a knotted-up patchwork mess of a way he couldn’t even begin to unravel.

The cat let out a long, infuriated hiss, startling him out of his reverie, and as he lifted his head it spat at him from its lofty perch. Antonio, who had had enough of being threatened by something the size of a microwave dinner, snarled right back at it with all six-hundred-and-thirty-eight of his real teeth, and the cat skidded backwards right off the top of the dresser and vanished so fast it seemed to evaporate, barely touching the floor in its terrified, scrabbling flight.

“Good kitty,” said Antonio, pleasantly.

–

By the time he’d finally extricated himself from Mrs. Hernandez’s house, with many thanks and promises to come back with Mark as soon as the two of them had time for a good meal, it was fully dark. Antonio crossed the street slowly and stood by the Mayhew mailbox, looking up at the silent house.

In a universe of ashy-grey, a world untouched by streetlights or moon or stars, the house stood in a seedbed of glimmering gold. Light veils of the Muse’s fibre crept up from below, finespun brightness creeping through wood and brick and mortar, feeling slowly ever higher. It was a beacon, a brilliant signal flare, illuminating the colourless street.

Antonio realised in a chilly bleak way that part of him just wanted to keep standing here, out in the fresh air, with the mailbox and the garbage and the tied-back brittle ghosts of the wallflowers and the flickers of headlights from the distant highway.

Instead, he made his way slowly down the path, let himself into the dark, soundless front hall. The air felt toasty-warm and a little stale on his face as he stepped inside.

There was no sign of the new Mark. Antonio walked slowly through to the kitchen, where the pinkish grease-stained crumpled wrappers and styrofoam clamshells still lay where they’d been tossed, on the counter, on the island, in the sink. Heat was belching from the vent under the kitchen table, where an emergency jury-rigged kindergarten surrounded the spore in its black-splattered plastic bucket. The floor was a mess of wet sheets, stained towels, at least half a dozen of Cecile’s colourful little glass plant misters standing and lying in pools and puddles of grey water, lamps culled from all over the house plugged in wherever an outlet or a power strip would fit, leaned and pointed at fantastic angles with their necks and hot bulbs craned towards the plastic can.

Antonio picked his way gingerly through the chaos, and knelt. Despite the new Mark’s best efforts, the spore wasn’t looking too healthy. Its inky outer membrane looked flabby and dull, as if it was shrinking from the inside, and it twitched arrhythmically as he watched it, fluttering like a strained, struggling lung. He reached out and touched it, gently, and immediately the squishy yielding surface of it started to suck smoochily at his fingers, a tickling raspy feeling like dozens of desperate little snail-mouths, trying to find purchase on his skin. As the spore quivered hungrily against his hand, he started to feel a weak, draining pull in his fingers, his knuckles- a slow needy vacuum with barely any grip- as the starving thing felt frantically through him, through the fabric of him, for something that simply was not there.

“Aw, little dude, that’s not gonna help you,” he said, softly, pulling his hand free and wiping it on his pants as he stood.

ANTONIO.

Antonio jerked, straightening like a puppet from his heels to the top of his head as the voice of the Muse rolled through him in a stupefying knell. There were no words that could answer that voice, nothing possibly even a fraction so important. His own tiny struggling flickers of thought drowned in an instant, obliterated under a vast and crushing tidal wave in the shape of his own name. There wasn’t a him, not while that voice spoke; there was barely space and time, just his hand on the cellar door and his feet on the hollow wooden stairs and the hard concrete and the thick darkness and the radiant light.

And the Muse said, THE SPORE MUST SURVIVE UNTIL A NEW HOST CAN BE SOURCED.

And the Muse said, I HAVE A SPECIAL TASK FOR YOU.

With a clattery, grainy-glassy sound, something small and shiny came rolling slowly towards him across the concrete, stopping when it bumped against his feet. Antonio reached down and picked it up- a dusty glass canning jar, lid screwed on loosely, shreds of its original paper label still clinging to its smeary sides. It rattled as he turned it over in his hands, and understanding bloomed slowly in his mind.

And the Muse said, GO.

#muse arg #dftm #don't feed the muse #mark mayhew #antonio geist #alex bale #the cynical critic #my writing

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trafficsafetysblog · 3 months

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Secure Your Workspace: The Importance of Industrial Handrails

When it comes to creating a safe and secure workspace, Industrial handrail systems play a vital role in ensuring the well-being of employees and the overall productivity of businesses. In this comprehensive guide, we will delve into the significance of industrial handrails and why they are essential for maintaining a secure work environment.

Section 1: Understanding Industrial Handrails

Industrial handrails, also known as guardrails, are essential safety features in workspaces, particularly in industrial settings, construction sites, and commercial facilities. Their primary purpose is to provide physical barriers and support to prevent falls and accidents in elevated areas such as platforms, walkways, stairs, and other potentially hazardous areas within a workspace.

These handrails are typically constructed using durable materials such as steel, aluminum, or stainless steel to ensure structural integrity and longevity. The choice of material is crucial in determining the overall strength and resistance of the handrails to environmental factors and physical stress.

Section 2: Safety Regulations and Compliance

The installation of industrial handrails is not only a matter of best practice but also a legal requirement governed by safety regulations and standards. Occupational Safety and Health Administration (OSHA) in the United States and other regulatory bodies worldwide have strict guidelines mandating the installation of industrial handrails in work environments to ensure employee safety.

Non-compliance with these safety regulations can have severe consequences, including hefty fines, legal liabilities, and, most importantly, the risk of injury or harm to employees. Businesses must adhere to these regulations to create a safe and compliant workspace for their employees.

Section 3: Benefits of Industrial Handrails

The benefits of industrial handrails extend beyond mere compliance with safety regulations. These essential safety features play a pivotal role in accident prevention, providing crucial support for workers as they navigate elevated areas, and minimizing liability risks for businesses in the event of workplace accidents.

By investing in quality industrial handrails, businesses can significantly reduce the likelihood of workplace accidents and injuries, thereby fostering a safer and more productive work environment. Additionally, the presence of sturdy handrails can enhance employee confidence and overall morale, knowing that their workplace is equipped with the necessary safety measures.

Section 4: Installation and Maintenance

Proper installation of industrial handrails is paramount to their effectiveness in ensuring workplace safety. Businesses should follow best practices and considerations such as the appropriate height and spacing of handrails, secure anchoring methods, and regular inspections to verify structural integrity.

Maintenance of industrial handrails is equally important to uphold their functionality over time. Regular inspections, cleaning, and addressing any signs of wear or damage are essential to prolonging the lifespan of the handrails and ensuring their continuous reliability in safeguarding the workspace.

Conclusion

The significance of stair nosing in securing workspaces cannot be overstated. From understanding their purpose and materials to compliance with safety regulations and reaping the benefits they offer, industrial handrails are indispensable components of a safe and productive work environment.

Businesses have a critical role in prioritizing workplace safety by investing in quality industrial handrail solutions. By doing so, they not only comply with regulatory standards but also demonstrate a genuine commitment to the well-being of their employees, ultimately fostering a culture of safety and security within their workspace.

#industrial handrail #stair nosing

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claireleung · 1 year

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Different Shape Different Color Stainless Steel Tile Trim

Do you know what is it ?

It is stainless steel profile, and it is used for wall gaps, corner decor or stair nosing, glass or marble edge. It is practical and beautiful

#interior design #interiors #architecture #decoration #engineering #design #interiordesign #decor

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truelinemouldingbc · 1 year

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Things You Need to Know & Consider About Stair Railing System

Whether you select a top-notch elegant custom railing or the most basic handrail, the final installation will highly impact the overall look of your property.

To achieve favourable results, you need to select a stair railing that completes the look of your dwelling. It should also sustain a long time and boost the property value. You can choose better by understanding the stair railing system in detail.

Here are the basic things you need to know about Stair railings in Kelowna, BC.

Terminology

Stair railing has terminology for both residential & commercial projects. You get straight, switchback, dogleg, winder, spiral, and curved railing patterns.

If you want a wall attached, get a staircase with different options: an open riser, riser, tread, nose, stringer, landing, spindles and balusters.

Make an appropriate choice of stair railings Kelowna offers, depending on your property’s look.

Applications

You need to maintain the design flow while using the railing system application.

Coordinating both the interior & exterior of the property on patios and decks will look appropriate.

You will find multiple categories in interior & exterior applications too.

Materials

The basic common material of stair railings Kelowna provides is glass, iron, plastic, wood, aluminium, and stainless steel.

You need to make an appropriate railing selection after determining its pros and cons. Also, consider additional factors like functionality & appearance.

Last take

These are the basic things you need to consider before making an informed decision for stair railings in Kelowna.

At Trueline Moulding Group Inc., you can explore various railing options suitable for your needs. To make a calculative decision, visit the showroom. For more information about location & timing, visit the website.

For more details about Installation services in Kelowna please visit our website: truelinemoulding.com

#Stair railings in Kelowna

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baking-with-a-gremlin · 1 year

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The Non-Fluff Good Stuff

Firstly, I’ve noticed a slight confusion when using the noun macaroon. There is in fact a general consensus that it refers to a French dessert that’s tinted with food colouring, with its key feature being its two cookies being sandwiched with a filling between them. While this is very much true (and my goodness are they delicious), those types of cookies are spelled macarons. When discussing macaroons, they’re actually almost like Hersey kisses but made out of a whipped and hardened coconut substance (also very scrumptious) that’s a golden white and is bite size. However, we’ll be making macaroons that some might know as frogs. These morsels are still made with shredded coconut but instead of heavenly fluffiness, the coconut is within a soft but brittle piece of chocolate.

As I tied Reese’s apple red coloured apron behind her back, her smile lit up and she wanted those bamboo baking utensils from our earlier session. “Sir daddy,” she said. “We have to wait to get the ingredients in the bowl to stir it, you turkey,” I responded as I got some one of our stainless-steel saucepans from under the cupboard. Ever since I showed her my drum skills to the backing of Baby Shark using my worn-down pencils, she now taps longer objects and says, “Daddy doo doo, momma doo doo.” Bouncing my head to her beats and singing along, I grabbed the bright white 2L milk jug and the aluminum foil covered butter. After heating a half cup of butter (I honestly believe the microwave’s her favourite part), that and the bright white 2% milk went into the saucepan. A cup of sugar and 6 tablespoons of cocoa powder. I forgot how richly brown and velvety cocoa powder was. Reese’s nose wrinkled while her upper lip pulled up after tasting the powder off the tip of her tiny, two-year-old index finger. “Daddy!” she said, “It wasn’t me you little goob,” I replied. Reesie stirred it in a fairly uniform way as I turned the dial to activate the burners.

As we waited, for our chocolatey concoction to boil on the glass top, Reese had to try the coconut and the oats that were eventually destined to be added to the mixture. She had mixed feelings with the coconut; absolutely hated the uncooked oats. But I knew everything was better in chocolate. She has a new thing where there’s officially Christmas decorations up and she go around and say all their names. “No-man, rainder, danta, gween [a wreath on the wall],” she went on. Al the first few half-globed brown bubbles came to the surface, the steel cut pale oats went in, followed by the coconut and the dark coloured and vanilla extract. After letting it boil for an additional 60 seconds, I cut a piece of wax paper to place on the grey cookie sheets. I gave her her own tiny spoon to scoop the mixture out and onto the wax paper. Her curiosity got the best of her, and the macaroon covered spoon went into her mouth. “Hot, hot daddy,” she said. “It’s ok little one, it’ll cool down.” It did and it eventually went back into mouth to finish it. It was a hit!

Upon placing the mixture onto the sheet, I was impressed with the uniformity of the globs; probably 2 to 3 inches from side-to-side with the coconut shreds coming out from every angle. Into the fridge they go. Washing the dishes while the gremlin bathed with her mother’s aid, I took the change to clean up the poor kitchen. Dishes, counters, sinks. There were globs of chocolate covered coconut pieces in the few places, but she’s getting pretty steady. Hearing the gremlin come down the stairs, I prepared the chilled macaroon for us. “Reesie! Come try this with daddy,” I said. She scooped that up like how a cobra dashes towards you if it feels threatened. Jumping up and down, I could tell she was proud of herself.

On to the next!

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123454sworld · 3 years

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Parking Accessories Installer UAE :- Acromaxgt is a leading Fire sealant supplier UAE to provide best solutions for fire hazard preventions. Contact our team of expert for full compliance for your residential or commercial projects. For more info, visit here: https://www.acromaxgt.com/Parking-Accesseries.html

#Stainless steel wall guard supplier in UAE #Stair Nosing supplier in UAE #Tile Trims Suppliers in UAE

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avintagekiss24 · 3 years

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one cup sugar, one cup spice | a. barber

→ pairing: andy barber x black!reader

→ word count: 7074

→ warnings: age gap, corruption kink, innocent reader, daddy kink, pain kink, smut, sex, loss of virginity, vaginal fingering, hand job (male receiving)

→ author note: happy holidays my dudes! what i would do to have andy barber standing in my kitchen... anyway, reader is i n n o c e n t, but totally of age, and in college. as always, line breaks by @firefly-graphics, gif by @evansensations

There’s a light dust of white covering the green lawns and black asphalt of the street. You shiver as you follow your parents out towards their car, pulling your beanie down over your ears before you shove your hands into your navy blue Dartmouth hoodie.

“Honey,” your mom coos, turning back towards you as your dad loads the car, “Are you sure you don’t want to come with us? Your aunt has plenty of room.”

“I’m positive,” you laugh, “Aunt Sohpie and I don’t get along that great anyway.”

“Well, you could try a little harder.”

Your mouth drops open, eyes wide as you stare at her, “She called me a stuck up, yuppie bitch when I told her I wasn’t going to stop using deodorant.”

Your dad chuckles, prompting a swift slap to the shoulder from your mother before she turns back towards you, “Sophie is a free spirit. She doesn’t believe in putting chemicals in or on her body. One week of trying to get along won’t hurt you.”

“Oh, it’ll hurt,” you answer, pulling her into a hug, “Smelling her B.O. for a week would actually kill me.”

Your mother tuts, pulling back and slumping her shoulders a little as she squeezes your sides gently, “I don’t want to leave you here alone for Christmas.”

“Oh, stop badgering the girl. She’ll be fine,” your dad cuts in, kissing your forehead when he approaches, “She had a tough semester, she’s allowed some alone time. Be good, baby. I left a credit card on my desk for any emergencies.”

You smile warmly, “Thanks daddy.”

There’s a sound of a door opening, then closing, heavy footsteps against the old wood of the porch next door, “Oh, Andy,” your mom calls towards the neighbor, “You got a minute?”

Your face scrunches as you glance over at your father, who sighs heavy, “Don’t get mad, baby.”

“Why would I get mad?”

“She kinda, you know,” he shrugs, knocking his head back and forth, “Asked the neighbor to look in on you while we’re gone,” when your face drops, he throws up his hands, “I didn’t do it, she did.”

“Mom!” You hiss, flipping your eyes to the tall, dark haired man cutting across his front lawn, “I don’t need a babysitter! I’m twenty years old!”

“Hush,” she whispers, plastering a smile on her face as she wraps her arm around your waist, “Sorry to bother you, Andy.”

“Oh, no, no, no. It’s okay, I was just checking the mail.”

You’re angry and embarrassed as the tall, older man approaches, but a sudden heat blooms across your chilled brown skin. Pushing your glasses up your nose, you take a heavy breath, expelling it hard as you eye him. You’ve only really seen him in passing, throwing your hand up in a friendly wave as you jogged into your childhood home during a long weekend away from school. You only vaguely remember him moving in about a year or two before. Hell, you don’t even think the two of you have uttered anything more than just a neighborly ‘hey’, and now, thanks to your mother, he’s going to be keeping an eye on you.

Just wonderful.

She smiles proudly, “You remember our daughter, right?”

“I do,” he smiles slowly, an intense pair of blue-green eyes bouncing between yours, “We’ve run into each other a few times over the years. How you doin’ kiddo?”

He reaches out, extending a large palm and long fingers. You take it gently, smiling soft as you drop your eyes from his, nerves suddenly pooling in your stomach, “Um, good. Thanks for asking. How um,” you swallow, glancing back up at him, finding his eyes still centered on you, “How are you?”

He shrugs, but keeps your much smaller hand in his, “Can’t complain.”

“Listen, honey,” your mom starts, “I asked Mr. Barber to pop over and check on you every now and again while we’re gone.”

“Mother,” fake laughter filling the air, your face hot from being annoyed to all hell, “I’m not a child, and I’m sure Mr. Barber has better things to do with his time than to check on me constantly.”

“It’s no problem,” he shrugs again, those eyes of his now roaming, down your body, then up again, slowly, “I have the next couple of weeks off myself.”

“Congrats on the promotion, by the way.” Your father smiles, finally drawing Andy’s attention away from you. He nudges your side with his elbow, “Andy’s the new District Attorney.”

You keep your eyes on the tall Andy, sliding them the length of his body. He’s sturdy. Broad shoulders not so hidden underneath his zip up hoodie, clinging to thick biceps. Dark jeans accentuate long legs and a little waist. A perfect, full beard lines his strong jaw and chin. Two enormous hands are shoved into the pockets of his pants, so large that they don’t even fit right… You inhale deep, drawing your bottom lip into your mouth, sinking your teeth into the flesh as a tiny moan slips through.

Blue eyes snap to you again as it sounds. God. Your lips part, eyes widen as they stare back at him in embarrassment. He just smiles again, slow and seemingly knowing; his eyes falling down your frame again.

“We better go if we’re gonna miss traffic, hun.” Your dad’s voice suddenly breaks into your conscience, snapping you out of the small trance that Andy Barber has leveled over you, “Andy, thanks for watching over our baby while we’re gone.”

Andy winks at you, “I won’t hover, I promise. If you need anything, at any time, I’m right next door, okay? Better yet, let me give you my number.”

You nod quick, clearing your throat as you fumble around with your phone, pulling it out of your hoodie and handing it over to him, “Sure, yeah. Th-thank you, Mr. Barber.”

“Andy,” he corrects, reaching out and cupping your elbow gently, “Please.”

Another warmth spreads through you, emanating from the contact, making you giggle and smile nervously like a stupid girl before you get a hold of yourself and blink away. You all exchange another round of pleasantries, Andy wishing your parents a safe trip before he locks eyes with you again— biting his lip as he blinks and hands your phone back before turning away and heading towards his mailbox.

Almost frozen in place, you blink as you watch him move across his grass, forcefully swallowing. You really need to get out more.

One last hug from your mom and dad and you wave as they pull out of the driveway, your mom waving excitedly at you through the windshield. Rolling your eyes, but smiling wide, you return a wave before heading back inside, locking the door behind you before making a brisk b-line to the front door.

Andy’s still outside, pushing the green trash cans up against his garage as you peek out at him from behind the thin, white, door curtains. He throws open one of the lids before dipping his head, eyeing the mail in his hand as he flips through it slowly, tossing the junk into the open can. A pink blush piques on his cheeks and the tip of his nose, lips red with the chill. He looks up suddenly— out of nowhere— and cocks his head, letting another smile curl onto his lips when the two of you make eye contact again.

You gasp and jump back, instantly turning on your heel to run up the stairs towards your bedroom, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

The smell of fresh baked cookies fills the house as you pull a pan from the oven. You hum in satisfaction, a small smile on your face as you scoop the sugar cookies onto the cooling rack before pulling your mom’s Santa Claus mittens off your hands and tossing them to the counter. Last Christmas by Wham plays from the small bluetooth speaker in the corner of the kitchen, A Charlie Brown Christmas on mute playing from the ipad leaning against the utensil holder.

There’s a random crackling from the fire you started in the living room as you move around, a whir from the mixer as it beats the eggs, powdered sugar, vanilla extract, and corn syrup together. You dip your finger into the mixture, popping it into your mouth and groaning as the sweetness explodes on your tongue before you pull the beaters out, slipping your finger down the stainless steel to collect the icing still stuck to them.

A knock sounds from the front door, permeating through the rather quiet house. You lean to the side, blinking at the door as a shadow shifts through the windows on either side. Shoving the icing laden finger into your mouth, you jog towards the door, bare feet heavy against the wood floor.

“One second, one second,” you mumble, wiping your hands on your pale pink cotton shorts before you tug at your hoodie and unlock the door. A sharp inhale of cold air fills your chest when you pull open the door to find one Andy fucking Barber standing on the opposite side, “Oh,” is all you can manage.

“Hey,” he smiles, “It’s been a few days, just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Being a biomedical engineering student, you can rattle off some of the most difficult, obscure words known to man with exactly zero problems. When it comes to social interaction with the hot, forty-something, lawyer next door? Your tongue is heavy, your brain… dumb.

His smile widens as you blink like a moron, his eyebrows climbing up his forehead as he waits for you to talk. Here’s the part where you speak, dumbass! “Um,” you stutter, “Sorry, I, uh, yeah, I’m okay. I’m good, sorry.”

“Smells good in here.”

Nodding, you bite your lip, your eyes everywhere but on his face— his stare just too much, “I’m making cookies.” you glance over your shoulder before you point, “Do you want to make some? I mean,” you slam your eyes closed, “Do you want to try some? Not, some, one, do you— do you want to try one? Or some… I guess… whatever.”

Idiot. You’re a bumbling, stumbling, idiot.

He chuckles, the rumble low and deep as he runs one of those big ass hands through his dark, soft looking hair, “That is the best offer I’ve had all day.”

He steps over the threshold, his fingers brushing over yours as he reaches to close the door. You snatch your hand from it quickly, wringing it within the other as you turn awkwardly and move towards the kitchen, swallowing hard, suddenly hyper aware of how bare your legs are.

“It’s Christmas Eve,” Andy starts from behind you, “I’m surprised to find you here and not out with some friends.”

You move behind the marble topped island in the center of the kitchen as Andy walks around the opposite side. His eyes are on you again, staring as you fumble with the spatula, your fingers going as dumb as your brain, dropping it with a loud clang. You don’t even know why— okay, you know why, but this is something deeper, something you haven’t experienced before.

“Oh,” you shrug, “No, I uh, I just kinda like to stay around the house.”

He nods slowly, “A homebody, huh? Me too.”

He makes you dizzy; his masculinity is intimidating. It fills up every little space in the room. His intelligence— worldly, experienced— oozes from him. He looks like you could ask him anything, anything, and he’d have the right answer for you. He could teach you a thing or two, that’s for sure.

A shudder creeps through your body, heat blooming across your skin, having to shift on your feet as your stomach flutters while you focus on icing this stupid cookie. The physical space he takes up unnerves you too. That wide, towering frame looming over you. Deft, thick fingers tapping gently against the countertop as you stumble around, your hands shaky.

There’s a stickiness. A warm, little wet spot in the center of your panties as stupid thoughts run through your stupid brain. You’re being ridiculous. Like this grown man would be interested in an inexperienced, socially awkward, in bed by eight thirty, little girl. Get a grip.

You slather some icing over the warm cookie and cautiously hand it towards him, clearing your throat and forcing a smile. Wringing your hands again, you find a little courage to lift your eyes just as he pops the small cookie into his mouth, closing his eyes as he chews slowly, a grunt sounding from deep in his throat.

Every muscle in your body clenches at the sound. It’s gorgeous— and if there’s anything your body appreciates, it’s a gorgeous man with a gorgeous grunt.

“It’s okay?” You squeak, timid and small before you nervously clear your throat.

“Shit, girl,” he moans again, licking his lips as he extends his hand again, “I could eat every single one of these.”

Nervous fingers clutch another cookie, adding a dollop of icing before you hand it over to him, eyes drifting up his chest and to his face as he devours the second treat. Your curious eyes watch with a longing. Pretty, thick, dark eyelashes closing again, splashing across smooth, slightly reddened cheeks. A pink tongue darts out of a wet mouth to slip along an inviting— too inviting— bottom lip, and you zero in on it. Chest rising and falling a little harder as you blink, in your own little world as you imagine just how much experience those lips, that tongue has.

There’s a hint of blue suddenly, his eyes no longer closed, now set squarely on you as those sickenly perfect white teeth emerge with another sly smile.

Another wave of embarrassment pushes through your veins, but you can’t look away from him this time. Locked in a heated stare, mind racing, palms sweaty as you watch Andy dip his index finger into the bowl of icing, scooping the sugary mix onto the pad of his digit.

“You like watching me, huh?”

Your mouth parts to answer, but nothing comes out, mouth and throat suddenly dry. He laughs at you, standing there, dumb and nervous, unable to form a coherent sentence as he pushes the tip of his finger into his mouth, sucking the icing from it slowly.

He’s moving, that much your brain can comprehend. Moving around the island, sliding the bowl of icing right to the edge where he dips his finger again, curling it to collect another glob.

Shallow, shaky breaths escape the small part in your lips, your chest and stomach so tight you’re surprised you can breathe at all. As it is, you have to rest your palm against the marble island, just to keep from falling over.

A long arm slips around your waist, nudging you forward— closer— so close that when one of those shallow, little breaths pushes out, your chest, well, your tits, brush against his. You picked a fine day to go without a bra. He drops his free hand to your waist, pushing it underneath your oversized hoodie to feel your skin as he wraps those long fingers around your hip, giving it a squeeze before he cups your chin.

“You have a boyfriend back at that fancy ass school?” He asks, eyes hooded as he tilts your head upward.

A hum vibrates through your chest before there’s a quick shake of your head as he pushes the icing over your bottom lip, smearing the sugary mix along it. He keeps your chin anchored in his hand as he stares down at you through slits, his own mouth dropping open as he coaxes yours.

“No, a smart girl like you doesn’t have time for boys, does she?” He purrs, “You probably haven’t even been touched by a boy.”

A squeak chokes in your throat as he teases you, pushing that finger back and forth, the tip pushing ever so gently into your mouth. He chuckles again, real low, menacing almost as he knows he has you right where he wants you.

“Ya know,” he starts, thumbs stroking your chin and jaw, “This Christmas cookie frosting would taste a hundred times better on you than my finger.” He smiles again, tilting his head, “Can I see?”

You mewl, pitiful and small as emotion pools in your eyes. You’re overwhelmed— nervous and unsure, wanting to be perfect. Womanly— but surely falling flat.

“Oh, baby,” he laughs, sweeping his thumbs underneath your eyes to catch the hot streaks, “Awww, it’s okay.”

Andy pushes in close, his lips brushing yours as he nuzzles his nose into the crook of yours, a low sound thrumming in his throat. He presses his cheek against your face, the soft hair of his beard pushing along your skin, goosebumps popping up all over. Your bodies start to sway in a slow rhythm, side to side, his warm breath washing over you as he smiles.

He pulls away, eyes traveling your face, “You haven’t even been kissed before?” When you don’t answer, he closes his eyes, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth, “No? Oh, my sweet girl. That is just,” he groans, eyes twinkling with an emotion you don’t even understand, “You are so perfect— so good.”

His forehead comes to rest on yours, his hands still corralling your face, fingers sticky. His tongue darts out quick, licking at your lips, dragging up to the tip of your nose. You shudder, bleating as the rough velvet passes over your mouth.

Andy moans again, sucking the icing into his mouth and swallows slow, “Yum.”

You’re jittery— clammy, as labored breaths push out of your mouth, a murky fog clouding your brain. Shaky whirs tremble through your chest as you shift on your feet, your panties sticking to your now throbbing pussy. Andy closes the distance between your mouths again, his eyes hooded as he nips at you.

Your eyes flutter, closing instinctively— waiting for the claim. It doesn’t come, not right away, making your eyes pop open, a childish whine squeaking out. You even stomp your foot a little. Twenty years is a long enough wait.

“Kiss me,” you breathe, not wasting a second, “Please, Andy—”

The words are barely out of your mouth before he grabs your lips, inhaling deep. His tongue fucks into your mouth, slipping along the roof before massaging yours, sucking lightly. You go limp against him, trying to keep up with the fervent kiss, but soon just let him take full control.

Andy pushes his hips into yours, pressing his hard cock against you, forcing you to break the kiss, gasping deep. He rests his forehead on yours again, tittering as he bites his bottom lip, “Never felt that before, huh? Mmmm,” he groans again, “I bet you feel good. So tight and warm— umph, I’m probably not even going to be able to fit my cock all in.”

You shudder at the thought.

He brushes the tip of his nose against yours, “I gotta open you up a bit, don’t I? Hmm? This sweet little cunt needs to get used to being stuffed full.” He turns you in his hands, presses his burly chest into your back, his lips to your ear, “I want you to finish icing these cookies like a good girl, okay? You do as daddy says.”

You don’t move, you can’t really, as you try to comprehend what’s going on. It takes Andy pushing his crotch into your ass, grinding your hips against the island and literally grabbing your wrists, making your hands grab the butter knife and a cookie before your brain catches up. With shaky fingers, you push the knife through the icing and slather it on one of the small, round, golden brown cookies.

“Good girl,” he praises, pecking your cheek, nuzzling into the side of your face, “Daddy wants you to focus.”

He drags his warm palms up your forearms, stroking gently before they fall to your sides. They push up into your hoodie, fingertips glancing across sensitive, untouched skin. Small laughter vibrates through his chest as you jump and gasp, huffing and keening as he explores.

Little kisses are pressed to your temple and side of your face as his hands venture up your sides, curling around your rib cage until he’s grasping your bare tits in both hands, squeezing and kneading— hissing as he grinds his rigidly hard cock into your ass.

You freeze, body going stiff as nimble fingers play with your thick, piqued nipples. Warm lips nip at your neck as you push back into his hips, wiggling slowly, the thin cotton of your shorts not proving to be much of a barrier at all.

Andy reaches around, plucking the cookie out of your hand and pops it into his mouth just as his free hand skips down your stomach— right into your shorts. You jut your hips forward as his fingers plunge through your folds, massaging your clit slowly as he murmurs in your ear.

“That’s what I love about virgins. The slightest little touch gets you all worked up.” He pulls his hand from your shorts, holding it out for you to see your slick coating his fingers— a string connecting from his index finger to the middle. He brings his wet fingers to your lips, steel eyes peering at you as he waits, “Clean ‘em up.”

He slides his free hand back into your sweatshirt, pushing it up over your tits before he tweaks your left nipple, rolling it slow as he pushes the tips of his fingers into your mouth. Sweet, tiny little whines sound from you as you accept his long fingers into your mouth, starting to suck gently, the taste of your arousal exploding on your tongue.

“That’s right, just like that baby.” He reassures, slipping a hand back into your panties.

Your mouth goes slack around his fingers as he toys with you, rubbing your achy clit as your hips start to move with his rhythm. Resting your weight against his sturdy body, you moan loud, pushing out hard breaths, eyes slipping closed, head rolling on his shoulder as his wet fingers slip from your mouth back to your left nipple.

His fingers start to tease your slit, pushing gently, slowly, until… a sharp yelp fills the kitchen as two fingers stuff you full. Andy wraps his arm around your waist, holding you to him, cooing in your ear as he continues to push in, “You’re okay baby. I know, I know sweet girl, we’re almost there. Just a bit more.”

Tears sting your eyes as your face strains from the pressure and pain of being spread for the first time. Once his fingers have disappeared, the heel of his palm pressing against your folds and clit, he pulls your chin towards him and licks at your mouth, sucking air in between his teeth.

“I can’t wait to fuck this sweet pussy,” he kisses you quick and hard, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth before he releases you with a loud smack, “I love a virgin cunt. It’s been a while since I’ve had one.”

You squeak when his fingers start to move, slow, deep, a squelch sounding as his fingers push into your muscles. It hurts, but there’s a twinge of good, something inside of you being pleasured once you push past the pain. The sweet taste of pleasure doesn’t stop the tears from rolling down your cheeks as his fingers pick up a brisk pace.

Andy growls in your ear, the sound scratching at the back of his throat, kind of hollow and breathy as he grinds his cock into your ass, “You havent fucked yourself like this before? I didn’t think I’d hurt you this bad with just my fingers, baby.”

A hot, rough wetness slides along your cheek, his tongue, lapping at you. You grab onto his forearm, feeling his muscles tense and flex as he fingers your innocence, digging your nails into the thick Shetland wool sweater covering his torso. He pushes deep, suddenly, making you cry out again.

He grunts, snaking his hand up into your hoodie to take a firm hold of your tit. Resting his forehead to the back of your head, he quickens his fingers, his hot breath on the back of your neck, quick swipes of his tongue and lips against your hypersensitive skin— making the miniscule hairs on your body stand on end.

His palm presses against your clit with each shove of his fingers. Strapping, hard chest flattened to your back, loud, husky moans in your ear. His hips roll and push, writhe into yours as his fingers start to thrash. Teeth sink into your shoulder, his tongue sliding and sweeping.

“Andy—” you cry, whimpering like a child, “It hurts. I— I can’t,”

“Oh, sweetheart.” His fingers slow and then stop, pulling out of you to rub your clit, soothing the balmy flesh. He turns you around in his arms as you cry, lifting you right from your feet, “I’m sorry. Shh, shh, I’m sorry, baby.”

The instant warmth of his mammoth chest and arms soothe the tumultuous pangs of anxiety coursing through you. Nuzzling in, the softness of his beard helps ease your nerves as you wrap two jelly arms around his neck. Andy’s big hands push up and down your back as he murmurs sweet nothings. Stomach tight, heart fluttering, face hot and wet with tears— you’re properly overwhelmed and overstimulated, and Andy could just eat it all up.

“You are so pretty when you cry, you know that? You did so good, baby. You took my fingers so well.”

You huff, disappointed, pushing your face deeper into his neck, “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, don’t do that,” he whispers, “It’s okay to not be ready.” He sits you back on your feet, pulling and adjusting your sweatshirt back over your chest. He pecks your lips quick before cupping your face in his hands, “It’s gonna make our first time together so much better.”

He pushes in to kiss you again, but stops, just as his lips brush yours. You get up on your tiptoes, wanting to meet his mouth but he’s quick, pulling away and stealing another cookie as he takes a step back.

“Thanks for the cookies, sweetheart.”

And just like that, with a wink and a smile, he’s moving out of the kitchen, the front door slamming behind him.

It might as well be the middle of a Texas summer heatwave in your bedroom. Exasperated, you throw the covers away from your body, skin slick with sweat as you wipe at your forehead. You’ve been like this all day— hot and irritated, stomach and mind jumbled, unable to focus on much of anything but thoughts of depravity. Pissed off at yourself more than anything; that you couldn’t take it all.

You sit up in the dark room, a sliver of moonlight spilling in from behind the thin curtains over your window. Snow flakes float down from the sky, glimmering, basking in the soft, natural light of the moon. Thoughts of Andy return. Reddened, full lips on your face, his soft, velvety, pink tongue forging its own path in the uncharted territory that is your mouth. His hands, big and warm, pinching and grabbing, pushing in deep.

Every muscle in your body clenches; achy cunt squeezing around nothing.

A soft light illuminates from the nightstand, followed by a buzz, a random alert from your twitter. But then, oh but then— Andy’s words come floating back to you. Better yet, let me give you my number. The sleek iphone is in your hand within seconds, fingers sliding over the keyboard, shooting off a text.

You 1:15am

You up?

Andy B. 1:17am

What’s a smart girl like you doing up so late on Christmas Eve?

An influx of air fills your lungs as your heart leaps.

You 1:17am

I can’t sleep…

Andy B. 1:18am

Want me to help with that?

You won’t be getting much sleep tho…

You 1:18am

That’s what I’m hoping…

Andy B. 1:19am

LOL, okay smarty pants, come wait for Santa with me, front door’s open

You’re already halfway down the stairs by the time his invite slides across the screen. You shove your feet into your Ugg boots at the bottom of the staircase and grab your jacket from the coat rack, pushing into it as you throw open the front door. Crossing your arms over your chest, you jog down the steps of the porch and start for Andy’s, an instant chill rattling right down to your bones.

Footprints in the snow follow you as you cross the lawn, a light crunch sounding underneath your feet, adding to the whoosh of a breeze that rips through the sleepy street. Once you’re on Andy’s porch, you reach for the door, pushing through the threshold and closing it softly with a click.

The house is dark, and quiet, a tiny point of light coming from the kitchen and the random ticks of a clock somewhere deep. Your jacket hits the floor, ugg boots thump against the wall as you kick them off, hand slides along the banister as you climb the stairs slow. Wide eyes adjust to the dark as you pad slowly down the long hall, passing by one closed door, and then another until you reach one that’s slightly ajar. Light spills out of it, splashing over your bare toes as you step right up to it, fingertips pushing against the door.

You find Andy propped up against his headboard, chest bare, legs spread— hard, pink cock sticking out of his boxers, gripped tight in his hand. He flips his eyes to yours as he strokes himself slow, pushing his hips into it, groaning at the sight of you.

The air in your body— the room— is sucked right out as you lock eyes. With a blink, your greedy eyes are on the move, down his hair smattered chest and chiseled stomach, over the dark blue boxer briefs, down his meaty thighs and toned calves, right to his curled toes and back up again.

You have to bite your lip to keep quiet.

“I’ve been,” the words out of his mouth come to a halt being replaced by a low grunt as he squeezes his cock, precum dribbling out of his slit, “Shit sweetheart, I’ve been thinking about you all day. Haven’t been able to cum since you left me all worked up.”

You bleat softly, blinking wild and nervous as you watch his hand slide up and down, palm and fingers sweeping over his mushroom head to collect the droplets of his arousal to push it down his shaft.

“Well, come on. Come touch me.”

It’s a good thing your feet aren’t as stupid as your brain, or else you’d still be standing in place. Before you can get your mind to catch up, you're pulling yourself towards the edge of the bed, falling forward, catching yourself with your hands. Crawling between his legs, your tank top hangs low, Andy’s eyes peering down your cleavage before you sit on your knees— hands trembling.

He reaches for you, grabbing your wrist gently, pulling your hand towards his towering cock. Guiding you slow, he wraps your hand around him, his hips jerking soft at the warmth of your palm and pushes your hand down to his base, before dragging it up to the tip. He helps you for a few more strokes, twisting your hand around him, guiding your fingers up over his cock head and then back down, squeezing your hand to apply a gentle pressure.

“That’s right, baby—ah—” he hisses, jutting his hips up into your hand, “Shit.”

You continue to pump him after his hand falls away, relishing in the small noises that sound from him— sending your heart soaring. His hips pulse into your hand, eyes fluttering as more cum bubbles out, slipping and sliding over your fingers. Andy reaches for the lamp on the nightstand, turning it out, covering the room in darkness except for the moon.

He’s beautiful like this. Chest tight and shuddering with each breath, dark eyelashes splayed over fair skin, a chorus of sweet, small little whines and praise pouring from him. A soft pink blush unfurling over his broad chest, creeping up his neck.

“Fuck baby,” breathless and strained, “You’re a fuckin’ pro already. My smart little girl.” You suck your bottom lip into your mouth but still can’t help the smile that tugs at the corners, “Oh, you like that?” Andy smiles lazily, “You like being my smart little girl?”

Hot lips are on yours before you can even form your mouth to answer. Flipped onto your back, strong hips digging into yours, his cock pushing against your covered clit and slit as he kisses you hard. It takes your breath away.

You’d always thought you’d be awkward, stiff and unknowing, once you finally reached this moment— nothing but teeth and elbows and knees in all the wrong places— but, there’s a natural instinct coming into play. You’re lost, but somehow intricately aware. Fingers creep up his biceps and curl around his shoulder blades, digging in as your hips push back into his. Mouth leans into the feverish kisses, tongue sliding with his.

Colossal hands push into your shorts, pushing them down before his feet knock them off the rest of the way. Your top is rucked up, up over your breasts, exposing more brown skin, two soft, jiggling mounds, two piqued nipples soon sucked into a warm, wet mouth. A long middle finger toys with your clit, rubbing circles before more fingers join, slipping through slick and skin as they play.

“Tell me,” hot, whispered words sting in your ear, “Tell me you like being my smart girl.”

Hips dig into yours once more, hard cock pushing against your sensitive nub, then pressing at your opening. You grab the back of his neck, moaning hard and loud as electricity bounces through your veins, “Andy—” you squeak, “I like—”

A sharp cry breaks through the words as Andy pushes hard, spearing you for the very first time. Pressure and pain courses through you, body going tight and stiff as he sinks deeper and deeper, large palms on your cheeks, forehead to yours, warm breaths and ragged, choked grunts washing over your face.

Hard kisses— one, two, three— on your lips as he holds your face, his eyes closed, mouth hanging as he sinks, sinks, sinks until you’ve taken him all. Your head is empty. Devoid of any real, coherent thoughts, unable to focus on any one thing; well, nothing other than the fullness.

“Tell me you like being my smart girl.” Andy rasps, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth, trying to keep himself together. He shifts, hips pulling away from yours, cock dragging out, “Come on baby, tell me you like it.”

Andy pushes his hips, pushes back into you, but real gentle and smooth, knowing you’re teetering— overwhelmed in more ways than one, a feeling that can turn south on a dime. So, he keeps his hands on your face, thumbs rubbing soft circles. He opens his eyes, giving you something to focus on as he moves gently— so, so gently. Keeping you present.

“Use those words, sweet girl. Talk to me.”

Water fills your eyes as you grip, nails biting into the meat of his sides as he fucks you slow and sweet. Heat burns through you, tiny sounds, choked sobs scratch at the back of your throat, but it’s good— feels so good. Your legs push up and around his waist, hands start to snake up his sinewy back, feeling the muscles flex and tighten as he makes you a woman— makes you his.

Safe. Warm. Cocooned between his heavy body and the light mattress. Hips rolling, pushing and pulling. Hot breath over hot skin. Quick, jumbled words, thick and ripe with a heady lust. You like being his smart girl. Gripping fingers, around your face, your wrists, your tits, hips, thighs, ankles— everywhere you could possibly imagine.

Andy flips you over suddenly, his back now pressed into the mattress as you lay on top of him. He positions you right where he wants you— sitting you up straight, positioning your hands against his brawny chest. He encases your waist with those massive hands, squeezing tight before the pads of his fingers drag along your thighs as you wiggle, getting used to the new position.

“Push up— that’s right, sweetheart,” he sighs softly as you follow his direction, “Now sit back down— slowly, baby, go slow.” His head falls back on the pillows as he exhales, a groan trembling through his chest, “God, yeah babe. Good girl. Up and down, up and down.”

Your fingers push through the tuft of soft, dark hair covering his chest as you ride him, lifting and sitting, rolling and bucking as you get a hang of it— catch a feel— your clit rubbing against his taut skin. You feel Andy trying to keep his composure, feel him trying to restrain himself, his hips. Watch his eyes flutter and close as his mouth goes slack again as he pushes up into you, meeting your increasingly greedy thrusts downward.

“I’m your smart girl,” you whisper, heart beating hard and fast in your chest as your confidence grows, “I’ve always wanted to be your smart girl.”

He jams up into you, much harder than anything you’ve felt so far.

A sharp yelp cracks into the silence and he grabs your wrists, runs his hands up your arms, before he cups your face, “Shhh, shhh, shhh, I’m sorry baby. I didn’t know it was gonna sound so sweet,” he laughs, “God, I fucking love hearing you say that.”

He drops a hand back to your chest, grabbing a handful of your tit, toying with your nipple, pinching and pulling. His other hand wraps around your hip again, helping to pull you forward, as he thrusts soft. You don’t move; you just let him fuck up into you, grab his hands and thread your fingers with his as you bounce.

Thrusts get faster; hips hurried, jabbing. Wet rasps fill the room, octaves soaring. You fall forward a little, unclasping his hands to catch yourself against his chest. Andy’s hands are back around your waist and hips as you fuck down onto him, chasing that little, dull ache in the pit of your stomach that grows with each push of his hips.

Andy has two full handfuls of your ass, growling loud, hips faltering— losing control as he forces you down on him. You take each hard thrust, tears spilling down your cheeks, pleasure and pain all wrapped up into one. Sweat and heat crawls along your skin, stomach goes tight, throat dries. You dig your fingers into his chest as your toes curl, whimpering and crying out, choking as the pressure builds.

You tighten— freeze quick, gasp hard as a white hot orgasm floods your veins, like a molten lava, oozing, spreading. Flattening yourself to Andy’s chest, you let him wrap his arms around your back and hold you tight as he fucks you through it. The meat of his thighs slapping against yours, your cunt sounding wet and filthy, squelching and convulsing as you come.

There’s another heat, quick and dense, filling you as Andy’s grunts grow deeper. His grip on your ass tightens as he spurts— your used cunt coaxing long, hot ribbons of white silk from his sensitive, red cock head. He falls out of you, dick wet and hard, pushing through your ass cheeks as his hips still churn out of habit and inherent instinct.

Hands are on your head, fingers wiping at your face and forehead, pushing hair away. You’re embarrassed— not sure why— and nuzzle into his neck, hiding your face as you tuck your hands into your chest protectively. Another laugh sounds from him, vibrates through you, as he kisses your forehead and rubs his bearded cheek against your face.

“You’re a sweet girl,” honeyed, his voice, smooth and sweet, slow drags of his hands up and down your back lulling you, calming you, suddenly nervous, “My sweet, smart little baby. You okay?” you nod, but it isn’t good enough, “Tell me.”

“I’m okay.” You sniffle, eyelashes clumped, cheeks wet, lips swollen and red.

You nuzzle into him more, taking a deep breath as you listen to his heartbeat. Another silence fills the room, Andy’s breaths soon turn deep, slow and rhythmic, his hands and fingers coming to a slow stop but still splayed out over your back. A quick press of your lips against his neck makes him shift, but doesn’t wake him. You press another on his chin before you settle down into him once more, watching as snow starts to fall again.

There’s a Christmas present sitting at the edge of the bed when you wake the next morning, your name scrawled out on the name tag. You tear into it, pulling out a small white box, the name LELO embossed over the top. Eyebrows firmly furrowed, you turn it over in your hand, mouth falling open as you read the description and eye the two twenty karat gold Ben Wa beads.

Andy appears in the doorway, a steaming cup in his hand, a smile on his face, “Merry Christmas. Santa came for you, huh?”

“Merry Christmas,” you glance away, “I don’t have anything for you.”

“That’s okay,” he shrugs, “I was a bit presumptuous after our little rendezvous in the kitchen— ordered those from Amazon yesterday.” He pads towards you, leaning down to kiss you quick before he hands you the hot mug, “Are you okay?”

A nervous giggle escapes through your lips, your head falling as you cover your mouth with your hand, “Mmhmm.”

Andy tips your head back upwards, pushing his index finger underneath your chin, smiling again before he kisses you all sweet and soft and slow, making you go all stupid and gooey again.

“What are these for?” You ask after he pulls away a few moments later.

His eyes twinkle in the sunlight as he winks, “Training. Now, lay back and spread your legs for daddy, little one.”

#andy barber #andy barber x black!reader #andy barber x reader #andy barber x you #andy barber smut #defending jacob #defending jacob fanfiction #defending jacob smut #avintagekiss24

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imagine-always-and-forever · 3 years

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Flutterings & Tequila - Part 13

A Klaus Mikaelson Imagine

Pairing: Niklaus Mikaelson x Reader

Summary: you’ve decided to go clubbing with your best friend the last summer before college starts to take your mind off of the Mikaelsons who have invaded your life this summer. Specifically, you’re trying to distract yourself from Niklaus Mikaelson and the flutterings he has caused you. Tequila is your friend tonight.

Part Summary: Clue hunting.

Warnings: typical stuff you’d see in the show

Word count: 3,115

Tags: elle88531, violentmommabear42, pisicakawritesshitatfour, a-quarter-horse-called-biscuit, hoeofnjadaka, thegingerthatwaited, despressolattes, aomi-nabi, pie46733, (let me know if you want to be tagged or I missed you out on the tag list!)

Authors note: so I’ve been saying I’d get back to this for ages. I know. But truthfully I hit such a brick wall that writer’s block as a concept had to add another tier to it’s existence just for me. Thankfully, for no clear reason whatsoever, it poofed away as some strong desire to write this again came to me after work. So... tada? Also I am sorry but so so many of you asked to be tagged (I’m very flattered!!!) that I think I’m missing a bunch of people. If I missed you send me a message and I’ll add you to the list. Enjoy 😊

You’re trembling slightly as you walk down your stairs, breath coming out shakily as you try to calm yourself down. You had 24 hours to find out at least something about what the Mikaelsons were doing here. 24 hours and no clue where to start.

Through the back window you could see Klaus and Elijah making their way out of the guest house. Their expressions were drawn and Klaus had a small black bag clutched in his hand. Your eyes darted to the door to the house. Were you that stupid?

The fact that your feet were already moving you forward gave you a clear yes, but at least you could report back to Josie that you did, despite her belief, have some sort of self-preservation. It was just a really fucked up kind.

The door to the guest house opened with ease. Of course the Mikaelsons didn’t think to lock it. What was the point? Who would try to get in to their home without their permission and who would live to tell the tale?

Well, hopefully you.

The painting supplies were still right where you left them. Your eyes swept across the room in front of you, cataloging what you saw. You’d helped Josie redecorate last summer, but it looked like the Mikaelsons took it upon themselves to do some of their own renovations. It was a little bit embarrassing how little of the place you’d payed attention to when you were here with Klaus.

They’d rearranged half the furniture for gods sake and you hadn’t noticed at all. With a frown on your face, you examined the new layout of the room. You wondered what prompted the rearrangement. The couches being moved about made sense to give Klaus extra space for his easels. But what was the purpose of switching the office area with the dining room?

The office, which you were truthfully rather proud of last summer, looked like Elijah’s doing. Two bookcases now sandwiched in the desk against what was supposed to be the accent wall of the room. Not a single bit of the pop of color on the wall was visible now. The imposing set up didn’t even look touched. You could feel your eyebrows tense as they tried to furrow further with your deepened confusion. Dust collected across the books on their shelves. You swiped a finger through it. Coated.

It surprised you that Elijah wasn’t as much of a neat freak about his environment as he was abou his appearance. Though, you suspected if he was he’d have spent most of his millennia+ on earth cleaning up after his siblings. You snorted to yourself. Didn’t he already do that?

A blank space on one of the shelves drew your eye. Amongst a sea of books and paperweights, a patch of dustless real estate on an otherwise packed bookcase stared back at you. If those Nancy Drew books you read as a child had taught you anything, that prominent rectangle of empty space meant that something had been moved. And recently.

That, you smiled to yourself, was a lead.

A scan of the desk and the rest of the shelves confirmed that whatever it was hadn’t simply been reorganized. You pulled open the drawers of the heavy oak desk. Pens, paperclips, highlighters, sticky notes, stapler, hole punch, scissors, and more pens. No. Notebooks, empty folders, the coffee maker’s instructional guide. No. Empty space with a single pen cap rolling around. No.

A dead end.

You got down on your knees. The floor was clean. Under the couches, too. The ottoman with the lift up storage option, empty. The side tables small draw with it’s tendency to stick (a single missing screw from Ikea can really screw your building abilities), empty. You moved to the TV console, frustration building.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

You checked the shelves. You were too short to reach the top ones but the Mikaelsons weren’t. You grabbed a chair and stepped up. It was in vain. Careful to put it back as you’d found it, you moved the chair in defeat. You checked the kitchen. Drawers and cupboard were empty. The fruit salad in the fridge seemed to judge you and you sighed. You didn’t expect it to be in the fridge but it was almost eight at night and you’d torn the downstairs of this house a part.

The Mikaelsons could be back any minute and you’d found nothing. What if there was nothing? Had you wasted hours of your short time frame on trying to find something that didn’t exist?

It dawned on you that Klaus’s little black bag just might have –

A groan escaped your lips. What a colossal waste of time. Time that to you did not have to waste. You closed the fridge, head coming down to lean on the cool stainless steel door in defeat. Maybe there was a clue you could find back in the main house. Josie’s room might have something that you could give Jess.

With a deep breath, you straightened up. No point in giving up until Jess’s voice was ordering you to kill yourself. Josie would expect nothing less from you, and in truth, so do you.

As you walked through the house to the door you passed by one of the many shelves you checked and just like in one of those long rumored witch’s intuition stories, something pulled your eye to it once again. Something pulled your eye directly to an unassuming wooden framed photo that you didn’t register as new. So, something you’d had to have seen a million times by now, surely. But why then did it feel so very important to look at it?

You walked over, cautious of this intense urge in your blood. It was often hard to tell with magical urges if something was for good intent or bad.

The photo was in black and white. A little girl sat on a dock, one tooth missing right in the front. A man in an ornate three piece suit that had to predate the Georgian era stood by her, looking out of place but pleased with himself. Beside him was a boy that looked around your age. He was scowling in the photo. In his had he held something tightly, as if he would die if it were ever lost to him. Your eyes scanned the photo back and forth, that feeling still present. What was it? What were you supposed to see?

The background of the photo was just water. A lake most likely. There were no lakes here. Where were they? Who were they? You leaned in to get a closer look. The photo quality was bad and it wasn’t until you looked hard that you realized it wasn’t a photo at all. A painting. A small, incredibly detailed painting.

Klaus?

But no. How? You knew this painting wasn’t unfamiliar to you. You also knew that some how you had never noticed it. How could you go so long seeing something so often, convinced it was just a photo of something unimportant?

Almost like magic. Why would anybody spell this little painting with an unnotable spell? More specifically, why did Josie (because it had to be her) cast this spell when you were the only other person than her to see it? You didn’t have guests usually. It was why you had been so surprised when she had announced the renovation of the guest house last summer.

The moment the skin on your fingers touched the painting’s surface, a vision clear as an actual photo slammed into your mind’s eye. Blinded by the image, nothing existed but it and you were enraptured what you saw.

It was the exact image that had been painted, but the details were sharp. You could see the threads of the man’s suit. The pours of the little girl. The splintered wood of the old dock. Everything of the moment preserved perfectly in a snapshot.

There was no sound. You felt nothing from the scene. This was not a vision of the past that let you experience the moment with those in it. You could see the wind sweeping through the girl’s locks but you couldn’t feel a thing. This was the scene of the painter through the painter’s very eyes.

But who’s eyes? And who were these people?

You looked focused on their faces. The little girl’s slightly downturned nose and her rounded jaw clicked in your mind as your eyes rested on her’s. Josie. A young Josie. This made sense. This was a memory Josie had that she wanted to keep private. But why? And why keep the painting if she wanted it secret? The man beside her was probably her father, right?

As your eyes shifted to his features and they sharpened into view for you, Josie’s body blurred away. No, you realized. That was not Josie’s father. Though you had never met the man or seen his photo before, you knew this was not him. Because this was Elijah Mikaelson.

At least it made sense now how they knew Josie. Old friends indeed. But what on earth was Elijah doing standing on a dock on some lake with a Josie when she was a child and a boy? As your eyes darted to the boy, the change of the image didn’t surprise you. Josie and Elijah blurred and he came into focus.

Despite not having known him for as long or studying his face too much, it was clear by his eyes that you were staring at a teenage Jess.

You gasped and were ripped from the image.

Around you, the guest house came back into view. In your hands, clutched tightly, was the photo. Your heart rate was up and you didn’t know when you had started to breath so quickly or so hard. You blinked your dry eyes. Josie, Jess, and Elijah?

The sound of wheels pulling up on the gravel drive had your head shooting up. They were back. You didn’t have time to get to the house and though beautiful, Josie’s flower filled garden didn’t actually give you much cover to hide. Without a second thought, you dashed up the stairs.

The bathroom door was open and from downstairs, it was easy to see. Too obvious someone was here. The bedroom beside it was locked and you didn’t have time to find the spare key somewhere on top of the door. The closet next to it was too small with the vacuum in it. It wouldn’t do. You spun around, unsure how close the Mikaelsons were and if they were listening.

The other bedrooms had their doors open. Shit. Too suspicious. One door, directly across from the stairs remained. Could you even make it before they opened the door?

You didn’t have a choice. The handle to the room jiggled and the door clicked open. You slipped inside and went to close it as gently as possible when the front door opened. You froze. The door was still a jar. They’d notice if for sure.

“Well that was fun,” Kol sighed and you heard him flop onto the couch.

“It wasn’t supposed to be fun,” Rebekah huffed and her heels clicked on the floor as she made her way through the house.

“Drink?” Elijah asked nobody in particular.

“I’m going to bed,” Rebekah said with a short tone and you almost squeaked in fear as you realized she was starting up the stairs.

“Don’t be so dramatic, sister!” Kol called after her.

“You’re a reckless idiot without a scrap of self-control,” she seethed back.

“It’s not like he actually liked you,” Kol scoffed.

Something expensive sounding shattered followed by Kol’s laugh.

“May I remind you that this is not our home?” Elijah’s calm voice of reason came.

You waited with baited breath for something to happen next. If Kol could get one more quip in to make Rebekah break something else you could use the distraction to close the door properly.

“What happened?” Klaus said, evidently just entering the house.

“I’m going to bed,” Rebekah stated and you closed your eyes as a curse tried to come out of your lips.

“Sister,” Klaus stopped her and his voice was much closer now. He was on the stairs with her, you guessed. “You cannot get angry every time one of your many suitors gets eaten by our brother. You know how he is,” he explained in a hushed voice with a taunt.

Something smashed against the wall again.

“KOL,” Elijah reprimanded.

A thud sounded against the wall and you reached for the door, ready to close it if another opportunity struck.

“Enough property damage,” Klaus told his brother.

“It was her fault anyway. You know it,” Kol argued.

“I was getting him to trust me,” Rebekah’s voice was further away. She must have joined her brothers down stairs again.

“And that involved opening your legs for him, did it?”

You knew it was coming so as Rebekah jumped to attack her brother, you ceased the moment to shut the door. The soft click would be lost to them as they tried to pull their sister and brother apart.

The room you were in hadn’t been touched since the renovation. You walked over to the window to see if there was any feasible way down.

“Deal with it,” Klaus’s voice came from just outside the door.

You whipped around, eyes wide, as you realized they solved the little dispute far faster than you thought they would. You dropped to the ground as you heard Elijah reply to his brother. The door clicked open as you lifted the duvet and scooted yourself as quietly as possible under the bed.

Luckily, Klaus’s instructions invoked a lot of opinions from his siblings. He stood in the doorway and barked out orders at them. Something else was thrown. As you spelled your breath silent, you spared a thought for all the things you’d have to replace by the time the Mikaelsons moved out.

Klaus shut the door with a harsh thud and switched on the light by the bed. You squeezed your eyes shut at the sheer bad luck you had that this of all the rooms was his.

Klaus moved around the room, silent except for his steady breathing. Something was placed delicately on a surface in his room. Then, he moved to the window and you heard it slide open. He breathed deeply. The rustling sound of fabric peaked your interest. Something landed on the bed. The unmistakable sound of a zip had a flush come to your face. Oh no.

Another thing was thrown on the bed. You imagined Klaus’s shirt and jeans piled on his sheets. This was bad. He was going to bed. You were going to be stuck down here for the night.

Klaus opened his door. Huh? And then he left. Wait what?

Cautiously, you lifted the duvet and peeked out. Nothing. You scooted to the other side of the double bed, wincing as the underneath spring of the bed caught your hair and it pulled. The other side confirmed that he had definitely left and shut the door behind him.

Apparently the plus side of hiding under the bed of a paranoid hybrid with even his siblings at times out to get him was that he kept his room strictly closed off to everyone else.

You scooted out from under the bed. The window, now open, was your best bet. Who was to say if the path to the door was empty or if you could open the front door without alerting anyone. A well timed cushioning spell would make the rose bush you’d land on hurt a little less. The thorns would still be a bitch though.

A sudden realization hit you that you forgot the painting at some point in your scooting. You rushed back to the bed and had to scoot back under a bit to reach it. As your hand touched it, you were once again rushed into the snapshot of the scene.

This time you knew you weren’t the painter. You looked down to your right at the top of Josie’s head. To your left was Jess. This was Elijah’s view. Which meant, if you looked straight ahead you’d most likely see –

It wasn’t Klaus.

You frowned. You were sure it would be Klaus. But you didn’t recognize the man painting on the tiny canvas in front of him with a concentrated look on his face. He had brown thinning hair and a sullen face with cupid bow lips and a nose people would pay good money for. He was an odd man that was handsome and not. You wondered who he was and tried to get the image to focus in further to find some distinguishing feature of some sort.

You were once again ripped back into reality as you registered the sound of footsteps outside the door. The window would have to wait and you dived back down and rolled under the bed, hitting you head as you did so. You bit your lip in pain as the door opened.

Klaus was back.

You couldn’t say if he was gone long or not as you had no idea how much time you had been lost to that vision. It didn’t seem long, but then again they never did.

Klaus sighed. The distinct sound of a towel rubbing against hair was the only sound in the room for a while as you put together that he just came from a shower. So, he was probably naked. You bit your lip for a different reason. You listened as Klaus toweled himself dry. He pulled a drawer open and assumingly put on some kind of clothing. You hopped it was at least a pair of underwear.

The bed dipped as Klaus sat. The lamp was clicked off. Shuffling from above. The bed dipped in different places as Klaus got comfortable. As luck was not your fan, he settled directly above you. You didn’t dare scoot one way or another. He’d surely hear it.

So you were spending the night here then. Great.

Klaus fidgeted above you again, having the gal to not find a comfortable position for the night. You stared at the springs and mattress centimeters from your face in annoyance. To be fair, this could have been the comfiest floor in the world and you still wouldn’t be sleeping tonight. Not with Klaus above you and the rest of the Mikaelsons scattered about the house. No hope of escape until morning.

A sharp inhale cut through your self pity. Another one. Was he…?

#Klaus Mikaelson #klaus mikaelson imagine #klaus mikealson x reader #the originals imagine #flutterings & tequila #part 13 #niklaus mikaelson #niklaus mikaelson imagine #niklaus mikaelson x reader #oh my god it's been over a year since the last part #damn writers block and inspiration really be like that #idk why i'm back at it either but let's hope it lasts i'm having fun

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hallowed-be-thy-username · 4 years

Text

Can you do J trying to surprise reader cause she had a rough day once she gotten off work and j thought of something that he think it'll make her sequel with joy

Thank you so much for your request @jokerslittlekeeper 💖❤️💕💜 I’ve had some really rough days lately myself so this was nice to write, I really hope you like it!!

Self-insert, Ledger Joker x fem reader, romantic relationship, fluff

Word count: 1,827

Warnings: light alcohol consumption

Dinner with a Show

Well today was shit. Nothing seemed to go right, everyone was in your face about something and on top of that, you didn’t get lunch and you were starving. People could probably see the dark cloud hanging over your head while you walked to the bus stop after work. You kept your eyes down to avoid eye contact with anyone and stared at the cracked pavement beneath your feet. You tried not to let things like that get to you but when one thing after another jabs you in the side all day, you start to break down.

Too tired to watch where you were going, you walked straight into a ‘road work’ sign, tripping over your own feet until you fell hard onto the sidewalk. You quickly stood and rubbed your sore knee, fighting the tears that gathered under your eyelids and trying to ignore people’s stares around you. You just had to get home and forget this day ever happened.

At first you wanted to be alone, just crawl under your covers and shut out the world outside. But you wished J was with you. Getting involved with the Joker certainly wasn’t something you could have seen coming but what started with you becoming a hostage when you went to deposit your paycheck at the bank, has turned into the strangest relationship you’ve ever been in. J knows what makes you cry, what makes you laugh, what brings you joy. You’d think he’d use this to his advantage and he does, but only to make you happy. Your smile seems to be the only one he takes pleasure in seeing.

You felt warm just thinking about him being near you and you pulled out your phone to type a message. You closed your eyes and sighed as you sat at the bus stop, hoping you’d hear back. The bus arrived as the street lights flickered on above you and when you got to your seat, the phone buzzed in your hand and you took a breath before looking at the screen to see a message from an unknown number.

‘half hour. your place.’

Your heart fluttered and a little smile pulled at your cheeks for the first time all day. The ride home was already easier just knowing he was coming to see you. You certainly can’t go on a typical date but he always seemed to find a way to put his own spin on a night out. You didn’t really know what you wanted but you just wanted him with you.

It didn’t take long after changing your clothes and freshening up for your phone to ring.

“Hey, doll.”

Your eyes lit up at the sound of his voice and you answered, “Hey, J.”

“Come downstairs, the usual spot.” he said before hanging up.

You quickly slid your shoes on and locked up before heading down the hall to the stairs at the back of the apartment building. Housing in Gotham proper was often a gamble on what you’d have to deal with. Whether it was rats, leaky pipes, or paper thin walls, it was always something. But you were lucky enough to find a place that just had creaky floors and as a bonus, a secluded lot behind it where J could pick you up. The back door of the familiar black car opened and you climbed in to be met with J’s lips crashing into yours while he pulled you close.

You melted into his touch as he held your face before gently breaking the kiss, your eyes still closed. “Rough day, doll face?”

Your eyes opened to meet his dark-rimmed gaze and you sighed, nodding your head. “Its getting better now, though,” you answered.

He chuckled and tucked a stray hair behind your ear before replying with a smirk, “Well I may have thought of something to, ah, cheer you up.”

You couldn’t help the big smile that grew on your face. You hoped he would say that. “Really?”

“Mmhm. Ya hungry?”

“Starving.”

He chuckled louder and said, “Let’s fix that, hm?”

The car pulled away down the street while the last of daylight disappeared behind the towering buildings. Your muscles finally began to relax as you leaned against J in the back seat. He hummed and put his hand on your thigh. Even through his glove it felt warm. When the car stopped you noticed it had pulled up in front of your favorite Italian restaurant. Your heart sank a little because you knew they weren’t open on Mondays and you tried to tell J but he’d already gotten out of the car.

When you closed your door you noticed him walking toward the alley on the side of the building, looking at you with a smirk before beckoning you to join him. You followed down the alley to see him knelt in front of the side door with a pick in the lock.

“Now I know your favorite place is closed on Monday, which just so happens to be ah to-day, but I still want ya to have a nice dinner.”

Before you could respond, he had the door open and disappeared inside.

“J! What d’you mean?” you called out as you tried to catch up to him, his purple coat swishing through the door at the back of the dining room.

Once you pushed the swinging metal door open, you saw him with his coat and gloves off and his sleeves rolled up. He started clanging pots and pans around underneath the stainless steel countertop and you giggled. “So you’re cooking for me?”

He grinned at you with a delighted look in his eyes and said, “I’m a man of many, uh, talents, princess,” before wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Your heart did a little flip as you grinned back, unable to hold back a little squeal of excitement. “Well I’ll just sit back and enjoy the show then.”

You looked around and spotted a stool by the door then pulled it up the the countertop to sit down and rest your chin in your hands, propped up on your elbows. He chuckled through his nose and set a large pot on the counter before sauntering over to the fridge. Opening the door to lean his head inside, he started humming to himself while he nonchalantly tossed various items over his shoulder in search of what he needed. You couldn’t help but laugh as vegetables, eggs, and containers of various sauces hit the floor behind him while he paid no attention to the mess he was making. He finally emerged from the fridge with his arms loaded up with ingredients.

Your stomach started to growl so loud he could probably hear it. “So what are you making?”

“Welll, what is it that you always get?” he asked in return.

“Chicken alfredo,” you answered without having to think about it, the order already at the front of your mind.

He clicked his tongue and winked, letting the items in his arms tumble onto the counter while you smiled at him. You were so excited to eat your favorite dish, and not to mention curious about whether he could actually cook.

J ignited the burner on the giant stove and poured oil in a pan that he put over the flame. The fact that J had it in him to produce a controlled fire and not let it grow out of control was already a surprise to you. He made you laugh as he made a big show of dropping chicken to cook in the oil and flinging spices on it, making an absolute mess. For his next trick, he threw butter and garlic in another pan then added heavy cream to make the sauce, pouring the cream from as high up as he could reach so that it splashed everywhere. While that simmered, he reached for the handle of an impressively large kitchen knife. You found yourself holding your breath when he started spinning it around, doing tricks and tossing it in the air to twirl around and catch it before swiftly cutting up the cooked chicken as you sighed with relief, making him chuckle. Then he stuck his finger in the boiling hot sauce before putting it in his mouth to taste it.

“J!” you exclaimed.

He shrugged with a smile, clearly unfazed by the burning hot liquid, and concluded that it was to his liking before grabbing a huge handful of prepared fettuccine pasta from a container. He slapped it into the sauce with a splash, laughing when he saw you got some on your face. Letting it all simmer together for a minute or two, he grabbed two plates and started searching the kitchen for something.

Just when you were going at ask what he was doing, he shouted, “Ah!” before coming back to the counter with a bottle of champagne and two glasses. He smirked at the huge grin on your face while peeling the foil from the top then aimed the bottle and popped the cork off, sending it whizzing through the air to hit a light switch, lowering the light in the room. You giggled and looked at him with your eyes sparkling like the champagne. A smug smile on his face as he could see you were clearly impressed, he tipped the bottle of bubbly to take a swig before pouring it in the glasses.

You sipped from your glass and next thing you knew, a big plate of alfredo-dressed fettuccine topped with delicious smelling chicken was placed in front of you. You looked up from the plate with a smile to meet his gaze with yours, heavy-lidded and full of admiration. He returned it and held his glass up for you to tap yours against it with a clink before you both dug in to the best chicken alfredo you’d ever had.

“You know this means you’re gonna have to start cooking for me all the time now, right?” you said while J drained the last of the champange down his throat, both of your bellies full.

He snorted and replied, “Mmm is that so?”

He laughed when you nodded with a satisfied expression then approached you with a sly grin, turning your stool to face him before putting his hands on your thighs and leaning in to kiss you. Your eyes closed while you savored it, the warmth and tenderness of it adding to the sleepiness that was making your eyelids heavy. After helping you down from your perch, he reached for his coat then wrapped it around your shoulders as you both headed for the door to go home. Before leaving the kitchen, he stopped in front of the dessert case and opened it to grab a huge chocolate cake while you giggled.

You fell asleep with your head on J’s shoulder in the back of the car, your hunger more than satisfied and your mind finally at ease.

#heath ledger joker #the dark knight #ledger!joker #tdk joker #joker fanfiction #fluff #romance #tw alcohol

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