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gurugirl · 3 months

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The Handyman | a check-in*

Summary: You and Harry throw a housewarming party and your ex shows up with some advice for whoever built the kitchen counter. Harry makes sure to prove to you how well-built his countertops really are.

A/N: Based on this idea! Previously posted on Patreon. Read the original one shot here.

Word Count: 3,613

Warning: smut, the tiniest touch of jealousy/possessiveness

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You hadn’t intended for your little housewarming party to turn into a whole thing. Harry said he’d help you invite people from town, a way to make more friends and get to know some of the locals a bit better. But then when your dad told your cousin that you were throwing a small party she let it slip to someone from your past. Van, your ex. She apologized, saying she didn’t think he’d be interested until he asked for more details. But you weren’t going to be rude and uninvite anyone because the house was big enough for everyone. And you did say “open invitation” after all.

“Y/n, it’s so nice to see you again,” Van pulled you in for a hug when he arrived. You put on your nicest smile and attempted to act happy to see him. And it wasn’t that you disliked the guy but the awkwardness of dealing with an ex you hadn’t seen in a while was a bit daunting.

“Oh my gosh. You too! I’m surprised to see you here. All the way out in the middle of nowhere!” It truly was a surprise. It was an hour’s drive from the city to get to your house. And even though your cousin told you she told him and he seemed interested, you half expected he wouldn’t show up.

You made small talk with him before excusing yourself to go to the kitchen except he followed you.

“This house really does look nice, Y/n. Did you have help with all this?”

“Thank you. And yes. I had someone help with everything. Harry’s been so amazing. Listened to what I wanted but he already had his own ideas which I loved so much. Kept almost everything original.”

Van ran his palm along the butcher block island and ducked down to check the construction of the cabinets beneath, “Who’s Harry?”

“Harry owns a small company doing all kinds of work for people in town. He helped me restore the whole place and landscape. I mean, he basically did all the work but… yeah. He’s also my boyfriend.”

Van raised a brow at you, “Boyfriend huh?”

“Yep. Boyfriend. He’s actually here somewhere.”

He nodded as he inspected the window over the sink, “Not sure if you remember or not but I became an architect. Wish you’d have called me. I could have really done this place justice. Sort of feels like some of this could have been upgraded.”

“Oh? Like what?”

You caught Harry’s eye when he stood at the entry between the kitchen and the dining room as he spoke to a few people he knew.

“Well this window for example,” Van pointed, “I would have pushed this whole wall out, made a breakfast nook over the patio since there’s so much space at the front. Could have put in built-in bench seating and it would have given you so much more light in the kitchen and increased the value of the property.”

“I mean that sounds really nice but I wanted it to be original. Expanding the walls and windows like that sounds like too much. And I’m not planning on selling it so increasing the value doesn’t appeal to me.”

“I just hope he knew what he was doing. If someone’s not quite qualified you could have shoddy workmanship that shows later. Like all the cabinets and these new countertops,” he knocked on the surface, “might look fine now but give them a year and you’ll see if it’s up to par.”

Suddenly Harry was wrapping his arms around your front and kissing your neck as Van was then suggesting a rebuild of the staircase to expand the width. You placed your hands over Harry’s forearms and grinned at the feel of his lips on your skin. His distraction had almost made you forget that Van was still talking until he slowly got quieter as he looked between you and Harry and realized you were no longer listening.

Harry kept his eyes on Van as he pressed warm kisses to your neck. It was a signal to Van. You were taken and you were happy and Harry wasn’t some pushover. You were his girl and he was letting Van know.

“This the ex you were telling me about,” he whispered into your ear so Van wouldn’t hear it.

You nodded and giggled, turning to look at Harry when Van cleared his throat.

Harry stood up straight and put his hands on your shoulders, “Sorry to interrupt like that. I’m Harry, Y/n’s boyfriend. You are?”

“Oh, I’m an old friend. I’m Van,” he put his hand out to shake and Harry wrapped his big palm around Van’s with a nod.

“Nice to meet you, Van. Now, what were you suggesting I do differently?”

Van’s eyes widened slightly, “Oh… I wasn’t saying you should do anything different… it’s just that there were some ideas…”

You were no longer interested in what Van had to say at all when you felt Harry’s hand slide down to your hip. It felt like a possessive move. You’d never known Harry to be jealous or anything but that whole exchange had you seeing a bit of a different side of him.

“Definitely some good ideas, Van. But we’re happy with keeping things original. Feel free to have a look around at everything if you like. Only room off limits is our bedroom upstairs that’s locked, but otherwise, knock yourself out.”

Neither you nor Van missed Harry saying our bedroom upstairs.

“Okay. Well, thank you. Yeah, I mean I think you’ve done a great job here and…” Now Van was backtracking.

Harry nodded, “The most important thing is that Y/n is happy with how everything turned out and the quality of construction is the best,” he rapped his knuckles on the countertop, his brow raised at Van.

Van kept his distance until he left a couple of hours later, only hugging you quickly and telling you, once again, how nice it was to see you. You weren’t sure why he showed up in the first place. Maybe, being an architect, he was genuinely curious about the new house you bought and had help restoring. Or maybe he was hoping to rekindle something long gone but then was caught off guard by Harry.

“I can see why you love it here,” your cousin nudged your arm as she ogled Harry who was talking to a woman animatedly.

You laughed softly, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Your boyfriend, obviously. Damn. Who knew small-town men looked like that? You’re living your Lifetime movie dreams babe. Old mansion, aunt’s inheritance, hot local who helped you fix the place up falls in love with you…”

You laughed through your nose and shook your head, “I’m not saying I’m not agreeing with you but… I would have stayed here with or without Harry. He’s just the cherry on top.”

“Oh, I bet he’s the cherry on top. So…” she looked around the space and then back at you, “He’s living here with you then?”

You nodded, “Yep. When we started dating it was just kind of the natural next step. I think my dad thought it was too fast but I didn’t want to be away from him at night anymore and he didn’t like it either. I suggested that he just stay and… well that’s really it. He’s here for good. Plus he put so much love into this house. It feels like it’s just as much as his as it is mine.”

You could admit, everything looked fantastic. Harry had made your home into something you could see yourself living in until you were old and grey. Something you were proud to show off to everyone. It was a labor of love, for both of you.

. . .

When everyone had gone, you were wiping up the countertop when your sponge was plucked from your hands and Harry pulled you back into his chest, “So Van thinks the construction of this counter isn’t well done?”

You turned in his arms and grinned up at him, “You know the construction is fine. It’s the best. Don’t worry about what he said. I don’t think he could tell from just looking anyway.”

“Did you like him a lot when you two dated?” Harry pushed you gently back toward the counter, your bottom hitting the edge.

“Why? You’re not jealous are you?”

Harry licked his lips and squeezed your hips before sliding his hands up to your waist and lifting you to sit on the smooth surface you’d just wiped down. You laughed and grasped onto his shoulders.

“Of course, I’m not jealous of Mr. Architect. But I do want to demonstrate how sturdy everything is. I’m not the type to cut corners, you know…” he dragged his big hands up your sides and one up your spine until his fingers found the back of your neck, collaring you with his big palm as he bumped his nose into yours.

You giggled and pushed your arms over his shoulders, “Seriously, Harry. I know how sturdy everything is. No need to prove anything to me.”

“Mmm… I know I don’t have to prove anything,” he smoothed his lips against yours gently, and slowly with the poke of the tip of his tongue at your plush lips igniting the furnace in your tummy that always simmered with need for him. But when he got like this… with his hands on your body and his mouth prodding at yours… the simmer turned into a boil.

You felt one of his hands travel down your hips and then to your thigh where he bunched the material of your skirt in his palm until he’d pushed the fabric out of his way and teased his finger up and down along the edge of your panties next to your crotch.

Spreading your legs for him you leaned back slightly and parted from the kiss with a laugh, “We gonna do this right here, Harry?”

He splayed both of his hands over your bare thighs and squeezed. His eyelids were heavy as he roved his pupils from where he was holding your plush thighs then up to your face, “Wanna?’

You couldn’t help but giggle again and bite your lip as you nodded.

“Mmhmm… Thought you’d want to. Given how wet your panties are right here,” he pressed his thumb over the crotch of your knickers, “Bet you need it more than I do, sweetheart.”

He smeared his thumb around the material of your sodden panties, wetting the pad of his digit before finding your clit and pressing into it. A breathy pant fell from your lips.

“What got you like this, Y/n? What happened, sweetheart?”

“Nothing, just you.”

“Me? Are you sure about that?”

“Always you, Harry.”

He grinned and pushed the fabric of your panties aside as he kept his soft green eyes on you, “What about me does this to you, hmm? You just like me so much that you start dripping?”

You felt your face heat up. Harry often liked to ask you questions that got you a little shy or embarrassed when you had to answer. And even though you should be used to it by now you still got a bit antsy. But fuck if you didn’t love it.

“Yeah. I really just like you so much…”

Harry’s grin never faltered as he kept his gaze pinned to yours and pressed his thumb at the entrance of your pussy, taunting it open until he had pushed it all the way in and you gasped. He began slipping it in and pulling it out, “I know you do. And I love how much you need me,” he continued fucking you with his thumb, “How your body reacts to me. Look at you, Y/n…” he dipped his gaze down to where he was thrusting his thumb into you, “Letting me fuck you with my thumb on the countertop I installed. Making a mess of my palm and I bet the quartz under your ass too. Almost shaking you need it so bad.”

You grunted and rolled your hips up against his thumb, pressing him in further and Harry groaned at your little pathetic wiggle.

Releasing one of your thighs he hooked a finger into the bottom hem of your blouse and pushed upward, “Arms up.”

Raising your arms overhead harry pulled the shirt from your torso and then pulled your bra down, exposing your tits one at a time until you were pouring out over the stretchy material. With his thumb still inside of you, he ducked down and wrapped his lips over your nipple, tongue first.

You moaned and closed your eyes when Harry moved to your other breast, pumping his thumb through your walls until it was all gushy sounding. He stood back, pulling his thumb from you and then bringing it up to his mouth, wrapping his lips around it to lick off every drop of you while his other hand worked at his button to get his pants undone.

There you sat at the edge of the counter with your legs spread and your wet pussy on display. Your panties were stretched to the side and out of the way but you could feel the elastic digging into the back of your thigh and your bum.

Harry pulled himself out of his pants, his gorgeous cock already at full mast and ready to split you in half. He cradled the underside of his shaft as he stepped in toward you and held your thigh in place as he smudged his tip into your labia, spreading your arousal through your crease. The dirty look on his face was heated, like he was about to overtake every part of you.

“Hold onto my back, sweetheart. Gonna fuck you on this well-made countertop now,” he smirked at you cheekily.

You would have laughed but you were already feeling his tip at your pulsing muscle and the anticipation of him stretching you open was making your head spin.

He rocked forward, his thick crown penetrating you and opening you up as he stuffed himself in. It took a few pumps of his cock in and out to burry into the hilt. He gasped when he felt your pussy devour him whole.

Your fingers clung to his back as he began to thrust, long and languid, wet and hot.

“Fucking hell… Got me so weak for you, sweetheart. So desperate to feel you around me all the time. Wanted to fuck you on this counter right in front of your ex-architect so he could see who’s fucking you these days, who’s treating you right…”

You moaned with every deep nudge of his cock through your wet channel. But when he ran his thumb over your clit you croaked out loudly, “Fuck! Yes…”

“See? Look how good I am to you… give you the best don’t I?”

You nodded, “The best, Harry…”

He crashed his lips to yours as he worked your cunt with his cock and his thumb and the languid thrusts turned into frantic jerking motions with his tip nudging into your guts, a hint of pain spreading through your insides at the way he bullied his thick length into you. He rocked his hips against you, the sound of smacking flesh and muffled moans between kisses filtered out through the open window onto your porch. Luckily you had no neighbors anywhere near so no one would know the kinds of things that went on in that old house every evening.

Your thighs were trembling with every swipe of his thumb at your clit and every dip of his cock through your insides.

“Gonna come for me already? Yeah? Fuck, baby…” he was swollen and leaking as he shoved into you. The feel of you wrapped tight around him was always heaven. His favorite.

You whined loudly, the build-up of your orgasm was unable to be stopped as you let him ravage your pussy however he liked. Pat-pat-pat… the sound of wet pussy getting fucked was a typical soundtrack in your house just about every night.

Harry ran a big paw over your tits and squeezed as he pounded into you. The counter under you never budging.

When your pussy began to squeeze and flutter and spasm and your mouth dropped open wide you let out a pitiful cry and dug your fingertips into the taut muscle of his back as you gushed on his big cock.

He only increased his pace as he fucked into you and watched your pretty face twist up in ecstasy. He loved watching you come. It only fed his ego to see such a pretty thing with your face all scrunched and lips curled and wet as you quivered in your orgasm.

He hissed to hold himself back as he felt your pussy slobbering arousal all over his dick. He’d have loved to unload his come right then but he wanted to force another orgasm from you before he allowed himself the satisfaction of coming yet.

When you felt him slow his thrusts you could hear him cooing at you, “Good girl. Fuck baby almost made me come you look so pretty like this.”

You lulled your head up to look at him and he smoothed his lips against yours as he stilled his hips, cock lodged deep inside of your tummy.

“Gonna have you bend over now, okay? Put your feet on this stool if you need it,” he dragged the stool next to his foot toward the counter for you. And with wobbly limbs, you adjusted your seating, turning over so your hips were face down against the counter top and Harry quickly placed his big palms on the round of your ass, pulling you apart so he could see your pussy and anus.

He inhaled sharply as he ran a finger through your folds and you jolted from being so sensitive, “Easy, sweetheart… This is gonna feel good once I get going. You ready?”

You nodded into the crook of your arm and let out a muffled yes as he nudged his cock against you again.

His fingers dug into the meaty soft part of your thighs before he split you open, burying in balls deep on first pass.

You grunted and braced yourself as he began to plunge through your insides, wet strokes of his long cock filling you and then pulling back to his tip on repeat.

“Ooh… shit, sweetheart. So fucking pretty…” he pulled at your ass cheeks and railed into you. You knew he was sweating already, he was giving it his all, using his strong muscles to fuck himself into you and panting breaths every time his balls smushed into your pussy.

You began to feel that fuzzy little prickle spread over your core with every stroke of his cock. The ridges of his bare dick always fit into your crevices and little spots like he was made to snug inside of you and get you off just like that. Your g-spot was never left unloved with the shape of Harry’s cock, his tip always dipping right into it with every pass.

He began to grunt with every glide of his hips, his cock being massaged by your warm walls making his balls tighten and his heart pound the closer he got to his end.

The sight of your pussy sucking him in, lips wrapped around his thick shaft and leaving creamy arousal along his length was just as hot as the way you felt encasing him. But of course, there was the scent and the sound as well. It was lewd. All his senses were burning and singing as he fucked into you.

“Ahh!” You moaned and began to push back against his thrusts, desperate for your next orgasm as it was approaching fast.

Arousal dripped down your inner thighs as he rutted into you, his pace growing sloppy and erratic as he could tell you were about to come.

And the moment you gurgled a wet moan and he could feel you clamping down he gasped and gripped onto your hips, moving you over his cock like you were a toy to fuck, he pulled your ass against his hips and then upward along his cock before slamming you against him again, smearing your pussy juice on the countertop as he did so. You cried out and convulsed around him as Harry finally pumped into you, pulling you back against him until he was stuffed into you as deep as he could reach and released every drop of himself into you.

He groaned as he came into your warm, cozy pussy, pumping strings of his come through your slimy arousal-coated cunt.

Harry made getting off easy. You’d never been one to come so fast or so easy but you were convinced his cock was shaped exactly like you needed. You reached back to take his hand as Harry leaned over your back and kissed your neck, “Pussy fucked and stuffed and countertop sturdy as a rock,” he laughed.

You giggled and arched your back to attempt to move yourself, the position was not the most comfortable after all.

Harry helped you down and held onto you so you wouldn’t fall and you both laughed again when you turned to face him, knowing you had mascara down your cheeks.

He cupped your face and grinned at you, “This is the best housewarming party I’ve ever been to.”

You pointed at the counter he’d just fucked you on and chuckled, “And that is the sturdiest kitchen counter anyone will ever see.”

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cursingtoji · 1 year

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ᥫ᭡ — EXECUTIVE AFFAIRS: In a cutthroat world of boardroom battles and power struggles, you must navigate ambition , corporate intrigue, and unexpected love affairs.

✧ PRELUDE

— contents: CEO!reader, construction worker!Toji, lawyer!Nanami, therapist!Geto, ex-husband!Gojo; power imbalance, sexual frustration, manipulation, use of 'darling', 'baby', 'dear' & 'boss', 4k words, on-going series

— note: osha is the occupational safety and health administration agency in the USA, even tho i'm not american seems easier to just say osha (also a fun word to pronunce)

A young man opens the rear door of the Jaguar as soon as your driver stops by the construction site, “This way ma’am” you accept his hand, touching the cement with your stiletto first before getting out of the vehicle.

As scheduled you are heading to a meeting with the architect responsible for this particular project, a big one. Normally the CEO wouldn’t be involved in such routine visits like this, but you definitely don’t want to be like the previous CEO, who barely stepped out of his office for anything.

Besides, you have to make a good impression with the other directors that would be there today as well, and what better way to do that if not going to the construction site yourself, even though you clearly do not belong there given the way your heel wobbled as soon as it touched the uneven ground.

“Excuse me, miss” you’re stopped by a man twice your size — horizontally and almost vertically — extending a white helmet in your direction, “I’m sure that hair costed a lot and you don’t wanna cover it, but every person on site, even the ladies, ‘gotta wear it.”

You stand a bit shocked at the man addressing you like it’s not your last name on his uniform.

“Mr. Fushiguro, I should inform you that it’s your CEO you’re talking to” the boy beside you speaks up, he’s wearing a white helmet and the unknown man a yellow one.

“Great, so you are able to afford the OSHA fine if they decide today is a good day for inspection, but I’d rather not have another pointless safety training just ‘cause no one had the balls to tell you to protect your pretty ‘lil head” his expression doesn’t change a bit with the new information. You find that respectable, especially having so many people stuttering when talking to you.

If you were to say that you don’t get even a little bit amused by people being nervous in your presence Nanami would have to warn you about perjury.

It’s quite a change to have a blue collar employee sticking to the rules and not batting an eye when the highest possible authority of the company is standing right in front of him, especially when that someone looks like he just got out of a sexy construction men calendar… not that you have ever seen one of those. That’s just what you think they might look like, plus that scar only adds up to fantasy.

You clean your throat, “I appreciate your work ethic, Mr. Fushiguro” you repeat the name so you won’t forget, “I wasn’t aware of the rules” you side-look the young man beside you who’s now staring at his own feet embarrassed since it was his duty to inform you.

“Call me Toji” you take the helmet and put it on, “By the way, you’re supposed to wear trousers too and… literally anything but that” he points with his chin to your high heels thinking how that alone was a safety hazard not just on a construction site. Toji leans closer “but I’ll let it slide, ‘cause you have quite beautiful legs.”

You are left mouth agape, internally appreciating that he didn’t say that out loud — after all being sexualized when you are trying to impose respect would require you to put a show and fire the man — but also makes you question if he was straight forward with you because of his work ethics or because he does not respect you as his superior.

Not that you wouldn’t let him do disrespectful things to you, but still!

You’re taken to where the rest of the directors are, they’re easy to spot — a bunch of men in suits that clearly don’t belong to the place — surrounding a table with the blue prints. They greet you and you realize this is the first time you see all of them around a table and not sitting, poor guys must be dying for a room with AC right now.

It’s not like you belonged there either, with your tailor made beige suit that had a pencil skirt instead of the newly-discovered-necessary trousers and how-the-fuck-you-thought-that-was-a-good-idea high heels. But in your own defense you did visit a lot of construction sites when you first started at the company all those years ago and that’s much more than the white collar men in front of you can say.

The main architect starts to give you all an status of the project being interrupted by the senior engineer every few minutes, the last one clearly thinking he’s better than the first even though neither of them lifts a finger in this ground.

Your sight is drawn to the man that scolded you before, while the architect is pointing to something on top of the construction and everyone else is shielding their eyes from the sun to find it, you’re looking straight ahead to Toji who’s currently lifting an apparently very heavy sack of cement on his shoulder and taking it all across the site. God, he’s strong.

His handsome face shines with sweat, you’re sure the wife beater he has on also violates some OSHA code, but who would be crazy enough to report that? Not you for sure, the view is worth the OSHA fine.

Especially when he drops the sack with a grunt and uses the shirt to wipe his face, revealing a torso you’re sure Michelangelo would die to use as inspiration to sculpt into marble then having people saying ‘whoa that’s real art’.

You wonder if someone would scream at you for touching that piece of art.

Unfortunately you don’t expect to get caught ogling by the subject himself. So the best thing you can do is find whatever the architect is pointing to and pretend to pay attention like you should have from the beginning instead of eye fucking one of your employees.

“Hey, boss” you hear on your way out of the site and back to your cozy office where you wouldn’t get your ankle broken that easily. You turn around and see Toji catwalking his way to you.

“Technically I'm out of the hazard zone, mr. Fushiguro” you justify your lack of a helmet which you ditched a few seconds ago.

“Toji” he corrects you, taking his own helmet off “and I’m not this uptight, unlike some people here today” he mutters the last part looking behind him to some of the directors that seemed to be looking for tiny errors on the project so they could fix it and justify being there.

“Well, what can I do for you?”

“I’m pretty sure you're being robbed.”

“What?” you look around, “What do you mean?”

“You’re paying for double the stuff that’s actually being delivered” he took a sheet of folded paper out of his pants, you reach for it but he pulls it back, “I have proof and I can say names.”

“Did you say that to your field supervisor?”

“Please, who do ya think it’s signin’ under this?” he rolls his eyes.

“So you came to the CEO instead? You’re going behind some big backs here, sir.”

“Look, miss, I want a promotion, I know a lot of big shots will go down for this and I’m the only one capable of handling the people here. Besides I stand by what I said before, no one has the guts to do this so I’m taking a big risk and I deserve compensation” he hands back the paper and this time he let you take it. You stare into his deep green eyes suspiciously, the man has the looks of a fantasy villain with his sharp features and dark eyelashes, you're not entirely sure if you should believe him.

“Give your number to my assistant, we’ll schedule a meeting in the office, you tell me everything you know and I see what I can do about it.”

“In the office? Didn’t know you allowed commonores in your castle” he smirks.

“Only the pretty ones” you wink and his smile grows wider.

“How long have you known about this?” Nanami questions.

“Not even 24 hours” you sit on your white couch signing for him to take the seat in front of you.

Your lawyer does that thing you find really hot where he unbuttons the coat of his five digit worth suit before sitting down. You admire Nanami’s elegance while he roams his eyes through the paper, he has a vest between the coat and the dress shirt. Navy blue suits him so well, matches his eyes. He makes you think every man should wear vests, but of course not every man can pull it off. Honestly, you find it hard to believe there's anything Nanami can’t pull off, but you haven't seen your lawyer without a suit… ever.

Maybe he looks bad with a plain T-shirt?

No way.

Perhaps with an overall and cowboy hat?

Mmm the image makes you wanna ride something.

What about emo hair, eyeliner and a band tee?

No, you can’t imagine Kento with emo hair, no chance he had a rebellious phase except if his parents wanted him to be a surgeon and he became the best lawyer in the city just to piss them off.

“I’m glad you came to me first, but we’ll need to involve auditing and probably internal affairs. That’ll probably put the project on hold for some weeks, also I’ll need more evidence than this” he shook the one paper sheet that was merely a quotation of supplies even you could understand is way too much for a single building.

“I got the guy for that, say the word and Yuuta will arrange a meeting” you pointed to your assistant sitting outside.

“Tell me, dear” he put the sheet aside, taking that posture that intimidated you a bit, “A blue collar worker just saw your pretty self on the site and handed criminal evidence? Just like that?”

You open your mouth, thinking what to say that won’t sound like you are being taken advantage of, and failing.

“Oh darling” he says a bit too condescendingly for someone that technically works for you, “Thought I told you about being too naive” he leans on the couch, making himself comfortable like you’re about to have The Talk.

“Kento, is not like that” you cross your arms defensively, “He said he wants a promotion, how risky that would be?”

“Thought you would say that” he takes his phone and hands it to you, “So I did my own little research.”

“What’s this?” you find yourself looking at a picture of the man you met yesterday.

Only now you could see tiny numbers behind him indicating his height and he held a plaque with his name. He looks way younger, still very handsome, you wonder how popular he used to be in his youth, with a face like that and the implication he was arrested was enough to make every girl’s bad-boy-dream come true.

“What was he accused of?” you ask out of curiosity.

“Not relevant, also sealed records” he breaks eye contact and that’s enough for you to understand he actually knows it and he did not get this information by any legal means.

“So what? The man got a bit of trouble with the law when he was young” you shrug, remembering even your ex husband had a little rich boy “criminal” file, if you can even call the dumb shit he did outta spite for his parents an actual crime.

“HR will find out about this, then you’re going to have to justify why you’re recommending a filled man for a managing position.”

“And I’ll tell them he actually found out about a theft scheme and whatever public-pissing crime he did will surely be overlooked.”

“Darling, you have to start thinking about your image, we’ve been through that before” he tilts his head.

“You don’t like my image?” you question playfully twirling your hair, Nanami smiles for a brief second.

“You know what I mean: your image towards the board, you barely made the votes necessary to be where you are today.”

Indeed, you owned the company and no one could take that away, but the CEO position needed to be voted and you only got the necessary votes because your ex-husband had the strongest voting rights and part of the divorce agreement was that he voted for you, so his, plus a few more other members of the board's votes and you made chief executive officer.

“Fine, then write a contract, he tells everything including testify if he has to in exchange of the supervisor position and I’ll pitch it to the board before any decisions are made” you uncross your arms raising from your seat.

Bringing the board into the conversation made you nervous, most of them don't like you and you’ve been trying to prove yourself for months. Even though you worked your ass off way before marrying the owner all they saw was a hurt ex-wife making pretend.

“Atta girl” Nanami raises too, buttoning his coat back and placing his hands on your tense shoulders. Nanami smells like what you think it should be every handsome lawyer's trademark scent, cause damn that smell would make you sign anything he gives you.

“Don’t worry much, you’re doing great” he presses a bit and you melt.

“Take me out to lunch?” you pout.

“I would love to” he lets go of your shoulder, “Unfortunately I have a hearing, but I'll be back for that meeting soon, okay?”

You sigh in defeat, getting even a few minutes of Nanami’s time for yourself is as hard as it can get, only a corruption scheme to get him to come to your office in such short notice.

“Ma’am” Yuuta says from the speakerphone, “Your ex-husband is calling” you groan, throwing your head back.

Of course he would want to interrupt your moment with Nanami.

“I can get you a restriction order” your lawyer offers jokily (or not).

Aside from being the company's lawyer, Nanami Kento was also your divorce attorney, which you managed to get only after agreeing to give him your company's account if he managed to land you the CEO position. Like everything in this merciless corporate world, it was give and take, you got what you wanted – not surprisingly so, afterall Nanami, even though is not a divorce specialist, is the best. Still, you like to think of him being more than another contractor of yours.

“I appreciate the offering” you smile tiredly, Nanami kisses your hand like the gentleman he is before leaving your office, “Yuuta, I’ll take him– it. I’ll take the call” you sit back behind your desk massaging your temple “Put him through.”

“Hello, beautiful” he greets over the speakerphone in that always so cheerful tone.

“Satoru, what do you want?”

“No chit-chat? It’s the least you could do for me after I gave you the company” entitled as always…

“You didn’t give it to me, you gave it up for the rest of your assets” you remind, already sick of this same discussion over and over.

When the divorce was officially on the table you told Kento exactly what you wanted: the company. The one thing you knew your ex husband would hate to lose, but also didn’t love as much as his lifestyle – which would be brutally affected if you decided to go for the 50% you were entitled to.

So through a carefully written agreement you accepted way less than you were owed in the form of full ownership of the respected construction company and title of chief executive officer.

“Six of one, half a dozen of the other. How have you been?”

“Fine. Just tell me what you want, I actually take this job seriously and have important things to do.”

Oh god, he would tease you so bad if he knew about the corruption scheme, and the worst part is that, eventually, he will know. Gojo has ears everywhere around here.

“Nanami” he says simply. You start to look around your office, wondering if he has cameras there.

“You… want… Nanami?”

“Yes, beautiful” he confirms slowly like he's talking to a kid that has just learned the alphabet.

“Why? You know what? Nevermind, I don't want to know. No, you can’t have him” you lean on your chair, denying Gojo gives you great satisfaction.

“It’s not for any bullshit reason, alright?”

“I don’t care, Satoru. Besides, I don’t own Kento, you can approach him anytime” you smile knowing he would never be able to do that without you.

“Aren’t you a sweetheart?” condescension drips from your phone and onto your desk, “He won’t represent me even if I run for president.”

“So you need legal representation? You’re not calling me from jail, are you Satoru?” you mirror his condescending tone, surely he can hear the smile in your voice.

“Thought you didn't care, or would you bail me out? Oh wait, I forgot, you don’t have the money for that” he laughs, arguing was never a thing with him, he would mock you and find a way to make you doubt your accusations. Gaslighting is it? “I’ll give it a shot, just so you know, but this is a great opportunity for you to ask something in return.”

“I don’t want anything from you.”

“Think about it, baby, I’m sure there's plenty of things I can do for you” his tone is lower, more seductive.

“Doubt it” you roll your eyes hearing his chuckle.

“Yeah? When was the last time you had–”

You hang up.

Then sigh loudly and press the button to talk to Yuuta.

“Yes, ma’am?” you scrunch your nose, still not used to being called that, Nanami said you should let your sweet assistant call you ma'am or madam at least in front of others since you could use the recognition of your authority.

“Please put Geto on the line.”

“Certainly” you wait, stepping out of your heels and digging your toes on the fluff carpet under the table.

“Hi, doc” you salute your psychologist.

“Sugar, I told you there’s no need to address me like that, hurts my feelings” his honeyed voice is everything you need to hear in such stressful times.

“It does? Maybe you should see a therapist to talk about that, I have a great recommendation” you can’t help but smile like a little girl when talking to him, being playful is a way to cope with your harmless crush.

“Just great?”

“He’s the best, I can assure you” he laughs, “Do you have a few minutes?”

“For you, absolutely” your face warms up then you remember the subject of the call and cools down again.

“It’s Satoru.”

‘It’s always Satoru’ Geto thinks.

“He just called wanting something, I told him no and he made that same old joke about me not having money” you huffed.

“And how do you feel about that?”

“Helpless? I don't know, he must think I’m poor now or something” which is ridiculous, you’re not nearly close to his patrimony as you used to when you were married but what you have is still fuckload more than what it takes to be considered poor.

“He’s trying to remind you of what you lost when you left him, this is just another manipulation technique, my love. Don’t let him get in your head” you need this as a mantra to hear every time your ex-husband calls, “Did he bring up sex this time?”

“No, but he was about to.”

“And what did you say?”

“Hanged up” you hear him snorting.

“Well, that can work on the phone, but what if you were talking face to face? What would you have done?”

Geto knows a lot about you. Obviously since you pay him to listen while you ramble and complain. Still, feels overwhelming having someone recalling your previous actions, especially the ones you're not exactly proud of.

“Tell him to shut up, throw a stapler on him, call security, threaten him with a restriction order.”

“Would you really?” Geto likes to take a joke you make and dig on that.

“Well, probably not the last two…”

“Have you been looking up restriction orders?”

“No, that was a joke my lawyer made early. A restriction order would be too… bureaucratic? Also unnecessary, afterall Satoru he never physically hurt me or threatened to.”

“That would be a good way of making him leave you alone for a while since you're not able to fully detach from him” you sat up.

“That's not true! I’ve been doing everything by myself lately, don't even have time to think about him! I’m detached, doc.”

“Wanna know what I think you would have done if he made that sexual comment face to face with you?” you gulp and Geto takes your silence as consent to continue, “I think you would let him go forward with it.”

You make an offended sound but don't fight his statement, “And what would happen next?” he tones the question like a professor trying to make the class complete a sentence, you keep your head down and mouth shut, “You would’ve let him sweet talk you into sleeping with him again.”

“You don't know that” you murmur.

“It’s a pattern, love. This is how abusive husbands keep their wives from leaving them or even telling anyone about the abuse. They use sex to make them think how good it is to be with them despite everything else.”

“Satoru was not abusive.” you defend your ex-husband firmly, “And I already left him!” you defend yourself less firmly.

“And he still thinks he can have you back! You know why?”

“Because I’m a catch that he shouldn’t have cheated?” Geto stays quiet for a few seconds and you feel a lump in your throat forming. The comment was supposed to sound more like a joke but you're still too hurt for that , clearly.

“That as well, but you really think he regrets it?”

“He seemed pretty sorry in the divorce mediation” you murmur recalling his lost-puppy expression.

“The meeting where he signed a paper that would make him lose his company and his wife? Gee I wonder why” the little sarcastic remark made you smile and shake your head, your psychologist using sarcasm against you is quite funny, “My point is, if you really want to be independent from him you ‘gotta stop letting yourself be attracted back like a magnet” you let his words sink in hearing some papers being ruffled on his side.

“I’m giving you homework.”

“Oh no…”

“Find your sexuality by yourself, you can watch porn, masturbate or even better: have sex with someone. Anyone but Satoru, because right now that’s what he’s using to control you.”

“Geto, I don’t know about this. Porn is too gross, masturbation is too ineffective and sex is too…” you trail off.

“Vulnerable?” he completes.

“I guess…”

“It’s been a few months since you last slept with Satoru, right? What’re you feeling?”

“What do you mean?” you rub your face.

“You know what I mean” he's strict and you let out a long sigh.

“I feel frustrated, sometimes stressed and distracted” all caused by the men you have to deal with including the handsome psychologist putting some sense in you. Not exactly what you wanted him to put in, but oh well…

“Exactly, in your current state it’s only a matter of time until you end up on his bed. You gotta decide if you are willing to: find porn that is not gross, masturbate more effectively or let yourself relax and be vulnerable.”

Is easy to like Geto Suguru, he’s handsome, has a sweet voice, he listens without interrupting (manterrupting is a big no-no for this job thankfully). Though sometimes it’s easy to hate him too, you have to remember he's saying what you need to hear not what you want to, even if your ears could use some tickling from time to time.

“Still with me?” he asks after you remain quiet.

“Yes, doc” he says your name in a warning tone, “Sorry, Suguru.”

“All good for our appointment next week?”

“Hm” your thoughts go to the newly found out corruption scheme that will need your attention the following days, “I’ll ask Yuuta to confirm with your secretary alright?”

“Whatever works best for you, love.”

“Bye, Suguru.”

“Don’t forget your homework.”

🏷️ @rinntvrou @sakurasimppp @sad-darksoul — to be tagged in future works of this series please comment “@ me” in this post.

note: i’m not sure if tickle the ears is a known term worldwide but means “saying or suggesting things to please even if untrue”. also i have some big plans for kinktober so next chapter might take a little while to be posted, let me know your thoughts <3

#jjk x reader #jjk smut #gojo x reader #toji x reader #geto x reader #nanami x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk series #jjk x you

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thesummerpetrichor · 1 year

Text

𝓞𝓫𝓵𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓸𝓷

SoftDark!Joel Miller x afab!fem!reader

Summary: Explicit pictures of you taken by a man you cheated with find their way to your boyfriend's father's desk. He isn't too impressed with the artistry. Good thing he can make it right. He’s a photographer after all.

Warnings: 18+ only minors DNI you will be blocked. No outbreak, NONCON, DUBCON, coercion, blackmail, manipulation, power imbalance, implications of revenge porn [not by Joel], infidelity, girthy age gap [reader is in her early 20s, Joel is in his early 50s], explicit photographs and photography, petnames, praise kink, daddy kink, minor size kink, soft dom!Joel, sub!reader, fingering, edging, just the tip action, creampie, cumplay?, unprotected P in V [be better!!]. Let me know if I missed anything 🫶

Word Count: 5.9K

A/N: Surprise Joel Miller smut because why not. This is my first time writing for Joel, so please be gentle. Going for the subtle horror meets porn vibes. Hope you nasties enjoy. mwah 💗

Masterlist

I never walk about after dark

It's my point of view

'Cause someone could break your neck

Coming up behind you

Always coming and you'd never have a clue

I never look behind all the time

I will wait forever

Always looking straight

Thinking, counting all the hours you wait

“S’ just a hobby.” Kind, gentle mister Miller had scratched the back of his neck modestly, towering over you as you inspected the black and white photo negatives freshly hung on his walls. He just seemed happy that someone appeared to be taking up an interest in his retirement activities. It was an interesting choice, you thought, to hang up the negatives.

That was your first time visiting the Miller household, and had you known your boyfriend’s father was as unassuming and sympathetic as he turned out to be, you wouldn’t have been as worried about meeting him as you were. You surely wouldn't have been able to guess looking at his pictures. But his scowl melted away into a soft, subtle smile the moment you walked through his door, and so did your reservations.

You learnt a lot from him that evening– about cameras and such. He indulged you in conversations about your life and interests– you had many in common. There were quite a few people at the Miller’s Christmas party, and he made sure you weren’t too lost in the crowd. It was nice to have a listening ear.

Humble as he was, it was only months later you discovered his pretty pictures in a photography magazine. At the hotel you were staying in while on vacation with his son. It was the last vacation you ended up taking together. Switzerland.

Since that Christmas you visited him every once in a while, occupying the couch in his office to help him sort through his prints, tidy up his gear, and chart out subjects he wanted to capture. His son didn’t really like making the twenty minute commute back home, so you brought his well wishes with you. Mister Miller liked the strawberry puff pastries you baked, so you brought them along as well.

He was a quiet guy, and after all these years alone seemed to enjoy the company of someone in the house. His face lit up just that little bit whenever you came over. Enough to let you know you were welcome back anytime.

His office was cozy. With a large Persian rug at its center, and tufted, walnut brown, leather furniture. He had an expansive library of literature beside his desk, one that he’d fitted to the wall himself. Reading- another one of his retirement hobbies.

His desk was tidy, almost completely empty save for a picture of him and his brother Tommy, sitting on a ledge with their arms slung around each other, an in-progress construction site for background. Judging from the lack of gray hair on his head, and the absence of the little crinkles beside his eyes, the photograph was at least twenty years old. It looked like it belonged to an alternate universe.

Mister miller looked a far cry from the sophisticated, whiskey drinking, cigar smoking, middle aged man you knew. A regular ol’ Joe, or Joel, rather. He had this rugged boyish charm about him. He was smiling wide, he looked happy. There was a jarring absence of that tired look in his eyes. Whether he looked more handsome back then, or now– you couldn’t decide.

It was late July. You watched the menacing, dark gray clouds drift lazily towards you from your living room window. It was 4pm, but you had the lights on, and the oven going in your kitchen. The younger Miller was not yet back from work, even though he was supposed to be off by 2:30. At times like that one you hardly regretted your unfaithfulness.

You had your little dinner date with Mister Miller that evening, but from the looks of it you might have had to reschedule. A crack of thunder reverberated along the walls of your two bedroom, and had you reaching for the kitchen timer you’d abandoned on your center table– the dial dangerously close to hitting ‘0’.

It felt more wrong than it should, calling it a date, considering the circumstances. You couldn’t say you didn't feel guilty still meeting his father, telling him that things were going great when they really weren’t. You wondered what Joel would think of you if he ever found out about your little secret.

It was difficult not to wonder how two people could be so similar and different at the same time. Why, save for some of his good looks, Mr. Miller’s best qualities did not seem to pass down to his son. Admittedly, you thought about it a lot. You thought about it when you found a shade of lipstick that surely didn’t belong to you stain the collar of his cream sweater.

Things had spiraled far out of your control since that moment. Into your secret paradise of hotel rooms and weekend getaways. Worst of all, you knew your partner was living a parallel life to yours. You could have ended your relationship, but things were just never that easy. Especially when consciously, or subconsciously mister Miller was part of the mix.

You reached in the oven and pulled out the pastries. Looking between the custard you’d put into your piping bag, and the strawberries you’d cut lengthways laying beside the powdered sugar. The clouds were closer than they were five minutes ago. Your backyard was no longer the lush Eden of green and purple it was in the morning. You thought of Mister Miller– spending the night alone at home, sitting at his desk, with no dessert to enjoy after dinner.

You reached for the piping bag and sighed, beginning to assemble the sweet treats and lay them in the pink paper box you’d picked out for him from your kitchen cabinet.

—

By the time you got to his house thick droplets of rain were already coming down from the sky. It was about three shades darker than it was when you left home, and the minacous clouds had caught up with you. You glanced at your phone.

7:00 pm

You felt a drop trickle down the side of your cheek as you ran up the front staircase leading to the main door. You rang the bell. It sounded full, and new. He must have fixed it recently.

Mister Miller opened the door. He always wore some variation of the same flannel shirt and dark jeans. Like a cartoon character. It was quite charming. You liked it. It was soft, and smelt like his perfume. Tobacco, Sandalwood. He rubbed your back soothingly when you hugged him.

You handed him the pink box. It had a darker pink ribbon wrapped around it, folded at the top into a big bow, with a small card wedged in between the loops.

“To Joel Miller :) ”

He chuckled, then smiled. “Thank you, sweetie.” You didn’t need his gratitude, he was nice enough to you as is, but you did appreciate it. In the past months he had become your only real excuse to bake.

He welcomed you inside, and soon enough you were settled in the dining room. He’d hung up a new painting since you’d last visited, and changed the light switches on the wall. Every time you were over there was a new addition to the home. You figured he liked having something to do.

By the looks of it he’d lit the candles there a while ago, and laid the table. He’d butterflied napkins in their napkin rings, and set out glasses for red, white, and dessert wine. You felt a lot better about not canceling. You noticed the brand new table runner against the table’s wood. He told you he bought it that morning. He sounded excited.

You helped him bring in the pot of stew from the kitchen, as well as a plate of cheese and a loaf of warm bread set on a wooden board. He served you some stew, then cut a few slices of the bread he’d baked and placed them on your side plate. It was surprising that he’d taken up an interest in baking. He always said he preferred to cook on the stove. He did it well.

“Taking after you.” he’d said, reaching for the wine decanter.

You wondered if he ever taught his son to cook, and if he did why the latter never liked to do so. You recognised the cheese on the platter. It was from the shop beside your house. You’d served it when he came home in February, with berry jam, marmalade and grapes. He hadn’t been back since then.

He was mostly quiet during dinner, as always. He listened to you ramble about the show you were watching, and how you found your grandmother’s recipe book in your attic. You assured him you’d be trying every recipe in that book. He said he hoped so. Other than that it was quiet. A comfortable quiet. And you watched wax dribble away from the candle wic, and pool at the base of the candelabra.

He cleared up while you brewed some tea and placed your pastries on the hand painted porcelain tray you’d gifted him for Christmas. You padded across the hardwood floors to his office, and it was only then you noticed how heavily it had been pouring outside.

You peeled back the white lace curtains to find a sheet of rain clouding your vision. You made out the dim, golden lights coming off the neighbor’s porch, and the street lamps flickering gently. You were glad you came. It was all quite welcoming, and warm and golden in the Miller household– far more than you would be if you decided to stay back home.

The door clicked open, and you felt him walking up behind you as you stood at his bookshelf. You pointed to the clock on the wall above it. “It stopped.” He exhaled heavily, with his hands on his hips, and looked up to the pathetically stuttering hours hand. It looked like it was fighting for its life within the confines of the glass– spluttering, struggling.

“Fixed it two days ago.”

You peeled your eyes away.

He eased himself into his leather office chair, reaching below the mahogany table to lift a large cardboard box filled to the brim with film. Used, unused, polaroids, disposables. It had red electrical tape around its edges, and the words ‘32, spiral cord and wire’ scribbled in black sharpie.

“Gotta sort these.” He looked at you apologetically, but you reassured him with a smile, and poured him a cup of tea while he inspected the box. Your eyes wandered to the wooden clock, the hand still pleading for help. You heard it's garbled tic. The contents of the box clattered to the desk, rhythmically with a crack of thunder outside.

You placed a plate and cup in front of him, then took your seat on folded legs across the table. The white curtains momentarily set ablaze, followed by another hard, violent thrum. You foredged through the pile, lightly covered with residual dust. The rings on your fingers sparkled when they caught the light of his table lamp.

Amongst the many treasures were some polaroids of the lake mister Miller liked to fish in, the cabin he built upstate, and the back end of Tommy's Miller’s orchard. They looked like test films to you. Not as fixed on composition as Joel was. The settings on the camera all over the place.

In the pile, under an oversaturated photograph of an apple tree, two familiar eyes peered up at you– much of the face covered and lost to the clutter. You reached for it. Bound together with a thin, blue paperclip were three separate photographs flimsily hanging on to one another.

You felt sick to your stomach.

The eyes were familiar, because they were yours.

A mangled torso, waxy, glossy legs, a chest glazed with the sheen of sweat. You looked more like a deserted mannequin than you did yourself. The dark gray “lighting” rendered your body and its surroundings lifeless– ironically, you remember quite enjoying it in the moment. But the polaroids were far more reflective of what you felt of them at present– plagued with regret and shame, and lifelessness.

How long had he known? Importantly, How did he find them? It hurt you to even think about it. The sound of the stuttering clock was deafening in your ears, ringing like an ominous, cruel joke.

You distinctly remember taking those pictures. Worse, you remember thinking of mister Miller as your partner had clicked them. You thought of what he’d think if he ever saw them. You could have never guessed you would actually find out.

“How long, sweetheart?” You forced yourself to look up, finding his eyes already boring you. He was upset, and angry, and there was something brewing behind his eyes. But worst of all he was disappointed in you. And out of all the possibilities, somehow that was the worst. You’d rather him be yelling, because there was something about that soft, gentle voice of his that unnerved you.

“Why didn’t’ ya say somethin’?” It was like a car crash, you just couldn’t look away from the polaroids in your hands. Your spread legs, bare breasts, panties thrown to the side. You opened your mouth to say something, but you just couldn’t manage it.

“Really shouldn’t let just anyone take those kinds of pictures.” Your eyes welled with hot tears as he reprimanded you. The whole ordeal had you feeling like you’d been sent to the principal's office, sitting across from him at his desk, both his forearms leaned on the table as he threatened you with consequences. He continued to speak, despite being met with your silence.

“You’re lucky these ended up here, would be a shame if he found out about it before you did.” While your little affair hadn’t ended well, you surely hadn’t expected whatever this was from your ex partner. He must have still thought your boyfriend lived at his childhood address. Boy did he make a miscalculation. You didn’t know which outcome you preferred.

You wanted to explain yourself, wanted to assure him you weren’t some cheating, lying piece of shit. That you and his son were just not working anymore, that you felt guilty, and never did it again, that the man who took those pictures was the last one you slept with. That you couldn’t just end things with his son because you didn’t want to lose him. “Mister Miller- I-”

He cut you off, snatching the images from between your fingers. You watched with burning eyes and your heart hammering in your chest as he inspected them. The man would never look at you the same. He sighed, his downturned, disappointed eyes catching yours. That look, it broke your heart.

“I mean, look at these babygirl. Ya’ look dead.”

With your palms cold and sweaty, and cheeks set ablaze, you sure felt like it. The burning in your chest and neck had become almost unbearable.

“Such a cute lil’ body ya’ got there. And this-” he shook his head, his unblinking gaze forcing your eyes to his. “This boy fuckin’ ruined ya.” He tossed the polaroids on his desk, and leaned forward.

It took you about ten seconds to realize that mister Miller’s real quam with the pictures was, for better or for worse, not the fact that they existed, or worse, weren't taken by his son, but that they were bad. Not morally, or ethically, especially considering how they’d landed in his possession, but artistically, formally.

“Would be a shame if my son were to say, find em, layin’ ‘round.” The room began to spin in slow circles. In a second a flash of lighting struck through the curtains in the window behind Joel, his frame completely backlit by the blinding light momentarily. You winced as another harsh crack of thunder descended upon the quiet office.

“No, mi- Please-”

“‘Specially to see ya like this, catch ya like this. In these god awful pictures.” He took your chin between his fingers, eyes filled with faux concern, brows furrowed. But behind the obvious facade there was something sinister and cruel. Something you wished you had seen before. Because you were sure it had always been there.

“How ‘bout we fix ‘em, huh babygirl?” your eyes widened at the realization, at the weight of his implication. His grip on your chin was unrelenting, a warning, a little taste of what was to come. Had he forgotten somehow that you were in fact his son’s girlfriend and not his? A girl who was to him, until about ten minutes before, his future daughter in law?

“You gonna help daddy fix ‘em for ya?” Time seemed to lose its cadence, every moment stretched endlessly as you remained trapped under his dead eyed, unwavering gaze. His words sent a jolt between your legs, that name sent a jolt between your legs, and had you squeezing them together shamefully as you struggled to blubber out a response.

He raised his brows in question, once again offering you the artificial choice before you were sure he would take what he wanted himself. You swallowed thickly, and nodded. It was a lot less difficult than you let yourself believe. What were you going to do?

“Hmm good girl. Get on ya knees sweetie.” Still gripping your chin he reached for the camera on his desk. A polaroid SX 70– the one he used to click a picture of you blowing out your candles on your birthday. In that same office, where he sang to you alone, because his son was on a work trip.

He pinched your cheek, and got up to round the table. You knew better than to talk back. You were reminded when you saw how his frame towered over you, like that first night you’d met him. Except this time his broad shoulders and muscular arms were threatening, intimidating, and undeniably making you weak in the knees.

Pushing your chair back you got on your knees on that once thick, soft Persian carpet. It’s weave like a thousand needles piercing your skin, and no longer the cloud on which you liked to sit.

“Would’ve expected more from a smart cookie like you. Didn’t I teach ya better sweetie?” It was sick. You knew he was talking of not only your carelessness, but those pictures. You should have known to come to him. He would have helped you figure it out. Your relationship troubles, and how to take those photographs. He squatted down to your level, eyes raking over your body like you were already on display for him.

“Lemme see ya sweetie.” You wished he would just rip off the bandaid and do it himself. It would feel less humiliating. Reaching for the buttons of your sweater you undid them one by one. He watched your every movement, eyes trained on your chest as you exposed the swell of your breasts.

He reached forward, and brushed his thumb over your skin, hushing you soothingly when you shivered. Your hot skin burned further under his feather light touch. It was like you’d always imagined– gruff and rugged, but skillful. Just like him. His fingers were rough, and reminded you of the photograph of him and Tommy on his desk. He suddenly looked a lot more like the man in that picture.

It was like he was eating you up with his eyes with each bit of clothing you discarded on his floor. He hummed when you got to your white, daisy print ankle socks, and caught your wrist when you reached to pull them off.

“Keep em’ on.”

Once brimming with vitality, his brown eyes turned lifeless, devoid of any flicker of emotion or human connection. You found yourself questioning whether you ever really knew him– the gentle, unassuming man you adored. If he even existed in the first place.

Left in nothing but your bra and panties you sat on your knees in front of him, unable to meet his eyes. Pink lace. You’d worn them on purpose, because your little dates were always a special occasion. You weren't planning on him seeing them.

By the looks of it he seemed quite pleased with your choice.

“All f’ me, babygirl?” His voice had dropped three octaves, almost slurred thanks to his smooth southern drawl. You swallowed thickly, and nodded your head. As much as you hated to admit it, he was, in some convoluted way, one hundred percent correct.

Excitement defiantly swirled in your tummy as he let his hands roam your mostly bare body for a few seconds. Like he was examining and inspecting you. He lifted your limp arm to get a better look at your bare waist, then let it fall by your side and reached for the straps of your bra– loosening them to the point they were barely hanging on to your shoulders.

The room began to spin a little faster when he gently pushed you back against the carpet, one palm planted firmly on your stomach to hold you there, the other hand folding your knees and planting your heels on the ground. The cup of your bra slipped off your chest, your breast now bare to the cool air. You felt exposed, for reasons less obvious than they really were.

You heard the violent swish of the wind outside. It felt far and distant, and like it was right in that room, all at the same time.

He began inspecting you again. It was odd, surely he liked the sight of your body, you could tell when you eyed the obvious bulge in his pants, but he was looking at you like you were some prop– like a little sex doll for his little photoshoot. He was moving you around as he pleased, positioning your limbs and tilting your head like an inanimate object. You didn’t fight back, let him take control of your body. It made your stomach churn, your core tingle.

He nudged and then kneeled between your legs, fully clothed, looking at you methodically. You felt the cool air brush the wet spot that had formed on your panties as you gazed up at the ceiling, far too ashamed to meet his gaze.

You watched him reach upwards towards his desk, and shift the lamp there till it was barely hanging on to the edge. The light hit you in the face, and forced your eyes shut till he turned it away and towards your chest. You tilted your chin to get a look at him, despite your better judgment.

He hummed, swiping your dripping seam with his thumb, only stopping to eye you in warning when your body understandably jerked at the contact. The dark look in his eyes reminded you you weren’t really there for your own enjoyment, and more for his. It was like your natural movement was some sort of inconvenience to him, something that was hindering and interfering with his creative process.

It was nauseating. But despite the fear that bubbled in your chest, you couldn’t deny the thrum of excitement that ran through your system when he began adjusting the settings on his camera. A part of you, a much bigger part of you than you'd like to admit, was enjoying the entire experience.

“Look at that.” He chuckled, presumably at the way the fabric of your panties clung messily to your wetness in spite of your seemingly unwilling demeanor. You felt a drop of sweat roll down between your breasts in anticipation.

He teased your clit over your panties, switching between watching your face intently and finding the best angle. Leaning backwards and forwards. You knew better than to move around this time. “That boy doesn't know a thing about angles does he?” He was mumbling, excessively concentrated on properly composing his shot.

“‘S’ okay sweetheart, we’ll fix it.” Hooking two fingers under the seam of your panties he pulled them aside, exposing your bare cunt to the chilly air. “Daddy’ll fix it.” He watched himself run his fingers through your wetness, and you watched him swallow thickly at the view. You chewed on your bottom lip, summoning all your restraint not to wiggle your hips in his direction.

“Thought ‘bout this cute lil cunt all fuckin week.”

Your disobedient mind encouraged the desire that pooled in your core, and you turned your head side to side to rid yourself of the disturbing thought.

He must have noticed your strained expression, the way you were so clearly begging to be touched, but refused to admit it. Your creased brow was not one of intense pleasure, but anxiety, uncertainty and perpetual frustration. His shoulders dropped defeatedly, and he looked at you like he was about to unleash on you another set of debased instructions.

“Gotta look like you’re enjoyin’ yourself more than that babygirl.”

Caught slightly off guard, but admittedly thankful nonetheless, a breathy sigh escaped your lips as he began drawing soft circles on your aching clit. “That’s it babygirl” His praise licked between your legs, going straight to your core. Fingers wet with your slick he rubbed your throbbing pussy, and you let your head fall back against the carpet.

“So fuckin’ wet f’ daddy.”

Increasing his pace ever so slightly his fingers moved to tease your aching hole, just barely pushing in. You felt a moan bubble in your throat, forcing its way out of your mouth. It was more than embarrassing to admit you were enjoying his attention.

“Let go babygirl. Daddy’s gonna make ya’ look so pretty in his pictures- like ya’ really are, like ya' deserve.”

He bit his lip to keep from smiling when he heard the soft moan slip past your lips. “That's better.” You didn’t know if he was more pleased with your pleasure, or the fact that you’d look better in the photographs.

As your chest rose and fell with his movements you were more and more convinced. It was undoubtedly better to play along and give in. There was little point resisting by the time the thought even occurred to you. Admittedly, embarrassingly late. At least that's what you told yourself when you moaned and sighed below him.

“Shit sweetheart. Wish you could see what ‘m seein’.” You imagined what Joel could see through the lens. It felt dirty, and contrite, but also exhilarating, and warm and right.

You felt the tension build in your hips, between your legs. He had been resisting fucking you with his fingers, and your need to be filled was only increasing with each touch to your sensitive clit– your aching hole clenching around nothing. Your mind wandered to the way you’d undoubtedly seen his cock twitch in his jeans at the sight of you. How you’d been wishing secretly for him to fill you up.

The coil in your belly tightened, and tightened, and you felt yourself reach the edge, the very peak of your pleasure. You made out a beam of white lightning through your half closed, lust clouded eyes.

He brushed his thumb over your clit, ever so slightly. You were so so close, feeling the tension reach its highest point in a split second and then dissolve entirely. You gasped, back arching off the ground.

In the deafening silence you heard the shutter and click of the camera. The sound was menacing. And it made your tummy flutter.

“That's it baby, good girl”

Your slick pooled at your entrance, running down your thighs and making you shift uncomfortably. You felt numb in your toes, something in you prompting you to kick your feet just a little. At the lost pleasure. The word was leaving your mouth before you could even register it.

“Daddy”

“I know, I know-” Fuck. He sounded so gentle. Like the Joel you knew. The Joel you loved. “just a little longer sweetheart, you can take it.” He rubbed the inside of your thigh.

He rested his camera on his knees and reached forward to cup your cheek, stroking your warm skin with his thumb. His fingertips were ice cold, and made you wince. “Just think of how pretty they're gonna turn out-” The look in his eyes was pleading, like you even had a choice in the matter. You wondered if he thought you did. Either way it seemed to work on you. “How pretty you’re gonna look.”

“C’mon be a good girl f’ daddy.” His words made you mewl. Joel pinched your hip in warning, but kept his voice steady.

“C’mere” Hitching both your legs on his shoulders and on either side of his head he scooted forward on his knees. Your skin tingled in anticipation, and you wondered what it would be like to have his head between your thighs.

Admiring your white ankle socks he ran his thumb along the base of your foot, making your squirm in his hold. He engulfed its arch in his large palm, placing a kiss to your soul and then your ankle, moving forward to nuzzle your calf with his nose.

“Goddamn, such a cute lil thing.”

You watched him palm his bulge through his jeans, then undo his belt with his eyes still trained on your messy, wet pussy. As if he’d caught you staring he reached forward and tilted your chin back up towards the ceiling. Surely, you straining your neck to get a good look at him was doing nothing for his shot composition.

You felt him let go of your shin in favor of guiding his cock along your throbbing seam. His tip bumped your clit, making you mewl and inadvertently lift your hips in his direction. You wished you could see him, on his knees in front of you, his cock teasing your dripping cunt.

“Poor thing, can feel how bad ya’ need it.” Exhaling heavily he continued to rub his cock against your wet folds, eyes fixated below him. He cursed lowly under his breath, and lined himself up with your entrance, pushing in just a little.

Your mouth fell open in a wordless cry at the slow stretch of him, and you attempted to grab fistfulls of the carpet beneath you. He’d barely put it in , but it was enough to send your eyes fluttering shut.

“Cute lil pussy can barely take my cock, baby.”

He fucked you, giving you just the tip, over and over and over, unwilling to burry himself in you to the hilt. You felt him twitch inside you, the slow pace and minimal contact enough to keep you both on edge, and not enough to provide any semblance of relief.

You whined in protest.

“Shh babygirl, I know.” He fucked you in slow shallow strokes, hips barely moving. You felt his eyes glued to your face, as if he was waiting for the perfect moment to snap his shot.

He thumbed your clit, his own breath quickening when your walls clamped around his cock.

You’d never reach your peak this way, and it looked like he noticed. It seemed to be quite a large part of his artistic vision, and you were more than glad.

He groaned and thrust himself to the hilt in a single slow push, picking up his pace just enough to where you could feel him hit that sensitive spot inside you. His cock throbbed against your aching walls, the drag of him sending your eyes rolling back into your head. His hands gripped your thighs, lips dragging across your calves every now and then as he fucked your warm, wet pussy– slow and deep.

You felt full, unlike you ever had before. With the way he was making you feel it was difficult to think of who he was, and how he’d got you into this position. Neither your boyfriend’s existence, nor the reality of his intimidation took away from the soaring pleasure that made your body sing.

It was all too much to bear, and you could feel your orgasm building in your core once again.

The ominous sound of the wooden clocks garbled tic found its way back to your ears, this time in rhythm with your pounding heart. It sounded oddly comforting, like it was pushing you closer to the edge.

“Daddy-” you reached for his hand, bringing his large palm to squeeze your breast. He obliged, his free hand moving from there to tug and pinch at any part of you exposed to him.

“Daddy, gonna cum-” Joel sat back just a bit, still fucking into your soft cunt. “Cum ‘f daddy babygirl, fuck, that’s it.” It was all you needed, the tension that had been building in your core for what seemed like forever finally snapping. Your body went rigid, eyes screwing shut and back arching off the ground once again, legs tingling. Your walls fluttered around his cock as he slowed his pace, coaxing you through it. He hit that sweet spot inside you over and over, seemingly enjoying the many waves of your orgasm just as much as you.

Between the ticking and Joel's labored breaths, and ringing in your ears you barely heard the click of the camera, but the soft sound sent a jolt through your body, like an electric aftershock.

You took more than a moment to catch your breath, face tingling and head buzzing.

When your eyes fluttered open you noticed Joel had abandoned his camera on the ground beside him in favor of grabbing your thighs. Still sensitive you shivered as he fucked into your pussy, fast and hard. You looked up at his face, twisted in pleasure, the little wrinkles on his skin accentuated thanks to his frown and furrowed brow.

“So fuckin tight babygirl” You felt him pulse and throb inside you, emptying himself in a few final, sloppy thrusts.

He looked so handsome, with his hair just slightly out of place, and flannel wrinkled and messy. The thought of being filled up by him had your tummy erupting with butterflies.

Still catching his breath he reached for his camera, pulling out ever so slowly. With your legs still on his shoulders he tucked himself back into his jeans and fixed his belt, slowly easing himself on his stomach in front of you, and dropping your legs on either side of his head.

You couldn’t see him, but you felt him chuckle against your bare thigh, his breath tickling your skin. “Show me how full ya’ are of me babygirl– how messy ya’ are f’ daddy”. You bit your lip as you pushed, and heard yet another click of the camera echo across the room.

“Fuck. look so fuckin’ pretty, full’ve my cum” His spend leaked out of your fluttering entrance, and you felt him swipe his finger against the cut of your pussy and push anything that escaped right back in. He shifted your panties back in place, the material already dampening once again, this time with both your and his juices.

He sat up with his legs stretched out in front of him, back resting against the legs of his couch beside you. He pulled you to rest your head on his lap. You watched him intently as he reached beside him for the photographs. They must really be something, because mister Miller sure looked impressed with himself.

When he turned to you you were probably met with his most wide and genuine smile yet, the three fresh new polaroids pinched between his thumb and index. You watched as the white light from outside invaded the room, and struck his face, illuminating it for a split second. The garbled tic of the wooden clock had subsided into the white noise of the background, along with the steady hum of the rain. You relaxed into his embrace.

“Make the prettiest little model, don’t ya think sweetheart? Daddy’s gonna have to use ya’ more often”

And no, I'm not a jerk

I would ask if you could help me out

It's hard to understand

'Cause when you're running by yourself

It's hard to find someone to hold your hand

You know it's good to be tough like me

But I will wait forever

I need someone else

To look into my eyes and tell me

"Girl, you know you've got to watch your health"

See you on a dark night

Going to hell for this one. Please let me know what you think. Comments and reblogs keep me writing. I also want to re iterate please be careful about who you send or let take explicit pictures of yourself. Never show your face and stay safe. Dividers by @ saradika and @cafekitsune 💗🐝🫶

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katsukikisses · 2 months

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birds of a feather: chapter two [hawks x reader]

chapter summary: keigo invites you over for the first time and lets you check out his wing-keeping kit. in the process, you learn a few things about his world.

chapter tags: childhood friends; neighbors trope; alternating povs; taking care of keigo's wings as a love language.

cw: prejudice; socioeconomic differences?

prefer to read on ao3? here!

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“'Do not enter' is written on the door way, Why can't everyone just go away? Except you, you can stay, — Alex G, Treehouse

The first time Keigo invited you over, you were ecstatic.

The invite in itself was long overdue: the two of you had been friends for a year and neighbors for nearly two, so the fact that you’d never once stepped foot in his house during that period seemed like an intentional oversight. You didn’t mind always hanging out at yours’ (rather, you quite liked having Keigo inside your house), but you were insatiably curious about how your hybrid friend lived. You wanted to know what color his bedsheets were, what kind of cereal lined his pantry—everything there was to know about a person, really.

However, your parents always told you that inviting yourself over was very rude, so you never pushed. You figured there was a reason for his hesitance and eventually stopped asking “ Your place or mine? ” on the walk home from school, letting your house become the default hang-out spot. That’s why, when, on a gray, inconspicuous Tuesday, Keigo asked if you’d like to come over, you were completely caught off guard.

“Wha—?” you sputtered, suddenly having lost the ability to form sentences, “Me, over? House?”

Keigo looked pleased at the state you’d been reduced to. “Yes, you-over-house,” he mocked, “We can even us-play-video games.”

“Shut up,” you reddened. “I’m just surprised since we usually go to mine. B-but I don’t mind going to yours at all! Let’s hurry.”

You shifted your backpack higher up on your shoulders and began speed-walking down the street, leaving Keigo behind you. You didn’t want to give him the time to change his mind. The blonde snorted, but quickened his pace to match yours.

Soon, the two of you made it to your street. You took a brief moment to dash inside your own house and yell that you were going to Keigo’s—eliciting surprised Okays from your parents—before dashing back across the street to Keigo’s side. Laughing at your eagerness, he unlatched the front door and entered, leaving you to follow.

Your first impression of the Takami household was that it was similar to yours: staircase left of the foyer, living room connected to the kitchen. The similarities were to be expected, given that your houses were most likely built by the same construction company—but that was where they ended. Unlike your house, which your mother kept fastidiously white and empty, Keigo’s was full of life. The walls were painted a pretty sage green, and lined with pictures of Keigo, his mother, and an older couple you assumed were his grandparents. The windowsills were also filled with all sorts of plants and herbs, adding a welcome splash of color to the room. It was a stark contrast to the sad, blank interior of your own abode—Keigo’s house had character .

“I know it’s not as nice as yours,” Keigo apologized as he watched you take in your surroundings. “My mom insists on keeping all these dumb plants and—”

“Keigo, I love your house!” you exclaimed, cutting him off. “It’s so much prettier compared to mine. I wish Mom would let us paint our walls or keep plants, but apparently Architectural Digest says that’s not Beige Chic , or whatever.”

Keigo smiled. He knew he shouldn’t have doubted your reaction. “Okay, well once you’re done admiring my pretty house, come upstairs so I can beat you at Mario Kart.”

Your eyes flashed excitedly, immediately leaving the picture you were inspecting to follow after Keigo. “Sure you will. Hey, remind me again who’s the reigning champion?”

The blonde gave you an irritated look, but before he could retort, you were pushing past him up the stairs and into his bedroom. This was what you’d been most curious about on your walk back, and you couldn’t wait any longer to see it. Ignoring Keigo’s words of protest, you opened the door.

“Wow,” you blinked at the sight. “It’s very…angry.”

You didn’t know what you’d been expecting, but it hadn’t been… this . Keigo’s bedroom was practically devoid of anything except for Endeavor , his favorite superhero. The walls were plastered with posters of the flame hero, and a row of his figurines lined Keigo’s desk. Atop his twin-sized bed sat a small Endeavor stuffie, which smoldered at you menacingly from across the room.

You spun around to face your friend. “Keigo, I didn’t you were a fanboy!”

In the doorway of his room, Keigo flushed a red that rivaled his plumage.

“It’s not—I’m not a fanboy ,” he sputtered, “I just happen to like the show! And they always have a lot of his merch at the thrift and—you know what, I don’t need to explain myself to you. Just sit down.”

Laughing, you took a seat on the carpet and faced his XBox. “Whatever you say, fanboy .”

Keigo valiantly ignored your comment and began rifling through a box of controllers. You took this time to take in the rest of his room, which, aside from the Endeavor paraphernalia, was completely unassuming. There wasn’t much furniture other than a bed and desk, and what little else Keigo did possess was painted in dull shades of grey. The only splash of color was the green sweater he’d been wearing yesterday, now stuffed haphazardly into his drawers. Your eyes lazily followed the outline of the cabinet, until they reached the small box resting atop it.

“What’s that?” you pointed to the box curiously.

Keigo looked up from where he’d been setting up the XBox—an ancient thing he and his mom had scored at Goodwill—and spotted what you were pointing at. “Oh, that’s my wing-keeping kit.”

“Wing-keeping?”

“Yeah,” he shifted his wings, letting them catch rays from the window. The red plumes gleamed like rubies. “You didn’t think they were naturally like this, did you? This kind of exquisiteness requires serious upkeep, YN”

“Oh,” you said dumbly. The sight of Keigo’s feathers fluttering was nothing short of mesmerizing, and, for some reason, you liked that he was showing off to you. “Can I see the tools?”

The words left your mouth before you could think about them. You watched as Keigo’s wings immediately came to a still, and you internally groaned. Here we go.

Over the course of your year-long friendship with Keigo, you’d come to learn a lot about the blonde. You knew that he liked superhero shows (specifically Endeavor: Legend of the Flame) and that his favorite subject was History. He could run a 7-minute mile—the fastest out of all the fourth-grade boys—and was a fiend for fried chicken. You knew that, despite being relatively popular, he didn’t really like the other kids at school, and you were probably the closest thing to a best friend that he had. And most importantly, you knew to never, ever talk about hybrids around him.

At first, you figured he was just annoyed by your questions. As the only hybrid in your class, Keigo was constantly being probed by your classmates about his wings or eye markings. He’d never ignore them, of course, always answering their queries good-naturedly—but the tight-lipped smile he wore during those interactions betrayed his agitation. As your friendship progressed and you interacted more frequently with the blonde, though, you realized it wasn’t just questions about himself that irritated Keigo—it was whenever humans talked about hybrids at all. The week your class covered Japan’s history of hybrid discrimination, Keigo had resolutely faced the window and didn’t take a single note; and whenever Endeavor fought a hybrid villain on screen, Keigo huffed and asked to skip the episode. Little incidents like those deterred you from asking any questions related to his bird appendages, and even more from inquiring about the reason behind his anger.

Thus, you’d gone an entire year avoiding discussing anything hybrid-related with him. You figured that, as with him not inviting you in, he’d eventually get over it—you were sitting in his room right now, weren’t you? Plus, he couldn’t hate humans altogether if he was friends with you. There must be a logical reason behind his behavior, you reasoned.

Except, you’d blown any chance of that happening, now that you opened your big fat mouth and asked about his wings. And the first time he invited me over, too, you bemoaned internally. You’d at least wanted to see the kitchen before you got kicked out!

“Um, sorry,” you backtracked, “I don’t know why I asked that. It’s personal, I know—sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Keigo replied, equally hesitant. He took a deep breath as if preparing himself for a daunting task. “Um, if you really want to see, I can show you. The tools, I mean.”

Your jaw nearly fell to the ground. “Really? I can see?”

“Yeah, it’s no big deal,” he said, sounding as though it were absolutely a big deal. He walked over to his cabinet and swiped the kit off the top. You watched, disbelieving, as he made his way back to you and deposited it unceremoniously in your lap.

The first thing you registered about the kit was that it was heavy—heavier than it looked. It was constructed of smooth wood paneling and about the size of a book, with no indication of what resided within it save for a small feather engraved on the top, and perhaps the faint smell of essential oils emitting from it Your fingers fluttered over the ridges of the box, and, with one final seeking glance at Keigo, you lifted the lid off the top.

As the smell suggested, the inside of the kit was lined with various vials of oil, each labeled something different. Laying next to the oils, their sharp edges cushioned by the velvet interior, was a collection of tools: shears of various sizes as well as several brushes and clippers. They glinted menacingly in the afternoon light, causing you to reign in a shudder; you couldn’t imagine using tools like that on your own body.

Keigo watched your expression carefully. “I have to trim and condition my feathers about every two weeks,” he explained, “Or else they’ll get tangled and torn.”

“I didn’t realize they required so much attention,” you tore your gaze away from the box and faced him. And, for the second time that day, your mouth moved before your brain. “Can you show me? How you do it?”

“…Sure,” he said after a momentary pause, looking faintly bemused. “It’s been a while since I last trimmed them, anyway.”

He began picking out various tools and oils from the box. You leaned forward, eager to see which ones he chose. When it came to Keigo, it was like you could never know enough.

He lined the three oils he’d grabbed—labeled “primaries”, “secondaries”, and “contour”, respectively—on the floor. “The different oils are for different parts of my wings,” he said, extending out his left wing as he spoke. “My primary feathers are these long feathers out here, and the inner ones are called secondaries. And these are my contour feathers, which make me more aerodynamic—they help me fly better, basically,” he amended, noticing your blank stare. “But before I do that, I have to trim them.”

As he finished his explanation, he removed a large tablecloth from the bottom of the kit and unfolded it on the floor. He picked up one of the shears he’d taken out earlier and began trimming off the edges of his wings. Red tufts fluttered to the floor, like autumn leaves shaken out of a tree. You stared, enthralled, before his earlier words registered in your mind.

“Wait, fly? I thought you weren’t…allowed to,” you trailed off, realizing you were approaching dangerous territory. Hybrid Limitations were one of the most contentious topics in Japan, and you figured that Keigo, as an avian hybrid, would have his share of thoughts on it.

Instead of becoming upset, though, he merely shook his head. “I’m not,” he confirmed. His words were punctuated by the steady snip of shears coming down around another feather. “This kit was passed down to me from my grandfather, and during his time there weren’t restrictions on winged hybrids. So it still contains flight-care stuff.”

“Oh,” you said, “Do you wish you could fly?”

Keigo peered at you through the folds of his wing. Randomly, you were struck by the memory of the first time he came to your house; cold and wet, focused on drying off his wings while you chattered annoyingly at him.

“Maybe,” he set down the shears and picked up one of the vials of oil. Surprised, you realized he was already done with trimming. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get to, though.”

Keigo gave his wings a firm ruffle, shaking off any lingering feather trimmings. Then, he poured a small bit of oil into his palms and began carding them gently through his longest feathers—the primaries, you recalled. You watched in silence as he worked down his wing, coating each plume in a thin layer of oil. Usually when Keigo was focused on something, he had a look of intense concentration on his face: brows pinched, eyes narrowed. Yet, now, his expression was relaxed and peaceful—this must be calming for him.

As he got closer to his inner feathers, though, he had to strain his neck to oil them properly, and his tranquil expression dissolved into a more concentrated one. “My mom usually helps me with the back,” he explained, sounding slightly frustrated, “It’s harder for me to see back there and—”

“I can help you,” you said. Keigo’s hands stilled in his wings, and you wondered a bit too late if your offer had been inappropriate. But you’d already breached all sorts of boundaries today, so what was one more?

Keigo cleared his throat. “Um, sure. Come, uh—come closer.”

“Okay,” you shuffled over to behind him. “Um, what do I…”

“Grab the oil labeled ‘secondaries’.”

“Okay.”

“Pour a little into your hands—yeah, that’s good. And let it heat up a bit in your palms.”

“Okay.”

“Now, you see the feathers at the bottom of my wings? The shorter ones.”

“Yeah.”

“Work the oil into them, from the root to the ends.”

“Okay,” you gulped. Your hands, covered in a sharp-smelling oil, shook as you reached toward the feathers. I have to do this right , you thought determinedly—you couldn’t bear it if you accidentally hurt Keigo.

Slowly, you grabbed the outermost feather and began working the oil into it. If your own hands hadn’t been shaking so badly, you might’ve noticed the way Keigo’s wings shuddered, too.

After you got through the first few feathers without doing any damage—and leaving Keigo content, seemingly—you became more confident in your abilities. Your movements were more fluid, and your shoulders untensed—you could see why your friend found this relaxing.

Once you finished the secondaries, you moved on to the last section: his contour feathers. You picked up the appropriately labeled oil and found that it was much fuller than the other two. Recalling what he said about not being able to fly, you sadly realized that those feathers probably didn’t get as much use as his other ones, therefore needing less maintenance. With newfound vigor, you uncapped the vial and poured a generous amount into your palms.

“I hope,” you began, “That you get a lot of use out of this oil one day.”

“I hope not,” Keigo replied, “That’s the most expensive one.”

(He knew what you meant, though.)

It was rare for Takami Toomie to see her house during the day.

Well, it was nearing evening, technically, but sunlight was sunlight. Between her job at the restaurant, the hospital, and…the other one, she’d practically become a vampire—she couldn’t remember the last time she came home before midnight. But today all the stars had aligned perfectly: her coworker had agreed to cover her shift, the hospital hadn’t called her in, and—best of all—the fried chicken ordered from their restaurant never got picked up, leaving it up for grabs.

Toomie recalled staring at the steaming bucket of chicken for the entire pick-up hour, and then snatching it up as soon as time was up. She’d flushed when her coworkers saw her shove the food into her bag, but their judgment would be nothing compared to the joy of seeing Keigo smile—something that happened too infrequently for Toomie’s liking. Though, it's not exactly like I encourage him to be more carefree...

Shaking off her guilt, Tookie pushed through the front door of her home. She smiled at the sight of rays filtering in through the window and meandered over to the kitchen, where she set down the bucket. A glance at the clock told her that Keigo was already back at school, and her smile widened. They could eat together!

She grabbed her phone from her bag and began searching for the LNs contact. She assumed Keigo was with them, considering he slept over practically every day now. It was a development she tried not to be too bothered by, as she knew it was lonely for him here. Still, she couldn’t help but be wary of the situation. YN seemed like a sweet kid, on the few occasions she’d met them, but one could never be sure…

She sighed as finally found the contact. Keigo would be a little upset at being called back early, she figured, but his disappointment would definitely disappear as soon as he saw the chicken. Plus, the two of them hadn’t had dinner together in forever. Reaffirmed in her decision, Toomie made to hit Call on the contact—but just as her finger was about to tap the screen, she heard the faintest sounds of conversation emanating from upstairs.

Toomie paused. It sounded like two kids...did Keigo have a friend over? Curiously, she made her way to the stairwell and strained to listen, wings shifting nervously behind her. Keigo never told her that he was bringing someone over, and he wasn’t the type to sneak around behind her back, either. Immediately, terrible thoughts filled her head. What if someone had followed Keigo home and they were hurting him upstairs? Or what if someone had broken in and were robbing them? Panicked, she dropped her phone and sprinted up the stairs, wings flapping madly behind her. They ached from disuse, but she didn’t even register the pain. Her only thoughts were Keigo, Keigo, Keigo.

She threw open his bedroom door, and the sight that greeted her was more horrible than any robbery or bullying. Keigo was sitting on the floor, wings spread out to their maximum length, while you kneeled behind him, gently carding oil through his inner-most feathers. Next to you was Keigo’s wing-keeping kit—a gift from his grandfather, her father —with various tools and vials spilling out of it. Everything was out in the open for you to see.

At the sound of the door hitting the wall, Keigo turned around. “Mom?” his eyes widened. “When did you get back?”

“Just now,” she replied, her eyes flitting between the two of you. “You didn’t tell me you were having guests over, Keigo.”

Hearing this, you sheepishly stood and bowed to her. Your hands, still covered in oil, hung awkwardly in the hair.

“I’m sorry for coming over uninvited, Takami-san,” you apologized, “I should’ve had my parents call you.”

At the sight of your nervousness, Toomie’s agitation subsided. “It’s alright, YN-chan,” she said, attempting a kind tone. But her day had been long and she’d worked the night shift beforehand and—she just wanted to have dinner with her son. “I’m just surprised, is all. Plus, it’s Keigo who should’ve said something.”

She turned her attention back to her son. “You need to tell me when you have hu—people over, Kei.”

She barely managed to cover her slip-up. Keigo raised an unimpressed eyebrow at her.

“Well, I didn’t know you were even going to see them, since you don’t usually get back until later. Why are you back this early anyway?”

Toomie groaned internally. Wasn’t he a little young for the rebellious stage? “I got off work early,” she said tightly, “And I thought we could have dinner toge—”

“Is that chicken?” Keigo cut her off, finally registering the mouth-watering smell wafting from the kitchen. His wings, freshly clipped and conditioned, raised excitedly. Toomie couldn’t help but smile at his enthusiasm.

“Oh, well then I should probably go,” you said awkwardly, wiping your oil-covered hands off on your school uniform. Toomie wished she could’ve told you to not do that, as wing-keeping oils were notoriously difficult to get out of clothes—your skirt would permanently have greasy handprints on them now. But before she could say something, you were nimbly sliding past her in the doorway and into the hall.

“Please enjoy your dinner!” you smiled at the two of them.

Keigo jumped up from his spot on the floor and ran after you. “Wait, YN,” he said, “Don’t go yet.”

He glanced briefly at his mother, asking her an unspoken question. But the woman was looking at you, still wringing your hands awkwardly in the hallway.

Toomie exhaled softly through her nose. After all those free dinners they gave Keigo, she thought miserably, Practically every day of the year…how could I even come close to repaying them?

“Yes, YN-chan, we would love for you stay for dinner,” she lied, “Do you like fried chicken?”

Your eyes practically sparkled as you thanked her excitedly, assuring her that, yes, you loved fried chicken. As the three of you made your way down the stairs, Keigo pulling you by the wrist, Toomie couldn’t help but mourn her lost dinner. The bucket was a share-size, yet with how much Keigo ate, he could probably put away the entire thing—it had been a stretch for the two of them to share, much less three people. Looks like you and Keigo would be enjoying an adult-free dinner, tonight. Toomie sighed, resigning herself to a trip to the konbini. She’d refrained from snacking on kitchen scraps and sent-back meals as she usually did during her shift, not wanting to spoil her appetite, and this was what she got. Honestly, with her evening plans now canceled, she might just head back to work—clearly, she could use the extra money.

Toomie watched as Keigo tugged you into the kitchen and began pulling plates and silverware out of the drawers. She wondered how she could gracefully bow out of the dinner—kids didn’t really think too hard about those sorts of interactions, but she also didn’t want you to report back to your parents that Toomie didn’t bother spending any time with you. She was already going to be the mom who brought back a bucket of fried chicken as dinner, for God’s sake.

Still ruminating over her dilemma, Toomie didn’t notice you seemingly lost in your own thoughts. Even as Keigo set the dinner table—for three people, the little idealist—you remained standing, simply staring at the bucket.

“Actually, Keigo-kun, Takami-san,” you started, spinning around to face them, “I have a good idea! My parents are having yakisoba tonight, along with some other vegetables. Fried chicken goes great with yakisoba, doesn’t it? We should take it over to my house and eat together! My mom’s always asking you to come over anyways, Takami-san.”

You finished with a bright grin on your face. Toomie only blinked in response.

(Perhaps you deserved a little more credit than she gave you.)

“That’s really nice of you to offer, dear. I think we’ll take you up on that.” Toomie managed. From across the kitchen, Keigo gaped at her—she knew he’d expected her to decline. “You’re too kind, YN-chan.”

You, too, seemed shocked that Toomie actually accepted—a deserved reaction, considering the amount of times she’d turned down your family’s invitations in the past. But you recovered quickly, your blinding grin overtaking your face once more.

“It’s my pleasure,” you said brightly. You picked up the bucket of chicken and started out the door, suddenly heading the whole operation. “I hope we can eat before the sun sets!”

Keigo hurriedly shoved the plates back into the drawers and dashed after you, calling for you to wait for him. Toomie smiled at the sight, before sighing again and walking over to the fridge. She began rifling through its contents—some leftovers from work, a pack of expired beer—in hopes of dredging up a side dish. Impromptu as this dinner was, she couldn’t be so pathetic as to only show up with cold fried chicken.

Yet, even as Toomie peered into her frighteningly empty fridge, she couldn’t help but feel content with the outcome of her evening. Absolutely nothing about it had gone to plan—but Keigo was smiling, wasn’t he?

Maybe YN would be good for them, Toomie admitted.

Next Chapter (

author's note: Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! I'm sorry it took so long to come out. This chapter explores more of Keigo's life since the first chapter was very reader-focused, but Toomie's also able to give us an outsider's perspective on YN. I think due to having very present and communicative parents she's become emotionally intelligent at a young age (which I see in a lot of the kids at the private school I work at lol); however, a lot of the practical application still depends on socializing with kids her age and besides Keigo she doesn't have a lot of practice with that…but we'll see more in the coming chapters 🫣🫣

Thanks for reading and I can't wait to see you guys in the next chapter!

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bachassociates1 · 2 months

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Building Inspection Consultants in Seattle - David Bach & Associates

What is the checklist for inspecting a building?

Checklist for Inspecting a Building

Inspecting a building is an important process that helps identify any issues or potential problems with the structure. While the specific checklist may vary depending on the type of building and its purpose, here are some common items that are typically included in a building inspection checklist:

Exterior Inspection: This involves assessing the condition of the building's exterior, including the walls, roof, windows, doors, and foundation. It includes checking for signs of damage, deterioration, leaks, cracks, or any other structural issues.

Interior Inspection: This includes examining the interior spaces of the building, such as rooms, hallways, staircases, and common areas. It involves checking for issues like water damage, mold, pest infestation, electrical problems, plumbing leaks, and ventilation.

Mechanical Systems: Inspecting the building's mechanical systems is crucial. This includes evaluating the functionality and condition of the HVAC (heating, ventilation, and air conditioning) system, electrical wiring, plumbing, fire safety systems, and any other mechanical equipment present in the building.

Safety and Compliance: Ensuring the building meets safety and compliance standards is an essential part of the inspection. This involves checking for fire safety measures, emergency exits, proper lighting, handrails, and compliance with building codes and regulations.

Structural Integrity: Assessing the structural integrity of the building is vital to identify any potential risks or weaknesses. This includes examining the foundation, load-bearing walls, beams, columns, and other structural elements for signs of damage, cracks, or instability.

Utilities and Services: Inspecting the building's utilities and services is important to ensure they are functioning properly. This includes checking the water supply, drainage systems, electrical connections, gas lines, and any other utilities specific to the building.

Accessibility: Evaluating the accessibility of the building is crucial to ensure it meets the needs of all occupants. This involves checking for wheelchair accessibility, ramps, elevators, and other features that facilitate easy access for individuals with disabilities .

Documentation and Record-Keeping: Maintaining accurate documentation and records of the inspection is essential. This includes taking detailed notes, photographs, and videos of any issues or findings during the inspection process.

It's important to note that the specific checklist for inspecting a building may vary depending on factors such as the building's purpose, location, and local regulations. Additionally, it is recommended to consult with professionals, such as building inspectors or engineers, who have expertise in conducting thorough building inspections.

#condominium construction funding seattle #construction management solution seattle #condo inspection company seattle #construction project funding seattle #construction site manager seattle #condominium inspection company seattle #condominium inspection seattle #building construction inspection seattle

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thatswhywelovegermany · 11 months

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Badgers cause year-long shutdown of railway line in North Rhine-Westphalia

In November 2022, first signs of instability on the railway embankment between Unna and Fröndenberg appeared. Subsequent safety inspections revealed that badgers had dug an extensive network of tunnels several meters underneath the tracks. At least 140 entrances to the badger burrows have been found so far, stretching over a length of 11 km (approx. 7 miles).

Meanwhile, the embankment has deemed to be too unstable to continue train operations due to the activity of the animals. The damage is too extensive to be repaired, so the embankment has to be rebuilt from the scratch. Railway company Deutsche Bahn estimates that planning of the construction works and obtaining the necessary approvals by the authorities will take several years before the actual construction works can begin.

#improbable news from germany #rail traffic #badgers #bureaucracy #badger city

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vibingpyro · 8 months

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Heatwave Romance

Right now, in the corner of your mind, you can hear your parents nostalgic and irritable words of wisdom. 'dont take things for granted' or 'eat your vegetables' and all that nonsense. But, mostly the 'dont take things for granted' part is echoing in your skull as you lay strewn about on the couch of your apartment, absolutely miserable in the sweltering heat.

Of all the days, your air conditioning had went out during Camden's annual heatwave, just your luck right? What makes it better is that your apartment is under going some construction in the lower levels, so the water has been turned off for the rest of the evening, so, no cold shower for you either! How....wonderful.

You groan, debating on moving to get up to see if there's any cooler room to be in instead of laying about on the couch, sweat beading off your skin each time you move too much. You decide to stay there for a moment longer in some desperate hope it will just get colder rather than having to actually make the effort to get up and move. You don't even lift your head when your window leading to your fire escape opens with an small 'click!', already knowing it's your best friend, Hobie Brown.

"Whew, not any better here is it, luv?" Hobie's voice is heard, and you finally lift your head to glare at Hobie for his obvious answer. "No, it's not." You murmur, slightly annoyed that your misery has company but also a bit relieved that you have someone to complain about the heat to.

Hobie hums in acknowledgement, not bothered by the irritated response you gave him. He closes the window back down with an small shove of his hand before crossing the living room, tapping your legs in silent request to move, and you oblige lifting your legs up, although when he plops down beside you on the couch, you just place your feet right onto his lap and he rolls his eyes briefly but makes no effort to shove you off, opting to slide his mask off and shove it into his pocket.

"Why don't you jus take a cold shower?" He asks, looking at you with an glint of amusement in his eyes, and the glare you give him only makes him snicker, "They shut off the buildings water, they're doing repairs or something so I can't shower, even if I wanted to." You huff, Hobie nods, clicking his tongue. "That does indeed cause a problem.."

There's an pause after you grumble in agreement, Hobie has an slightly thoughtful expression on his face, before patting your legs and you lift them instinctively at his silent request, he stands and shrugs. "Why don't you jus' come to my place, n cool down a bit?" He offers, and you can't help but perk up at that, sitting up. "Seriously? That would be awesome." You smile, Hobie smiles back at you as he nods, "Yeah, course."

You're already on your feet to dress properly, and by properly something that isn't an pair of sleep shorts and a tank top. You rush into your bedroom, changing into something more suitable before walking out to see Hobie, knelt down and inspecting your broken conditioning with an focused glare. He looks at you and gestures to the air conditioning with an baffled look on his face. "What did you do to the poor thing?" He laughs in slight disbelief, standing up.

You shrug, "It just went out on me, what do you mean what did I do to it?" You scoff, eyebrows furrowing as you look at him in equal bafflement. Hobie gives you an even further confused look but shakes his head with an smile, "Just forget I said anythin', you ready to go?" He asks, already walking over towards the window he had entered through, opening it, then pulling his mask from his pocket and over his face.

You nod, following him through the window and stand on the fire escape, wiping your forehead as the heat blasts you further with being outside. Hobie then kneels down, facing away from you. "Your chariot, m'lady." He teases, and you roll your eyes playfully. "You have too many miles on you to be considered a chariot, Hobie." You laugh at your own joke and Hobie scoffs playfully back as you settle yourself on his back piggy back style, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

"How dare you say something so accurate.." he laughs, one of his hands coming to grip onto your calf as you tighten your grip around his shoulders in preparation for what comes next, as well as fighting off the small flare of butterflies you feel in the pit of your stomach. "Hold tight!" Hobie shouts before jumping off of the fire escape, slinging out his webs to begin the short trek to his place on the other side of town.

It's hard to stifle the squeal that comes from your throat as you feel the wind rush past your hair and battering slightly against your face. Hobie chuckles, squeezing your calf in reassurance although there's a hint of genuine concern in the action. "Doin' alright back there, luv?" He calls out loudly to be heard over the rushing wind, you manage to wheeze out an quick, "Never better!" Moving your head to burrow slightly into the back of his neck, hoping to god he doesn't feel the heat of your blush on your cheeks. Hobie snorts at your reply, "We'll be there before you know it, promise." His slightly teasing tone turns to one of tender promise, and your cheeks practically grow hotter from his words, nodding and focusing on trying to get the blush under wraps.

It doesn't take long to get to Hobies place across town, it's a simple house boat but Hobie says any other place would just be wrong to live in as he's been there so long. Hobie swings one final web out, landing right before the door of the house boat. Hobie kneels down and releases his light grip on your leg and you carefully hop down. Hobie stands, brushing himself off before pushing the door open.

"You really should start locking your door." You huff as you walk in behind him, already feeling the cool air and atmosphere of the houseboat refreshing your attitude and body. Hobie merely shrugs, "Yeah, probably." He murmurs in nonchalance at your advice, walking further inside the houseboat and right up to his hammock bed that he swears is the most comfortable for his back, before practically falling down onto it, stretching like a cat that just woke up from an really good nap. You walk over to the couch you always sit at when you come to his house, peeling at the clearly overloved fabric of the couch out of habit. You sigh, leaning your head back as you relax, just basking in the feeling of being cold after so many hours of being stuck hot and miserable in your apartment, closing your eyes in contentment.

"You look quite cozy over there." Hobie is heard saying from his hammock bed across the room and you nod, shuffling to allow your hands behind your head. "Yeah, I am-" you stop speaking as you hear the sounds of floorboards creaking, barely having time to look to see where Hobie could possibly be going before an weight is placed on your lap, and when you look down, you're met with the sight of Hobie smiling up at you, quite smugly.

"What are you doing?" You ask, just staring at him. Hobie shrugs, even nuzzling a bit further into your lap. "You looked rather comfortable, thought I'd join is all." He hums, closing his eyes. The position doesn't...look comfortable, for Hobie at least. His head is placed in your lap, his hands clasped together loosely over his abdomen while...his legs are sticking out over the armrest of the couch, being so tall and lanky he isn't as 'compact' as he calls you and other people shorter than him.

"You don't look comfortable." You state bluntly, Hobie peeks an eye open at you, "Do you want me to move?" He asks, you furrow your eyebrows at the question, shaking your head beginning to speak again. "But-" "Then, yes, I'm comfortable." Is all he says before closing his opened eye, looking incredibly peaceful despite the uncomfortable looking position he's in.

You shrug, deciding not to push. Knowing Hobie can be most comfortable in the most weirdest of positions. You can't help but yawn slightly seeing Hobie so relaxed. "We should nap." You suggest, already closing your eyes tiredly. Hobie murmurs an slight incoherent reply, "Way a head of you luv.." before turning his body to the side, one hand laying lazily against the couch while the other makes itself comfortable underneath the crook of one of your knees, already snoring.

You instantly feel all sleepiness drain from your body at the soft touch, opening your eyes to peer down at Hobie sleeping so soundly. You smile slightly, adjusting your position slightly to allow Hobie a bit more room on the couch.

'I am so in love with you...I'm screwed .' you think as he twitches slightly in his sleep, murmuring something about having to fix your air conditioning...then to leaving the toaster running at Pavitr's?

#hobie brown #astv hobie #hobie spiderverse #spiderman atsv #atsv hobie #hobart brown #across the spider verse #hobie x reader #hobie brown x reader #across the spiderverse

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